#as another kind of example i was at college the other day and this girl started talking about how much she liked LotR and Pokemon

[catboyieejeno]

because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }

genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, oral (f recieving) protected sex, mentions of cheating, angst

wc: 21k

tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

navigation: {one} {two}

note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.

please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.

audio message from: seokmin <3 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58

“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.” 

≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world. 

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to. 

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true. 

For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.

His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry. 

She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it. 

Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum. 

When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right? 

A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.

In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered. 

The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so. 

Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months. 

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again. 

So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you? 

He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.

The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work. 

Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it. 

Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms. 

The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit. 

This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again. 

Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on. 

He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable. 

That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold.  He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right. 

This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.

He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen. 

He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong. 

On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep. 

He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop? 

Certainly the latter.

Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?” 

As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones. 

“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.” 

You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.

A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching. 

You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.

Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up. 

“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.” 

He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way. 

In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush. 

The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour. 

He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly. 

That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity. 

He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did. 

“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.” 

“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”

“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”

“Thanks again, uh…”

“Seokmin.”

“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.

In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too! 

Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone. 

The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift. 

When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him. 

Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest. 

It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement. 

The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief. 

If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more. 

Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat. 

This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time. 

With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up. 

“Hi–” 

You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat. 

“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.” 

“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.

“You left your phone here.” 

Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.

“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”

You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment. 

“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–” 

As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies. 

“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”

When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort? 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–” 

“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.” 

Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.” 

You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit. 

Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms. 

Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration. 

Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down. 

You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know. 

What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind. 

Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus. 

Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening. 

Except the following night, you aren’t there either. 

As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight. 

And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him. 

Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed. 

“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”

He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather. 

“Nothing!”

“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction. 

Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station. 

“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”

As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?” 

He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.” 

“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”

He shakes his head, “No.” 

“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have. 

“I would, but…”

“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”

He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display. 

He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual. 

Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations. 

As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom. 

So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise. 

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. 

Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside. 

He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.

Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.

Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.

The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.

“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”

There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.

“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”

At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm. 

He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter. 

First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly. 

“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!” 

“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’” 

As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.

“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”

When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur. 

The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor. 

Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!

At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.  

“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”

“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit. 

“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.

”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…” 

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.

“Sorry. And thank you.” 

“For?”

You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”

”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.” 

“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop. 

”Ms. Boo, this is…“

”Y/N.” 

“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.

”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.  

“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.” 

Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“

”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.” 

“I plan to do just that. Thank you.” 

He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over her head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.

Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.

You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door. 

Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.” 

“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.” 

“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.

So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.” 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.” 

“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.” 

At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again. 

As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.” 

Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window. 

“These look like the ones from your shop.” 

“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.”  He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves. 

Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?” 

“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.” 

You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth. 

When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before. 

He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan. 

“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter. 

Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.” 

“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”

“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?” 

“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.” 

“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”

“Right.” 

“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.

“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!” 

“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.

“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort. 

“You like it?” 

“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat. 

“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.

“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.” 

You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”

Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.

Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.

“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”

“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”

Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.

You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.

“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”

“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.

“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”

He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.

Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”

Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.

Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”

Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.

You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.” 

After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.” 

“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory. 

“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“ 

“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.” 

There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.

Simply put: you were not her. 

“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.” 

It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you. 

It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature. 

He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles. 

Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk. 

But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood. 

“Ms. Boo?” 

“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.

“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.” 

“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.

“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…” 

“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob. 

“Alright, then.” 

The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window. 

All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.

“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath. 

Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic. 

“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—” 

“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“And then—” 

“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.” 

“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.” 

“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.” 

“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms. 

“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?” 

The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.” 

“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles. 

At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.” 

“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again. 

“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile. 

“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.” 

“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.

“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.

That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money. 

“Here.” 

“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”

Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!” 

“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”

“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”

Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”

Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”

With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest. 

“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”

“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?” 

Spoiler alert: he would.

Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.

He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers. 

Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door. 

“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.  

“Coffee time.” 

The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them. 

“Morning,” 

“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile. 

There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua. 

“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him. 

“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”

“You got it.” 

He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?” 

“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.” 

“Go on, then.” 

“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.

“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.” 

Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.

“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.

You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.

“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.

“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.

It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.

“Wait, you ordered already?”

“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”

“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. 

“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”

“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.

“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.

“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”

Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.” 

“I guess I will,” 

To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning. 

Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time. 

Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine. 

A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop. 

In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another. 

And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.

Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing. 

At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you. 

The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”

“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth. 

“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.” 

You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”

“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.

Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.

Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air. 

“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”

“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”

Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”

You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.

“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.

“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh. 

“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”

As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.

He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”

“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”

You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”

“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station. 

You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop. 

Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.

"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”

"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."

You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”

“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you. 

After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?” 

“They’re pretty.” 

“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”

"Distractions can be good, though,"

"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks. 

You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.

Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self. 

"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."

You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."

Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."

As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.

“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.

The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop. 

As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to. 

“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.” 

“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.” 

“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.” 

“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.” 

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.  

“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”

Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?” 

You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.

There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.

As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you. 

As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.

There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.

He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze. 

For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.

He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”

You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.

“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.

He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”

With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.

He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.

He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.

Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer. 

He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.

“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are. 

He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.

“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.

“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”

Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”

“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.

The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.

“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.

Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”

“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”

“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word. 

He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”

You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”

Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”

There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.

Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.

“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.” 

Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know. 

 “Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.

There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.

After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”

The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.

He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you. 

He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.

Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.

“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.” 

It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing. 

As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.

Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words. 

You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.

I should’ve told you I’m in love with you

Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now

The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.

When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.

You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.

You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”

He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.

“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.” 

You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”

You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.

“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.

You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.

And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough. 

After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”

He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”

And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.

“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.

It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.

He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked. 

Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.

Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.

You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week. 

When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”

You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”

Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.

“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”

With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.

The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.

Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.

At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”

He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”

Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps. 

You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.

The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.

“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.

Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.

“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.

The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more. 

He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.

At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.

More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.

“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.

Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.

You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries. 

As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.

Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today. 

“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.

“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”

You’re just pretty. 

As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.

He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now? 

His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.

There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself. 

He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.

And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.

By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.

As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.

“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts. 

Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf. 

Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.

Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet. 

At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.

As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you. 

Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.

As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."

He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”

“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”

“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet,  “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”

With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.

At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.

Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.

“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room. 

Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”

Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.

“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.” 

You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song. 

“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?” 

Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.

Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.

You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.

Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.

Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.

Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.

“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.

You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”

He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.

As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.

“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting. 

“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility. 

He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.

There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.

“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.

You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.

As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.

The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.

Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.

At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”

It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.

The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in. 

A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”

He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.

When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.

The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.

"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”

You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”

“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.

“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.

“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.

You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness.  Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.

You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.

When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.

And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.

You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.

“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.

“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.

His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you. 

His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.

Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you. 

As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.

“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.

“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip. 

The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough. 

The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last. 

Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering. 

There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.

“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.

“Soon,” you reply, smiling as he finally lets go of your hand and steps back, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.

[click here to continue]

[yerimbrit]

insufferable : k. chaewon

synopsis: i (21f) absolutely detest my roommate (21f). we've known each other for years, but have always had this unspoken beef?, for lack of a better word. i tried requesting a dorm change but was denied. my friend offered to switch dorms but my roommate started acting weirdly after i told her about it. what should i do?

# : pairing ! nonidol!kim chaewon x fem!reader

# : tags ! college!au, enemies to something else, crack, fluff, light angst, they're so petty it's insane, forced proximity, reader is lowk a jock, temperature is in fahrenheit cus i'm american sorry, miscommunication, arguments, kazuha owns a wii and a betta fish

# : wordcount ! 4.7k

# : warnings ! none

"you've got to be kidding me."

chaewon scoffed, looking at you with an expression that nearly matched yours which held an inexplicable amount of disgust. she rolled her suitcase into the dorm, slipping off her vans slip-ons. "shouldn't i be saying that? no one would want to room with you, hello?"

you scowled, turning back to the tv, logging into your netflix account. "you know what, whatever. i mind my own business, you mind yours. let's just make this easier on both of us, yeah?"

"for once, i agree with you."

ah, yes. kim chaewon. the bane of your existence, and also the girl you'd been beefing with since the third grade. it all started when she said that she could beat you in a race during the sports festival. then, after she lost the race, she had started stealing your juiceboxes when you weren't looking. as a result, you laughed at her crayon drawings and knocked down her block towers for revenge.

the exchanges eventually escalated into middle school and high school, your rivalry turning into petty arguments and pointed glares across the room. it only got worse when your mothers had gotten close at one particular school event, and you had to see chaewon even more than usual. to add onto that, you always saw her at your basketball games because she was the captain of the cheer team.

kim chaewon was a constant in your life. and god, was she so annoying.

"she's so annoying," you grumbled, popping a french fry into your mouth. "i mean, who the hell does pilates in the living room!?"

kazuha smiled and took a sip of her root beer. "me. it's actually kind of fun, you should try when you can't make it to the gym."

"you know she's a gym bro, it's like her second home," yunjin snorted, stealing a fry off of your plate, which effectively earned her a swat of the hand.

yunjin and kazuha were both on the basketball team with you, but kazuha was also on your high school team. you were the one who'd convinced her to join due to her height, on just her second day at school after transferring from japan. then, you and kazuha met yunjin at orientation, who was also planning on trying out for your college's team, and once you all made it, you were inseparable.

you sighed. "you're literally the one who goes with me, yunjin."

the american threw her hands up in a guilty manner, then stole another fry. "anyway, can we talk about something else? this whole time you've been talking about your roommate, personally i don't care but i hear this everyday. you even blow up the groupchat to talk about her."

