#My thumbs hurt from typing but this is my comfort au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 2 months ago

Text

drunk tonight — ryomen sukuna.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations. His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, break up, fighting, crying, hurt, physical touch, sexual content, sadness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of toxic relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of fighting, depiction of sexual content, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of sexual context, mention of loneliness, toxic ex-boyfriend! sukuna, long suffering ex-girlfriend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9.4k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says "yes, we can." and "because i love you. and you love me."; i wrote this a while back but i was waiting for the poll to end. but if sukuna wins, then he definitely has his stuff posted first. somehow, sukuna always wins my polls 😆😆😆 anyway, i hope you love this one too!!! i love you all 🫶🫶🫶

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU DON’T WANT TO ANSWER THE PHONE. Late at night, your phone buzzes, its vibration cutting through the silence like a knife. You glance at the screen, feeling a chill run down your spine as you recognize the number. It’s a number you know all too well, one that you’ve tried to erase from your mind but could never quite forget, no matter how hard you tried.

A sigh escapes your lips, your heart sinking as Sukuna’s name flashes across the screen. It’s a name that once brought you comfort, excitement, even love. But now, it’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of the hurt and the scars that never fully healed.

You’ve blocked him on everything—social media, messaging apps, even email. You thought you had cut off every possible avenue for him to reach you, but he always remembered your phone number.

He was always good at that—memorizing details, knowing exactly how to reach you when you least wanted him to. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, his ability to know you so well, to be so in tune with you. But now, it’s a curse, a reminder that no matter how far you try to run, he can always find you.

The text is a mess of jumbled letters and half-formed words, the kind of message that only makes sense to the sender. You can almost hear his deep, slurred voice in your head as you read it, the way he used to talk when he was too far gone, too deep into the bottle. He’s drunk, that much is obvious, and the thought makes your stomach churn.

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. There’s nothing worse than a drunk ex-text. It’s a toxic mix of emotions—regret, anger, longing—all wrapped up in a few poorly typed words. You know how this goes, how the night will unravel if you let it.

He’ll keep texting, maybe even call, and each message will be more desperate, more incoherent than the last. He’ll say things he doesn’t mean, make promises he can’t keep, and you’ll be left holding the pieces of a conversation that never should have happened.

For a moment, you consider ignoring it, just turning off your phone and pretending you never saw it. But you know that won’t make it go away. You know that as long as Sukuna has your number, as long as he has a way to reach you, this cycle will keep repeating itself.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen. You could respond, tell him to stop, to leave you alone once and for all. But part of you knows that won’t work either. You’ve told him before, and yet here you are, staring at another late-night message from the man you once loved.

Your thumb hovers over the message, the words blurring in your tired eyes. You want to be strong, to resist the pull of old emotions and familiar patterns. But there’s a part of you that’s still connected to him, a part that wants to reach out, to understand why he can’t just let you go.

But you know better. You’ve been down this road too many times before. And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like tearing a piece of your heart out, you know what you have to do. With a sigh, you delete the message, your chest tightening as you do. You close your eyes, trying to block out the guilt, the sadness, the tiny voice in your head that says maybe this time will be different. But you know it won’t. It never is.

You can’t even muster the energy to be angry. It’s all too familiar, the cycle of hurt and regret that you both keep getting sucked into. You start typing back, your fingers trembling slightly with the weight of it all.

“Sukuna, stop. Wherever you are, just stop.” You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the screen. But you need to say this—you need to finally put it to rest. “This hurts, all of it. It’s a mess, and we’ve broken up. You need to stop chasing after me. We can’t go back.”

There’s a long pause. You wonder if he’ll leave it at that, but another text pings through.

“I can’t… I can’t live with this without trying. Please…”

You swallow hard, feeling the ache in your chest, but you’ve made up your mind. This is a wound that needs to heal, and reopening it will only make it worse.

“Sukuna, I’m done. You need to be, too.” You send the message, and this time, you turn off your phone. The silence that follows is almost deafening, but it’s the first step towards finally moving on.

You purse your lips, staring at the screen as his last message burns into your mind. You know he’s just too drunk tonight. He doesn’t really want you back—not the way he thinks he does. He’s just broken inside, sad and high, and you can feel the weight of his loneliness pressing through the words.

A lump forms in your throat as the urge to cry wells up again. It hurts because deep down, you know the truth. He doesn’t want you back. He’s just lonely, aching for something familiar to fill the void. You’ve been there before, reaching out in desperation, hoping for comfort in the arms of someone who used to mean everything. But that was then, and this is now.

You type slowly, forcing yourself to keep going, even though each word feels like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. "Sukuna, you’re not really after me. You’re just lonely and sad, and I get that. But this… us… it’s over. We ended things for a reason."

Your fingers hesitate over the next part, but you push through the pain. "We hurt each other too much. I didn’t want to be with you anymore because all we did was tear each other apart. And I don’t want that for either of us."

You take a shaky breath, knowing what you need to say, even if it feels like ripping off a bandage from a wound that hasn’t fully healed. "So put down the phone, Sukuna. It’s time to go home. You’re just drunk tonight.”

You hit send, and the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over. You’ve been strong for so long, but tonight, in the quiet of your room, you allow yourself to feel the full weight of everything you’ve lost and everything you’ve chosen to leave behind.

You ended things because you knew it was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And even though you’re telling him to move on, a part of you is whispering the same words to yourself. It’s time to let go, for real this time. It’s time to heal, even if that means facing the pain head-on and accepting that some things can never be fixed.

Your phone rings, and your heart sinks as you see his name flashing across the screen. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the decline button. You know you shouldn’t answer, know that nothing good can come from this. But some part of you—maybe out of concern, maybe out of habit—hits the green button.

“Sukuna, don’t—”

“I’m on my way.” he interrupts, his voice slurred but filled with a determination that chills you. “I need to see you. We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops, and a sense of dread washes over you. “No, Sukuna. Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a brief silence where you can hear him breathing heavily, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure. “I have to see you.” he repeats, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please. I…..I want to see you. I wanna…I wanna be with you.”

“Sukuna, please.” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re drunk, you’re not yourself. Turn around and go home. You’re only going to make this harder—for both of us.”

“I don’t care.” he snaps, and you can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. A desperation that’s never been there before. “I can’t keep living like this, pretending I don’t need you. I’ll be there soon.”

Panic starts to set in. You feel trapped, knowing that no amount of reasoning will get through to him tonight. “Sukuna, if you show up here, I won’t open the door. I mean it.”

There’s a harsh laugh on the other end. “You will. You always do.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they’re true, or at least they were. You can’t deny the history between you two, the countless times you’ve stood at the edge of this same precipice, teetering between resolve and surrender.

How many times had you given in, opened the door, and let him back into your life, even when every fiber of your being screamed that you shouldn’t? You’ve lost count, the memories blurring together into a painful montage of late-night confessions, tearful apologies, and broken promises.

Each time, you told yourself it would be the last. You would stand firm, hold your ground, and finally cut the ties that bound you to him. But then he would show up—vulnerable, raw, and desperate—and the walls you had so carefully constructed would crumble in an instant.

He knew exactly how to reach you, how to twist the knife just enough to remind you of what you once had, what you once were. And for a fleeting moment, you’d believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

But they never were. The darkness that surrounded him, that clung to your relationship like a shroud, always found a way to seep back in. It would start slowly—a harsh word here, a lingering silence there—but soon, it would consume you both, dragging you back into a toxic cycle of pain and regret. Each time you let him back in, you lost a little more of yourself, a little more of the light that once defined who you were.

But you can’t do that anymore. You can’t keep losing pieces of yourself to a love that no longer serves you, to a relationship that has long since become a shadow of what it once was. You’ve fought too hard to reclaim your life, to step out of the darkness and into the light of something better, something healthier. You’ve built yourself back up, brick by brick, and you can’t let him tear it all down again.

This time, it has to be different. This time, you can’t open the door, no matter how much he begs, no matter how much it hurts to turn him away. You can’t let him drag you back into the darkness that you fought so hard to escape. You deserve more—more than late-night texts filled with empty promises, more than a love that only thrives in the shadows. You deserve peace, stability, and a future that isn’t haunted by the ghosts of a past you can’t change.

So you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the familiar pull of his words, the seductive lure of what could have been. You remind yourself of the pain, the nights spent crying, the days filled with anxiety and doubt. You remind yourself that you’ve survived without him, that you’ve thrived in ways you never could have imagined when you were still caught in his web.

And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like a betrayal of everything you once held dear, you know that you have to let him go. You have to close the door, lock it, and walk away—this time for good. Because if you don’t, you’ll never truly be free. And freedom, you realize, is worth more than any fleeting moment of comfort he could offer. You can’t let him pull you back into the darkness. You’ve come too far, and it’s time to finally step into the light.

“No, I won’t.” you say, forcing steel into your voice. “Not this time. If you care about me at all, you’ll turn around and go home. You’ll stop this before it gets worse.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen. But then he speaks again, his voice rough and broken. “I’m almost there. Just… wait for me.”

Your heart is racing now, your mind scrambling for what to do. “Sukuna, if you come here, I’ll call the police. I’m serious.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then, finally, silence. You think he’s hung up, but then he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything. But I have to try.”

He hangs up before you can respond, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone with your heart pounding in your chest. You feel sick, torn between the history you share and the need to protect yourself from the man he’s become.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You don’t want to call the police, don’t want to escalate things that far, but you need to be ready. You need to stay strong, for your own sake.

With trembling hands, you lock your door, turn off the lights, and sit down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand. You wait, praying that he’ll turn around, that he’ll finally realize that what you had is gone, and it’s time to let it go. But deep down, you know this isn’t over—not tonight, not until he’s standing at your door, and you’re forced to make the hardest decision of your life.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one heavier than the last. You sit in the dark, your breath shallow and your nerves frayed, listening for any sound that might signal his arrival. Every car that passes by your window makes your heart jump, your mind conjuring images of him stumbling out, determined and reckless.

You think back to the times when things were good between you two, when his intensity was something you admired, even loved. But that intensity had turned into something else, something darker and more destructive, and you couldn’t let it consume you both any longer.

Your phone vibrates again, pulling you out of your thoughts. Another message from Sukuna:

“I’m here.”

You freeze, your blood running cold. He’s close, maybe right outside. You stand up slowly, moving toward the window with a mix of dread and resolve. Peering through the curtains, you see his figure in the dim light, leaning against a lamppost across the street, his silhouette unmistakable.

He looks up, and even from this distance, you can see the torment in his eyes, the way his shoulders sag with the weight of whatever he’s carrying. But you can’t let that sway you. You’ve made your choice, and you need to stand by it.

Your phone vibrates again, the familiar buzz sending a jolt through your already frayed nerves. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know it’s him. The notification hangs in the air like a weight, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

With a trembling hand, you unlock your phone, the brightness of the screen almost blinding in the darkness of your room. His message is there, short and desperate, the words filled with a plea that you’ve heard too many times before:

“Please, just open the door. We can talk, I swear. I won’t make a scene.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep the tears at bay. His voice echoes in your mind, the deep, gravelly tone that once brought you comfort now only serves to break you down. You can almost picture him on the other side of that door, his eyes wide with that familiar mix of anger and sadness, his posture tense with anticipation. He’s close, so close that you can feel his presence like a shadow creeping over your heart.

It would be so easy to give in, to let him in one more time, to listen to whatever promises he has prepared for tonight. After all, you’ve done it before—opened that door despite knowing it would lead to nothing but more heartache. But tonight feels different. Tonight, there’s a finality in the air, a sense that if you open that door now, it won’t just be another mistake; it will be the last one, the one that shatters whatever remnants of strength you’ve managed to hold onto.

You swallow hard, your throat tight with the urge to cry. You know him too well; you know he won’t leave unless you confront him, unless you face him head-on. He’s stubborn like that, relentless in his pursuit of what he wants, even when it’s something—or someone—that’s no longer his to claim.

But you also know, deep in your bones, that opening that door is the last thing you should do. It’s a line you can’t cross, not this time. Because if you do, you’ll be dragged right back into the storm you’ve fought so hard to escape. You’ll be pulled into his orbit, where everything is chaotic and intense, where love and pain are intertwined so tightly that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

You take a shaky breath, your hand hovering over the door handle as your mind races. What could he possibly say that he hasn’t already said? What could he promise that he hasn’t already broken? The answers are clear, but the pull of the past is strong, and it tugs at you with a force that’s hard to resist.

But you have to resist. You have to stay strong, for your own sake. Because you know that once you open that door, once you let him back in, all the progress you’ve made, all the nights you’ve spent rebuilding yourself, will be undone. You’ll be right back where you started—lost, hurt, and wondering why you ever let him back into your life.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all, but you know what you have to do. You know that tonight, you have to choose yourself, even if it means walking away from someone you once loved with every part of your being.

So you close your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain, to let it wash over you without letting it consume you. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fight back the urge to cry, to scream, to throw open that door and let everything unravel.

But you don’t. You stay where you are, standing firm in the decision you’ve made. Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you’re choosing to protect your heart instead of breaking it all over again.

You steady your breathing, forcing yourself to stay calm as the reality of the situation sinks in. Each vibration of your phone feels like a pulse of pain, a reminder of the emotional battleground you’re standing on. You know that answering the door would only open the floodgates, allowing the turmoil and chaos of the past to flood back into your life. You’ve fought so hard to reclaim your peace, and you refuse to let it slip away now.

With a deep breath, you take a moment to center yourself. You remind yourself of the reasons you’ve decided to cut ties, the countless times you’ve faced heartache, and the strength it took to rebuild your life. This decision, though painful, is a necessary step to ensure you don’t lose everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

You get up and move to your front door, standing just a few inches away. The cold, unyielding surface feels like a barrier between you and the chaos you’ve left behind. You listen for any sounds—footsteps, a knock—but the night is eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rumble of distant traffic. It’s as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make the choice that will define this moment.

Another message from Sukuna pings through, and you resist the urge to check it. Instead, you focus on the decision at hand, the choice you’ve already made. You know that the best way to move forward is to keep the past where it belongs—behind you.

You glance at your phone once more and see that Sukuna has called you again. Your heart races, but you refuse to answer. You let the call go to voicemail, the familiar chime sounding distant and detached. Each unanswered call is a step towards reclaiming your autonomy, towards making it clear that you will not be dragged back into the emotional mess that has defined your relationship.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s silence—no more texts, no more calls. You take a deep breath, letting the calm settle over you. You feel the weight of your decision settle into your bones, a mixture of relief and sorrow. You’ve chosen to protect yourself, to preserve the hard-earned peace you’ve fought for.

As you turn away from the door, you feel a mixture of sadness and strength. The pain of seeing Sukuna’s name, the torment of his pleas, is still fresh, but you’ve managed to hold firm. You’ve chosen not to open the door, not to let him back into your life. This choice, as difficult as it was, is a testament to your resolve, to your commitment to yourself.

You sit back down, wrapping yourself in a blanket of quiet determination. The tears you’ve fought so hard to keep at bay finally come, not as a sign of weakness but as a release of all the emotions you’ve been holding inside. They’re a reminder of your humanity, of the depth of your feelings, but they’re also a sign of your strength—strength you needed to make the right decision, no matter how hard it was.

You’ve done what you needed to do to protect your heart, and now, you allow yourself to grieve, to heal, and to move forward. You close your eyes, letting the tears flow, and in the silence of your room, you begin the process of letting go, knowing that you’ve taken a crucial step toward finding the peace and happiness you deserve.

You reach for your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you begin to type out a message. You need to be firm, clear, and compassionate, even if you’re struggling with your own emotions. You know that any form of communication right now will only complicate things, but you also want to make sure Sukuna understands the finality of your decision.

With a deep breath, you type:

“Sukuna, I can’t talk to you right now. Please, just go home. We can’t have this conversation tonight. I need some space, and I need you to respect that. Please understand and go home.”

You hit send, watching as the message is delivered. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope that this will be the end of it, that he’ll respect your wishes and leave you alone. You’ve made your boundaries clear, and now it’s up to him to honor them.

Minutes pass in tense silence, and your phone stays quiet. You sit back down, trying to calm your racing heart, focusing on the quiet around you instead of the anxiety that has taken root in your chest.

But then, a new message comes through. You don’t even need to look to know that it’s from Sukuna. With a heavy heart, you open it:

“I just need to see you. I’m sorry for everything, but I can’t let this end like this. Please.”

You can almost hear the desperation in his words, the anguish that comes from knowing he’s losing you. But you also know that this isn’t just about you and him anymore. It’s about your own well-being, your need to set boundaries and stick to them, even when it’s incredibly hard.

You type back:

“No, Sukuna. This is not the time. I’ve made my decision, and I need you to respect it. I can’t keep doing this. Please, just go home.”

You hit send, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily on your shoulders. You’re asking for something that feels almost impossible—to respect a boundary when emotions are high, when both of you are vulnerable. But it’s necessary.

You put your phone aside and try to find a way to soothe the emotional storm inside you. You remind yourself of why you made this decision, of the personal growth you’ve achieved, and the need to maintain your peace. You try to focus on the positives of your life and the future you’re working toward, hoping that with time, the pain of this moment will fade and you’ll find a way to heal.

Hours tick by slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s a quiet relief in knowing that, at least for now, you’ve done all you can. You’ve set your boundaries and communicated your needs as clearly as possible.

You let yourself close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to wash over you. The road to recovery will be long and fraught with moments like this, but for tonight, you’ve taken a crucial step toward reclaiming your life. As you drift into a fitful sleep, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring clarity and a renewed sense of peace, allowing you to continue moving forward.

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IF THERE WAS A LOVE STORY WORTH MENTIONING, IT’S YOURS. Because in truth, it wasn’t a love story. It was a painful hurt instead. The romance between you and Sukuna was a tumultuous symphony of passion and pain, a story that oscillated between intense highs and devastating lows. It was a love that consumed everything in its path, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and shattered hearts.

You, the good girl with a heart full of hope and idealism, and him, the quintessential troublemaker whose very presence seemed to stir chaos wherever he went. It was a match made in hell, an explosive combination of purity and defiance that sparked with an almost palpable intensity.

From the beginning, there was an undeniable chemistry between you two, a magnetic pull that drew you into Sukuna’s orbit. You were drawn to his raw energy, the way he seemed to live on the edge of every emotion, pushing boundaries and challenging norms. His life was a whirlwind of excitement and unpredictability, and it was a stark contrast to the more controlled and orderly world you inhabited.

At first, the contrasts were thrilling. Your calm demeanor and responsible nature seemed to balance out his reckless tendencies, creating a dynamic that felt electric and invigorating. You believed that your love could be the force that tamed his wildness, that your stability could anchor him amidst his stormy existence.

But as time went on, the initial thrill gave way to a more complex and painful reality. Sukuna’s troublemaking ways began to seep into every aspect of your relationship, turning what was once exciting into something exhausting. His impulsiveness, once charming, became a source of constant stress and conflict. The very qualities that attracted you to him started to feel like burdens, and the harmony you sought began to slip through your fingers.

The highs were dizzying—moments of intense connection and fiery passion that made you feel alive and on top of the world. But the lows were equally devastating, each conflict leaving deeper wounds, each argument a reminder of how differently you saw the world. The love that had once seemed like a perfect escape from your own constraints now felt like a whirlwind of chaos that you couldn’t control.

Your attempts to bring order and stability to the relationship often clashed with Sukuna’s need for freedom and rebellion. The more you tried to ground him, the more he resisted, and the cycle of conflict and resolution became a relentless pattern. The love that once felt like a daring adventure turned into a series of battles, each one leaving both of you more scared than the last.

Ultimately, the contrast between your worlds proved too great. The boundaries you set were repeatedly crossed, the promises made were broken too many times. The passion that had once ignited your connection became the fuel for your destruction. What began as a match made in hell had devolved into a battlefield of emotional devastation.