"i think i've heard her name more than my own," kazuha shuddered. she drank the rest of her soda, resulting in the straw making an obnoxious sound when the cup emptied. "are you sure you aren't like, in love with her or something? i've never seen you talk about someone so much, someone other than chaewon."

you gagged. you? in love with chaewon? quite the opposite. "that's absolutely disgusting, zuha. don't ever mention me, chaewon, and in love, in the same sentence, again."

you would rather die than date kim chaewon. literally everything about her infuriated you. for example: she woke up way too early.

recalling the past few days, you grimaced. last night while you were on a game-replay-turned-movie-binge, you heard the girl start singing and working in the kitchen. and while you had to admit she did have a killer voice, it was 5 am and you still hadn't gone to sleep.

also, she spent hours in the bathroom. even after being let known that you were exhausted and sweaty from practice, she spared no pity for you. she even went as far as to take another thirty minutes just to spite you. what did she even do in there?

and every time you came back late from a party or from hanging out with yunjin and kazuha, she scolded you. it was always about having some respect for her and how irresponsible you were for not returning at an appropriate time. what was she, your mom?

it seemed chaewon just loved to scold you. be quiet at night, stop leaving your towels everywhere, can you shut up so i can study, clean up after you finish your takeout, that wasn't even the end of it.

(after a grueling practice session led by your team captain, you were just about ready to pass out on your bed. unfortunately, you couldn't do that until you showered and chaewon was in the sole bathroom that your dorm had.

"why's it so fucking hot," you whined, begrudgingly getting up to check the thermostat. as you shuffled over while wiping your forehead clear of sweat with the towel hanging around your neck, you could slowly and clearly make out the number 78.

"what the fuck."

"oh, you're back."

speak of the devil, who just came out of the shower with her hair still wet and dripping onto her white my melody tee.

you furrowed your eyebrows, trying not to focus on her appearance, her bare face that looked too good, and pointed to the thermostat. "could you," you coughed, wiping the sweat off of your nose, "care to tell me why our dorm is set to 78 degrees."

chaewon sneered. "it was cold.")

a text sucked you out of your dingy flashback. it was from chaewon, of course it was. 'it's ur turn to take out the trash this week.' how about it's your turn to take her out? with a punch, of course. yeah.

"gotta go," you stood up, letting out an unnecessary and exaggerated groan as you stretched your back muscles. "the demon is calling."

"so can i have your last fry or what?"

you scoffed at yunjin, snatching the fry and shoving it in your mouth. the blonde mumbled something under her breath that you couldn't catch, but kazuha interjected before you could flick her on the nose.

"hey, you should do us a favor and confess already!"

"i don't like her like that! or at all! i'll stop spamming you if that's what you want, just stop assuming i have a crush on chaewon."

yunjin smirked. "'cause you do?"

"'cause i don't!"

you started walking towards the exit of the diner, dreading the upcoming encounter with your roommate. and also dreading the future "chaey/n" ship texts from the two idiots. you reminded yourself to set up an anti-yunjin booth to counter her upcoming student council campaign.

"you can kiss a hundred boys in ba—"

"can you shut the fuck up? i'm trying to study," chaewon half-groaned and half-yelled as she slammed your door open.

you were currently in a sweat-inducing fight against malenia in your summonless run of elden ring, with sakura (who happened to be best friends with chaewon) screaming in your ear whenever you failed to dodge the boss's waterfowl dance. just as you narrowly avoided an attack, you started singing good luck, babe! in a panic.

because you were still fighting the boss, and because you only heard something thud, you didn't realize that your fuming roommate was standing in your room, waiting for you to notice her presence.

chaewon moved to stand next to you, hands on her hips as her patience continued to thin out. the 'you died' screen faded in on your screen and you respawned at the site of grace, whining while sakura both laughed at you and scolded you through the discord voice chat.

through the corner of your eye, you could barely see a bit of pink. huh. what was pink in your room? almost nothing, besides the pinkie pie plush that yunjin had gotten you as a joke, but that was resting on your bed and you certainly didn't recall getting anything else this week.

...until you looked up and saw the scowling face of kim chaewon.

"how did you not see me for the past ten minutes."

your mouth dropped open and you pressed the mute button on your mic before taking your headphones off. "i was busy! and why are you here anyway?"

chaewon gripped the pale pink fabric of her twice hoodie in frustration. "i came in ten minutes ago to tell you to shut up, but you didn't hear me!"

"you could've, i don't know, tapped my shoulder!?" you yelled back, pinching the bridge of your nose. how were you supposed to know she was there when you were so focused on your computer screen?

"ugh!" she turned away, exasperated. "god, i wish you out of all people weren't my roommate! i mean who even sings to chappell roan while they're being chased down!?"

upon hearing her words, it hit you. you had asked the RA minjeong for a dorm change, but she had simply told you to suck it up, or find someone willing to swap with you. and lucky for you, sakura was more than willing to do exactly that, because she hated rooming with your best pal yunjin.

"you know what, i've got just the news for you."

the shorter girl looked startled, but ever so impatient. "what?"

you pulled up your texts with the older japanese girl, revealing an agreement that she would switch with you because "yunjin keeps taking naps on our sofa and leaving crumbs everywhere u can have her," smiling in victory.

to your utter surprise, chaewon went quiet. then she bit her lip and left your room without another word.

"what the fuck?"

this week felt different. you no longer heard humming from the kitchen in the morning but heard sounds of sizzling and clashing, the fresh aroma of breakfast she cooked making its way even through the door to your room.

chaewon stopped doing pilates in the living room, she stopped telling you to clean up and instead waited for you to do it at your own pace. she stopped texting you to shut up, and she hadn't spent any more time than necessary in the bathroom besides her lengthy nightly routine.

it was weird. why was chaewon doing the exact opposite of what you complained about?

so you did the obvious and asked her about it, when she was in the living room watching something on your netflix account connected to the tv.

"hey."

she hummed, not bothering to turn around and face you. what the hell was her problem?

you strided to the side of the couch, scoffing when she didn't pay even an ounce of attention to you. unfortunately, that only pissed you off more. you grabbed the remote and paused the episode of whatever drama she was on.

the girl whipped her head around, eventually meeting your eyes. "what are you doing!?"

your roommate took her dramas very seriously. so of course, this resulted in an agitated chaewon. well, at least she was looking at you.

"no," you started, "what are you doing?"

she furrowed her brow, crossing her arms. "i don't know what you're talking about."

seriously? she still wanted to play dumb? you crossed your arms, mirroring her posture. "you know damn well what i'm talking about. you're acting so," you threw your hands up in a mocking manner, "weird. you're not trying to piss me off anymore. which, in turn, is pissing me off even more!"

"are you a masochist, by any chance?" she ridiculed, stifling her laughter.

"no! can you just answer my question?"

chaewon scowled, standing up from her spot on the couch and walking right in front of you. there was an angry red blush settling on her ears, and she had to look up at you. it would be a lie to say it wasn't the least bit cute.

her finger pressed on your chest, forcefully pushing you back by half a step. "i've been acting nice for you, and this is how you respond? can't you be grateful for once in your sorry life!?"

"well i'm sorry that i'm weirded the fuck out when you're always so pissy! can you imagine my reaction when you suddenly start acting like an angel? good thing you don't need to imagine, it's right in front of you," you stepped closer to her, gritting your teeth.

as you looked down you could see slight eyebags messily covered by makeup, and the strands of hair sticking out after she haphazardly tied it into a bun. you almost wanted to reach out and at least move her bangs out of her face.

on the other hand, chaewon was seething. "you know what?" she hissed, glaring at you with such killer intent that it made you shrink back. "i'm glad you're moving out. sakura would be so much better than you."

her anger reflecting in her teary eyes had reached you, yet there was a hint of softness somewhere in them. you sighed in defeat. "...fine."

"fine? hey, wait! i'm not done with you, damn it!"

without waiting for an answer, you grabbed your phone and keys, walking out the door while ignoring the shorter girl's questions and yells.

you found yourself in kazuha's apartment. the basketball player lived by herself, not counting the super blue betta fish she kept in the living room. jinsoul—the betta, you mean—was trained and was even taught to do tricks, like following your finger across the aquarium, swimming through hoops, et cetera.

"so you mean to tell me, you just walked out after fighting with her and let yourself in with my spare key?" kazuha yawned out, dropping a few pellets into the tank. a wide grin spread across her lips as she watched the fish eat.

sometimes it felt like kazuha believed that jinsoul (again, the fish) was her real daughter; it would be laughable if she wasn't so dead serious about it. the topic was always brought up by either you or yunjin when you were over, but was always deflected by the girl.

you groaned, making yourself comfortable on her linen couch. there was a barely noticeable stain in the corner where yunjin had spilled her buldak noodles, to which she apologized profusely and brought over a dozen cleaning products to get rid of it.

safe to say, it was successful, since she, for some reason, already had these products in her car and rushed over to get them.

the three of you were the only ones who knew about the stain. oftentimes you'd forget it was there, but the initial sight of it would crawl out from the back of your mind.

"at least i didn't come back empty-handed. i got you one of those overpriced parfaits from the café down the block," you picked at a stray hangnail, staring at the view of the foliage outside of the window.

kazuha rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin but ultimately failing. she made her way over to you with the parfait, moving your legs so she could sit down. a contented sigh made its way out her mouth after she took the first bite.

her hand reached for the tv remote, pressing the power button and switching to a certain hdmi channel. "i know what would cheer you up."

she reached over to press another button on an old, white console, then pulling out two rectangular controllers. it took a while, but soon you could hear the fan of the wii roar to life and see the familiar opening display on the tv.

it didn't take you long to realize your teammate's intention in booting up the wii. your eyes widened in horror as you watched kazuha push the small coffee table to a corner and select the top left channel which showed the wonders of hell, and your worst fear: just dance 4.