You were left to pick up the pieces of a love that had burned too brightly, too destructively. The remnants of your time together were a stark reminder of the dangers of mixing such opposing forces. In the end, the love you shared was a powerful testament to the intense beauty and agony of a relationship that, despite its fiery start, was doomed from the beginning.

From the beginning, the relationship was marked by a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. Sukuna's charisma and intensity drew you in, his presence filling every space with an almost palpable energy. There was a fire in his eyes, a promise of something deeper and more profound, and you were captivated by the allure of his raw power and unfiltered emotions.

At first, it felt like a dream. His touch was electric, his words charged with a potent mix of desire and vulnerability. You would get lost in his gaze, swept away by the intensity of his kisses, believing that this was what true love was supposed to feel like. Every argument, every make-up, every moment of passion felt like a confirmation of the bond you shared.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, how tired you were. How truly full of it you were. how emotionally drained you’ve been. You found yourself face-to-face with Sukuna in the dimly lit living room. He stood close, his gaze intense and his voice almost a whisper, yet filled with an undeniable gravity.

"I'm sorry." Sukuna said, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness. "I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity mixed with a touch of desperation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"You say that now, but it feels like we’re always back here, fighting and making up," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought this was supposed to be different. I thought we were building something real."

Sukuna reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "It is real. What we have is intense, but it’s real. I know I mess up, but I need you to understand that I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re everything to me."

You looked at him, feeling the familiar mix of pain and passion. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Sukuna. Every time we fight, it feels like we’re tearing each other apart. Maybe this intensity isn’t what I thought it was.”

He stepped closer, his voice filled with an earnest plea. “Please, don’t say that. We can work through this. I know I’m not perfect, but we have something special. We just need to fight for it, not let it slip away because of a few mistakes.”

You shook your head, tears welling up. “It’s not just a few mistakes. It’s the pattern, the way things keep repeating. I want to believe in us, but it’s getting harder every day. We’re not just having moments of passion anymore; we’re living in a storm.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t want to be the storm in your life. I just want to be with you. Please, let me show you that we can be more than this.”

As his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold reality of your situation. You said nothing as you leaned into the warmth of his body. The intensity of his words and the fire in his eyes were a powerful reminder of his hold on you. You forgave him that night once again, as you always did. And once again, you were trapped.

But beneath the surface of this passionate connection lay a darker undercurrent, one that grew stronger with time. Sukuna's emotional volatility was not just a fleeting characteristic; it was a core part of who he was. His moods shifted with little warning, swinging from intense affection to cold detachment. What seemed like an endearing quirk quickly revealed itself as a source of profound instability.

Sukuna's massive hand moved to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands you had painstakingly did. You were ignoring him again after your recent fight. You just wanted peace of mind from him. And you knew that he hated being ignored. You know he hated being forgotten. You were the only person in his life that dealt with him, all his everything — and to not have you there shatters him. As much, you suppose, when he shatters you by loving you.

His other hand wrapped around your side, pulling you closer against him with a possessive strength. You felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, his touch both demanding and overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he started to kiss and nibble along your skin.

The kisses were intense, growing more fervent until he bit down, his teeth breaking through the delicate skin. A cry escaped your lips, a mix of pain and confusion. You could feel Sukuna speaking against your skin, his voice muffled and indistinct, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation and hurt.

The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck was unrelenting, anchoring you to him and heightening the intensity of the moment. It was only when his fingers pressed firmly against the nape of your neck that everything snapped into focus. The sharp reality of the situation cut through the fog, pulling you back to the present.

The biting pain, the tight grip, and the overwhelming closeness were all too much. You could see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes, the storm of feelings that often clouded his judgment. In that moment, you were starkly aware of the power dynamics at play, the fine line between passion and control, and the deep-seated turmoil that defined your relationship.

The kiss, now a blend of pain and longing, was a stark reminder of the complexity of your love—both fierce and destructive. The intimacy of the touch, the raw intensity, and the sharp bite were all part of the same emotional spectrum, where passion and pain were often intertwined in ways that left you feeling vulnerable and conflicted.

You could feel your skin growing moist, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body as you struggled to maintain your sanity against his relentless touch. Ryomen Sukuna had a way of overwhelming you, of winning you over even when you were trying to resist. His touch always managed to reach places you thought were well-guarded, stirring up sensations that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel your body betraying you, slick pooling between your legs, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside your mind.

With a swift movement, Sukuna pinned you against the wall, his body pressing hard against yours. His kisses grew even more rough and demanding, each press of his lips a reminder of the intensity and chaos that defined your relationship. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers pinching and teasing, heightening the mix of pleasure and pain.

"Sukuna, slow down. It hurts." you cried out, your voice wavering as you tried to make yourself heard over the roar of conflicting emotions. The rawness in your voice was a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to make him see the damage being done. "Sukuna, we... oh, we won't fix anything with this."

His grip faltered for a moment, but only just. He paused, his breath ragged and heavy against your skin, his eyes dark with a mixture of frustration and desire. There was a flicker of hesitation, a moment where he seemed to question the reality of the situation. But the tension in his body remained, the emotional storm far from over.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to maintain your composure, to hold onto a shred of clarity amidst the haze of his touch. The physical connection was undeniable, but it was the emotional wreckage that left you feeling most exposed. The passion that once felt exhilarating now seemed like a dangerous force that threatened to consume you both.

His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

The declaration hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. You mewl softly, a sound of both surrender and confusion. His touch and words are a potent mix, stirring emotions that you’ve been trying to keep in check.

In your turmoil, you find yourself grappling with the truth of his words. The love you shared is undeniable, and it’s clear he still feels it deeply. Yet, the intensity of him and the roughness of his touch make it hard to reconcile with the pain and frustration that have become a part of your relationship.

"Even if you love me….." you manage to say, your voice trembling. "We can’t fix everything like this. We’re hurting each other, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. The struggle between your emotions and his unyielding desire leaves you feeling torn, caught between the remnants of your past connection and the harsh reality of the present.

Sukuna’s grip remains firm, his dark red eyes not leaving yours. In this moment, the lines between love and pain blur — as it was with your relationship. The declaration of love feels both comforting and confounding, leaving you with the painful realization that while feelings might persist, the way you’re handling them is only adding to the emotional wreckage. You were in love with him as much as he was with you. But what was the point of this? Of this suffering?

But as he pleasured you, you never said anything. You just let him love you painfully, because that’s all he knew. It was a raw, visceral form of connection, a way he expressed what he felt, even if it was damaging. It was all he could give, the only way he knew how to bridge the gap between you.

As you felt him inside of you, there was a deep, painful connection that mingled with the physical sensations. It was a painful reminder of the way your love had always been—intense, consuming, and sometimes overwhelmingly conflicted. The pleasure was intertwined with the hurt, making it difficult to distinguish one from the other.

You accepted it, allowing the moment to unfold as it did. In your mind, you grappled with the reality of your situation—recognizing that this was how Sukuna knew to express his love, even if it was fraught with pain. And so, in the midst of the storm of sensations, you let yourself be caught up in the complexity of your emotions, trying to find a semblance of understanding amidst the chaos.

Arguments became frequent, fueled by misunderstandings and a growing sense of frustration. The intensity that once seemed thrilling now felt suffocating. Sukuna's need for control and dominance clashed with your desire for independence, creating a constant struggle for power. What was once exhilarating now felt like an endless cycle of conflict and resolution, each cycle leaving deeper emotional scars you didn’t want.

The tension in the air was palpable. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched in frustration, while Sukuna stood across the room, his posture rigid with anger and jealousy. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze fierce and unrelenting, the result of a recent encounter with one of your friends who had been a bit too touchy for his liking.

"You’re always so quick to run off." Sukuna snapped, his voice sharp and laced with irritation. "Why can’t you just stay and deal with things like an adult? I’ve seen the way you look at others. Do you think I’m blind?"

You turned to face him, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. "It’s not about anyone else. It’s about us. You’re always so controlling. You want to dictate every part of my life. I need space, Sukuna. I need to be able to breathe."

His eyes flared with frustration as he stepped closer, the intensity of his emotions almost tangible. "Space? That’s what you call it? I saw the way you were with him tonight. It’s like you’re trying to push me away, like you’re looking for excuses to slip through my fingers."

You stood up, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. "It’s not about looking for excuses. I’m not trying to push you away. I just need to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance. This isn’t about him. It’s about the way you’re smothering me."

Sukuna’s frustration was evident in the way he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Smothering you? I’m just trying to hold onto what we have. If you’d stop running and actually listen, maybe we could work things out. But every time I turn around, it feels like you’re slipping further away."

"You’re not holding onto what we have, Sukuna." you said, your voice trembling. "You’re suffocating me. Every time we have an argument, you try to control me even more. I need space to figure out what I want without feeling like I’m being watched and judged every second."

Sukuna stopped pacing and looked at you with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I don’t want to control you. I want to be with you, but it feels like you’re constantly pushing me away. I just don’t know how to handle it when I see you getting close to others. It makes me feel like I’m losing you."

The room fell silent, the air thick with unresolved emotions. You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you. But you also felt the deep, suffocating grip of his jealousy and control. The love that once felt exciting now seemed like a battleground, and the constant cycle of arguments and attempts at resolution were leaving both of you emotionally drained.

"I don’t want us to keep going in circles like this, Sukuna." you said softly, your heart aching. "We need to find a way to be together without this constant struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained. "I don’t know how to change things if you won’t let me in, you know that." he said, his voice a mix of vulnerability and frustration. "I just want us to be okay, but it feels like we’re constantly fighting against each other."

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite the sting of his accusation. "That wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. And even if I was, what does it matter? You can’t keep trying to control me like this. We can’t keep doing this.”

He stepped closer, his anger palpable. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always so independent, always so self-righteous. I’m the one who’s always fighting to keep us together. And this is how you repay me? By pushing me away and seeking attention from others?"

His words cut deep, each one a painful reminder of the control he exerted over your life. "This isn’t about repaying you. It’s about being true to myself. I’m tired of feeling like I have to constantly prove my loyalty to you. I’m not your possession."

Sukuna’s face contorted with frustration, and he slammed his fist against the wall. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you slip away while I’m left here fighting to keep us from falling apart? I’m trying to hold onto something real, and you’re pushing me away."

The hurt in his voice was undeniable, a mix of jealousy and desperation. But you could see the cracks in his control, the way his need for dominance had become a cage that both of you were trapped in.

"I’m not trying to push you away." you said, your voice trembling. "I’m trying to find a way to be myself without feeling like I’m suffocating under your expectations. We’re stuck in this cycle of fighting and making up, and it’s tearing us apart."

Sukuna’s expression softened for a moment, the anger giving way to a look of vulnerability. "I just don’t want to lose you. I know I’m not perfect, but I need you to understand how much you mean to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "I know you care, but the way you show it is suffocating. We need to find a way to be together without this constant power struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

The room fell silent, the intensity of the argument leaving both of you exhausted. The love that once felt like a thrilling adventure now seemed like a battlefield, with each conflict leaving deeper scars. The vibrant energy that had once sparked between you was now overshadowed by an unrelenting cycle of discord and unresolved tension.

You wrapped your arms around your chest, as though trying to hug and comfort yourself amid the emotional wreckage. Your shoulders shook slightly with the effort to maintain composure, but even more tears were inevitable.

Sukuna’s posture was a reflection of his internal struggle, his anger giving way to a raw vulnerability. He took a hesitant step towards you, his voice trembling. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What can I do, to…to make you stay?”

The softness in his voice, the genuine plea for understanding, struck a deep chord. You could see the pain and desperation etched into his features, the realization of how precariously close he was to losing you. Yet, amidst the raw emotion, you felt overwhelmed and trapped.

“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice breaking as the tears began to fall freely. “I’m tired, Sukuna. I’m tired… of loving you and losing you all at once.”

His shoulders sagged as he absorbed your words, the weight of your exhaustion evident in his expression. The tears that prickled at his eyes now spilled over, reflecting the depth of his own despair. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet yours, the crushing reality of your relationship settling heavily between you.

The room was filled with a profound silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your sobs and his choked breaths. The love you shared, which had once been a source of exhilaration and passion, now felt like a relentless cycle of joy and pain that neither of you could escape.

Sukuna’s voice was barely audible as he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of helplessness. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make things right when everything feels so broken.”

You wiped at your tears, the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil leaving you feeling drained. “Neither do I.” you admitted softly. “I wish I had the answers. I wish I could find a way to make things work, but right now, it feels like we’re stuck in a never-ending loop of hurt and confusion.”

Sukuna’s silence was heavy with resignation, a poignant acknowledgment of the struggle that had become an inescapable part of your relationship. The love that had once been a source of strength and excitement now seemed overshadowed by a painful reality that neither of you knew how to navigate.

In that quiet moment, both of you were left grappling with the depth of your feelings, the complexity of your relationship, and the painful truth that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to overcome the barriers that keep you apart.

Sukuna's tears continued to fall, and he moved closer, his steps hesitant but deliberate. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both gentle and desperate.

“I never meant to make things so difficult,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought... I thought if I held on tight, if I tried harder, we could work through it. But now, I see how much I’ve pushed you away.”

You looked at him, your own tears blurring your vision. The sight of him, vulnerable and torn, added to the weight of your own sorrow. You wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the chasm between you felt insurmountable.

“I know you were trying,” you said, your voice cracking. “But the way you tried to control things... it pushed me away more than anything else. I felt like I was losing myself in trying to make things work.”

Sukuna’s hand tightened around your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Tell me what I can do to make things right, to fix this.”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words to express the depth of your exhaustion and the confusion that clouded your mind. “I don’t know if there’s anything that can fix this right now. I just feel... lost.”

His expression softened, the realization dawning that perhaps the damage was too great to repair immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle my own fears and insecurities.”

You nodded, the sadness overwhelming. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that we couldn’t find a way to make this work without hurting each other so much.”

The silence between you was heavy, filled with the echoes of what had been and what might never be again. The love that had once felt so alive now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the pain and the sense of inevitability.

Sukuna’s hand slowly fell away from your arm, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Maybe... maybe we both need some time apart to figure things out. To heal and find ourselves again.”

You looked at him, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. “Maybe you’re right. I need time to understand what I really want and to heal from all of this.”

Sukuna nodded, his face a mask of resignation and understanding. “I hope... I hope we can both find a way to be okay, even if it means being apart.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked towards the door, each step heavy with the weight of what was ending. As he left, the silence of the room seemed to deepen. You sat down on the edge of the bed once more, your emotions a tangled mess of sadness and relief. The path ahead was uncertain, but in the quiet that followed, you felt more alone than ever before. But free. Freed from your own ruin.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

YOU COULDN’T DO IT ANYMORE IN THE END. In the end, you did break up with him. The cycle of arguments and reconciliation had become a never-ending loop, a house of cards that seemed destined to collapse no matter how carefully it was built. You loved him deeply, that was undeniable. But you also realized that rekindling the relationship would only lead to more pain, more hurt that neither of you could bear.

As you stood by the window, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep across the sky, painting the world in soft hues of pink and gold. The sight was starkly beautiful, a contrast to the turmoil that had been raging inside you. This was what life should be like, you think. You shouldn’t settle for less. You shouldn’t settle for hurt.

Outside, you could see him—still there, lingering near your door, his figure slumped against the wall. He had a cigarette against the burrow of his lips, smoke filling his face. The remnants of a wild night clung to him; he was drunk and high, his posture wavering as he waited for you. The sight of him, lost and desperate, broke your heart in a way that felt both familiar and foreign.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision settle heavily upon you. You knew that as much as you loved him, returning to him now would only mean opening the door to a love that had become toxic, a love that had already left you shattered too many times.

“I can’t go through this again.” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. The realization was painful, but clear. The cycle of breaking up and making up had drained you emotionally, leaving you with scars that were too deep to ignore. “Not again.”

As the sun continued to rise, its light growing stronger, you turned away from the window, feeling a sense of finality. The decision to end things was not made lightly, and the pain of walking away was immense. But you knew it was necessary for your own well-being, for the chance to heal and find a path forward that wasn’t mired in the constant heartbreak that your relationship had become.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you reached for your phone. With a heavy heart, you composed a message, knowing it was the last thing you needed to say to him. Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you typed:

"Sukuna, this is the last time I’m reaching out. I can see you waiting outside, and I need you to understand that this is over. I love you, but we’ve reached a point where continuing this relationship will only lead to more hurt. The cycle of breaking up and making up has left us both wounded, and I can’t keep going through it. I need to move on and find healing for myself. Please respect my decision and let this be the end. I wish you well, but I can’t be with you anymore. Goodbye."

You stared at the message for a moment, feeling a mix of sadness and relief. With a final press of the send button, you put your phone down and took a deep breath. It was done. The words were out there, and now it was time to let go and start the process of healing. You took a deep sigh and pursed your lips into a flat line.

As the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the room, you felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. The end of this chapter was painful, but it was also a step towards a future where you could rebuild, where you could heal. It was a chance to find peace and to rediscover yourself, away from the shadows of a love that had become more damaging than fulfilling.

With a final, lingering glance at the window, you steeled yourself for the difficult road ahead. The love you had for Ryomen Sukuna was real, but the decision to move forward was the right one. As the sun rose higher in the sky, you began to prepare for a new day, one that would be marked by both the pain of goodbye and the promise of new beginnings. You hope the best for him, as much as you hoped the best for you.

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chocosvt · 4 months ago

Text

HER | part one.

✧✎ 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: 23.5k 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, coke, 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

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies 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

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

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

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

“With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

“Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

“Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself, just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

“Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

—APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

“No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic.

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping.

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

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

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eoieopda · 1 year ago

Text

one to ten | jww

summary: your roommate may not know how to help you feel better, but that won’t stop him from trying. pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader au: roommates to ?, pining, sick fic type: drabble (hurt/comfort, fluff) rating: pg13 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact with my content. cw: gn!spoonie!reader; downbad!best boi!super shy!roommate!wonu; chronic illness/pain is implied but no diagnosis is specified; hand-holding 👁️👄👁️; barely proofread because brain fog, lol. a/n: this is super self-indulgent and based on my own personal experience with chronic illness (fibromyalgia), so it may be different than yours!! wc: 1k

Wonwoo isn’t psychic, but he knows that something is up the second he gets home from work.

Walking through the door of your shared apartment, he moves immediately to deposit his keys on the nearby hook and finds that yours are already there. Odd, he thinks, given your habit of imposing your own overtime. Your commute is shorter than his, and you still never beat him back here.

He looks down as he toes off his shoes, carefully maneuvering them across the mat to avoid both your heels and your sneakers, which don’t seem to have budged since this morning. Wonwoo frowns. It’s rare for you to skip out on the gym at the end of the day, but it’s unheard of for you to miss work — even when you should, in his non-expert opinion.

That’s a bit of a red flag, he’ll admit.

Wonwoo locks the door behind him, pads off across the kitchen and through the adjoining living room, and eventually stops at your bedroom door. It’s cracked open — a secret code of yours, he’s learned. One that means you don’t want to be alone, but you feel the need to warn him about what’s on the other side. Usually, it’s you, deflated in your bed in a way that you find embarrassing. Still, even on your worst days, he’s never seen you look bad.

He’s not convinced that you could if you tried.

Softly, Wonwoo raps his knuckles against the doorframe to warn you. In response, he gets a muffled, “Hello?” It wraps around his heart and squeezes just a little. He loves that about you; how gentle your voice is when everything else you’re experiencing feels the opposite.

You lift your head up just enough to make eye contact with him as he slips through the doorway, and you smile. If it aches to do so, you pretend like it doesn’t.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey.”

Admittedly, this is the part that Wonwoo feels he’s worst at. He’s never quite sure what to ask or what he can do to help, always simultaneously afraid of being patronizing or too hands-off. It’s a balancing act; his equilibrium is off.

And, god, he’s so shy when it comes to you. He can’t make himself act on any of the comforting impulses he absolutely has, so he simply pauses at the end of your bed and sweeps his eyes over your frame. A triage of sorts, he supposes.

You’re on your right side, hugging a hot water bottle, and there’s a Munchlax plush between your knees to keep them separated. Your left hip hurts, he guesses. It’s probably safe to assume that the rest of you does, too. Crinkling his nose as he thinks, he asks, “One to ten?”

Another code.

Wonwoo has to adjust the scale when you answer — three — because your three is his eleven. The good news isn’t lost on him, though: Your pain was a six during the last flare. Things may not be great, but they’ve definitely been worse.

“Mostly just tired,” you sigh, as if you can hear the calculations he’s running in his head. “I was this close —” You lift an arm and pull your thumb and index finger in so that they’re almost touching. “— to making it out the door this morning.”

Dropping your arm again slowly, you pat the space next to you in silent invitation. Wonwoo’s body hesitates, even though his pulse doesn’t. It’s par for the course, unfortunately for him.

He wonders how many moments like this need to pass before his palms don’t sweat anymore. Will filling the spot next to you on your bed, on the couch, or even in your passenger seat ever not affect him like this?

Maybe not.

He’s okay with that, so long as you keep giving him the opportunity.

You laugh, and it single-handedly diffuses the tension in his posture. “I think the side of the bathtub got taller. I almost had to yell for you to haul me out of there, but I managed.”

“Proud of you.” He’s chuckling now, too, but that doesn’t undermine how much he means it. Getting your body to cooperate with you is always hardest in the mornings.

For what it’s worth, he would’ve come running if you’d called.

Carefully, Wonwoo sits down on the vacant side of your bed and scoots closer to you, knowing you’ll call him out for leaving distance and anticipating how badly he'll blush if you do. It’s so much easier for you to be close to people than it is for him, but he’s trying.

He hopes you see that.

There’s a microscopic wince when you wiggle your way towards him. It’s replaced quickly by a satisfied little grin once you settle, your body curving around his bent knee like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

“You always run warm,” you muse. “I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo blinks, a little dumbfounded that you’ve noticed — not that he should be, really. He’s obviously picked up on a lot of trivia about you since you took over his former roommate’s lease several months back. If he knows the order of your skin care routine, it’s not weird for you to know that he can’t sleep without a fan on.

Should he have noticed this about you by now?

Curiosity makes him bold, apparently. He pulls his palm off the mattress and touches his fingertips to the back of your hand. “Goddamn,” he whistles.

His hypothesis is proven the second he touches you — you’re freezing — but Wonwoo admittedly gets a kick out of the temperature disparity. He can’t help but run the pads of his fingers absentmindedly over your skin, tracing nonsense patterns. You can’t help the pleased hum that slips out of you as you watch his ministrations; or the way your heavy eyelids start to interrupt your view.

Even when he’s sure you’ve been lulled to sleep, Wonwoo keeps doodling. It’s got to be exhausting to exist in a body that always aches, and you deserve whatever rest you can get. Truth be told, he could probably stay like this for hours if that would help. He’d be doing the same thing at his PC, anyways, holding a mouse instead of your hand.

Yeah, he thinks, this is a much better set-up.

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #svt #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo hurt/comfort #jww #jade writes #jade’s drabbles #re: one to ten #kvanity

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rafeandonlyrafe · 9 months ago

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girliest girly girl

words: 800

warnings: trans!reader (mtf), brief transphobia (hate comment), gender dysphoria, established relationship, soft!rafe, social media au briefly at the end featuring my shitty photoshop (face claim: hunter schafer)

“what's that look on your face for princess?” rafe tsks, instantly recognizing that something isn't right, ready to beat the shit out of anyone who could have caused you feeling down.

“it's nothing.” you shake your head, curls flopping as you do, having just done your hair, hoping it would help.

“lie.” rafe calls out, always one to see through your bullshit, never able to hide your feelings around him.

“fine.” you sigh as rafe takes a seat on the couch next to you, his hand coming to rub over your knee, exposed by your shorts.

“i just… i got a mean comment on my instagram post. calling me a dude. it's made me feel really dysphoric.” you admit softly. you don't talk to rafe a lot about being trans, mainly because it doesn't affect your relationship a lot. you transitioned fully before even meeting rafe, and had such a nonchalant response to you telling him you weren't sure he understood at first.

“ah, shit baby.” rafe sighs, struggling with the internal battle of making you feel good versus finding who left the comment and breaking their thumbs for typing out something so vile they knew would hurt you. ultimately, the pout on your face makes him put his anger away. “what can i do to help pretty girl?

“i don't know.” you admit with a sigh. “just kinda wanna… wanna do something to distract myself i guess.”

“i see you did your hair.” rafe comments. you usually keep your hair straight, only curling it on special occasions because it takes forever with how thick and long your hair is.

“and your makeup is beautiful.” makeup you did do every day, finding it helped with your gender dysphoria and was the final step to making you feel like you.

“thanks rafey.” you smile gently, already starting to feel better just from being in his presence.

“why don't we go shopping and out to eat?” he offers.

“i would really like that.” you admit. getting out of the house will probably help as well, not giving you the opportunity to sit and scroll on your phone, negative feelings just building up inside of you.

you finish getting ready to go, putting on a pair of heels that you don’t usually go for, especially since you would be doing a lot of walking since you’re going to be shopping, but they always made you feel good.

“my beautiful girlfriend.” rafe smiles, making sure to use a lot of gender affirming words whenever you get feeling like this.

“thank you baby.” you feel your face blush as he laces your fingers together, walking you towards the car. he helps you up into the truck with it being so tall and your heels making you wobbly.

“where to first? sephora?” rafe questions, and you realize that he must be able to see through everything to how bad you were feeling if he’s willingly offering to take you to sephora.

“yeah and then i thought maybe we could go to lulu? they released a new color of my favorite skirt and i really wanna get it.”

“anything for you darling.” rafe says, reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

“i hate to bring it back up, but how are you feeling now?” rafe asks as you lay back on the bed, tired from the long day of shopping.

“totally fine now. i swear i walk into zara and feel like the girliest girly girl.” you giggle.

“look at you in all pink, of course you’re a girly girl.” rafe rolls his eyes, changing his shirt into a more comfortable tee before crawling into bed next to you.

“oh shush.” you swat at his chest before he pulls you into him, tangling your legs together.

rafe smiles at having you pressed against him, taking your hand in his as he plays with the rings stacked on your fingers. “look at your nails baby, even they are pink and sparkly.” he chuckles. “you should get blue for me next time.” “i can get a little letter r charm too.” you mumble, burrowing your face into rafes chest, knowing your nail girl is so talented and able to pull off any look you ask.

“holy shit, they do that?” rafes eyebrows raise, thinking he’s going to make incorporating his letter or name in all of your nails a rule from now on.

“mhm. i could get gems, pearls, anything.” you shrug, scratching your nails over the back of his hand.

“i learn so much being with you.” rafe says honestly.

“i learn so much being with you too, just most of it is about golf or sports.” you scrunch your nose up.

“golf is a sport!” rafe immediately argues, making you roll your eyes. “we are not doing this again!”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0

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bratdotcom · 8 months ago

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No Alarms And No Surprises ( Please ) ♡

( Re8!retired!Chris Redfield x GN!reader || retiring is harder than he thought ♡ retired!married!au , some angst w/ comfort ofc ♡ mentions of minor injuries/guns but nothing too graphic )

Chris flinched slightly as you dab ointment onto his palms. Instinctively, he puts his thumb in his mouth after you put ointment on it. He spits, gags a bit at the sterile taste of ointment on his thumb. His face sours at the taste. He had no idea why he did that or why he decided grabbing flowers from a nearby bush was a good idea before coming home.

Cute idea, bad execution. At least he tried. It's the thought that counts, right?

You sigh softly, holding the back of his hand in yours as you watch his whole ordeal unfold right in front of you. “My god Chris- be careful next time- don't put your thumb in your mouth-” you cut him off before he tries putting his thumb in his mouth again to sooth the cuts on the pad of his thumb. He freezes in place, stiffening up like a statue in his seat.

“Sorry…” He says in a low voice, apologizing for no reason at all. It wasn't his fault, in your eyes. In his eyes, it was his fault. For making you worry. Worrying for the worrywart didn't suit you. Doesn't suit you, at least in his eyes.

His eyes fall onto the bouquet of flowers on your coffee table, hastily put together with a somewhat rushed muted pink bow tying the whole thing together. He did what he could to make them look pretty. Chris wasn't the best at tying bows. Or putting together bouquets. He wasn't made for this type of life. At least, that's what he thought.

Domestic life didn't suit him, he told himself. He stares down at his hands, all cut up with a somewhat shiny sheen from the ointment you put on them. Cut up from picking flowers, not from fighting. Not from using guns.

“I just thought it'd be nice if I brought home flowers for you - I didn't know they had thorns, okay?” He says, looking over at your worried face. Seeing you looked so concerned for him hurt more than the palms of his hands. Stung more than the feeling of thorns pricking his skin.

“Still.” You get up from the floor, sitting next to him on the couch. His hands rest in yours, his much larger hands face up towards the ceiling. Yours support his, underneath the warmth of his hands was yours. Under his calloused palms were your soft ones.

“You still should be careful.” You look up at him, eyes filled with worry for your husband. “I'd rather you come home empty handed than with cut-up hands and roses for me, Chris.” You glance down at his hands, frowning softly. He didn't like seeing you like this either.

“I'm sorry.” He frowns, repeating his words from earlier in a more soft tone.

Domestic life was scarier to him, scarier than the things he's seen on the field. The warm feeling in his chest scared him, and it felt like something was blooming in his heart the more he looked at you. This feeling of comfort was foreign, a feeling that he didn't think he deserved.

Retiring was scary. He didn't know what to expect now. Everything was calmer. Softer. That scared him.

“You don't have to apologize.” You lean closer to him, lowering your head to look directly at him. The way your eyes softened on him made him feel something he couldn't really put into words. Safe? Loved? You made Chris feel a lot of things.

“I know but-” Chris cuts himself off, thinking it'd be for the best if he just shut himself up. “Flowers or not, I'll still love you.” You lean in for a kiss, softly pressing your lips against his cheek. “You don't need flowers to win me over again and again, you know that? I'll love you no matter what.” your words make him smile to himself, stupidly feeling your kiss linger on his cheek.

♡ ⊹ ۫ ۪ ꒰͡₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ reblogs n' feedback r greatly appreciated !! support ur local fanfic writers !! ♡ ͡꒱

#꒰͡ ♡ Chris Redfield ♡ ͡꒱ㅤ #chris redfield x you #chris redfield x reader #re8 chris redfield #re x reader #re fluff #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #re angst #resident evil fluff #resident evil angst #dividers by pommecita #꒰͡₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ chris redfield ily !!#‧ ₊ ﹒ ୨ ♰ ୧ ﹒ ₊ ‧

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finnbbl · 4 months ago

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Hyunjin × M! Reader - Dancer AU I SMAU | Chapter 23

Ch. 23 - I hate him I Previous Chapter | Next Chapter I

I Story Masterlist I

Written: Yes

Smau: Yes

Word Count: 900 (sorry it’s short ik 😓)

HEAVY TW!!

A/N: Sorry if it’s been getting cliche recently, I’ve kind of been building up to it and chapters are starting to get more angsty now that we’re learning more about y/n’s life. Feedback is appreciated, feel free to yap in my asks and submissions section !!

Warnings: R*pe mention (twice), swearing, sewerslide attempt (mentioned briefly), panic attack, nightmares. I think that’s it, tell me if I missed something

Hyunjin’s eyes kept locked on your sleeping figure. Only then did he realize how exhausted you were. Not only physically, but mentally. The dark circles under your eyes seemed to be more obvious than before, now accompanied with your tear stained cheeks. Even your breathing was uneven, god how he wish he could’ve noticed everything sooner. After the party, it should’ve been a wake up call. However he failed to notice, and he felt so stupid. His hand stroked your messy and tangled hair softly. Huddled up against him, practically holding onto him as if he’d vanish the moment you relaxed. Seeing you in this vulnerable state pained him. Hyunjin wished he could have done more, however everything was out of his control.

Your phone layed next to you, now turned off to hopefully give you some peace. He couldn’t help but wonder what else were you going through that he had no idea of. That’s when his thoughts were interrupted. Your body shifted, head digging into the taller male’s chest even more. Your leg finding its way over his. If that wasn’t enough to break Hyunjin’s heart, your grip on his clothes tightened as you let out a small whimper of what he could only assume was pain. That’s when the realization hit..

Nightmares.

Hyunjin only knew the surface of it. But based off the way you reacted to simply mentioning the topic, it was more than obvious it was a symptom of trauma. He also knew that it was rather common to experience nightmares when dealing with things like this. And of course, he was right. It didn’t take long for you to begin squirming again. More than a simple adjustment to get comfortable. Incoherent noises escaped between your lips. To see someone like this, especially someone he cares about, killed him inside. It was only when you began begging at nothing, to stop, did it fully hit him.

“Hey, hey hey hey y/n.” The blonde started as he began to gently shake you, attempting to wake you from your restless and less than pleasant sleep. Proceeding to do so a little harsher and louder before you finally bolted up. The back of your hand darted to your forehead as you could feel yourself sweating bullets. It only added to the array of emotions you felt. “Y/N, you’re okay.” A voice startled you, turning to face the direction you were met with Hyunjin. Hyunjin who had your hand in his, Hyunjin who gently ran his thumb up and down your face doing whatever he could. This action alone was enough to make you throw yourself onto him in search of any type of reassurance that this wasn’t happening again.

“Shhh, shh you’re okay. Hey you’re okay it was just a nightmare. Look at me, yeah?” He continued to repeat positive affirmations as he rocked you back and forth. You couldn’t remember the last time it had been this bad. the last time you had begged for someone, anyone, to make it stop. “No one is gonna hurt you, it’s just me okay..” You held onto him tighter. “I’m sorry Hyunjin.” You sat up, wiping the remaining tears that rolled down your face. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” Hyunjin looked at you, examining your face and features.

“This.. This is so embarrassing.” Suddenly, you blurted out, Digging your head into your knees. Silence glazed over the room. The only sound to be heard was your sniffling along with the purring of the new found kitten who layed sound asleep across the room. “I came here because I wanted to.” Your face lifted to meet Hyunjins, eyes immediately darting to his. “I care about you, I wish i realized how much you were dealing with. I’d never seen you like that and it freaked me out.” His hand rested on your shoulder. However any attempt to comfort you, has failed. “I hate worrying people Hyunjin, that’s the thing I just.. Nevermind.” The realization of what you were doing had hit, and you immediately stopped yourself. Talking with Hyunjin seemed so easy, a little too easy. Telling yourself that you’d never open up to anyone like that again. Only being shown that it was a mistake every time. Every. Single. Time.

“Talk to me, that’s what I’m here for.” A sigh left your mouth, wanting to talk to him but knowing you shouldn’t. You pursed your lips and avoided eye contact, hoping he’d eventually give up on it. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can tell you something I’ve been struggling with.” This statement confused you, and it showed. He immediately recognized it and elaborated before you could question. “Often, I feel bad about talking about my problems to other people. Even if they ask. But I’ve found it makes me feel better if they also share something.” You began to process what he had said, and it honestly made sense. Just the thought of him telling you about his own struggles made you relax a little more. “So?? Why do you not want to tell me?” He leaned his head down to meet your eyes, which had been staring off into the distance for a while.

“I just feel like.. I feel like I burden people so much. And I hate worrying people, which is why this is so embarrassing for me. I’ve only ever been this vulnerable in front of Lia.” Somehow, this made Hyunjin feel slightly special. Realizing that you felt comfortable enough to show your negative emotions around him. “Well you have no reason to be embarrassed. I don’t mind listening. That’s what i’m here for, okay?” A small smile formed on your face and you nodded. “Thank you.. you really don’t have to.”

“Yeah well I wanted to so.” Hyunjins voice came out playful and teasing, causing you to giggle softly. Your mind raced as the silence returned. Although it was a comfortable one, it still didn’t stop you from thinking. “Hey.. I did want to ask.” You trailed off and looked back up at the male, who only responded with a “hm.”

“Since you said you’d tell me something, you have seemed kind of down to me recently, any reason?” His curious face fell into a serious one, eyebrows furrowing as he looked down. Instantly you recognized you probably made him uncomfortable. “I-I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me. But believe it or not I worry about you too.”

“Nono, it’s okay. I told you I would. I mean, it’s really not much i’m just kind of lacking in confidence recently. I know i seem like I have a lot but..” Hyunjin’s eyes looked back up at you, your own head tilting before your face relaxed. “I get it, I do. Honestly I would’ve never been able to tell you weren’t confident. Even though I believe you should talk about your feelings more, I do envy how well you’re able to hide it.” You shoot him a soft smile, which he returns. “Although I can’t do much to help, you can always talk to me if it gets too overwhelming.” The male thanked you, as a new feeling had coursed through your body. Although you were unsure of what exactly it was, it made you feel at ease. Not but 10 minutes ago, you were crying your eyes out. And now you seem to be on a new and different level with Hyunjin. A level you’ve never been on with anyone else. You’ve never felt more comfortable, how you wish you could recognize this new emotion. It seemed so powerful, having such a strong and sudden effect on your mind. However, this was only the beginning of it.

Taglist: @silverstarburst @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz @onementally-unstabel-kid @uso-dakedo @lampcults @chaer4life @kkurbys @gnusihcom @mellhwang @sleeping-demons @kuuroomiii @twobluegoldfish @chuuchuu1224 @lailac13 @thegingerthatwaited @brainrotahahaha

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luveline · 2 years ago

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Hey Jade! Just a request for the Steve Zombie AU (if you’d like!!! ♥️). What about a hurt/comfort before they reach the college where reader is having a really rough time and has a bit of a breakdown. Protective Stevie wanting to make things better but also being practical to like sort it out because they’re still on the road having to survive. Super “it’ll be okay. I’m gonna fix it!” vibes (because I just DIED when I read that line 🥹)

thank you for your request!! steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 1k

You’ve been inside of the apocalypse for so long that you can’t remember how long you’ve been inside of it. You’ve lost your family and friends, your life, your choices. You miss TV and movie theatres and frozen pizza, but more than anything, you miss how it felt to wake up rested.

You miss Saturday mornings with nowhere to go. How you’d wake and spread out over your warm sheets, look up into the dimpled ceiling of your bedroom and take a moment to follow dust motes dancing between beams of insistent, golden sunlight.

There’s no sunlight now. It’s raining hard, and you and Steve have nowhere to go. You’ve built the best tent that you’re able to build during such a sudden downpour, two sharp sticks and a tarp buckling under the weight. Every now and then Steve will reach up and slowly release the water that’s been up there, pushing his palm into the bump until it runs down the side of the tarp and away from you and your things.

You feel hopeless.

Steve must see the look on your face. He’s getting very good at knowing how you feel. Which is great when you’re feeling great — you barely have to hint for a kiss anymore when you want one — and unfortunate when you’re feeling down. He knows you’re prone to despair, and his knowing makes it worse. He’s in the exact same boat as you watching you come apart.

“Have my hand,” he says.

You try to focus on what he’s said. Not take my hand, but have my hand. He offers his right hand to you, his knuckles scratched from a stubborn wooden fence, and smooths his fingertips over your palm with a deliberate gentleness. He squeezes your fingers as they slot between his, and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

Things with Steve are good. You love him, though you won’t tell him that, and he has a deep affection for you at the very least. You don’t fuck, which had surprised you but isn’t disappointing — you’re almost always sweaty and you aren’t sure either of you are ready for that. But not fucking gives you a little more confidence in your relationship. He can’t be using you for sex if you don’t have sex. And besides, Steve isn’t the type to do that unless you wanted it too.