"zuha, you can't be serious."

the girl only hummed and took her last bite of the parfait, which disappeared within seconds. jesus, sometimes you forgot she was practically a vacuum when it came to food.

now, you had no way out of this; you were only able to whine when you got handed the controller, and only able to watch while kazuha scrolled to what was arguably one of the hardest songs: disturbia. and as much as you admired rihanna you could not do this without cracking your hips at least once.

➤➤ fast forward

kazuha struck the final pose without breaking a sweat—completely opposite of you: collapsed against the front of the couch, still fighting your demons after an exhausting four minutes.

the outro of the song, despite having faded away for a few moments, echoed in your head like a haunting wail. your t-shirt was disgustingly drenched in sweat, and you might've passed out if not for the glass of pity-water handed to you by the outdo-er.

"i'm pooped," you groaned, covering your eyes with your arm. kazuha giggled and took a seat next to you, ruffling your already unkempt hair with a free hand. her other hand was holding a glass of water for herself.

"that couldn't have been worse than coach kang's laps. you play center, yet queen rihanna gets you sweating more than a game against our rival school."

"leave me alone," you whined, dragging out the 'e' at the end. "i just got fought with a baby cheetah."

kazuha made a teasing 'oooh' sound, wiggling her eyebrows and making you push her by the shoulder. "you even have a nickname for her?"

"piss off, nakamura," you pinched your the bridge of your nose, "but seriously, that shit drained me. both disturbia and kim chaewon. i just don't understand why she started doing the opposite of what she used to."

"hmm."

"i mean, the look on her face at some point—it was different, unreadable. i couldn't tell what she was feeling. she said i couldn't be grateful for her nice behavior, but is it really my fault? am i the asshole here? ...hey, are you listening?" you blew a strand of hair out of your face, turning to look at kazuha who was rubbing her chin like some sort of psychic.

she scrunched up her eyebrows and cracked her knuckles, hesitating before clearing her throat. "you probably won't believe me, but..."

"but what?" you wrapped your arms around your knees, bringing them closer so you could rest your chin on them.

the other girl sighed and stretched her legs out. "okay, wait. when did this start?"

"after i told her i was planning on switching dorms... wait."

that's right. chaewon had started acting strange the day after she barged into your room, but you had only started noticing two days after, coming home from the gym and needing something you had left in the bathroom.

(the shorter girl came out immediately after you knocked and requested for her to hurry it up. you were faced with a chaewon with her hair still dripping wet and a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her torso, bringing an involuntary blush to your cheeks. to your surprise, she merely nodded at you and walked into her room without a word.)

"was she trying to make amends...? or convince me to stay?"

"you might want to ask her yourself, y/n."

and as if on cue, your phone buzzed several times in succession. blindly reaching for the device on top of the couch, you squinted through the bright wallpaper to see over 20 notifications from your roommate.

'31 missed calls and 50+ unread messages from kim chaewon.'

you frantically grabbed your keys and scrambled to your feet, ignoring the soreness in your muscles from the earlier dancing session. it was damn near midnight. kazuha stood up to open the door for you, and you thanked her and left in a rush.

you had to go home.

but by the time the adrenaline rush wore off and you'd let yourself into the dorm, your legs had given out and you passed out against the door.

falling, falling, falling.

there were cats falling with you, into the void. there was no start, and thus there was no end. you were only able to look up, seeing countless cats coming out of nowhere and not making a sound.

while you loved cats, there was no reason they should be falling into, well, nothing. then you saw a figure diving towards you with their hand out. you instinctively reached out for them, their face slowly getting clearer as they inched closer.

your hands met. they locked their fingers with yours, and slowly pulled you up with them. there seemed to have been a portal opened up at the "start".

the figure brought you to the portal, making the two of you float just below it. they leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, and flashed a smile.

and just for a moment, they donned the appearance of your darling roommate.

it smelled like coffee.

you didn't remember moving to the couch. your blanket was draped over you and the stupid pinkie pie plush was tucked in with you, and your muscles were extremely sore.

remnants of the night prior flashed in your mind, and you rubbed your eyes. what happened?

chaewon walked to the door, slipping her sneakers on and leaning over the couch to peek at you. not realizing you were awake, she jumped back with a yelp.

"i... i made you coffee and some pancakes for you. they're on the, um. counter. bye—"

you desperately stopped her by the wrist, half-kneeling on the couch. "thank you, can we talk? when you get back?"

the shorter girl had a look of uncertainty in her eyes, but ultimately nodded. the door shut quietly behind her, leaving you alone in the dorm.

reluctantly, you stepped off the couch to go check the breakfast she made you. the faint aroma of the sweets intensified as you got closer to the kitchen, bringing your mood down.

the plate was covered by a paper towel, and on top of it had a hello kitty themed sticky note.

"y/n,

i'm sorry for yesterday. i want to talk later, if that's ok. also, the butter is in the top left of the fridge and i left the maple syrup on the counter.

- chaewon"

you chuckled, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

this wasn't what you were expecting to wake up to.

you sat across from chaewon at the dining table, both of you waiting for the other to start. you had woken up just before noon, went to the one class that you had today and returned to the dorms after grabbing a few snacks from the convenience store. chaewon hadn't come home until around four, so you took it upon yourself to study in the meantime.

the jasmine tea that you poured for the two of you was steaming hot, releasing clouds of translucency up into the hanging ceiling light above.

"i'm—"

"so—"

you cleared your throat, gesturing towards your roommate as a sign for her to continue. she traced the rim of the ceramic and bit her lip.

"i'm sorry," she started, "i know my behavior as of recently is conflicting."

"it is," you frowned, "but continue."

chaewon lifted the teacup to her lips, sipping slowly. the clink of the coaster resounded throughout the entire dorm. "we've fought for as long as i remember. and we became roommates, and we fell into a routine. it's normal for us to be petty."

it was normal for you to be petty with chaewon. it was like breathing air, drinking water. no matter where you were, as long as she was there then you would hate each other to the ends of the earth.

"when you... suggested a change in that routine, i panicked. i didn't want to get rid of what was normal."

it was a more than a few months into the year. what you and chaewon had built was unmistakably a routine. one that was part of your everyday life, but one that you could not see yourself without. it didn't start at the beginning of the year, but on the day that you had beaten her in a race.

the look on her face was one you couldn't forget. eight-year-old chaewon looked close to tears before she ran away and stole your juicebox the next day. and it transformed into something else, and something more, and whatever was going on now.

you took a moment to appreciate the floral scent of the tea and sipped from your own cup. "i'm sorry too."

"even though it's kind of our brand, i shouldn't have blown up at you like that. i mean," you sighed, "you were going out of your way to be nice.

chaewon took another sip. meeting your eyes with a softened gaze. "so i guess this means truce?"

you smiled. "truce. but i am curious..."

"about what?"

"i know that wasn't the only reason you didn't want me to switch dorms. tell me the other reason."

the girl gulped, averting her eyes. her mind trailed back to a conversation she had just earlier, during a meal she had with sakura in between classes.

("well, she has a point. why don't you want to switch? you know i wouldn't mind, rooming with jennifer sucks," the older girl stated, lifting a few strands of ramen noodles with her chopsticks.

chaewon frowned, taking a bite of a small piece of karaage. she had finished her own bowl of ramen a few seconds ago. "you call her jennifer now? also, i don't know. i just feel bad for what i did, even though it was mutual. i didn't want to lose that familiarity."

"and?"

"and, it's because she's been a part of my life since forever, whether i like it or not."

sakura huffed, slurping up the last of her ramen and setting her chopsticks on top of the bowl. "uh huh. but that doesn't explain why you spent thirty minutes trying to carry her to the couch, brought the one blanket that you don't let anyone touch, not even me or eunchae when she comes over."

"and on top of that, you tucked her in with a my little pony plushie. and then proceeded to make breakfast and coffee for her, without making any for yourself. that's why you're making me pay for your ramen."

the younger girl was taken aback, rendered speechless. she knew what she did, but hearing it out of someone else's mouth was humbling.

the japanese crossed her legs and clasped her fingers together. "you know what you haven't realized, but almost everyone else has?"

"what?")

"i'm in love with you."

you yawned, taking a sip of coffee and stepping out from the kitchenette in your shared dorm with yunjin. the blonde was sitting on the couch with her notebook in hand, probably thinking of lyrics for her next song. after performing at a local festival, you and a few others urged her to continue her music career, and now she was taking the advice seriously.

she seemed to have noticed your presence, turning around and grinning. "hey. your girlfriend's waiting for you outside. are you going out again today?"

you coughed, "chaewon is not my girlfriend! and yeah, i'm taking her to that nice restaurant by the beach, the one that our team went to last time."

"she's not your girlfriend as of right now. how long are you going to make her wait?" yunjin stood up, walking you to the entryway and tossing you your keys, which you caught and tucked into the pocket of your basketball shorts. it was almost summer, only the beginning of june, but it was already impossibly hot.

checking your other pocket for your wallet, you slipped on your sneakers. "i don't know. maybe until the end of today. or maybe next month."

the taller girl sighed, glancing at you worriedly. "maybe you just need a day to reflect on yourself."

you reached for the doorknob. "maybe."

a/n : this is an apology for scrapping the other chaewon fic i had 😁 also crazy drops soon and the chorus has been stuck in my head??

[idesofrevolution]

Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 3)

In which y/n is Harry's favorite student, and she accidentally kisses him. 

+++

A perfect day for y/n includes plugging in her headphones, getting herself a little starbucks treat, and going to the bookstore. 