He doesn’t lie. You like that about him. You trust him to be honest in his intentions.

He doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t sugarcoat.

“I don’t know how long this will last,” he says. “The rain. We have to be careful. We need to stay dry, or it’s probably gonna kill us.”

“It’s just rain,” you say softly.

“It’s about staying warm.” He rubs the back of your hand.

"How do you know?"

"I don't. I'm guessing. I'm always guessing."

"What?"

Steve shuffles toward you. Tarp or not, the ground feels damp and cold beneath you, and he must feel it too as he draws closer. He wraps one of your arms up in his and tugs it under his armpit, an uncommon shape to hug you in but by no means weird. Your right shoulder pressed to his, his face inclined in the dimness so you can see his eyes clearly.

"I don't know what I'm doing, honey," he says, 'honey' said sweet as the real thing and just as smooth. He's trying to pull you back from the precipice of panic. "But that doesn't mean we won't be okay." He gestures to the rain. "I'll make it okay."

"How can you?" you ask.

His reassurance makes you cry. Tears well and fall, a cruel and burning lump takes station in your throat.

"We don't have enough to stay here and wait," you say, looking at his chest rather than his face.

"We'll make it enough. We have water, we have food for another four days. All we have to do is stay warm…" He grins at you. There's a hopefulness to his smile. "I can keep you warm."

Your laugh splutters through tears. His eyebrows wriggle over his forehead. When the laughing turns into sobbing he doesn't baulk, only pulls your face into his shoulder and crooks his arm behind your head. You cry with an ardency made up of raw-tipped fear.

"I don't wanna die here," you say.

Steve shushes you, hand rubbing a too-quick motion over your back. He holds you together for the hundredth time. "You're not dying here."

You're grateful he doesn't say, "Sweetheart, it's only rain." Because it isn't only rain that's hurting you tonight. It's everything. Everything but Steve.

"You think I'd let that happen? We're doing what we need to do. We stay dry, we wait for the rain to pass, and we keep going." He kisses the tip of your ear. You almost don't feel it. "I will drag you out of this damn forest with me. I'll carry you if I have to."

"You can't carry me, Harrington," you mumble.

"You're lucky it's raining. I can't carry you," he says, disbelieving. "Are you kidding?"

He starts to pull you up toward his chest. Steve is surprisingly strong considering he isn't too bulky, and your shoulders and back feel as if they're decompressing, shifting. You let your weight fall into him. He stops you from sliding down the length of his chest. You should know by now, Steve will always hold you up.

The rain abates sometime in the early hours. You and Steve roll up the tarp, drag it dripping wet through mud and leaf mulch to the highway, and you keep walking until you find a place to rest. You try to say sorry for breaking down. Steve won't hear it, but he does accept the apology kiss you offer, and he gives your cheek an aching squeeze.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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theharrowing · 11 months ago

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White Lies 🤍 2: Sleep sweet, pretty

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 7.4k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: a lot of deception; very forward flirting; use of date rape drug; effects of being drugged against one's will. there is no assault of any kind, just fear.

🤍 notes: ignore the fact that the chats switch from dark mode to light mode. i use dark mode on my phone, but sometimes it gets switched and i forget to change it back. these screencaps result from me literally texting myself haha it's a labor of love okay. also don't forget mc's fake name is Sandra. she won't be referred to this for too many chapters.

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

* * *

You pace around beside your couch and stare at your phone as it rings, watching as the 212 number takes up the screen. With shaking thumbs, you halt in place and accept the call, anticipating what Vante's voice may sound like.

"Hello?" you ask as demurely as possible, squeezing your eyes closed.

The voice that greets you is deep, rough, and with an accented lilt that makes your heart race. "Well, hello, pretty."

It takes a split moment to get your bearings. How could someone's voice sound like honey and barbed wire all at once?

"H-hey, V," you finally say, biting on your bottom lip and opening your eyes. Although your apartment lighting is not terribly bright, you have to blink a few times.

"Wow," Vante says, "your voice sounds so sweet."

You huff out a quick, quiet sigh, lips upturning as you catch the bottom one between your teeth, and then you begin to pace around some more. "Yours is very…"

"Very…?"

"Handsome," you respond meekly. "Very handsome."

Vante chuckles, and it is a sound so rich and deep you physically swoon, knees weakening some as you twist your body in the direction of your bedroom, needing to move around and let out some energy.

"So…" Vante begins, and you smile further as you mirror him, asking, "So…?"

"So, what are you wearing?"

After a pause, he clarifies, "To the date, I mean," with a tone that is playful and seductive.

With your free hand, you fidget with the bottom hem of your black sweater and almost regret considering an outfit so plain. You remind yourself that the plan is to string him along, at least for now.

Playing along with V's demeanor, you giggle, doing your best to sound shy. "Nothing too flashy…I was thinking a black tee tucked into black jeans. It's cooling down, so maybe my favorite oversized forest green flannel. And some black boots."

"And this tee…will it be a crew neck, or maybe a v-neck?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back for being the most clever person alive as you say, "A v-neck, in your honor, of course."

"Of course."

"And you?"

"I was thinking about wearing a tight white tee tucked into some tight black jeans. With boots, and maybe a flashy designer jacket."

You hum and close your eyes, attempting to remember Vante's body type in the many photos you have seen. As far as you remember, he is a bit muscular and seems on the taller side. Broad and masculine but not overly ripped.

"Emphasis on the tight," you tease.

Vante chuckles, forcing your eyelids to flutter closed, then he says, "God, there are so many things I want to say in response to that, but I feel I should save them for the second or third date."

"Wow," you respond, feeling a sudden shyness that only increases as he continues to laugh.

"Alright, pretty," he finally says, "just wanted to hear your voice quick, but I should let you get back to winding down. I have to finish up here and then catch my flight home."

"Sounds good. Safe travels."

"See you soon," Vante sing-songs, and you feel yourself swaying when you say, "Looking forward to it."

And then the call ends, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes focus on the top of your wooden dresser and you heavy-blink, reminding yourself that this is a mission and that you are not, under any circumstances, supposed to get close to either of these men.

But god damn does Vante sound real fucking sexy. This might be a problem.

* * *

The Marías play loud and dreamy as you twirl and sway through your room, holding your soft green flannel in both hands. It fans out with each movement, and you twist it dramatically to drape it over your shoulders.

Although you are dressed down in a tee and skinny jeans, you look good. The garments hug your curves nicely, and the shirt shows off just enough cleavage without it feeling like too much for a casual night at the bar.

You apply a little makeup to your eyes and cheekbones, then look over your jewelry, deciding on a simple pair of gold hoops and the necklace that you always wear – a small gold charm in the shape of a rabbit's foot dangling from a thin gold chain, for luck.

Although there is plenty of time to eat a meal before heading to the bar, you feel so antsy that you only manage to pick at a salad and some fruit. You chug some water and then check the time.

And with a deep breath, you decide to head out early and text your boss.

// these two conversations take place at the same time - you can use time stamps to track the back and forth if you want to //

With the phone you were using to text Vante slid into your small black leather purse, and the phone you were texting Seokjin with sitting facedown on the countertop, you swivel to the left in time to find the man who had been sitting across from you taking a seat one stool away.

"Hey," he mutters, head tilted down too far for you to see his face clearly. "I hope you don't mind that I join you on this side? Things over there got a bit too wild for my taste."

Two things stand out about the way this man speaks. The first is that there is a hint of an accent, especially on certain consonants, and it seems that he is speaking in a slow and measured way that almost makes his words feel somewhat forced. The second is that, despite feeling forced, his voice is very deep but also quite mellow and soothing.

Although he does not sound like the man you spoke to on the phone last night, there are enough hints of similarities that remind you of him. At least you are somewhat certain that this man is not Vante based on physical stature, but you decide to stay alert just in case.

"I don't mind," you respond, making your voice sound as sweet and inviting as possible.

The man, who seems to be wiping at his drink-dampened black shirt and jeans with a grey bar rag, looks up and regards you with a familiarity in his eyes that causes you to pause. You watch as his face comes clearly into view beneath the visor of the black baseball cap, and his eyes linger on you.

Time feels as if it slows down as you watch this stranger's eyes trace over your face. And then he blinks rapidly, gives his head a quick little shake, and chuckles.

"Sorry, you…" he begins, turning his attention back to his shirt, then glancing your way briefly to say, "you remind me of someone."

"Oh?" you ask, swiveling on your stool enough to fully face him.

The man hums, then sighs and lets his arms drape at his sides. He looks defeated; the wet mark on his shirt is pretty large.

"Lemme buy you a drink to make up for that person's sloppiness?" you ask with one of your wide, winning smiles.

He shakes his head and tosses the rag onto the bar, turning his body to face the counter but staying angled slightly toward you, tilting his chin at the two shots that have been neglected beside your purse.

"Looks like you're expecting someone."

"I was," you clarify, dragging out the 's' as you rotate toward the bar but keep yourself slightly angled at him. You glance back at the shots of Fireball. "I think I got stood up."

From the corner of your eye, you watch the man straighten up, and you smile to yourself as he mutters, "Oh! Oh, that's so unfortunate."

Although you should check to make sure Vante is still not receiving or responding to your messages, you feel bold enough to turn to the man and slide one of the two shots his way.

"Join me?" you ask. "Not as a date but just as…a person who can help me with these shots."

"Are you sure?" the man asks, reaching for the glass and eyeing it suspiciously. "What is this, anyway?"

Rather than answer, you watch the man lift the shot glass to his nose and frown. Through a giggle, you say, "It's Fireball," and reach for the second one.

"Cinnamon," he mutters in understanding rather than a question, and you nod, swiveling once more to face him. He concedes with a shrug, saying, "Alright," and your smile wider.

"Cheers," you say, holding your shot toward the man who mutters, "Yes, cheers. To accidentally having poor judgment and winding up beside one another."

You laugh as you tap your glass against his and lift the shot to your lips. The cinnamon flavor kicks you square in the mouth, cloying your senses with a bittersweet assault of artificial earthiness and heady whiskey.

The man winces and shakes his head, slamming his glass against the counter ungracefully and sticking out his tongue. You take the opportunity to tease him about his toast, asking, "Poor judgment, eh?"

With a deep, pretty chuckle, he says, "You made a date with a flake and I humored conversation with a slob."

Briefly, your gaze flicks to the woman who had been talking to him before, and she is shouting something while waving her arms emphatically, thankfully not holding a drink. When he finishes his statement with, "And here we are," you rip your gaze away and regard him.

This man is very attractive up close, with soft lips and a sharp stare. If you squint he would look similar to the photos you have seen of Min, only his nose is more straight and pointed, and his eyes appear to be a light hazel green.

You offer your right hand and introduce yourself as Sandra, sitting tall on the barstool and watching as he hesitates to lift his own.

"My English name is Cody."

"Cody," you mutter, feeling your lips fight the urge to smile, and you know that your eyes are widening, but you attempt to stay as straight-faced as possible. Cody is such a bro name, you would not have guessed it was his. Cody grabs onto your hand in a warm, firm shake that does not last long enough, and you ask, "And your non-English name? Or is that impolite to ask?"

"Not impolite," Cody responds, "just reserved for those close to me and when I travel back to Korea."

What are the odds that you meet someone from Korea while being stood up by Vante? At least you feel justified in the swirling thoughts that insist Cody seems similar to Min.

You even wonder if Min Cody, or Cody Min, could be someone's name. You hope that another drink will quiet those thoughts enough so you can have a pleasant conversation with him before walking back home. Once there, you can do some searches just to put your mind at ease.

"This round is on me," Cody insists as he sits high in his chair and reaches for the wallet in his front pocket.

Another loud group enters and files around the bar to where the two of you sit, and as you get the bartender's attention, Cody begins looking around behind the two of you.

"There's a hightop in the corner. Would you be comfortable going there?"

Although the bar is not too dimly lit that retreating to the corner would shroud the two of you in shadow, there is some comfort in being seated at the bar with a tender nearby. But the crowd only seems to get bigger and louder, settling on stools to your right while others stand behind those seated, and so you nod, already fed up with this group.

"Sure, yeah," you say as you slam back the remnants of your drink. "I'll secure us a spot."

"Gin and tonic?" Cody asks, stopping you in your tracks. An icy chill works down your spine, and you wonder how the hell he knows what you are drinking. But then he adds, "Or was it something with vodka?"

Although his addition assuages some of your discomfort, there is a nagging feeling that he somehow knows what the bartender poured for you, making you uncomfortable. Your drink was clear, so gin and tonic is a fair assumption.

"Y-yeah," you respond, testing him by saying, "It was gin and tonic. Tanqueray."

Had he watched the bartender, he would have known the man poured you Hendrick's. Cody seems unfazed.

"Sounds good," he says, adding, "I think I'll have that too," as you turn away with your purse clutched tightly in your hand and approach a tall round table in the corner with two stools sitting vacant beside it.

As you take a seat on the little wooden stool, you attempt to settle your pounding heart and unravel this situation mentally. The feeling nagging at you to be weary of Cody is quite present, but you are unsure whether it is him that makes you feel this way or if you are struggling to set aside the case that you are working on.

Seokjin has been going to great lengths to keep things secretive, which in and of itself causes disquiet. And now Cody carries similar enough traits with one of your targets that the foreboding nature of your job is all that you seem to be able to think about.

It is unfair to you for these thoughts to cloud your mind so heavily, and you hope that this next drink will help you relax. Sure there are a lot of coincidences, but this is a large city with a diverse population. Coincidences certainly can happen. Unfortunately, as soon as Cody approaches with the glasses, your bladder begins to ache.

"Thank you," you sing-song as you stand from the stool that you only sat on a moment ago. "I need to run to the bathroom quickly."

Cody responds, "Have fun!" and you giggle as you walk toward a small doorway off to the right that opens into a hallway containing two gender-neutral restrooms. As you enter the closest of the two rooms, you click the lock on the door handle in place, then begin to shimmy your jeans down and take a seat, fishing through your purse for the other phone and finding that Vante has, in fact, never seen your last messages.

You wonder if there is a chance that he has somehow found out that you are an officer attempting to make contact with him. But it would make more sense for him to simply still be in Europe, possibly just playing a game with you because he takes pleasure in toying with people. It seems dramatic even when you think about it, but what else could it be?

As you put your phone away, reach for toilet paper, and wipe yourself off, you take a deep breath in and out and try to center your thoughts. Tomorrow, you will regroup with Seokjin and form a new plan. If you have to wait a little while to get onto Min's tutoring list, it is not the end of the world. For tonight, you should just enjoy yourself.

With your pants buttoned and everything in place, you wash your hands, inspect your face and hair to verify that you still look as amazing as ever, and exit the restroom. Some top 40s song from the 90s plays that has a lot of the college kids shouting, and you return to your seat while Cody types something on his phone and then slides it into his front pocket.

"So do you always come to the bar alone and wear a baseball cap to hide your identity?" you tease, unsure where any of this is coming from but feeling a strange burst of energy. You reason with yourself that you still need verification that he is not Min.

Cody laughs, reaches for the hat, and pulls it off. His hair is clearly bleached blond and colored mint green, which is a little more difficult to see in the less well-lit corner. It falls over his forehead, parted down the center, nearly covering his eyes, and he looks dreadfully pretty.

"Is this look less threatening?" he asks, running a hand through it only for it to fall neatly in place again.

Once more, the nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that this haircut seems similar to the one in the surveillance photos of Min. You remind yourself that you have never seen the man in person and that your brain could simply be filling in information in an attempt to create patterns because that is what human brains do best. But the similarity is striking.

"Yes," you say after too long of a pause, angling yourself toward him, slightly to the left from facing the table.

"This one's for you," Cody says as he slides a full drink in your direction.

You take the chilled glass and lift it to your lips, then you playfully say, "And you didn't drug it, I assume?"

Cody does not immediately respond to what you say; he stares blankly for a split moment before blinking and chuckling. The pause makes you worry, but then he says, "I assure you I did not, but if you would like to switch—"

"No, no," you insist, feeling awkward for saying anything at all. If it weren't for all the time you spent shadowing the special victims detectives over the summer, you would likely not instantly assume that any drink offered from a stranger could be tainted.

With a sigh, Cody says, "Nah, here, switch with me. We'll just swap out the straws because I had a sip of mine."

Before you can respond, he gently pulls the drink from your fingers and replaces it with his own. You watch as he swaps the straws, feeling your mouth tug into a smile, and when he is finished, you pull the drink to your lips and have a sip.

"When the drug kicks in, you might have to walk me to a cab, though," Cody jokes, insinuating that he has now drugged himself, and you nearly spit out the gin and tonic that has barely had a chance to settle on your tongue.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," he laughs as you struggle to keep your composure and swallow your first sip. You set that glass down and raise your hand as if threatening to backhand him, making him flinch and dramatically gasp.

Without thinking, you say, "You're a pain in the ass," making him laugh harder.

"It's not funny to joke about that, I know," he says, still chuckling. "But in my defense, you started it."

Rather than respond with words, you simply hum and have another sip through the straw. This seems to amuse him, causing the laughter to continue.

Conversation with Cody is nice and easy. He tells you that he is a student at a nearby university, and you tell him that you are also a student – the same lie you tell to everyone.

He talks about growing up in New York with one American parent but visiting Korea often, hoping that once he graduates he can spend more time with his family. You describe your past and relationship with your family with very general, distant details, excluding a lot.

The parents that come along with your fake identity are not too exciting; mom is a legal aid and dad is a veterinarian. You attend such a prestigious school to follow in their overachieving footsteps, blah blah blah.

By the time you discover Cody can speak three languages and has a deep love of anime, your drinks are empty. And although you should stop while you are ahead and call it a night, a large part of you wants to keep drinking.

"Another?" Cody asks, and you sigh, nibbling your bottom lip.

"I want to," you say, uncertainty in your tone.

Cody must pick up on it, saying, "But…"

"But I also don't want to get very drunk."

"We can switch to non-alcoholic," he offers, shifting around on his stool. "Or go somewhere else." You raise an eyebrow, and he lifts his hands as if in surrender, insisting, "No funny business! Just thought we could hang out somewhere quieter. Doesn't have to be one of our places. I don't live too close by anyway."

This surprises you a little. "No?"

"Nah," he shrugs, "I just like the atmosphere in this area more than where I live so I cab over to waste my time and cash here, instead."

Although you should not blurt, "I live nearby," you do anyway. In an attempt to not sound like you are trying to get into Cody's pants, you add, "But I don't know what we would do. I don't really watch TV."

"Have you eaten?" Cody asks, seemingly unfazed by your word vomit.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles, and you giggle while shaking your head. You remember the meager amount of food you managed to eat before shuffling out into the evening.

"I had something light, so…no. Not really."

"Why don't we grab a bite nearby? Maybe that will give us the reprieve we both seek…I'm sure most food establishments aren't this loud and rambunctious."

The reprieve we both seek… It's nothing too big or wild, but it is just austere enough to make you think about Vante. Although you feel frustrated that your mind is so eager to continue circling back to him, you consider that if this were Min sitting before you, there is a good chance they both speak similarly. It could be a slip up.

"Or…not…" Cody says, and you rapidly blink out of your thoughts and shake your head, offering a smile and a giggle.

"I space out," you supply plainly, "a lot. Sorry."

"Ah," he responds, sitting up a little higher. "No problem."

"Do you eat meat? There's a burger shop nearby that I really like."

Cody smiles and shrugs. "I eat everything."

As you stand up to stretch, the room tilts. It catches you off guard, and you halt your movement, then do your best to breathe through it and blink it away. Cody has his head tilted down, putting on his hat, and you are thankful that he does not seem to notice.

With a smile, he lifts his hand and says, "Lead the way," but there is something different about his voice. Deep and inviting in a familiar yet unfamiliar way, and far more accented than it had been all night.