After her week of midterm hell, she decided that she deserved this. She hadn’t been to the bookstore in a while, and none of the books she has right now are piquing her interest. She deserves her chai latte, she deserves to take a break from studying, and she deserves to have a day to herself. 

She’s unaware of her surroundings as she walks through the fiction aisle. She has two books under her arm that she’s deciding between getting (she’s on a college girl budget, she can Not afford to be buying more than one book a week), but a third one sitting on the new release shelf catches her eye. It’s by one of her favorite authors – but it hasn’t been released in paperback yet, and hardcovers are so expensive. Maybe she could see if the library has it, instead. 

She puts it back on the shelf, and side steps along the aisle, scanning all the books displayed all organized and pretty. When she gets a house, she’ll turn one of the bedrooms into a library, and display all her books with a bunch of cozy candles and a reading nook and it’ll be perfect. That’s the dream, she sighs. 

She moseys into the non-fiction aisle… not really her go-to genre, but when she’s at the bookstore, she’ll be there all day. There’s another girl in the aisle with her, with a book cracked open, reading the author’s note. Y/n is careful not to get too close, staying a couple steps to the side and looking over all the titles. Another figure joins the girl standing to her right – a tall male who looks oddly familiar. 

Suddenly she’s smelling vanilla and smoked wood. 

She peaks over discreetly, and recognizes the curly brown hair and hunched shoulders instantaneously. Harry stands close to the other girl, his chest brushing her arm as he looks over her shoulder at the book she’s holding. He’s got a book of his own tucked under his arm, and his signature smirk dimples his cheek as he whispers something to the girl. Y/n wonders what they’re talking about, feeling a pang in her chest as he quietly giggles with this other, pretty girl. He's dressed much more casually than his usual button ups and slacks that he wears to class. Nike shorts and a gray hoodie, with a brown pair of sunglasses pushing his unruly curls out of his face. 

This is the Harry that exists outside of class. He wears hoodies and goes to bookstores on the weekends and has friends that she doesn’t know about. She’s suddenly overwhelmed with how much she doesn’t know about him. For example – is this pretty red-headed girl his girlfriend? 

She swallows thickly and averts her eyes, pretending like she didn’t notice him. She doesn’t think TA’s enjoy seeing students outside of class (even if they are also the kind of TA to drive students home when it’s rainy or late at night). Plus, what would she even say? Hi Harry, is this pretty girl your girlfriend? Because I was actually hoping you were single and also I have a huge crush on you and sometimes I think about what it’d be like to kiss you– but I’ll try to keep all that to a minimum if you are actually in a happy relationship! 

She takes a couple quiet steps back towards the romance aisle – not only her favorite genre, but a safe escape route from any possible awkward encounters – but of course, OF COURSE she’d accidentally knock into a display table and knock a few books down. 

She quickly bends down to pick up the books and pretend like nothing happened, but she’s not quick enough to escape Harry who curiously calls out, “Y/n?”

She smiles nervously. “Hello.” 

The look on Harry’s face is one that could light up the darkest room. He smiles excitedly, his bunny teeth on display, and his eyes brighten with familiarity. He turns to the girl next to him, bursting, “Madeline– this is her!” 

“Y/n?” Madeline chirps, her voice light and fluttery like a bird. 

“Um, yeah?” Y/n’s eyes flicker between Harry and red-headed Madeline. Does Madeline know who she is?

Her confusion is obvious, her head tilting slightly and her lips pinched to the side. “Madeline is another one of the graduate students in my year–” Harry explains. “She TA’s for one of Dr. Richmond’s other sections.” 

Y/n nods, still confused.

“I’ve read your essays!” Madeline bubbles. “Harry and I always talk about our favorite students and send each other the really good essays!” Harry’s cheeks turn pink as Madeline exposes his favoritism towards y/n, but he supposes it’s not that much of a secret. Y/n’s eyes glance towards him curiously, who stands with his lips curled in a bashful smile. 

“Oh,” y/n doesn't fully know what to say, feeling shy and nervous but flattered at the same time. “That’s so nice, I… I didn’t know TA’s did that.”

“Oh yeah, we also send each other the bad ones…” Madeline prattles on, while Harry brushes his knuckles against his nose, almost embarrassedly. What a coincidence to see her here, when he’d literally just been telling Madeline all about his favorite student — the only student to show up to his office hours, who had so many good thoughts on the books that they were reading, and who wasn’t even an English major! The two graduate students always complained to each other how the students that they TA-ed didn’t seem to appreciate the books they analyzed together – how hard it was to get students to participate, which is silly since they literally signed up for those classes voluntarily. It’s rare to have students who genuinely want to talk to them about whatever they’re reading in class.

Madeline rests a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go check out this book and then we can go back to yours, yeah?” He has no idea what else she might’ve said within the past minute, too caught up in his own thoughts, but he nods as she walks towards the register. That leaves him alone with y/n. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, and y/n tucks her books to her chest protectively. She’s silently analyzing what Madeline might’ve meant when she said that they’d go back to his place. He nods his chin towards the books, “What are y’getting?” He genuinely can’t control the way his eyes glimmer with fondness when he looks at her. 

She reveals the covers to him. “Well, this one’s called Rebecca… and this one’s called Bunny.”

His lips twitch, “Bunny?” She nods. He thinks about the way y/n’s nose tends to twitch like a little bunny. What a fitting book. 

“What book are you and… Madeline getting?” 

“Er– just a book Dr. Richmond wanted us to pick up for him. For the section Madeline TA’s for.” 

She nods. He rocks back and forth on his toes, staring at her with that fond glimmer still in his eye. 

Madeline comes skipping back a few seconds later. “Ready?”

With a wave, Harry and Madeline head out. Y/n carries on with her book shopping, Harry lingering in the back of her mind. 

+++

“Okay everyone, that’s all for today,” all the students in the room start shutting their laptops and zipping their bags as Dr. Richmond closes his own book. “Don’t forget to do this weekend's reading, check the course site for the next essay prompt… and, um… yeah, that’s it.” Harry quickly stands from his corner of the classroom, tapping Dr. Richmond lightly on the shoulder. “Oh!” Dr. Richmond exclaims into the mic, “Wait– everyone pause, Harry has an announcement.” 

The shuffling and murmurs die down, as Harry stands in front of the lecture hall with his hands folded behind his back. “Um– Just wanted to let you all know that your essays have been graded. Scores will be posted by the end of the day, and if you have any questions or want to go over your papers, you can come to my office hours. Thursdays at 5.” 

He gives a soft, close lipped smile, and everyone resumes their chattering. Y/n is the only one who approaches Harry’s desk.

“Hi,” she fiddles with the straps of her bag nervously, “Can I know how I did?”

Harry, who’s packing up his books, gives her a teasing side eye, a sly smirk on his lips, “Didn’t I just say come to office hours?”

She shrugs, “Was hoping you’d tell me early. Since I’m your favorite and all.” 

He breathes a laugh through his nose, looking around the classroom to scour if anyone’s still there other than the two of them. He can’t even bring himself to deny it. “M’not supposed to have favorites,” is all he has to say. His cheeks tint pink and he smiles bashfully, both of them knowing fully well that his favoritism is undeniably there, even if he’s technically not supposed to let it show. 

“Come on Harry,” she pleads, wide eyed and pretty, “I worked extra hard on it since I had that extension. I literally spent all weekend on it.”

He clips the buckles on his briefcase and looks at her with an exaggeratedly heavy sigh, “I suppose I could make an exception. Only ‘cos you worked so hard on it.” She beams at him. “We’ve got t’go to my office though. There’s a discussion in here right after us.”

“Okay,” she starts toward the door, trotting eagerly ahead of him like an excited little bunny. “Do you mind if we stop by Starbucks first? It’s on the way to your office.”

+++

The Starbucks line is short. Harry goes first. “Could I have an americano, please?” he orders. He then looks back at y/n, “And um… also one of those chai drinks? With the pumpkin spice?” he smiles charmingly at the barista, and ignores the way y/n rushes to his side. 

“Wait– Harry, you’re not getting that for me are you?” she whispers, tugging on the sleeve of his coat.

The barista asks Harry what size he wants the pumpkin chai. He turns to y/n, “What size d’you usually get?”

“No, Harry– you can’t–”

“A medium should be good, I think,” he says to the barista, brushing off y/n’s complaints. 

She pouts as he whips out his card and taps it on the reader. “Why are you allowed to get me drinks if I’m not allowed to get you drinks?”

He shrugs, walking away from the register. “Because I said so.”

+++

It’s exactly when they settle down in Harry’s office that Madeline makes another appearance.

“Hey Harry,” she says, knocking on his door and peeking in. “Oop– Hi y/n. Did you see Dr. Richmond’s email about the grad panel? Do you think you’ll go?”

“Umm,” Harry sits in his chair and unlocks his computer with pursed lips, “Dunno. Don’t really want to. S’not mandatory, is it?”

“No. I’ll only go if you go. It’ll be boring, otherwise.”

“Nah,” Harry scrunches his nose. “Lets not. M’tired. And m’having some office hours right now,” he says with a nod towards y/n. 

“M’kay,” Madeline shrugs. “Nice to see you, y/n!”

Y/n has no reason to dislike sweet, kind, bubbly Madeline, other than for the fact that she seems to be exceptionally close with Harry. She feels a pit in her stomach when she sees the pretty girl bounce away, carefree and happy. Of course, she has no good reason to be jealous, because Harry is just her TA, and he’s just nice to her because she comes to his office hours, and that she should have absolutely no expectations of anything to come of her crush.

Harry pulls out the folder of all the graded papers, and shuffles through the names until he gets to hers. He hides her score from her, staring at her teasingly. “You sure you wanna see it with me right here?”

She nods eagerly, eyes wide and excited.

“Okay…” He drags it out, looking down once more at her paper before revealing the big 100% written at the top of her paper.

Her jaw drops. “Really?” 

“Mhm,” he says with a big smile. Leaning in, he whispers, “the only perfect score in the entire class, too.” 

Her smile grows wider, and she’s speechless, staring at her score. She was proud of the essay, of course, but she’s always nervous about getting grades back. There’s always room for improvement, she knows, but most professors are pretty ruthless with the criticism.

“S’not that surprising, is it?” he asks with a quirk of his lip. Surely she must’ve known that she’s a good writer, no? 

She shrugs. “I didn’t… I didn’t think it was going to get a perfect score.” 

“It was brilliant, really,” he says, “And not just because m’playing favorites. I showed it to Madeline too, and she thought it deserved a perfect score as well. You’re so cohesive and elegant with your words… s’well deserved. You’re writing is on par with some of the graduate students in my year, honestly.” 

Y/n feels her cheeks heating, flipping through the pages. Despite the fact that he gave her a perfect score, it doesn’t mean that her paper is empty of any criticism. He’s made little notes all over the margins, playing on her ideas and telling her ways he thinks she could build upon them in the future. Her eyes lightly skim through his notes and the generous amount of praise he’s written for her. “Love this,” he wrote, highlighting a certain section of her essay. “Wish you talked more about this in the intro,” he writes at another point. He’s still advising her on how to get better and what she could improve on, but… “You met all the rubric requirements. By our grading standards, it’s perfect.”

“No deductions for submitting it late?” she asks nervously.

“Y’didn’t submit it late. Dr. Richmond gave you an extension. I told him how many units you’re in, and how you’re not even taking this class for any credit towards your major – and he agreed that you deserved some slack.” He takes one of the papers from his stack of essays and uses it to playfully smack the top of her head, “stop worrying about that.”

Her chest bubbles with relief and she smiles. “Well… thanks for letting me get it back early,” she says. “I, um– I’d love to talk about it more in depth but I don’t wanna bother you… like, if you wanted to go to that thing with Madeline, we can be done.”

Harry groans, “oh my god, please no. I don’t wanna go to that panel. I’ll take any excuse not to go.”

“Are you sure?” y/n tilts her head. “Madeline seemed– like it just seemed like you two were… like…” she doesn’t know how to end that sentence, and has no idea where she was going with it in the first place.

Harry tries his best to fill in the blanks for her. “Madeline and I just usually go to these events together ‘cos they’re boring and it’s awkward to go alone. She’s my thesis partner so we usually stick together.” Harry rubs his eyes tiredly, “I really don’t wanna think about my thesis though. I spent all weekend grading, I just wanna go home and nap. Not go to a panel of a bunch of thesis advisors. That sounds miserable.”

Y/n nods, chewing on the inside of her lip. “Oh. Yeah, that doesn’t sound fun.” 

“Yeah,” he lets out a deep, tired sigh. “Anyway.” 

Y/n’s lips kiss her teeth as she rolls her lips inwards. “Well– I should head out then,” she stands up quickly, suddenly feeling awkward, “I don’t want to keep you here if you’re tired.” 

“S’no trouble,” he says, sitting up. 

She turns about herself, grabbing her bag from the floor and her jacket from the back of her chair. “No, honestly I’m kind of tired too,” she rambles, “I’ll look over the notes you left for me and come back during office hours.” She reaches forward to grab her essay from the desk, unaware of the way the sleeve of her sweater is dragging across his desk and snagging onto the lid of her half full iced chai, sending it onto the floor. The lip pops off of the drink when it meets the ground, and she gasps as his hardwood floors are suddenly covered in her pumpkin spiced drink. 

Harry rolls back from the splashing drink quickly, trying to avoid getting his nicely pressed pants stained, while y/n gasps, having no idea how her drink ended up on the floor. “Shit!” she exclaims, dropping her paper back on the desk and checking for the culprit of the mess. She nearly facepalms when she realizes it was her own hanging sleeve and unawareness that made her coffee spill to the floor. She drops her things back on the floor, “Oh my god, Harry, I’m so sorry.” She frantically looks around and sees a roll of paper towels on his bookshelf, rushing to his side of the desk where the majority of the mess is and kneeling down. She lays a ton of paper towels down on the floor, letting them soak up the drink, and looks on his desk to sadly find that her drink stained the edges of a few of his graded papers. “Oh my god. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, s’no big deal,” Harry’s quick to reassure her. He rolls back closer to her, a hand on her shoulder. “Just an accident.”

“But the papers–”

“S’just the edges. I once spilled an entire cup of soup on a stack of ungraded papers and had to just give everyone 100%.” He smiles, “That’s not what happened with your essay though, obviously.” 

She huffs out a laugh. He always manages to make things better when she’s stressed. 

He gets out of his chair, kneeling down next to her in his well pressed trousers to help with cleaning up the soaked paper towels. “No, Harry, I can do it,” she resists, leaning forward at the same time as him. Their foreheads nearly collide as she pushes his hands away, wanting to clean up her own mess. His chocolate brown curls have flopped onto his forehead, and his face is so close to y/n’s that she can actually feel them brushing against her forehead. He looks at her through his lashes, his eyes bright green. Her own eyes are wide and round, staring at him sweetly. Their faces are extremely close, her hand is encasing his, and they are both incredibly aware of it. 

Y/n’s lips part, as if she wants to say something, but she finds herself unable to create any coherent sentences. Harry similarly, stares at her through his lashes, his breath bated, his chest tight. 

Her eyes flicker down to his mouth. She stares at his pretty, pink lips, not curled into their usual, charming smile. He’s serious and deep in thought, his eyebrow furrowing. She’s too distracted by his lips to try and figure out what he might be thinking about. The air around them is tense, and neither of them say anything.

 There’s something so magnetic about him. She doesn’t realize that she’s leaning in… closer and closer to those pretty, heart shaped lips. 

Suddenly, y/n has inched so close that their noses are brushing. She can feel his gentle puffs of air against her lips. She’s so close that Harry has to flutter his eyelashes shut in order to not get cross eyed from staring at her. His heart thumps in his chest, and he swallows thickly. In a moment of weakness, he finds himself leaning towards her, and for the briefest moment, their lips brush, his bottom lip tickling her cupid's bow. His hand reciprocates her embrace, his fingers tightening around her palm. 

They both know they shouldn’t. “Y/n,” Harry croaks, and her heart flutters. “We shouldn’t…” Her heart immediately deflates, and she pulls back, embarrassed. Her gaze drops to the floor disappointedly, feeling stupid and foolish.

Harry can’t bear the distance between their lips– can’t bring himself to refuse the pleasure of having her soft lips against his. He likes her – of course he does! She’s smart, she’s pretty, she’s kind… but she’s his student. That’s the only thing that’s hindered him this entire semester. The guilt of falling for one of his students, when he knows how wrong it is. 

The guilt isn’t strong enough, apparently. He follows her forward with enough force to connect their lips in a kiss. 

It’s soft and harsh at the same time – their lips are gentle, but his stubble is scratchy. The kiss is sweet, but the tension behind it is rupturing like an overflowing dam. He’s caught her by surprise, kissing her just seconds after telling her that they shouldn’t. But she’s not upset about it. She’s too busy reveling in the taste of his mouth, experiencing the feeling of his lips against hers for the first time, after daydreaming about it for weeks. 

It doesn’t matter that they’re both sitting on the floor, hovering over a spilled chai tea latte. 

It’s perfect. It’s exactly what she imagined. 

He feels warm, his skin soft, his lips sweet. His woody vanilla scent drenches her senses, and she’s lightheaded from how magnificent it is to finally be kissing Harry. Wonderful, amazing, charming Harry, with his dazzling green eyes and his soft, brown hair. Those boyish dimples and pretty pink lips, the same pretty pink lips that are puckered against hers right now. 

He brings a hand up to cup her jaw, his fingers gently making their way to tangle in the hair behind her ear. She feels his thumb on her cheekbone, caressing her softly, and it sends a blaze down her entire body. His rough, calloused fingertip, worn down from all the writing and papers he graded, grazing her soft cheekbone as if he’s afraid to break her. As if she’s the most precious thing on the planet.

Leaning forward on her knees, she inches closer to him, pressing herself more firmly to him and reciprocating the eagerness in which he initiated this kiss. His fingers tighten in her hair and his eyebrows furrow. Her lips are the sweetest, softest thing that he’s ever tasted, cloud-like pillows that he wants to kiss on for the rest of his life. 

He’s desperate to get closer to her – he wants to kiss her until she’s breathless and whimpering his name. Lean forward so that she’s lying on the floor and he’s hovering above her, his hand on her hip. Teasing his palm up her leg, under the edge of the skirt she’s wearing, while he fits his hips between her legs. He wants to pick her up and get her on the couch, spread her legs and kneel between them. Kiss up her pretty thighs, suck marks on her pretty skin–

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside of his door. They both jolt away instantaneously. The headrush of their magnificent first kiss starts to fade, and the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

They are in his office. The door is unlocked. She is his student.

Harry’s chest rises heavily and his eyes flutter open, hoping to meet her pretty irises – but her gaze is firmly on the floor, where she’s wiping up the last of her spilled drink and bunching up all the used paper towels together in her fist. She dumps them in the trash under his desk quickly, and stands before he even has the chance to move.

“Hey…” he tries to say, but he can barely find his voice. He’s stuck in a trance.

“I should go, Harry,” she says quickly, avoiding his eyes. Her lips are still swollen, a reminder of how not even five seconds ago, he’d been kissing her without a care in the world. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks up at her like a confused little puppy, distraught and wanting more affection. 