You shake it off and nod your head. Despite only having two drinks and a shot, you are not a heavy drinker as is, and on an empty stomach, it is enough to weigh you down and make you paranoid. You just need to get out into the cool open air and you will feel much better.

But your feet are heavy. Each step that you take feels weighed down, and there is a lightness to you that feels as if fog is simmering through your system. Alarm bells begin beaming through your body, and you worry that perhaps you should try to get rid of Cody and call Seokjin.

Cody places a hand on your lower back. "Everything alright, space cadet?" he asks in the same tone he has taken all night, and you nod.

You are certain he could not have done anything to your drink while you sat there and drank it with him. And if he drugged both drinks, he should be equally affected.

But if he did do something, you are not eager to draw attention to feeling sluggish. You think it would be best to just get rid of him somehow. It just becomes a matter of how much time you have before the effects hit you harder, if at all.

The two of you make your way through the bar, and you oddly feel much more in control when you are moving steadily rather than little by little. You forget all about getting rid of Cody and walk right to the burger spot around the corner.

But standing on line at the counter in the brightly lit space feels overwhelming, and it all comes back again. You open your mouth and say, "So," but catch yourself. So you really did drug my drink, huh?

"So?" Cody asks, leaning close, and you notice a musk that cuts through the deep-fryer stench. It's nice and rich, inviting but not cloying.

"So I usually get the bacon cheeseburger," you ramble, "and fries. But I imagine everything here is pretty good."

"Good to know," he responds, voice bright. You think his hand may be on your lower back again, but you are not quite sure.

When it is your turn to order, your mind screeches to a halt. You stare up at the white menu board with red text, and you cannot find words.

"Was it a bacon cheeseburger?" Cody supplies. "A number two?"

"Y-yeah," you respond, looking at the bored teen behind the register. "No tomato, please. And a soft drink."

"You?" the teen asks, eyes moving to Cody.

Cody hums, soft and dulcet. Hypnotizing. "I'll have the same, but with tomato please."

Without asking, Cody pulls out his card to pay. Only, when he begins to hold it out, he quickly pulls it back. "Actually," he mutters, "I should use this cash."

Although you are unable to see the name on it, you notice that it is a black card, which feels far too prestigious for a university student to have access to. You realize that neither of you told one another your age – you just assume he is close to yours.

The cashier gives the two of you a number and two empty paper cups, and you make your way over to the soft drink dispenser and stare at the options. Caffeine could make you feel better, but then you risk the chance of staying up late. Sugar might cause you to have a hangover in the morning, but you think you could risk it for some lemonade.

"Preference?" Cody asks, holding up the beverage cups.

You have gravitated to the ketchup dispenser to fill two tiny paper cups, still thinking about beverage options.

"Lemonade, please. With like…half ice? Not too much."

"Got it," he responds, holding one of the cups under an ice dispenser.

"Ketchup?" you ask.

"Two please."

You manage to get all four tiny paper cups of ketchup into your left palm, then turn to watch Cody securing plastic lids over both drinks and grabbing two paper-wrapped straws. The two of you sit, and you take your drink and straw with a small, "Thank you."

Perhaps it is the prospect of having food in your system that is causing you to feel more energized, but maneuvering through the booths and finding one along the wall is easy. You begin to wonder if maybe something about the gin and tonic was just off. Maybe you got hit with a wave of intoxication.

Once you get settled, Cody takes out his phone and smiles at the screen before typing out what you assume to be a response to a message. His smile lifts, showing off his gums and pearly teeth, and you catch yourself staring before blinking your gaze elsewhere.

Out of curiosity, you pull the phone from your purse and check to see if Vante ever saw any of your messages, and you frown at the discovery that he has not. His behavior is weird, but you suppose you were also planning on playing games with the guy. Still, being stood up is being stood up, and it is hard not to take it personally.

Cody continues typing away at his phone while you wait for your food, chuckling quietly from time to time and making you feel awkward for sitting here with nothing to say. It is not that you don't have people who you can also text, but it feels rude to do it when you are with someone in a restaurant.

Not that it is a date, nor do you two owe each other anything, you remind yourself, feeling silly for forgetting that simple fact. The two of you are just strangers who happened to meet and who decided to share a drink and a burger. Nothing more. In fact, if you remember correctly, Cody removed what looks like a wedding band from his ring finger earlier in the night.

Another grumpy teen brings your food in bright red baskets, and Cody finally puts his phone away. He smiles and says, "This looks great," and lifts his gaze to you for only a split second before looking back down.

Something in his eyes seems different, but you are unable to put your finger on what. They seemed sharper, somehow…almost seductive.

You reach for your food and dig in, doing your best to not moan when the grease hits your tongue. Conversation continues to be non-existent with the exception of Cody groaning through a mouthful about how good his burger is.

Once you are down to just lemonade and some wayward fries, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Unfortunately, your bladder is on a bit of a timer when you consume alcohol, and the added liquid does not help.

You are grateful when there is no line and make quick work of relieving your bladder and washing your hands. The mirror is covered in stickers, but you lean forward on your toes and do your best to take in your state.

To your surprise, your pupils are constricted quite small, and you begin to worry all over again that something could have been added to your drink. Somewhat sluggishly, you turn and grip onto the door handle, yanking it open and feeling tired from every small movement.

Cody is back on his phone when you return, but he regards you with a polite smile and glances at you long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem perfectly normal – a sign that he likely did not drug both drinks, and evidence that he likely did not drug yours.

This fixation only makes you feel paranoid, and you wet your lips, eye up the rest of your food, and decide that you should call it a night. Cody's fries are all gone, and he barely has any soda left, which you find rather disappointing because you would have liked to leave alone. You suppose you still can.

"Well, I'm just down the block," you say, rubbing your hands, which begin to sweat, down your thighs. "It was nice to meet you."

"I would offer to walk you home," Cody says through a sigh, leaning back in a stretch, "but being that I am still a stranger, it may make you uncomfortable to have me knowing where you live."

You hum and nod to acknowledge and agree with what he says.

"But if you'd like I could sit on a phone call?" he offers, resting his arm over the back of the booth.

With a shrug, you shake your head to decline, but your mouth betrays you by saying, "Alright, sure."

"Yeah?" Cody asks, smiling brightly and sitting up from his relaxed position. He takes out his phone, and although you only catch a glimpse of his lock screen, there is something familiar about the image. It's the colors. Tan skin, greyish fabric, gold jewelry. You wonder where you may have seen it before.

Cody breaks you from your thoughts, asking, "What's your number?"

Once more, your mind draws a blank, and you search your brain. What is your phone number? "Uh…212...555…55…26—wait."

Cody looks up from where he is typing on his phone, and you realize you had given him your actual number and not the burner number that Vante has.

"That's my work phone, it's 5505."

With a light chuckle, Cody finishes saving your number. And then he must call you because your purse begins to vibrate.

"That's me," he says with a smile and a wave.

"Alright," you respond, reaching absent-mindedly for your cup of lemonade and taking a large gulp. Although you do not look at Cody, you can feel his eyes on you.

Your phone stops vibrating, but you open your purse and pull the device out, ready to call Cody back once you begin your walk. Not that you think you need to, seeing that your block is relatively safe and you are not shy about walking at night. You carry pepper spray and a knife in your purse, but you are also worried you may not have the coordination to wield either.

With a limp lift of your hand, you begin to wave, muttering, "Uh, thanks. I would have finished my drink and gone home feeling a little defeated tonight. It was nice to have company."

Why are you saying all of this? Cody is attractive, kind, smart, and has a fun sense of humor, but you were planning on just brushing him off. Plus he might be married.

He smiles and it is bright and disarming. From where he sits, his head is tilted back enough to see under his baseball cap, giving a view of his handsome features and long, pretty throat that bobs when he swallows.

"I'm glad," he says, voices soft and deep. "You also made my night better. I almost forgot all about how damp my sweater and jeans are."

"Almost," you repeat, smiling. Suddenly, you feel shy – why do you feel shy? "Alright, well…I'll call you."

"Okay," he says, smiling as he sits up.

You turn to leave, and the room tilts once more. So hard, in fact, that it makes you queasy. From the corner of your eye, you notice Cody sitting at attention, and you wonder if you visibly lurched.

"Ugh, I'm a lightweight," you complain, hoping to brush it off, but before making another move, it begins to feel as if the floor is sinking away.

"Sandra?" Cody mutters, "You alright?"

"Y-yeah," you insist, but you are not alright. Something is definitely wrong.

"Maybe I should call you a cab? Or something?"

You shake your head, "I live too close. It's not worth it."

"Alright, then how about I walk you? I'll keep my head down. I won't look at where we go."

Although you mean to laugh, it comes out in a scoff. "Alright, fine."

Cody is quick to get on his feet and slot an arm around your waist, holding you loosely but making you feel secure. The two of you walk through the somewhat tight path between booths, hips pressed against one another and warm, but then he gives you space as soon as there is some to give, only resting his hand against your back as he reaches for the door.

"How many drinks did you have?" Cody asks in a way that is gentle and not at all accusatory.

"Just what you saw," you respond sluggishly. "Two plus the one shot."

The two of you walk to the left and down the block. In the fresh night air, at a steady pace, you feel much more comfortable. It's the stopping and starting that seems to fuck with you.

At least the weather is nice – a chill in the air but not cold. The seasons are certainly changing, but at a pace you can acclimate easily to.

Cody hums some tune, and you keep wanting to ask him what it is, but you find that you are unable to make yourself speak. This causes your palms to prickle with anxiety.

"How long have you lived here?" Cody asks after about a block.

"A few years," you respond robotically, curious why you are suddenly able to talk without issue.

"I was wondering why a college student isn't living on campus. Then again…you seem too old to be living in the dorms." This line of conversation feels strange, but you can't pinpoint why. "Did you take some time off in between schooling?"

"No," you respond before you can stop yourself.

"Did you study something else before theater arts and music?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

Fear spikes, and you worry that he may ask you what you previously studied. It is so odd that you are so easily answering questions that you would ordinarily lie around – your undercover persona did not study anything before becoming a theater arts major. She traveled and worked at her father's veterinarian office as a receptionist while taking some time to decide what career path she wanted to take.

Cody stops abruptly, muttering, "Shit, my shoe is untied," pulling you from your spiral.

As he bends to sort that out, you lift your gaze from where it had been glued and unfocused to the sidewalk and look around. Just up ahead is your building.

"Oh," you say weakly, "we're here."

You continue on without your companion, putting one foot in front of the other and reaching for your purse, which is slung over your shoulder. Although you use this purse often, you struggle to get the zipper opened, and you stumble while focusing on it too much.

The hand on your back returns, helping you to feel steady, and Cody asks, "Need some help with that?"

Luckily, you find your keys and hold them up, feeling triumphant. Cody walks you to the front landing, up four short steps to the high Victorian door, and waits patiently as you attempt to grab hold of the correct key, only to drop them to cement in a loud clatter.

You feel frustrated as you say, "Fuck," and Cody is quick to bend and hold them out.

"Large gold one," you say, and he lifts the correct key and leans to slot it into the keyhole.

The last thing you want is for this stranger to walk you to your front door, but your dizziness is only increasing, and you are unsure whether you can make it to your second-story flat alone.

The brownstone you live in is just like any other – tall and old as fuck. As you enter and begin toward the stairs, every footfall can be heard, creaking in a greeting you are all too familiar with. The staircase is tall, and you grip onto the railing and make your way up. Cody seems to hesitate.

"I don't have to continue if you think you got it," he says.

Without stopping or looking back, you grumble, "Need my keys."

Cody meets you on the stairs, and with a hand on your back, gently presses you to walk up. You are grateful for his warmth and for his assistance.

And, at this point, if he tries anything once you are in your apartment, it will all be caught on camera. Not to mention, there is a Glock in your nightstand.

"Thank you," you mumble as you reach the top of the stairs and turn right to the tall white door. "Small gold key."

Inside your front pants pocket, your main phone buzzes with a notification that there is someone at your door. You ignore it, seeing as that someone is you.

Cody is quick to find the correct key and unlock your flat. He holds onto your arm while you kick out of your boots, and he toes out of his shoes and says, "Just want to get you a glass of water, okay?"

From where the two of you stand near the front entrance, there is a camera trained directly on both of your faces hidden in a bookshelf. You accept his offer and hobble off toward your room.

Your flat is somewhat of a rectangle. You enter into the living room, and to the right, straight ahead down a hallway is your large master bedroom. Tucked away on the left as you walk through the hallway is a kitchen and then a bathroom.

It feels too warm in your flat, pulling you off kilter, and you throw your purse toward your bed, which rests in the center of your room against the right wall, missing and watching it hit the floor in a loud thud. Then you stumble forward and fall to your butt on the edge of the mattress and begin to yank at the sleeves of your green flannel, wiggling about in an attempt to shed it from you.

Cody appears with a large plastic white cup and halts in the doorway. He shifts, and you catch him averting his eyes.

"Just trying to get rid of this thing," you grumble impatiently as the garment falls from your left shoulder but won't comply to go any lower. With a sigh, you give up and smile at Cody.

"You can just set it here," you nod toward your small wooden bedside table. "The door will lock when you leave. Thanks for the help."

Cody approaches slowly, and you wonder if it is meant to put you at ease – no sudden movements – but the anticipation begins to weigh on you. You want to lay down and go to sleep, and you want Cody to leave.

He smiles and levels his face with yours, eyes searching for something. Then he places the cup on the table and says, "I hope you feel better."

"Thanks," you mutter, wishing he would leave.

Cody bends and lifts your purse from the floor, which is open and spilling its contents. He sets it beside the cup of water and hands you your phone. Then he stands straight and fishes his own from his pocket, thumbing around before calling you.

He lifts the phone to his ear, and when you continue to stare, he tilts his chin toward the vibrating device in your hands. With a knit brow, you cock your head to the side but answer his call, lifting the phone to your ear.

"I figure that if I am being trusted to leave on my own, I should give you some assurance that I am, in fact, leaving."

"Okay…" you respond, drawing the word out. You could have all the assurance you need by watching the video footage from your hidden camera, but you suppose this is a kind gesture.

Cody smiles, lifts a hand, and waves. Then he turns and leaves the room.

"It was nice meeting you, Sandra," he says, drawing your fake name out nice and slow.

"You too," you mutter, heavy with sleep.

"Sorry the night ended this way."

You sigh. "Me too."

"If you ever want drinks and a burger again, let me know. I'm just a short cab ride away."

Briefly, you wonder if the two of you hit it off. It was fun and comfortable talking with Cody, but you are still concerned with how drunk you became – if that is what you can call whatever is happening to you.

"Alright," you respond too late, hoping to be polite.

In the living room, you hear some soft sounds and then the door opening. Although it is faint, you think you hear it closing, as well.

"I have left your humble abode," he says as the phone in your pocket buzzes with another notification to alert you that someone is outside your apartment.

You assume that the reason he insisted on calling was so that once he was outside of the apartment, you would only hear his voice through the phone. It is a nice gesture.

"Thanks again," you say, sighing with relief.

Through the phone, you can hear the steps creaking as he descends the stairwell. "My pleasure."

You begin to fade fast. Although you know that you should drink water, you twist your body, lift your legs onto the bed, and curl up. You feel too warm to care about your comforter, but you lament not having enough energy to get out of your jeans.

The phone ends up under your face. Miraculously, your cheek does not end the call.

"Tired," you mutter, feeling your eyelids flutter.

"It was so nice meeting you," Cody says, and in an instant, your blood turns cold.

That is the exact voice you spoke with on the phone last night. The accent is much more prominent, just as it was last night, and it is much more gravely. It is unmistakable.

He adds, "Sleep sweet, pretty," before hanging up, and you curl in on yourself, panting and shivering, hanging in a horrifying liminal space of being too afraid to want to sleep but too intoxicated to keep your eyes open.

'Cause I know what you're thinkin' about Babe, I'll let you spin me around I know what you're thinking about Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around

🎵 visit the playlist!

the feelings of being drugged are all kinda made up but also based on the drug ghb. please do not feel the need to sully your internet searches! i will explain it all in detail in upcoming chapters. and you may have noticed that because mc is a detective and trying to figure out who these men are, there is a lot of talk about facial features and accents. this is in no way meant to fetishize these characteristics, it is simply detective work - i tried to keep it as broad/general as possible. the little ploy that was played at the bar is based on something called "operation fireball" - google it if you're into true crime!

also!!! please never take a drink from a stranger or leave a drink unattended!!!

CAN YOU TRACK WHO THESE PEOPLE ARE THAT MC IS COMMUNICATING WITH??? everything will be made clear soon, but feel free to speculate!!! readers of the taegi pov probably already know what's going on, but mc pov purists will have all the questions answered quickly, as well!!! don't worry. 🤍

ARE WE HAVING FUN? QUESTIONS??? CONCERNS??? REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! DRINK SOME WATER AND STRETCH YOUR NECK!!!

tag list: @aidam9911 @bangtan-tee-86 @ffion451 @fluffybuns69 @here4kpopfics @iloverubberduckiez-blog @lovemeforeternity @mgthecat @moonleeai @oceansmerchild @unsureofwhathappens 🤍 visit the master post to read the warnings & request to be tagged!

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#yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #taegi x reader #taegi smut #bts poly #bts yandere #bts angst #bts smut #bts social media au #undescribed #undescribed images #fic: white lies

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untaemedqueen · 1 year ago

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At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 8.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

The mansion you're currently standing in is completely different from yours. The amount of people in this place is incredibly different for one. It's also so bright in here that it almost makes your eyes hurt.

There's regal looking paintings lining the walls with heavily decorated gold frames accompanying their expensive stature. Marble statues stand atop marble pedestals in romantic positions and you're not even close to becoming comfortable here.

But the person by your side is even more uncomfortable than you at the moment.

"Oh my God, let's just leave," Jeongguk hisses, draping his arm over your shoulders.

He hasn't been in this home for many years, just even breathing the same air as his grandmother is something he thought he would never do again. In some way, he's reverting back to the small nervous child he once was. He hasn't had much time to think about what he would say to the madam of the house nor has he strengthened his will enough to stay here.

But you're comforting him, his lips still tingle with fresh, raw emotions from the make out session in the car. He needed that to calm down -- he needed you to calm down.

Jeongguk has been thinking about you far more often than his mind would care to admit. Pretending that you're his girlfriend seems easier and happier than he could have hoped for and it's hurting his brain to remember that he can't take you home after all this.

Guk doesn't know if you would even want that but he does know that he does. He wouldn't mind taking you home and peeling this black dress off your body like you're the only Christmas present he would want.

"You know we can't do that," you mumble, moving out of the way for a waiter to pass with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"But Wednesday," the escort whines, putting his forehead to your shoulder sullenly.

"Let's just deal with your grandmother and then we can leave and go do something else," you promise, coursing your fingers through his hair.

It's almost like it's something second nature all of a sudden. Your fingers just moved toward him without any thought that it could be wrong or awkward. And he doesn't give you any negative reaction to it, instead he sighs happily, moving the arm on your shoulders to encircling your hips and pulling you close.

"Let's step into one of the closets or something, I need more kisses," he mumbles, putting his forehead to yours.

Once again, his scent drifts over you like a shroud of comfort. It's strange to you that you're not pulling back wildly with nervousness fleeting over every vein within you.

"We could get caught," you try to reason with him.

"That'd be hot," he counters with a small, devious smirk.

"I don't think these type of people would approv-"

"Well, I'm shocked to see you."

Jeongguk snaps up straight like a stick, turning on his heel to meet the voice that's riddled with judgemental tones.

His hand struggles to grasp for yours, his fingers fumble and itch until finally you're able to intertwine with him. Your palm lays flat and comfortable against his, thumb stroking the back of his hand with soothing intentions.