But it’s so wrong. Her heart aches, a mix of regret for being so stupid, but also regret that she pulled away. It’s too much for her to process.

She grabs her bag from the floor, and is out of his office, without another word. 

Harry’s fingers graze his lips. He’s left alone with his thoughts, and the lingering taste of her on his lips.

+++

For the first time in seven consecutive weeks, y/n doesn’t show up to Harry’s office hours. 

Harry spends the hour grading essays, alone. A cup of black coffee on his desk, and his floors sticky with the remnants of pumpkin syrup.

+++

Y/n spends the hour that she would have spent in Harry’s office hours, alone in her room. She’s glued to her phone, an incognito tab pulled up as she tries to calm her racing mind.

“Is kissing between a student and a TA prohibited?”

“Student-TA relationships”

“Rules on dating TAs”

“Will I get in trouble for hooking up with my TA?” (Yes, it was just a kiss. But hypothetically… if they were to hook up… would she get in trouble?)

None of the search results do much to calm her guilty conscience.

She wishes she could just appreciate her kiss with Harry for what it was – a sweet kiss with the most attractive, amazing, wonderful, perfect boy she’s ever interacted with. But there’s just the small, annoying fact that he is her TA and she’s scared that she’s gonna get expelled for that sweet, innocent little kiss.

She’s spent days worrying herself over it. Biting her nails and picking at her cuticles and tugging at her hair. Some people on reddit say that it’s no big deal, that graduate students and undergrads date all the time! But other people tend to disagree, saying it’s a bad idea, NO MATTER WHAT. No matter how sweet or handsome or kind that graduate student might be. No matter how much you might like him, no matter how innocent it all really is – just two people who like Frankenstein who get along swimmingly well.

The whole TA thing is just… a minor detail. Only partially relevant. 

Despite her reluctance, she still does show up to class because Dr. Richmond takes attendance and she doesn’t want to hurt her grade just because of some stupid, silly mistake.

She wonders how Harry feels about it all. He probably has more at stake than her – he’s the graduate student, after all. Does he regret kissing her? Or, like her, does he only regret the fact that she’s his student, and how risky it is? They’re playing with fire. 

Whatever the case may be, y/n decides to put the fire out. Her crush on Harry was meant to be a silly thing, something to keep her coming to class and motivate her to stay on top of her work. This has gone too far. 

She needs to wake herself up from whatever fantasy world she’s living in, and come back down to reality.

+++

Harry’s eyes are on her for the entirety of Dr. Richmond’s lecture.

He’s discreet about it, of course. It’s not like he’s outright staring at her. But he watches her from the corner of his eye, has her in the back of his mind as he tries to pay attention to whatever Dr. Richmond’s rambling on about.

He needs to talk to her. Needs to sort this out and make it right. He knows that she’s in her head about this – he can tell from how she refuses to even look in his direction. But he needs to tell her that it’s alright, that she’ll be okay.

Y/n bolts out of the lecture as soon as it’s over. Harry, as quick as he tries to be, can’t manage to pack up his things and follow her out fast enough. He tries to get past the students as quickly as he can, giving half-hearted answers to their questions and telling them all to come to his office hours instead – but it’s not fast enough. 

By the time he’s out of the classroom, she’s halfway home already.

+++

The same thing happens at the next class, too.

The normally active y/n, who eagerly participated in discussions and answered all of Harry’s questions was quiet as a mouse today – feigning a headache to the classmates around her. She kept her head low, kept her eyes away from Harry. 

And when class was over, she was out the door before Harry could even look in her direction. 

+++

there's part 3!! pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! 

Prose (part 4) is already posted on patreon! 

Prose Masterlist

[spankedquail]

I think I read on your blog that you and your husband met in real life, the vanilla way? How did you get into DD? Who brought it up, what were those conversations like? I’m a single sub and I want to find my life partner by dating the normal way vs. through places like Fetlife but I’m worried it will be impossible to find someone who is interested in this lifestyle…

The Meetcute

Yeah, we met in real life. We were friends for a while, about a year, and both dating other people. We hung out a lot. He was often over at my apartment, with other friends, and my roommate (my bff) and never once went into my room before we started dating.

He broke up with his girlfriend of ~5 years, amicably. They just were going after different things in life and both recognized that things weren't working out between them as partners. He asked me out 4 months later.

I was dating my college boyfriend when my now-husband told me he liked me and wanted to date me. It was on one of our walks home together from work. He had just moved in a few streets down from me with a mutual friend after his break-up.

He said that he'd realized that he really liked me, more than a friend, and he couldn't live with the current status quo. Either we date, or he would have to draw some boundaries and stop hanging out with me so much. I asked him if I could take some time to think it over, and he said: "Sure, take a week to decide."

I broke up with my boyfriend after mulling things over for a week. I started dating my husband a few days after the breakup, right before his 26th birthday.

It's hard to believe now, but I don't think we had sex until 10 days or so after his birthday. I did give him a blowjob on his birthday, but he was happy to move slow. Looking back, that blowjob was probably horrible, because I hadn't encountered such a well endowed penis before, and I remember really struggling to get it in my mouth those first few times.

The next week, we spent a bunch of time together, and I remember a pivotal moment on my bed when we were lying next to each other, just talking, and I told him that I had some kinks, and he should know about them. I remember him tensing up beside me when I said that, and listening carefully. I told him that I liked submitting to dominant men.

After I said that, I remember his sigh of relief and chuckle. He'd been worried I'd say something completely incompatible with his desires. He told me he liked being dominant in bed, so this would work perfectly fine with him. I was elated. I felt understood.

A few days later, we had sex for the first time, and it wasn't this tentative exploratory kind of sex. I'm pretty sure he had me on my hands and knees right away, with a possessive hand in my hair. It was amazing, and it's been amazing ever since. We've tried new things in bed but the things that have stuck have tended to be things that reinforce my place beneath him and his authority over me. For example, one night, I called him Daddy while he was fucking me, and he loved it – that stuck. Eating pussy? Not really our thing. Didn't stick.

As for DD, that came up 3 or so years after we started dating. I think it was shortly before we got engaged. I was used to being slapped and spanked with sexual undertones, like if he wanted me to do a better job providing oral service.

I told him I always felt calmer and taken care of during those moments. I loved knowing that I just had to listen to him. I told him I was interested in trying out the dynamic outside of the bedroom. I appealed to what he got out of this arrangement, too -- he got a sweeter, more well behaved girlfriend, carte blanche on his desires, and regularly having a contrite, freshly beaten girl eagerly sucking his cock.

It started out experimental, and gradually became more serious, with both rules and beatings refined. Some rules felt like too much overhead for either party, or both, and were nixed. Or, he noticed another bad habit of mine that he wanted to eradicate. Or, it was a temporary rule for a more hands-on weekend with me.

Discipline was awkward at first, but we both settled into our roles after the first few times. Now, I get regularly disciplined via maintenance spanking every week, and punished whenever he feels like I need some correction. I'm usually pretty well behaved, so I dodge the most intense sting of his strap most of the time.

And it's been great. We've been more open with each other since all this started, and we haven't had any fights whatsoever. I feel so utterly loved and taken care of because of the effort he puts into all of this. There's no real opportunity for resentment to build up because he can take his annoyance out on my ass (and more), and we have all these built in moments for reflection and for me to honestly tell him how I feel about anything.

10/10 would recommend! I love serving him, pleasuring him, being relentlessly teased by him, obeying him, and just having fun together and fulfilling each other. He takes great care of me and he's helped me achieve more in life than I ever thought possible. He's handsome, generous, smart, and so sweet. I feel immensely lucky to love him and be loved by him.

Hope that answers your question. Happy to explain anything further!

[sketchfanda]

Commission:Chestnut Stud:Jagua MILF

Jagua del Toro was quite a slice of paradise for being a resort on an island off the coast of some middle of nowhere third world country, but diamonds in the rough as they say. Especially when you had the hottest beaches and even hotter bitches and one such fine example of hotness was not having herself a good day. Now Cassandra Garcia was a woman of mature age, the kind of which certainly designated her as a high quality class grade MILF, and in experience she was more than used to having ups and downs but this was ridiculous!! The nerve of those bastards, whoever they were, stealing her swimsuit, her gearbag with her clothes, even her towel!! All while she had been taking a shower to boot, she swore to herself she’d hunt those thieving perverts down and make them suffer, she knew for damn sure they likely snuck some pictures and videos on their phones if they had any!!

But right now, she had to focus on maintaining her dignity, as she was currently ducking and weaving in between and among bushes and trees on the beach. Taking cover wherever and whenever she could, hands covering her most intimate parts, a challenge particularly with her quite sizeable boobies of course. She just had to leave her cellphone at home today or all days, damnit she’d even consider calling that damn trickster minx Maya for help even if it meant owing her a solid!! She felt like some damn stupid college kid having to run around streaking like this, if anyone saw her, her dignity and reputation would suffer!!

it didn’t help the tropical Caribbean quality air was making her exposed skin feel all tingly in certain places, blushing as she suppressed any urge to moan or shudder. Damn it all she didn’t need to start feeling horny now of all times, if she could just get her hands on a robe or towel at least then she’d be in the clear for some modesty. If even just a single brat saw her, she’d never live it down, the rumours alone that would spread would be severe especially when facts got distorted and context was removed. When lo and behold, the diner owner spotted an opportunity just for what she was looking for….