The woman before you holds herself elegantly, her hair is raven black and cut into a bob around her jawline. The way her eyebrows notch together quizzically already tells you that she's spent a lifetime judging others, the wrinkles give her away.

Poor Guk beside you is two seconds away from shaking like a leaf. He looks like he's about ready to pass out. You can't imagine the anger and anxiousness that's rooted deep within his chest.

You can only imagine what choice words he wishes he could say if he wasn't frozen stiff with fear.

His grandmother doesn't even acknowledge you, which is fine because it gives you more time to study her.

"Hello," the escort whispers softly, bowing his head respectfully.

"Hello, grandson," she breathes, turning on her heel and ushering the both of you to follow.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, running his free hand over his face.

"It's okay," you promise, "I'm here."

"I know," he mumbles, kissing your temple and pulling you along to follow her.

Finally, after several minutes of wading through the guests of the house you find yourself in the grand office of the mansion.

There's awards and certificates on the wall, pictures of his grandmother with famous people and first prototypes of the kimchi containers that made her rich in the first place within glass cases.

Once again, she does not acknowledge you or her grandson, if you're being honest, while she sits down at her large glass desk.

Jeongguk leads you over to your chair first, waiting until you sit down to do so as well.

When his back meets the chair, he can feel his organs within him shaking so violently that he's not sure if he'll ever be able to get back up again.

His grandmother pulls out a fan, the length of it expanding all at once with a sharp noise that has Guk wincing in an instant. She purses her lips, leaning back into her chair to bore her eyes into her grandson's face.

The fan moves leisurely within her grip, sending pieces of black hair blowing in symmetrical swirls around her face.

She picks up a small bell and rings it daintily between her thumb and index finger before returning her gaze to Jeongguk. You aren't sure whether she's trying to break him down with one quick look or if she's trying to assess what he's going through.

A butler steps into the doorway with white gloves covering both his hands politely at his sides.

"A bottle of Veuve and three glasses," she orders dully.

So she does acknowledge that you're here but she's purposefully ignoring you like it's all a part of some sort of plan.

The silence begins to creep in after the butler leaves, the muted groan of hundreds of conversations just outside the office doors breach past your ears and while it's putting the escort beside you on edge, this is comfortable for you.

You look down at your long gloves, fixing them properly before placing them in your lap.

Finally, the madam of the home gets bored with her meek acting grandson and turns her attention to you.

You give her a polite smile, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs.

You're ready for anything if you're being honest, whether that be confrontation or just a simple introduction.

"Do you… work with my grandson? Do you do what vile things he does?" she inquires pointedly, snapping her fan shut.

Jeongguk looks up as if he's been cracked with a whip, his eyebrows furrow painfully as if her words have burned him but he stays silent nonetheless, looking to you for your answer.

"I don't work with him, no. I'm his girlfriend. And to me, he's not vile nor is what he does vile," you reply, folding your hands in your lap.

She hums out quizzically, looking over your garments with intrigue written all over her face.

"I see, so you could afford these clothes yourself then? Without the help of someone who lays on their back to get their money?"

Your insides are beginning to boil with the hottest of fires, you're unsure if your irises have turned bright red like a devil waiting to tear into this woman but what you do know is that you fucking wish you could.

She has no sense of anything kind in her personality at all.

"As far as I'm concerned, Jeongguk hasn't laid on his back in quite a long time. But I can afford these clothes myself, I own a business."

Her head seems to tilt curiously at your words and it seems with the tight lipped smile she gives that she's going to enjoy this confrontation.

"And what sort of business is that?" his grandmother purrs, leaning down onto her desk.

"I own a wine business," you reply.

"And your net worth?"

"None of your business, actually."

Jeongguk takes a sharp breath between his teeth, flitting his eyes from your face to his grandmothers like he's watching some sort of ping pong tournament.

"And I should assume that you're with my grandson on your own accord?"

"Why would you assume anything otherwise? It's not like he's willing to divulge the fact that his grandparents are rich while he grew up poor."

Guk takes you in then, the gentle fall sun highlights your silhouette so gently and it only begins to sing out to him when your face becomes fierce with protective intentions.

You want to keep him safe, you want to fight for him and he can see it as plain as day.

"I didn't expect my grandson to start dating such a hard headed woman."

"I'm not hard headed -- I'm hard working. I take what I want and I'm not apologetic for that."

Jeongguk picks at some skin on his lip, tilting his head to see how absolutely earth shatteringly gorgeous you look defending his honor. If he could sigh sweetly, believe him, he would.

"Baby," he calls to you softly.

The pet name has your head snapping to look at him and he smiles sweetly at your pinched face.

Jeongguk slowly shakes his head as if to tell you that it's not worth it and you simply shrug before folding your arms and huffing out impatiently.

She's getting on your fucking nerves, he's certainly not wrong about her in any sense of the word.

His grandmother simply blinks at the interaction between you both.

How could it be so warm and endearing when the space between you both is as far as it is?

Is this something serious or is it something that can be picked apart by just a few words?

When the butler returns with the bottle, the madam of the house simply nods to it. "You run a wine business, why don't you open it?"

While you begin to pull the cage off, the older woman decides to test the waters the only way she knows how.

"Chloe is here," she notifies her grandson.

"Yeah, I know," he huffs out, "we saw her."

"And what did she think of your new woman?" his grandmother prods.

"Who cares what she thinks? She doesn't know her ass from her elbow," he gripes.

You can only roll your eyes, slowly letting the bottle do the work to push the cork out of the mouth.

"If you begged for her back, maybe she would accept you," she drolls.

The sharp inhale through your nose makes Jeongguk cringe and in a second he's standing to comfort you.

There's not a split second where you both remember that this is fake, you're invested in this somehow -- you both are.

"I don't want to beg her for anything. She doesn't deserve me. I found a woman who likes and cares for me as I am now! Besides, she's married to Holdritch."

"Hamish," his grandmother corrects him.

"Whoever," he murmurs, crouching down beside you to take the wrappings and cage from your hand.

"My girlfriend is smart and beautiful, strong and brave as hell. Chloe can't even compare to a single cell in her body. So, just because you don't respect me, grandmother, please don't disrespect my significant other."

The champagne bottle makes a slow hiss when the cork comes out and it seems to echo throughout the room while Guk waltz over to the trash can to get rid of the rubbish.

"I see," the older woman breathes, leaning back in her chair.

"What are your intentions with my grandson then, uh…"

"Y/N, her name is Y/N. You were bickering with her five minutes ago and you don't even know her name," the escort hisses, draping himself over the top of your chair and putting his hands on your shoulders.

You're immediately comforted by his presence, basking under the heat of his hands like a lizard under the molten sun.

"What are your intentions with Jeongguk, Y/N?" his grandmother inquires, pouring three glasses of champagne.

"To love him," you announce.

The way his hands clench at your shoulders makes you want to cave in immediately, you want to shove the chair out of the way and squeeze him so tightly that the air between you both has no chance of escaping.

"Well then. She's passed the test," his grandmother smiles, handing you both champagne glasses.

"Test?" Guk blinks confused.

"Yes, the test that not even Chloe ever passed. If you recall her answer was, 'treat him like he deserves me.' Which is incredibly inappropriate."

Sounds like Chloe.

You roll your eyes heavily, optng to take a sip of the bubbly alcohol instead of releasing the string of obscenities you wish to.

"So you being… rude to my girlfriends has always been a test?" Guk blurts out, scratching at his neck confused.

"To put it simply, yes. And Y/N has passed."

"Oh," the escort breathes awkwardly.

"I hope you love him more than anything and anyone. Just because I never spoon fed him doesn't mean I don't care about him," his grandmother says, drifting her fingers over the glass of her desk.

Jeongguk kisses the top of your head and your eyes flutter shut immediately.

Your heart is wildly racing within your chest like a horse and to say that it's because of the simple kiss is not true.

Your heart is beating so fast because of the words you spoke.

They keep replaying in your mind over and over again to no avail.

"To love him."

Your heart is beating so wildly because you're scared.

There was not a single ounce of a lie within that three worded sentence. There was no pause or need for acting. There was no reason to string those words together purposefully.

They flowed from your mouth like a river, like it was meant to be said with that same heartfelt inflection.

You believe these words.

<---- Last Chapter Next Chapter ---->

#at your service #chapter 8 #chap 8 #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fic

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 5 months ago

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Turn Back Time Let's Redefine

by Raven_WitchTales Batman and the rest of his family filled out a rather tumultuous timeline. The road to finding a semblance of peace within a city as dreary and dangerous as Gotham is long and hard, regardless of how one looks at it. When Batman first showed up on the scene, the people of Gotham couldn't quite bring themselves to believe that he was truly going to look out for them. You all know the story, they eventually come around, and one day, Batman brings in a cheerily colored child that stuck out like a sore thumb, but brought a distinct sense of warmth to his crusade. And more would follow. But not every universe follows that sequence. Dick Grayson was the light, Bruce's perfect contrast, slowly darkening as time went on, but never fully losing that light. His upbringing and personality were immensely different from that of his siblings. So what would happen exactly, if Dick wasn't the first to be introduced as Batman's sidekick? What if that light, as part of an accidental time rift, just happened to be born later than it should have been? Does that make things better? Does that make things worse? Reverse Robins AU! First focuses on Damian as the oldest and how that changes things. Words: 3023, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of My Batfamily Fics Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Duke Thomas, Gotham City Residents, Selina Kyle Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Batkids Age Reversal, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Older Sibling Damian Wayne, Younger Sibling Dick Grayson, Tim Drake and Damian Wayne are Siblings, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Batfamily is a Mess (DCU) via https://ift.tt/IU3Wfgz

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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aceswritingshennanigins · 6 months ago

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Stay With Me?

Miles 42 x GN!reader!

This is based of off my chat with a bot on character.ai . Enjoy!

tags: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Angst, College!AU, Spider-Man Across the Spiderverse, Domestic-ish bliss(?), Fluff, reader is Gn so they/them pronouns. (Platonic use of the word "Love")

2:00 AM. You watched as the clock ticked in your tiny bedroom in your one bed one bath apartment. You couldn't sleep and you had a feeling miles couldn't either. You grabbed a hoodie and a tiny gift bag and opened the fire escape window in your room. You and miles have been friends for so long, you were there with him when his dad died, helping him through every single step of grief he faced. It now meant that he was oddly clingy towards you. You walk toward the window to your right, knocking it a couple of times before cautiously opening it. The only source of light in the room from Miles' phone. You haven't seen him this numb since 3 years ago when his dad died. You wave.

"I brought brownies, you want some?"

You ask, getting increasingly worried when he doesn't speak and only nods emotionless.

"Here." you hand him a square with a paper napkin to avoid crumbs on his bed. He eats it, his eyes still emotionless waiting for you to say something. You notice a couple crumbs on his face and brush them off with your thumb, gently enough so that he doesn't get overstimulated. Luckily, he doesn't stop you, still staring at you.

"There we go! Anyways do you like the brownies?" You ask, your voice soft enough to make sure not to wake the neighbors up. He nods, taking another bite not saying anything.

"I'm glad you like them."

He nods finishing the brownie, still staring at you, mumbling something under his breath. You could've sworn you saw a flash of emotion in his eyes.

He mutters again "I love anything that you make." praying that you didn't hear him. You tilt your head to the side in confusion but end up letting it go.

"You have crumbs all over you!"

You say, your voice laced with an airy chuckle. He wipes them off still staring at your face.

"Is there something on my face?" You ask thinking he's staring at your freckles, acne scars, or the tiny birthmarks around your face.

He stares at them intrigued but snapped out and shook his head no.

"Are you ok? " You ask, moving your hand closer to his. He looked at your hand confused wondering what you were doing until you interlock your pinkies. He immediately holds your hand, his grip tight. It reminds you of all the times you were with him when his dad died, him just staring at the wall and you holding his hand, talking about the most mundane things you could imagine just to see him smile again.

You move closer "One of those days huh?" No response.

His grip only getting tighter like if he let you go you'd disappear. You move closer and lean on his shoulder, his and still gripping you tightly almost like you weren't real and if he let you go you'd disappear in front of his eyes. But his face was still devoid of any emotion.

"Bad day?"

you ask getting more and more worried, his grip on your hand only increasing . He nods as he grabs another brownie and starts eating it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You ask not wanting to pressure him, but you need answers one way or another. it's killing you seeing him like this again, especially since both of your parents lived an hour away by train. You're met with refusal as he shakes his head no, still staring at the wall chewing his brownie. You're tempted to think he got high. tempted.

"Type?"

You ask hoping he agrees. He nods. "Finally" you think, now we're getting somewhere.

You pull out the notes app on your phone and make a note labeled 'Rant Session' and hand it to him.

"Here."

He just stares at you for a few seconds before beginning to type. After a few seconds, he hands you the phone back. His message saying:

"This place sucks. The people here are so fake, acting like they care for me just because. No one does."

"I care for you, and I can prove it. And what about Mr. Davis and your Mom?"

You say, hoping to comfort him, you know just as much as anyone how it felt to be left behind, and you're not going to let him feel like that ever. He types back.

"Aaron and my mom are just family. Family cares for each other. You're different..."

"How?"

"I don't know, its just different. I cant explain it. Its a weird feeling..."

"It's ok. Just know that I'm here to text or to call ok?"

"Ok. Don't tell Aaron tho..."

"I won't"

He nods as he eats another brownie, once again getting crumbs all over your phone and his face. that's a scolding for another day.

"You really like those huh?"

You say hoping to lighten the mood a little bit. He nods, his expression still lifeless but there is a glimmer of relief in his eyes.

"Hey, at least you like something today?"

He stops typing and puts the phone down on the desk. He stares at you and grabs your hand tightly, almost as if he missed you.

"I missed you too my love."

You say, gently putting your arm around his waist.

He nods as he lays his head on your shoulder. He squeezes your hand tightly, as if he wanted you near all the time. You let him, sensing that he needs the comfort. After a bit, he picks up the phone and starts typing again. You peek over his shoulder and he quickly finishes typing.

"I've never really met someone like you before..."

"What do you mean?"

He types.

" I... don't know... But I like being around you, it keeps my mind off things."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

" If I ask you something, do you promise not to tell anyone I asked?"

"Pinky swear."

"Promise not to leave me?"

"Of course. I have to keep that promise"

He nods, the faintest of smiles on his lips before, looking at his phone again as he writes, before handing it to you.

"Nobody ever cared about me before you."

"You're nice though! What's their problem?"

"Its not that, I don't even know... I'm just different than everyone else... And people don't like different..."

"I'm different, do you not like me?"

"No, thats not what I meant. I love being around you. Your the only person that I've ever actually liked..."

"Well I know a couple more people like me, if you want, we can hang out with them."

He puts the phone down, and takes a deep breath before shaking his head no, he finally types.

"Nobody can know that you even know me."

"Why? Am I going to ruin your reputation of the mysterious guy on campus?"

He nods, typing again. After a few seconds, he hands you the phone again, staring at you

"When someone has a bad past, everyone thinks your a bad person. People don't seem to believe in change. I did so many bad things... I deserve everything bad thats coming at me..."

"They won't think you're a bad person, I'll make sure of it. And for the record? You don't deserve to feel that way, even if the things you did were "bad" so what? you're human and so am I"

You smile at him.

"Isn't that what life is?"

He nods, surprised but comforted at your words.

"You're still not going to tell anyone though…"

He finally says his voice deep and raw like he had been crying for hours.

"My lips are sealed!"

You say trying to reassure him that you won't spill his secret. He nodded as his grip tightened on your hand, and you squeezed it, still leaning on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but he held you close and squeezed your hand tighter, as if he wouldn't let you fade away like everyone else in his life.

"Feeling any better?"

You ask him gently, he hated the question whenever his friends would ask, unbeknownst to you, you're the only one allowed. He nods, then he leans his head on your shoulder, as if he wanted to lay there forever. He grabs you even tighter.

"Thank you…" He whispers to you on the verge of tears again, damn you for being so sweet, damn you for being his friend, and damn you for always staying. He doesn't want to leave you. He hugs you tighter and lays on you, as if he was a little kid.

"You're going to be ok…"

You say just speaking to fill the silence between you two, with a small hope he's comforted. He clings on to you, as if he wants to stay with you and only you forever.

"You cant go, please…"

"I'll stay for the night"

You say getting worried again.

"I'll remember this forever…"

He gently kisses your forehead, his grasp still tightly onto your hand.

"You're not leaving….please…you can't…You, Mom, and Aaron are all I have left…"

"I have to go later though, I have early classes tomorrow. I'm sorry."

You say gently kissing his forehead, making sure he doesn't start crying. He tries to grab your arm, as a way to keep you near him. He didn't want to let go, he couldn't. What if someone got you, Or you and his dad shared the same fate? Just thinking about it sent a chill up his spine.

"Miles."

You felt his grip tighten as he was very desperate for you not to leave him.

"Listen. I live next door, I'll check on you after my roommates go to bed"

"Why not just stay here? Please… I don't want to be alone…"

"I'll stay over tonight."

He hugs you, refusing to let you go.

"Thank you…"

"Don't mention it."

You climb out of his window and bring a duffel bag with toiletries, an outfit for tomorrow, a pillow, and your sleeping bag. He was nice but you two were no way near close enough to share a bed. You had your reasons that he didn't pry into. He stares at the ceiling while you're on the ground next to his bed.

"Don't leave me…"

"I won't."

"Promise?"

You could practically hear the fear and trauma in his voice.

"Promise."

You say sticking your pinkie up in the air for you two to make a pinkie promise.

"Go to sleep, I'll still be here."

You both drift off to sleep. Your dreams were practically nonexistent and the pillows were both perfectly cold. This, this is true peace.

#Miles morales #prowler Miles #Spider-Man atsv #Fluff #Miles 42 #miles 42 x you #miles 42 x reader #Spider-Man x reader #hurt/comfort #implied angst

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sockonaleash · 2 years ago

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Lucky :: shuichi x reader

fandom : danganronpav3

type : oneshot ; adult au ; hurt comfort (reader comforting shu) : just some sweet domestic stuff.

note : sigh. writing this at 2am is giving me a headache but he's really pretty and simply i'm a weak, weak simp. From sleep deprivation this lost its way and became messy. (It's fine right??)

requested : no

Your boyfriend is the sweetest person you know.

And you're not saying that just because you're dating him, nope. You say that because every day he goes out of his day to help you. Be it by helping you with groceries, holding your hand as the both of you cross the crosswalk, or cover the edge of the table as you duck to get something that fell on the floor.

But the world doesn't seem to want to repay his kindness in the same way, instead, it gives him the worst possible day ever. You know it the moment he walks into your shared apartment with a sad look on his face. All the giddiness you felt before he arrived has dissappeared, being instead replaced with a sinking feeling at the bottom of your stomach.

"....I'm home." Shuichi states from the entrance, slipping his shoes off while his hands are tugging off his blazer. You peek around the corner, watching him silently. Usually your partner would come in with this happy smile or content look on his face from solving another case at the agency he was currently working in (he was just that amazing, solving cases left and right, your little genius), but unfortunately today was different.

Your feet were already walking towards him before you could think about doing so, your hands grasping the soft material of his blazer to put it on the coat hanger. The strong smell of coffee wafted from his clothes and when you finally turned to look at your partner he had this dejected look on his face. His eyebags seemed darker than usual, his shoulders slumped, hands fidgety, messy hair, smudged eyeliner and so on.

A worried feeling tangled down your throat and your hands raised to caress his cheeks, your thumbs attempting to wipe his messed up eyeliner (and failing miserably, only smudging it more).

"God, Shu... What happened?" You whispered. And he sighed.

Shuichi's hands went to hold your waist, to pull you close and lay his chin on your shoulder. "Ah, just...-" He sighed, mind running haywire from too much information. He wanted to say everything and nothing all at once. To scream at his boss and cry with his co-workers. "-...a lot going on at work. There's this new case we're working on and..."