Just by another public showering area, where beach goers could go change in and out of swimwear and wash off the sand and saltwater, much like the stall she had been using prior, she saw a blonde babe departing from her own gearbag, no doubt to have a a swim or go soak some in some sun rays. Just the moment she needed, as the naked milf streaked on over just managing to escape any risk of being seen or caught as she began to open the bag and search it. All she needed was just a towel or robe, besides she doubted that girl’s clothes could fit her admittedly thicc, meaty frame. Only for Murphy’s law to pick a time to remind her what a bitch it could be right then and there as a shower stall door opened, a five foot bald runt in swimshorts stepping out, none other than a familiar face many of us all know….

Krillin::*Clad in his swimshorts,having just finished changing as he was emerging from the stall, unaware at the moment what he was about to witness.*”Hey babe sorry to keep you waiting, I-“*Whatever he was about to say went off the rails on his train of thought as his eyes bugged out, jaw dropping at the sight of naked woman who seemed to be trying to raid his wife’s beach bag. The lovely mrs.Garcia blushing, looking like a deer in the headlights as her worst nightmare seemed to be becoming a reality. Before either of them knew it, she was glaring at him as she charged and tackled him, shoving him back into the stall as she pinned him up against the wall, hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming.*

Cassandra:”Stay quiet or….or I’ll smother you with my breasts!!”*She couldn’t believe what she was saying, hell what was she even doing right now? She was naked in a beach shower stall with some random shorty, who caught her trying to steal, far as she knew, his wife or girlfriend’s stuff and this was now happening? Christ she knows Maya would never let her hear the end of this and live it down if word got out.*”you listen and you listen well to me, little man. I’m not having a very good day and I’m in serious need of cover so…so…”*Whatever the MILF was about to say as she explained herself to the man she had maybe a foot or just 8 inches over him, as she couldn’t help but notice the quite sizeable tent he was pitching in his swimshorts.*”…….Are you seriously hard right now?!!”

Now really she shouldn’t be surprised Krillin was getting a boner at this moment and time, he had a thicc, hot piece of ass alone in a confined space with him in all her naked pornographic glory after all. Last thing she had even wanted was to give this rando a show and yet any anger or Indignation was crumbling and giving away to a growing arousal the more she stared at it. Her body remembering how it’d been way too long since she had truly experienced and enjoyed the touch of a man, the primal thrill of raw, uninhibited no strings attached sex. Her pulse racing as her pussy quivered and gushed with need and thirst, soaking her thighs with slick, sticky warmth as her free hand was cupping and stroking that erection, all the while she was unaware she had pressed her tires up against his face, delivering on that smothering.

Before either of them knew it, she was kneeling on the floor, his shorts tugged down as she was stroking his cock, assaulting it with licks and kisses. Krillin groaning as this seemingly random naked hottie slobbered all over his shaft, the look of primal lust in her eyes as she gazed up at him making his spine tingle. One moment this woman was threatening him and the next, she was doing this, he was no stranger to this sort of experience but hot damn what a woman!! Specially as soon as she sandwiched his dick between those meaty marshmallows of hers and started stroking him off with a heavenly titfuck, sucking on the exposed tip whenever it came near those luscious lips of hers.

The pleasure of course was skyrocketing as those cute little puffy inverted nips of hers popped out, milk proceeding to gush from them as they added some flavourful lubrication to his length and girth. The short king feeling his mind go numb with ecstasy as his hands fidgeted about to grasp and grip Something, one hand grabbing the shower tap and turning it on, causing hot steamy water to spray and rain down on the lair. Which only served to fuel the growing spark of lust and passion between the pair, Cassandra gasping, panting and moaning as her pussy juices dribbled and flowed to mix with the shower water. Her arousal reaching such a level that she was soon performing intense fellatio on what was quite frankly, the biggest cock she had ever seen, lips latch around that slab of meat as she suffocated herself with deepthroating inch after inch of that beast.

Krillin had thought this woman had been intense before but the sight of this woman outright unhinging her jaw, pink glowing hearts of lust twinkling in her eyes as she bobbed her head like some lewd metronome. He couldn’t help but buck his hips, much to her horny delight as he proceeded to facefuck her, balls smacking her chin as she slobbered all over that jackhammering cock. Her pussy gushing like a waterfall at seeing those muscles of his lex and ripple, her brain becoming a borderline bitch in heat, as if growing a desire to have this compact Adonis mate and breed with her. Her neck swelling with a rising bulge from how deep that meat was getting as her pussy got an oral preview of what it could soon come to expect as her tastebuds dazzled with the taste of his pre on her tongue.

But of course Cassandra had found thst Krillin was as good at giving pleasure as he was at receiving it, as she was experiencing first hand while he was kneeling beside her. Suckling on her MILF tits, drinking uo her quite delicious milk while he probed her slit with his fingers, her nectar soaking up to his wrist. Coaxing deepthroated moans out of her lucious lips which not too long had sucking off his cock, pulse racing as he groped one tit with his free hand while sucking on the other, switching uo between the two. Her arousal skyrocketing as any doubts about this sudden act of spontaneous intimacy wwre further pushed away into the back of her mind, thinking nothing less than to want this short king to utterly destroy her.

But ooh once Krillin had finished warming her up and had his fill of her natural milk, she was finding her world being rocked to pieces, the walls and ceiling of the shower stall echoing with her moans and cries of lust. The heavy smack of skin slapping, primal and animalistic mating mixed with the splash of showe water as Cassandra was bent over and pressed up against the wall, Krillin jackhammering her from behind as he held her by the waist. Thrusting and pumping his cock away like the erotic jackhammer it was, grunting as he felt the tightness of the MILF’s pussy embracing his snatch with intimate desire. She was no virgin but tip it was clear that she had never taken anyone of his length and girth before and hit damn she was loving it, this feeling like she’d be ruined for other men from this point on!!!

Cassandra:”Yes yes yes yes!! Fuck me yku golden god of man! Destroy me so I never so much as think of another man!! Make me your brood mare!!”*The horny MILF hollered, among other such obscene dirty remarks when she could manage to form sentences as Krillin now took her in a mating press. The compact stud shiting between having his tongue dance with hers in a sloppy kiss or latching his mouth onto those meaty milktanks of hers as he had her bent like an accordion, plowing her lik an erotic butter churn. Cock plowing away into her greedy snatch as he splashing juices mixed eit the shower water going down the drain, those smooth heavy balls of his slapping her ass, making those twin booty cheeks jiggle and clap like jelly. She was so horny right now, she wouldn’t even mind Maya showing up and joining in, that’s just how good Krillin was giving it to her!!!*

Krillin had been with his share of horny women before, more so especially after marrying 18 and satisfying her personal quirky kink and some of those encounters had been as spontaneous and random such as finding this naked woman trying to go through his wife’s bag. But some of them had maybe at least half the level of sex drive Cassandra had, as she seemed intent on wanting him to use her to unleash a Kama sutras worth of positions. Currently enduring the force of her currently riding him cowgirl style, groping those bouncing titties and slapping that titanic booty as she was like a woman possessed. An expression of raw desire and lust adorning her sexy face as if she was driven to have her proclaimed golden god of a man not stop until it was guaranteed she would have a child from him.

Orgasm after orgasm, minutes passing into hour after hour to postion after postion, from prone bone to missionary and spread eagle to name a few of course. The amount of times she came too many to keep count whereas the times he would blow his load were few but relished with delight. The fact he was cumming inside her raw and bareback without a condom hardly a bother or a problem to her, if anything it would’ve felt wrong to her to have such a glorious cock be restrained with such insignificant rubber!! No an alpha male like this had to be enjoyed the proper way, mourning a bitch like herself to mate and breed!

Android 18 certainly stood by such a concept, as she secretly stood by the doorframe of the stall watching on with voyeuristic delight at seeing ankther sexy bitch enjoy the experience omly her husband could provide. One hand down the front of her thong and the other growing her tits with shameless abandon, waiting for the right moment to invite herself into this little soiree. She had wondered how and why Krillin had seemed to be delayed coming out of the changing rooms so imagjne her delight to come back and hear the familair sounds of her man being the natural born stud he was. Her arousal only increasing once she had a direct look inside, finding her hubby tapping quite the hot sexy piece of ass.

If Cassandra had been a horny bitch in heat before, it had only skyrocketed when 18 finally joined the fray, the fact she found herself getting it on with a married couple only making it all the swerter and spicier fo her. Eventually the trio laid together ina tangle of limbs, basking kn the afterglow as they recovered, ready to go again soon as they got their eager guy back. That is,in a more cozier, private and intimate setting lkke 18 and Krillin’s hotel room which they most certainly did, all night long and well into the sunset. That is after the short king and his golden goddess of a wife did a small favour for her on the way on over.

That being finding snd beating 7 shades of shit out of the thieving trolls who had swiped Cassandra’s bag and swimsuit, as well as taking their phones and deleting the pictures and videos. After 18 of course made and sent herself some copies, no reason to deny her Krillin some wet dream material for their eyes only after all. The MILF of course was only all too happy to express her gratitude as well as provide contact details with the lair, after all an encounter like this was too good to be a one time thing. Who knew such a brief bout of misfortune could lead to such unexpected but welcome delights?

Suffice to say, those who knew Cassandra Garcia personally Especially her employees at Boobters were a little puzzled and perturbed by the beaming smile and the distinct glow she was giving off. But hey who could blame her for feeling like she was walking on sunshine when she had the best sex of her goddamn life?!! Especially when she already had a date planned in mind with 18 and Krillin later on today, after all she wants to make the most of the time they’d be here during their vacation. As well as give them plenty of reason to make Jagua a go to destination for them, she didn’t want to be kept waiting too long for next chestnut fox after all, that little man was addictive…….