You hummed, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, that's alright. Do you want some tea?"

He nodded.

"Which type?"

"Chamomile...Thank you."

So, you slowly stepped back and headed for the kitchen. Not before telling Shuichi to wait in the living room and watching him wrap himself in the biggest and fattest blanket you have.

With some giggling you began to prepare your partners tea and once you finished your task you moved to sit beside him on the couch and handed him the mug.

"Careful, it's hot."

Shuichi took a sip from the warm beverage, a blissful sigh leaving his lips. Very kissable lips might you add, how could god create a being this perfect? From his nicely shaped lips, his cute button nose and his acne scars (usually covered up by his concealer, you assumed he was in a rush this morning and didn't have time to apply any). God, was he handsome.

I'm so lucky to have him as my partner, you thought.

#xxosock.writes #shuichi saihara #shuichi saihara x reader #shuichi x reader #danganronpa x reader #danganronpav3 x reader #shuichi x female reader #shuichi x male reader #shuichi x gn reader #oneshot #adult au

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chocosvt · 4 months ago

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HER | teaser.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader teaser word count: 1.4k actual word count: 140k (yes, u read that correctly) 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 for the full fic: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: as i descend to one knee and cup my hands together at your mercy, i offer a tidbit to the wonwoo fic i have finally completed after two years (lol). i know i ALWAYS say this, but i truly wasn't expecting the fic to be THIS FUCKING LONG! thankfully, i planned it well and although i lost momentum countless times (nervously side eyes the approximate & several 5 month breaks i took in between), my dedication to seeing the characters through & "completing" their growth was smth that i could not leave behind!

not having posted a fic for two years is prob a little much :0 so hopefully the length of this makes up for it (?) usually my writing is just teehee silly little romance agonizing slowburn surface level dilemmas of the self BUT THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK!

so read it if you want! don't read it if you don't want!

hearts & flowers, xoxoxo (me :*)

UPDATE: read the first part here!

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed—a very short, disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

“Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

✧✎ a/n: tada!

this is the introductory scene! i think i've read it so many times that i could probably recite it from memory at this point ;_; anyway! as i mentioned, i know that it's been a hot minute since i last uploaded any scenarios. but one way or another this monster is getting posted! i did NOT have this lurking on my poor tired macbook causing it to overheat and sputter and spew FOR NOTHING!!

i swear that i don't plan for my works to get this goddamn long. before i hardly planned at all. maybe now i plan too much? i guess i have yet to find a happy medium!! but again, i do hope the size of the fic makes up for all that missed time :_( life has been ruff. but this fic was there as a handy distraction mechanism (when i prob should have been facing reality fhwejfhwk) so i guess it's been a double-edged sword!

also just want to preface that the reader goes by an alias throughout the fic. i'm not sure if this is like... a very huge or popular concept nowadays? so if it hits your reading ear a bit weird at first i apologize! but i swear it has purpose!! *chekhovs rule* *winkwink*

ANYWAY! no more rambling!

i'm pondering the idea of adding a taglist for those who are interested, just as i did with honey boy :3 so if that tickles ur fancy then feel free to each out!

BUT PLZ HEED THE FOLLOWING:

the fic in its entirety will be split across 6 parts

the word count of each part ranges from 22-24k!

i do not YET have a set posting schedule, simply bc i am unsure of how long it will take ppl to get through each part

(so that would be smth i'd have to gauge afterward)

REVISIT THE WARNINGS!!

i will not be flagging mature/nsfw/triggering scenes throughout the fic as the fic itself already has a heavy nature to it

so pls read the warnings!

if there's any additional questions i encourage u to swing by :3

*deep breath*

THANK YOU!!!!!

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

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jungkookslipring · 9 months ago

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family line

Summary: When things go too far in your household, your best friend finally learns about the dark history of your family.

Pairings: Joshua x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, AU

Relationship: Platonic

TW: Mentions of bl00d, physical/psychological abuse from parents, crying. If any of this is triggering please refrain from reading this fic. This fic takes place in an AU. This does not portray the artist or artists in real life.

You were done. You couldn't spend one more hour in the house you lived in for far too long. You only agreed to stay with your parents after college while you were apartment hunting, but you’ve been in the house 22 years too long, and it was time to get out. You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom that was now cracked, holding onto your arms that were beginning to bruise. It hurt a little to breathe, given that a hand (and occasionally a fist) connected with your body not too long ago. You were able to protect your face for the most part, and if there was a bruise forming it was long forgotten, you were quick to put on makeup to cover up any evidence. You were genuinely shocked there was no blood drawn this time. After a few deep breaths and one final examination of the makeup you just applied. you texted the only person you knew would be up at this hour.

Y/n: hey, I know it’s a long shot, but do you care if I crashed in your couch just for tonight, maybe even tomorrow night too? Its okay if you say no.

He wasted no time responding back to you.

Shua: Yeah of course! Everything okay?

You swallowed the lump in your throat, typing away. He knew your living situation wasn't ideal but it was what you could afford as of now. You've spent most of your days at his place but always went home in the evening. The one and only time you have ever spent the night at his place was when you had a movie night with him and the guys and you ended up falling asleep on his couch, and it was easy to say that was the most peaceful slumber you have ever had probably in your entire life.

Y/n: Just family stuff...

Shua: I'm on my way, see you in 10

You let out a shaky exhale as you put the essentials in your duffle bag. This should last you a couple days. Not even 8 minutes later your phone buzzed.

Shua: "I'm here y/n"

You exhaled and opened your window, quietly climbing out of it. You've done this hundreds of times, you're grateful you haven't been caught. Joshua parked in his usual spot, a block away, out of site out of mind in case your parents woke up. You came around the corner, the door already unlocked and ready for you to hop in.

"Hey y/n" he said gently. You gave him the best smile you could until his eyebrows furrowed.

"What happened?" he asked, eyeballing the bruise forming on your arm. Your heart dropped; forgot to put on a jacket to cover up your arms. He reached to examine it, heart-shattering as you flinched. His eyes widened when the realization hit him.

"I'm sorry..." you say queitly. He shook his head. Why were you apologizing?

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked absolutely baffled. You've flinched around him before, when someone was too loud or when someone made sudden movements but he always thought you were just a jumpy person. He didn't know the extent of the abuse that happened at that house. He knew your parents were narcissistic and slightly mentally abusive (from what you've told him) but he didn't know it went this far.

"Nothing, sorry I don't know why I'm apologizing," you chuckle, trying to ignore the burning behind your eyes. His eyes widened.

“Y/n, did someone do this to you?” he asked. The lack of response was killing him. Joshua wanted to press further but not while they were on the street. He swallowed and put the car into drive. He looked over at you and oh so slowly held out his hand. You looked down at it and took hold of it. He ran his thumb over yours in a comforting motion, hoping to soothe you even a little, to let you know you were safe. You took deep breathes through your nose, willing the tears from spilling. Once you two pulled up to his place, he turned off the engine and opened his door to get out. When he saw you hadn't gotten out yet, he appraoched your door and opened it.

"Whatever is going on, you're safe here y/n, I promise," he said comfortingly. You bite your lip and nod. He grabs your bag for you and he unlocks the door, allowing you into his home first. He closed the front door as quietly as humanly possible so you wouldn't jump. The smell of vanilla and the warmth of his home sprung tears to your eyes. You're here almost everyday, but this night was different. Tonight it went too far at your house, and you knew you didn't want to go back, but what choice did you have?

"Y/n..." Joshua whispered when he saw tears already running down your face. He wanted to hold you so bad, but looking at the state you were in, touch might've been the last thing you wanted.

"Can I--can I hug you?" he asks. You nod rapidly when the first sob of the night rips from your throat. He didn't know if he should approach you first or if he should wait till you come to him. Luckily you made that decision for him as you walk to him, essentially throwing yourself on him, whimpering at the pain you caused yourself but you didn't care. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, wondering if there were bruises anywhere else besides your arm. He realized you also had makeup on, more than usual. His heart fell to his stomach realizing what happened.

"Y/n...honey, what happened?" he asked, trying to keep his voice stable. You cried harder, squeezing your eyes shut.

"D-Dad got mad...took it out on m-me," was all you could say before yet another gut-wrenching sob ripped from your throat. Your grip on Joshua's shirt tightened, and the lump in his throat was getting harder to swallow as he started stroking your head.

"How long has this been going on, angel?" he asked shakily. He tried to keep his voice steady, he really did. He was hoping you'd say just this once, he prayed and prayed you wouldn't say longer than this.

"Years...he's been doing this for years..." you whimper as your body shook harder. Tears were soaking into his shirt now.

"Baby..." he choked as tears started falling. Your best friend of lord knows how many years had no idea you were being physically abused this entire time. You always had a smile on your face, and even when you had "issues" with your parents you always shrugged and said "it's whatever" when Joshua would ask if you were okay. He wasn't going to make you relive what you just experienced, so he stood there, holding like he was protecting you from the world, whispering calming and encouraging phrases in hopes to get your heart to stop hurting.

"I got you"

"Let it out, let it all out, honey,"

"You're safe here"

"No one can hurt you anymore"

"I'm here, I'm right here"

“I love you so much”

At some point you two moved over to the couch, pulling you down so he could hold you in his arms properly. Your sobs had subsided but the tears wouldn't stop. This entire time while your face was buried in Joshua's chest, he was shedding his own silent tears. How did he not see this? After all these years.

"Its not your fault," he hears you say. He looks down at you, staring into your gorgeous eyes that were red and glossy.

"Its my fault for not telling you-" you start before Joshua gently shushed you, stroking your hair once again.

"None of this is your fault, none of this was ever your fault, sweetie," he says gently, sniffling when you reach up to wipe at his eyes. He understood why you wouldn't say anything, but he was so hurt that you went all these years, just accepting it all as if you deserved it. Joshua felt sick. There was no way in hell he was letting you go back to that house, but you were in such a vulnerable state right now, he knew he needed to phrase his words differently.

"Y/n?" he asked, waiting for you to respond. As soon as you hummed, he took a deep breath. "I would feel more at ease if you stayed here until you found a place of your own. And if you want to stay here permanently, I would be more than honored to have you as a roommate," he said sincerely. Your eyes widened. You wanted to interject, tell him you were fine, but you have done that long enough, and the idea of not stepping back into that home sparked joy in your heart.

"Are...are you sure?" you ask. Your heart broke looking at him as he nodded, tears filling his eyes. Oh he was dead serious.

"Thank you..." you breathe out as tears of relief fall down your eyes. You hug him tightly, ignoring the pain you feel in your ribs and arms. You didn't care. You were safe. Joshua was your safe space. Your family wasn't blood, your family came in the form of your friends who had nothing but love for you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae

#svt au #svt hurt/comfort #svt fanfic #svtedit #svt x reader #joshua #svt joshua #svt x y/n

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m-jelly · 1 year ago

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Bodyguard's touch - Chapter 6

@ladycheesington <3

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Genre and tags: Modern AU, bodyguard Levi, romance, fluff, falling in love, cute, emotional hurt, comfort, protective Levi, smut, making love, oral, body worship, unprotected sex, kink talk, major plot development.

What's in this chapter: You dress in something nice at night and distract Levi from work. The two of you make love as you profess your love over and over again. You finally meet Levi's parents and discover a deep dark secret that people have been trying to hide for years.

AO3 link

Part 7

You changed into a see-through underwear set in the spare room that you and Levi intended for babies, but not for a while. You blushed hard as you took yourself in. You couldn’t believe how good you looked. You picked up the night dress to go over and admired the soft silken fabric. You pulled it on and fixed it on your body. You released a long sigh before adding the last touch that was your dressing gown.

You checked your hair and makeup and fixed it until you were happy. You slipped out of the spare room and stopped outside your and Levi’s bedroom. You pushed the door open and looked around the door to see your handsome boyfriend sitting up in bed with his laptop on his lap and his mobile phone against his ear. You smiled sweetly as he talked to his father about him coming to visit so you could get your mother’s will.

Levi tapped away on this laptop and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve booked the place for you and Mum. It’s an open stay.”

Sebastian tapped on his laptop to check the location. “Looks great, son.”

Levi looked up when he noticed the door open. He smiled softly at you as you peeked over at him. “It’s a lovely town. You and Mum will love it here.”

“It’s the type of place we’d like to live. I can see the Sheriff's job is open, so maybe I’ll go for that before I retire for good.”

Levi ruffled his hair. “You’d fit well in that position.” He looked back at you as you stood at the end of the bed with a blush. “Holy shit.”

“Something wrong?”

Levi slapped his laptop closed and caught his phone before he dropped it. “I gotta go, Dad.”

“What’s going on?”

“I uh…my girlfriend made an incredible hot chocolate. I’m going to take my sweet time and enjoyed every single drop. So, I’ve got to go.”

“Enjoy!”

“Oh, I will. Bye, love to you and Mum.” Levi ended the call and shoved his laptop and phone away. “Kitten. Look at you. This is cute.”

You smiled at Levi. “I have more underneath.”

He moved closer to you causing your heart to race. “That so?” he gulped hard and shivered as his mind raced. “Sounds exciting. You been plotting this all by yourself?” He held your chin between his thumb and finger allowing him to raise your head. “Well, kitten?”

“I wanted to do something for you.” You gazed at him with wide eyes with an adorable sparkle. “Is that okay?”

He let out an amused chuckle. You were adorable beyond words and he couldn’t believe you were always thinking of him. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He kissed you softly on the lips before pulling back and admiring you. “You look so cute.”

You fiddled with the ties on your dressing gown. “Pull on these.”

He walked around you as if he was a lion circling his prey. “I would like to do that from behind so I can get the nice slow reveal.”

You clenched up a little bit as your cheeks burned. “Mm.”

Levi walked up behind you and slowly reached around you. He wrapped you up tightly in his loving arms and squeezed. He closed his eyes for a moment as he enjoyed this peaceful and loving moment with you. He pressed his lips against the side of your head. He glanced down as he played with the ties. “Such soft material.”

“I know you like this kind of thing.”

Levi moved his soft lips up and down your neck. A playful smirk spread on his kissable lips before his white teeth pressed against your ear. He tugged a little as he enjoyed your cute moan. “You’re sensitive.”

“Because everywhere you touch makes me tingle.” You placed your hands on Levi’s. “I always need you and want you.”

“Me too.”

You watched as Levi wrapped part of the dressing gown belt around his hand. He slowly dragged it causing the knot to loosen and lead to your gown being open. You moved your shoulders back and pushed your shoulder blades closer together allowing Levi to drag your gown off. You looked back over your shoulder and shivered when you saw Levi’s strong hands with a visible vein grab the top of the dressing gown and slowly drag it off your body.

Levi released the fabric and didn’t give it a second thought as it dropped to the floor because his eyes were on your back and how the nightdress clung to your body. He ran his finger down your spine and admired how you shivered in response. He adored how your body reacted to him so perfectly, it was like you ached for him.

With the push of his hand, he tangled your hair up and pushed it up to reveal your neck. A gentle press caused you to lean your head forwards. A hot tongue dragged up your spine to the hairline on the back of your neck. Levi released a long sigh before placing kisses over the back of your neck as the tingling between your legs increased.

You stepped away from Levi and heard him whine in protest. You turned to face him with a pout. “No teasing.”

Levi’s cheek burned bright red. “Tch, damn it kitten. You are so sexy and cute.” He dragged his gaze all over your body and moaned. “So good.”

You fiddled with the bottom of your dress. “There’s more.”

“There is?”

You nodded. “I wore an underwear set because my boobs aren’t perky and they need to be in a bra. They don’t look good out of one.”

Levi slipped his hands over your hips. “Darling kitten, you look incredible when you’re naked.” He kissed you and smiled sweetly. “If you need help holding your breasts up, I can do it.”

You giggled before squealing with laughter as Levi attacked your neck with kisses. “Grumpy?”

He stopped kissing you. “Yes?”

You hummed a laugh. “If you had a tail it’d be wagging so much.”

“Yes.” He squeezed you as he smiled. “So?”

You grabbed the bottom of your dress and pulled it up and over your head to reveal your underwear. “So?”

Levi’s eyes widened at the see-through lacy underwear. He felt arousal rush through him at the slit on the front of the panties and slits on your bra for your nipples to poke through. “Fuck…” he moaned your name. “This is so…I never would have thought you’d wear anything like this. Shit, I didn’t know this sort of thing existed.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

You reached over and pulled at his tank top. “Levi…”

Levi cupped your face as he softly said your name. “How do you want me to make love to you tonight?”

You clung tightly to his shirt and you mewled. “Slow, tender, loving, romantic…”

He tapped his forehead against yours as he smiled. “Like we are lovers who have been apart for weeks and stayed connected with letters, but now we are reunited again.” He lifted you and carried you to the bed. “I’ll make love to you like our first time together. I’ll make love to you like it’ll be our last. I’ll make love to you like I’m showing you all my love. I’ll make love to you as if we’re making our first baby.”

You blushed hard. “I’d love that.”

He lay you down and admired how your hair was a halo around your head. “You are beautiful beyond words.”

You cupped Levi’s face. “Says the most handsome man in the world.”

“I don’t know-.”

“I love you.”

Levi’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat. All of his bad thoughts washed away. “I love you too.” His gaze softened and filled with love. “I love you so much.”

He kissed you over and over. He pushed his tongue into your mouth and moaned as your tongues moved together and massaged the other. Levi ran his hands up your arms and pinned them above your head with one hand. He moved his other hand down your body to your breast. He pinched your nipple peeking through and loved how you moaned so deliciously into the kiss. He released your nipple before flicking it over and over with his thumb.

He moved from your lips and sighed. “You are so responsive to my touch.”

You turned your head and looked away as you felt flustered. “Mm. It’s because I love you. O-Only you m-make me feel this g-good.”

Levi released your arms and rubbed your cheek. “Good girl.” He kissed you and hummed. “I like you being honest.” He kissed down your body. “Keep talking to me. Tell me what you need, what makes you feel good.”

“I-I will.” You gulped. “T-Take your shirt off.”

Levi knelt between your legs and dragged his shirt off so you could see all his muscles, tattoos and scars. He took your hands and pressed them against his abs. “Don’t be afraid about touching me. I want you to touch me.” He moaned. “Look what you do to me.”

You gazed at the bulge in his PJ bottoms. “You’re so hard. You want me so badly.”

“I do.” He massaged your breasts and smiled. “I need to devour you.”

You cried out in pleasure as Levi dove for your breasts and took one into his mouth as his thumb flicked your nipple on your other breast. You tangled your fingers in Levi’s hair and tugged hard. You looked down and felt your cheeks burning as Levi locked eyes with you. You panted and rubbed your thighs together as you felt a wetness forming between your legs. You were a little embarrassed at how wet you were and knew Levi would notice.

He released your breast with a pop and sighed. He pressed a loving kiss between your breasts before sucking your skin as he went down your body towards your panties. He stopped when you clamped your legs together. He pushed his fingers under the strap of your panties and played with them as he gazed at you. He was sure you were embarrassed about something. He’d licked and sucked your pussy countless times because he loved it so much, so he wasn’t sure why you were getting flustered.

He kissed your pelvis. “Talk to me. Why is my cute kitten closing her wonderful legs? Is my meal not ready yet?”

“I umm…” You looked away from him and lifted your hand and covered your mouth with the back of it. “I-I got o-overly aroused. It’s embarrassing.”

Levi’s eyes widened in delight. “More honey than usual!?” He dove into your arms and crashed his lips against yours. “Thank you for spoiling me so much. You being wet is a good thing.”

You whined. “I know, but my thighs are soaked and it’s on the bed too.”

Levi moaned. “Kitten, kitten, kitten.” He smiled as he felt arousal consume him. “What a delectable meal you’ve made for me. I will make sure to savour every single moment.” He dragged his lips down your body. “I’m so hungry and thirsty. Please, stop my hunger and quench my thirst.”

You covered your mouth with your hand as you watched Levi move further down your body. You clenched up a little in anticipation of what he’d do if it was fingers or tongue or all. You relaxed when he parted the slit of your panties and dragged his tongue to part your slit. A full-body blush took over you as Levi moaned at how much there was for him to lick up. His loving large hard pressed on your stomach. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly.

Levi pressed his face flush against your pussy. He opened his eyes and gazed at you with hooded lids and blown pupils. He was in pure heaven as you coated his tongue in your delicious nectar and moaned so perfectly for him. He pushed his hand from your stomach up your body and towards your breasts. He gripped hard and smiled against you as you moaned over and over. He admired you as you panted and shivered in delight.

You rolled your hips against Levi as you felt your coil tighten up. Your walls clenched with need. You loved feeling his tongue on your clit, but you craved something deep inside you. You needed Levi to bury himself inside you and fill you up. You really needed him. You pressed your thighs against Levi’s face as you gripped and pulled at the bed. Your body shook as you felt your pleasure increase.

You cried out in delight as you felt your coil snap. You leaned your head back and moaned as you came hard and enjoyed your orgasm rush through you. You turned a little and mewled. “Levi.”

Levi lifted his head and panted as a light gloss was on his lips and chin. He licked everything up and sighed as he said your name. “Delicious.”

You gazed at him. “Levi.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more attention.”

You closed your legs. “No more tongue and fingers.”

Levi stared at you before chuckling at how cute you were. “Tell me what you need.”

You reached down and gripped the band of his bottoms. You tugged him closer and mewled at him. “I need you.”

“Need what?”

You pouted a little. “You know what I need.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “I will not do anything until you tell me. I only do things you want and ask for.”

You looked away from him and whined. “I need to be connected to you. I want you to fill me without a condom on. I want…no…I need your cock inside me.”

Levi’s cheeks burned at your honesty. He looked away and whined. “Tch, fuck.”

You looked at Levi and cupped his face. “Levi?”

“I want that too.” He shifted his bottoms off and tossed them. “I’m craving you. Are you sure you want to do it without protection?”

You nodded. “Please. Do you?”

His eyes lit up. “I really do.”

You parted your legs for him. “Be one with me. Let us feel each other.”

Levi smiled as he moved his hand up and down his thick, hot and throbbing cock. He kissed you over and over as he moved his sensitive tip up and down your soaking slit before pushing deep into you. You both moaned together as inch by inch he stretched you. Your walls wrapped around him and dragged him deep until there was nothing left to give you. His pelvis pressed against yours, his tip nestled and lightly kissing your cervix. Levi perfectly fitted you.

Your bodies pressed together tightly as if you were becoming one. Fingers tangled together as you wrapped your legs around your man. Lips connected and moved together as love was pushed into each other. Soft pants between kisses heated lips as hips slowly moved together. Levi’s cock lightly pressed into you and kissed your cervix. His pelvis rubbed against your clit adding more pleasure to this moment. You were connected on a deep level as you made love.

Smiles spread over both your lips as you felt pure love and joy in your hearts. You felt connected on a deep level. Levi started laughing with a light chuckle making you giggle right back. You both felt so much love for each other. You leaned up and kissed Levi and demanded his attention and love. Levi pressed his plump lips against yours before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He slipped his arms around you and held you close to his body. He never wanted to let you go.

Levi dragged his lips along your jawline to your ear. “Mine.” He moaned your name. “You’re mine. I’m never letting you go.”

You welled up a little as you hugged Levi tightly. “Good.” You shivered as Levi nipped your ear. “Levi.”

Levi panted against your ear. “I love you.” He bit your neck and growled as he sucked on your delicate skin. “I love you.”

You dug your nails into his muscular back as it shifted and moved under your touch. You wrapped your legs tighter around Levi. “I love you, Levi. I love you so much.”

Levi thrust hard making you cry out. “Forgive me, but when you talk like that I can’t help myself.” He gripped the bed hard. “May I go a little rougher? I’m fuelled with passion.”

You nodded. “Faster.”

He leaned up a little and began bucking a little faster into you. He panted and shivered in delight. “Tell me again. Tell me how you love me.”

You cupped Levi’s face. “I love you, Levi. I love you.” You moaned in delight as Levi pounded his cock into you. “You feel so good. We were made for each other. I love you!”

Levi grunted as your walls clenched him. “Tch, fuck! I love you.” He moaned your name. “I love you.”

You gripped Levi tightly as you felt your coil tighten. “A-Ah, mm…Levi. I’m…ah.” You felt the snap and a rush of euphoria consumed you and cradled the back of your head. “Levi.”

Levi kissed you as he slowed his hips. He showered your face in kisses before smiling softly. “You are so beautiful and cute.”

You giggled as warmth tingled through your body. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He nuzzled his nose against yours. “Tell me what you need now.”

Your cheeks burned. “I love looking at you like this and kissing, but umm…I love prone because you can hold my boobs and touch me.”

Levi dragged his cock out of you making you shiver. “Roll over, darling brat.”

You shifted your weak body and flopped onto your front. You hummed a bit as you gripped your pillow and raised your hips just a bit. “Levi. Please, fill me.” You rubbed his cock between your butt cheeks. “Cum deep inside me.”

Levi slammed his cock into you as your words echoed in his head. He wrapped his arms around you and gripped your breast tightly as he bucked hard and fast into you as if he was a possessed man. He panted and moaned as the room filled with the lewd sounds of his pelvis slapping against your bum, your pleasure-filled moans, his hungry pants and his cock plunging in and out of your soaking pussy. He slipped his other hand down your body and began moving his fingers against your clit.

You gripped the bed tightly and began drooling as pleasure consumed you. You moaned so sweetly against the covers as Levi ravaged you so good that you were in pure euphoria the whole time. You wiggled under Levi, but you were pinned between him and the bed. You tried to move with Levi’s thrusts, but your pleasure was purely under his control. You melted against his touch and just enjoyed the way he moved your body. You missed his lips upon yours, but his touch was incredible.

Levi chomped down hard onto your shoulder and sucked hard. He nibbled up to your neck before moaning your name. “Kiss me.”

You turned your head and kissed your lover. “I love you.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “I love you so much.” He smiled as he saw your tears rolling from your eyes. “Bless you, my sweet kitten.”

“I’m so happy and in love.”

Levi smiled as he let a tear roll down his cheek. “Me too. I love you more than anything. You’re my world. I won’t ever let you go.”

You moaned against Levi’s lips. “Cum inside me. I need to feel you fill me up. Please, Levi.”

Levi blushed hard at your request. “Yes, my darling brat. I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

You shivered and drooled as he bucked faster into you. “Yes! Yes, Levi! Mm, breed me.”

Levi felt something shoot through him that he’d never felt before. Levi was incredibly aroused by your words. Levi’s kink was you, but he was beginning to think now he had a kink linked with this word breed. He felt an overwhelming urge to stuff you with his cum at all times. He wanted to have a part of him always inside you. He wanted to walk the streets with you or watch you baking knowing you had a hot large load of his cum deep inside your pussy. He craved to always have you stuffed. He wanted to keep filling you and he wanted one of those times to be successful.

He moved his fingers a little faster on your clit. “I’m c-close.”

You bucked against him. “Ah! Levi!” You shook under Levi as your coil snapped and your orgasm shot through your body. “Mmm.”

Levi bucked harder into you. “Fuck, ngh, ah, ah, ha, ha, mmm.” He slammed his cock deep into you and came hard. Ribbons of his hot thick seed filled your pussy. His balls tightened as he kept unloading into you. He hugged you tightly as he covered your neck and back in kisses. “I love you.”

You smiled and held Levi’s hand. “I love you too.”

“I didn’t go too hard, did I?”

You shook your head. “You were wonderful.” You shifted a little. “So much cum…it felt…” you pressed your face against the pillow and mewled “incredible. I w-want more.”

Levi grunted a little. “Such alluring words.” He kissed your neck. “How about later? We should clean up and get some rest.”

You shook your head. “I want more.”

He chuckled. “What a cute kitten you are.”

You wiggled from Levi and turned under him. You pouted as you gazed up at him. “I want to be with you, always.”

He rubbed your cheek. “You’re so adorable. I crave you just as much as you crave me. My darling.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Cuddle with me.”

Levi chuckled and lay on his side. “I’ll give you all the cuddles you want.”

You traced patterns on Levi’s chest. “Can you take my bra off? It’s kind of digging into my skin.”

Levi took your bra off in one swift motion and tossed it. “Better?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He traced his name on your lower back as he admired your breasts. “I bit a little hard here.”

You shifted on the bed a little. “Levi.”

“Mm?”

You lay on your back and wiggled a little with a blush. “It felt really good when you came inside me.”

Levi smirked. “You liked it that much?”

You nodded. “Did you?”

“I did. I think it’s a kink of mine now.” He ran his hand down your body. “Hm…I have a perverted thought.”

You sat up and shifted a bit as you blushed. “Does it have something to do with me showing you what you did to me?”

Levi growled. “We’re thinking the same thing.”

You parted your legs and moved your hand down to your pussy. You moved your wet lips and showed him your aching wet pussy. You pushed a little causing some of his huge load to ooze out. “There was so much…but I need more.”

Levi sat up and yanked you against him. “I must do my best to please the woman I love.” He kissed you roughly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Levi.” You hugged him and blushed. “That was so lewd of me.”

Levi chuckled. “You did wonderful. Remember, don’t do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

“Safeword is tea, but I want this. I really want this.” You straddled Levi. “I love you.”

“I love you always.”

You bounced around the room as Hades happily followed you. Levi watched fondly from his chair in the living room as he communicated with his father. He locked his phone and released a long sigh. His parents were going to arrive today, but he was going to enjoy a few more hours of peace with you before everything became about the Carters again.

Levi slipped out of his seat and walked up right behind you. He pressed himself close and rubbed your pelvis making memories of his morning come flooding into your minds. He kissed your neck a bit and sighed. “What are you up to?”

“I was going to take Hades for a walk. You can join if you want, or you can relax here.” You pulled from Levi’s touch making him pout. “You can always go to the local bar and have a drink with Erwin.”

Levi whined. “I don’t want to go for a drink.”

You slipped on your shoes and grabbed Hades’s lead. “You going to stay here and wait for your parents?”

He pouted. “I don’t wanna.”

You clipped Hades’s lead on. “What do you want?”

“I want you.”

You offered your hand. “Come on then handsome. Let’s go on a family walk.”

Levi ran over and yanked his shoes on before grabbing your hand and walking out the door. “Don’t ever go anywhere without me.”

“I promise.”

“Super promise.”

You giggled. “You’re like a kid. Our children will be adorable.”

Levi blushed as you kissed the back of his hand. “Mm, yes.” He pulled you closer to him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kissed his cheek making him whine a little. “So cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re good boy.”

He groaned at your words. “Stop flustering me so much on walks with Hades.”

You showered his hand in kisses. “Forgive me, my love.”

He released a long sigh. “Tch, naughty brat. I will have to spank you later.”

“Promise?”

He smirked a little. “Promise.”

You stopped in a field and took Hades’s lead off and watched him run around and sniff. You gazed out at the land as tears filled your eyes. You rubbed the tears away and sighed. “Damn it.”

Levi reached over and wiped your tears away. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just felt emotional as I looked out at the view.”

“Maybe you’re happy here and everything is going so well.”

You gazed at Levi and welled up more. “Mm. Yes!”

Levi pulled you against his chest and smiled as you cried. “It’s been a long time coming, huh?”

You nodded against him. “Mm!”

“It’ll all come to an end soon, I promise. My mother and father will bring the will and you’ll be done with the Carters for good.”

You clung to Levi. “Mm.”

Levi played with your hair. “Just think about our cute and adorable children.”

You looked up at Levi. “They’ll be wonderful.” You cupped Levi’s face. “They’ll be so cute and handsome.”

Levi chuckled as you sobbed. “You’re so adorable.” He covered your face in kisses. “I’m a lucky man.”

You sniffed a little. “I’m the lucky one.”

He held your chin and kissed you delicately on the lips. “I could just eat you up.” He sighed as he bit your lip leaving a little mark. “We should head home to meet my parents.”

You gasped and flapped your arms. “Oh no! No, no, no, no! I’m not good enough to meet them yet!” You welled up. “I’m so emotional and all over the place. I’ve cried a lot and my eyes are all red and puffy.”

Levi chuckled and ruffled your hair. “You’re wonderful and my parents are going to love you. I must warn you though, they love hugs.”

“That’s okay. I love them too.”

Levi whistled making Hades race over. He put his lead on and held your hand. “Let’s go.”

You squeezed his hand tightly. “Levi?”

“Mm?”

“I’m very happy.”

“I know.”

You looked up at him. “It’s all happy tears.”

He hummed a laugh. “I know.”

You heard Hades whine. You smiled and fussed him. “I’m okay, my sweet pup. Your mummy got a bit emotional about how happy she is.”

Levi groaned. “Calling yourself mummy…it does something to me…”

You blushed a little. “Mummy…I’d be a great mummy.”

“You would. Now, cease with this word because we’re about to see my parents and I can’t be horny.”

You hummed a laugh. “Sorry.” You looked ahead and froze. “Ah, they’re here.”

Levi smiled at seeing his mother holding a bag that was likely full of French desserts and pastries she had made. “Looks like mum went overboard again.” He looked over at you. “Don’t be scared, they’ll love you.”

“LEVIIII!”

Levi flinched at his mother’s voice. He smiled and waved. “Prepare yourself for a massive hug.”

Kuchel gasped as watched you walk closer. “She’s…so…CUTE!”

Levi put his arm around you. “She is.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Calm down, my love. Hold back your excitement.”

Kuchel pouted. “But I want to hug the woman that will become my daughter-in-law.”

Levi stopped before his mother and father. He introduced you and then them to you. “I hope we all get along.”

You gasped before you smiled brightly. “It’s lovely to meet you both! I’m deeply in love with your son!”

Levi blushed hard. “Tch, damn cute thing…”

You fiddled with the lead. “Uh, I will go make some tea. Come, Hades.”

Kuchel squealed. “She’s so cute. It’s so sad that she has been hurt all this time. Poor thing.”

Sebastian lifted his briefcase. “We have the will here and it’s great news and bad.”

Levi raised a brow. “Explain.”

“We’ve found her money and it will be sent to her as soon as she signs the papers.”

“Good. So, what’s the but?”

Sebastian gripped his case. “I think Chester has been looking for this money. All this money? It was hush money to keep your girlfriend’s mother quiet. He never gave a shit. Tch, disgusting man.”

Kuchel rubbed her husband’s back. “It’s okay, darling.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “Tch, how could he do that to a woman he loves and his daughter?”

Sebastian groaned. “About that…”

Levi turned to see a car pulling up. His eyes widened as Bruce climbed out with presents in his arms. “Why is he here?”

Kuchel smiled softly. “Say hello to your girlfriend’s real father.”

“Bruce?”

Bruce walked over to Levi. “I have a lot of explaining to do.” He smiled sadly. “I…I thought…I need to see her, again.”

Levi nodded. “This way.” He approached his home and opened the door and felt his heart race when he saw you in the kitchen with an apron and you’d clearly run around to pretty the place up. “Cute.”

You picked up a tray and hurried over to the dining table. “Welcome! Enjoy the tea and coffee. I brought plates so we can dish out the delicious food Mrs Ackerman made.”

Kuchel placed her bag down. “Please! Call me Mum or Kuchel.”

You lowered your head. “Kuchel.”

Kuchel knew it was too soon for you to say, Mum. “Perfect!” She plated the food up. “Sebastian? Why don’t you get talking.”

Sebastian explained to you what he told Levi outside about the will. He placed it on the table and moved it over to you. “You have millions waiting for you.”

You picked up the paper and read through it. “This is so much.”

“There’s a letter for you as well.” He handed it over. “We haven’t read it out of respect.”

You took the envelope and stared at your name written in your mother’s handwriting. “Mum…” You carefully opened it and slipped the letter out. “Careful…”

If you’re reading this, my little flower, then I am dead and Chester was successful. I know you’re probably confused about this all and how I managed to deteriorate so fast and die. Cancer didn’t take my life, but Chester Carter did. He is a wicked and cruel man that hated it when he couldn’t get what he wanted. He is a child who demands all the toys and more. He will never be happy.

Over twenty years ago I met the love of my life in my bakery. Bruce Carter. Bruce was so handsome and captured my heart so quickly. We started a perfect romance together and planned a life in the country. Bruce hated his family and wanted to cut ties with them. Everything was wonderfully planned out and our future was bright.

We got a wonderful surprise one day and Bruce was beyond happy. I was pregnant with you. Yes, we weren’t married yet and only engaged, but it felt right. Bruce was so very excited to be a father to you. He clung to the baby scan of you all the time and cried over it. He bought you so many beautiful things to wear. We were excited.

But our happiness was to end.

Chester discovered that his younger brother was with me and didn’t like it. Chester was enraged I was taking his precious little brother away and I trapped him with you. He threatened your life. I had a choice. Bruce or you. I chose you.

I ran with you and raised you on my own. I didn’t regret a single thing about my choice. As we hid together and had a perfect life, Chester was paying me to keep me quiet. Though it hurt to be apart from Bruce, I did what I had to for you. Everything was going okay. I hid the money away and tangled it up so Chester couldn’t get it back. All that money was yours and is yours.

Chester changed his mind when you became an adult. He sent loan sharks after us. They were an excuse to get that money back, but I refused. I worked extra hard to give them money I worked for and not that money that could save you. You deserve that precious bakery you’ve always wanted and you deserve love and you deserve to be free of the Carter family.

I started to get sick after a meeting with Chester. I don’t know what he did, but I know he was killing me slowly and I had a short amount of time. I put everything together as quickly as possible to ensure that you were protected even after I was gone. I have enclosed all the evidence I could discover about Chester and his rotten wife and kids. I hope that this may help you or anyone who is with you to stop them all.

Sweetheart, I hope and pray that you and your father meet each other. I hope he forgives me for running and tries to be a father. I hope this money helps you and I hope you find love.

I love you, my little flower. I love you more than anything in this world. You are the most precious thing to me and I am so proud of you.

Love you always and forever,

Mum xxx

You welled up and placed the letter down. You looked up at Bruce as he gazed at you with arms full of gifts. You moved from the table as the others reached for the letter to see what it revealed. You ignored the muttering and the shifting of the pages of evidence your mother had found. You stood there facing Bruce as tears streamed down your face and a very concerned Levi watched you.

Bruce squeezed the gifts as he said your name. “I…”

You shook. “Dad.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

You ran at him. “Dad!”

Bruce dropped his gifts for you and caught you as you jumped into his arms. He called your name and held you tightly. “My sweet flower.” He sobbed as he held you. “My little bud.”

You cried hard as you held him. “Dad!”

Levi walked closer to you and softly called your name. “Are you…umm…”

You dropped down to your feet and hugged Levi. “That’s my dad!”

Levi hugged you tightly. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

“I’m so happy!”

Levi smiled. “I’m glad. You should hug him more. I’ll get you some water as you’ve cried a lot today and you must be dehydrated.”

You rubbed your tears. “Mm!”

Bruce hugged you again. “Wanna see some pictures of your mother and me?”

You sniffed. “I really do.”

He put his hand in his breast pocket. “These are my most precious possessions.” He opened the little wallet to show a picture of your mother and him hugging each other with bright smiles. On the other side was a baby scan of you. “I cherished these for years. I’m so glad I’ve found you.”

You smiled through your tears. “Me too.”

Levi handed you water. “Drink up.” He ruffled your hair and looked at the pictures. “Huh, you look like your dad and your mum. It’s like a perfect mix.”

You grinned. “It’s perfect!”

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