[youremyheaven]

Behen ab aapko apna manifestation routine spill karna padega kyunki

You 🧲 Venus men

Meanwhile me:

Me 🧲 underage boys (no I'm not a pedo. This just happens on its own I swear 🥲)

LMAOOOO 😭😭😭😭

fr it's crazy bc a Bharani stellium guy from college who I haven't spoken to in YEARS started messaging me recently 😭😭 I am fr a Venus man magnet

I also think I'm a very powerful manifestor ngl and i think I've been unconsciously doing it ever since I was a kid or something but here's my routine/tips:

1. Self concept

I'm sure y'all have heard of this already and there are a million people talking about this but this is kind of the beginning and end of manifestation

What is manifestation? It's creating your reality

How do you create your reality? With your mind, duh 🙄😜

I have always believed that I'm a 10/10 baddie, a complete and total catch, any man would die/kill to have me and I'm the bestest gf anyone could ever wish for and this has been my mindset since forever and guess what? 😌🤪That's exactly how I'm treated and the kind of experiences I have 🤪🤪 (sometimes to a crazy extent, one guy actually tried to kill himself when I rejected him 😳😳 so pls be very careful with this 😔)

I've always believed that I'll be adored, helped, taken care of and provided for no matter where I am. When someone tries to tell me about how hard things can be or how slim the odds are, I have to laugh like GIRLLLL ur making things hard for yourself and I'm not and will never be you 💅 I'm ME and things are ALWAYS easy for ME. that's just my mentality and attitude and NO ONE can tell me otherwise. i have had many crusty ass people tell me I'm delusional and guess what they're rotting rn and I'm not 😌💅

I've heard some people speak about life/love/career/finance etc in the most negative pessimistic way and they wonder why they have no friends, no boo, no money nothing GIRL UR THE PROBLEM 🤧🤧

why is my dating life so different from many women? why do I get princess treatment? it's because I BELIEVE this is what I deserve.

that means, rejecting anything BENEATH this. there will always be creeps, low effort men and assholes, it's up to you whether or not you want to put up with that. it's not that low value men never approach me, it's that I pay NO MIND to anybody who isn't worth my time 💅

others can sense your energy. it affects the way you carry yourself. you think you're being nice when you act low maintenance but you're actually repelling men bc they want to be with someone who is hard to get and hard to keep, bc they like the challenge. I was known throughout my college years for being the girl no one could have 💅 bc no crusty man could ever touch even the tip of my pinky nail and that exclusivity means that you have to be special enough for me to pick you and that makes the men compete 💅for you

BUT HERE'S THE IMPORTANT PART:

by having this mentality you can attract many men for sure but there's no guarantee that they'll like you as a person once they get to know you

I have this self concept of everybody bending over backwards for me and dying to be with me but I am (and this is another personal belief) a very warm, kind, sweet person so I'd never take advantage of anyone's generosity or toy with people's feelings.

WHY IS THIS IMPORTANT?

because karma is real

You can manifest winning the lottery but you could get into a car accident two days later and never live a life of wealth

This is to say that life does not end with manifesting something. Our character, our virtue, how we treat others and our intentions ALL MATTER. You can manifest something amazing and then have a horrible time experiencing it. So it's always important to keep a clear heart 💛 if you want to enjoy the fruits of your labour/manifestation

I'll give you my grandpa for example

After my grandma died, he went and got married in less than a year and it really hurt my dad's feelings (my dad was like 25 when it happened tho) and my grandpa said that he really wanted company in his old age and it's hard to find a widow around his age from the same community so he jumped at the first one he found and thought it was fate lmao aka Dadu (paternal grandpa in Hindi) thought he manifested that baddie but GUESS WHAT, she dumped his ass a few years in and he was all alone in his old age with no one except my dad to take care of him.

So you can manifest marrying a baddie but how that marriage works out will all be dependent on your karma 🫶

2. Embodying your beliefs

Look at your lifestyle. You want people to give you princess treatment but do you live like a princess?

Maybe the thing standing in your way is money but let's start there then. Manifest money. India has 1 billion people , if you can get 10 people to pay you for a service you can still make 10k + every month for pocket money

Do what you gotta do to live the life you deserve and don't make excuses

You want princess treatment but you act like a broke scarcity minded kanjoosi girl ??? Not gonna work 😔

3. Have faith

This will help you detach and not obsess over outcomes or be desperate

Are queens ever desperate?? No 💅 neither should you be

Have blind faith (easy for me bc im delusional) , it gives you a sense of entitlement maybe but a healthy entitlement 😌🫶bc you know you got God on your side ✨

4. Persist

Don't change your mind , keep believing even if you don't see results yet.

It's like placing an order. It might be delayed but it WILL come

Happy manifesting ✨🫶💛

Hope you attract everything you've ever wanted

[omgpoindexter]

what are you top 5 fave nurseydex fics you've read? (a girl is needing recs)

oh yay!!! first of all i have to admit that over the years i've dipped in and out of omgcp tumblr and therefore have been very bad at staying up to date, so most of these are quite old. they are my favourites for a reason, however! also i did 6 not 5 lol <3

to be alone with you by @alocalband Will and Derek spend their junior year learning how to live together, learning how to be friends, and, eventually, figuring out that they'd like to be more.

i actually only read this fic recently, but it’s instantly one of my new faves. it is SO well written, the characterisations of every single character are perfect, and the story is so beautiful. i’ve reread it a few times already!

in so many words also by alocalband Derek writes a short story. That's his first mistake. His second is getting it published.

idk why but i absolutely live for fics where everyone on the outside knows what nursey and dex are up to except for them, and this one is really good at it. the ‘derek “nursey” nurse is unchill’ tag is very accurate in this case.

in front of the same small bathroom mirror by @geniusorinsanity It's not surprising that sharing a room changes things, but neither of them expect the most important conversations in their strange, awkward friendship to happen in their shared bathroom. (Or: five conversations Dex and Nursey have in a shared bathroom, and one in bed.)

i absolutely adore this story. dex and nursey learning to coexist and care for each other is so special to me and this fic captures it perfectly. honestly, anything by shelly is going to be a must-read, but this one is really really wonderful.

it drops with the gravity of rain also by geniusorinsanity It happens like this: “I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.” And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.” It happens like this: “Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.” It happens like this: When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

another wonderful fic by shelly - i reread this one all the time. it’s such a lovely character study of dex and it tackles the subject matter so well. content warnings in the end notes.

things you said by @quidhitch / @maangoes “Awww, looks like Dex appreciates a lady in uniform,” Nursey teases, tucking his feet a little further beneath Dex’s thighs. “You have a thing with the head cheerleader back in high school Dexy? Hold her pom poms and kiss her whatnot?” Dex seems to be contemplating something, and Nursey figures it’s one of his lame clapbacks like your mom’s a pom pom. He brings the bottle to his mouth, smiling around the lip of it. “Actually, I’m more of a captain of the football team kinda guy.” Nursey chokes on his beer.

i always come back to this one. it’s just so sweet and funny. i remember reading it years ago and it has stuck with me all this time.

today the sun comes in by @playedwright Will looks beautiful, Derek thinks, and it isn’t fair. Time has done nothing to lessen the extent of his feelings, either. Derek realizes a little too late exactly why he was nervous. It has been four years, three months, and five days since they graduated from Samwell, and Derek is finally facing the undeniable fact that at some time during his college years, he fell in love with William J. Poindexter and never got around to falling out of it.

this is one of those special fics that stays with you. i have never been to seattle, but this story made me homesick for the city. mars is such a gorgeous writer and this fic is a perfect example of it! (also i miss u mars!!!)

this was fun, i've missed reccing fics! i hope i could be useful! maybe i'll do some more recent ones if I manage to keep up to date with the nurseydex tag <3

[lizardperson]

ockiss24 - day 4!

well we had the big "i love you" confession kiss, how about a little flashback to like 8 years earlier - first kiss! as usual when it comes to Mika & Gabriel, unnecessarily horny.

tfw the hot college student your wife is casually fucking suggests a threesome...

content warning: lewd talks but no actual naughties happening (yet)

"By the way, my brother still thinks this is all just a ploy to get me into a threesome with you and your husband." "Oh, definitely not, don't worry." "I mean, not that I would mind, he IS really hot too…"

So, tonight was the night. They had dinner together, a few drinks, chatted, laughed, and once again Gabriel was surprised about how easy it all was with Mika - he, who usually needed a while to warm up to people, just joking around with her, talking about everything and nothing. A random observer would have thought they all had been friends for years. And now on to the actual purpose of the evening… Part of him still couldn't believe Kat had agreed to this. That Mika seemingly had brought up the idea did not surprise him on the other hand - that girl seemed to be very open when it came to sex, and her shameless flirting told him that she at least wasn't uninterested in him. Still, "threesome with an extremely hot college student" did sound like something out of a midlife crisis fantasy, or porn. When Kat brought it up, his first instinct was to assume this was some kind of trap, but he couldn't think of any reason she could have for that. So, naturally, he agreed, trying not to sound too enthusiastic about the whole endeavor - only mildly succeeding, she just knew him too well. But who could blame him… He had been attracted to Mika from the moment they met. She wasn't even his usual type, but there was just something about her that drew him in. Very pretty smile. Amazing curves. Of course he wanted her. And the prospect of Kat being involved also sounded very enticing. They haven't had sex in what, ten years now? Yeah, that seemed about right. Just because she realized she was lesbian didn't mean he had to stop being attracted to her. So to say he was looking forward to the rest of the evening almost was an understatement.

Somehow he and Mika had ended up alone in the kitchen, and once again he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over her body. He usually was bit more subtle when checking out women, but somehow she made it really hard to not constantly openly leer at her like some old pervert. He wondered how many other middle aged guys she had wrapped around her finger.

Leaning on the counter, she gave him that smirk again. "So I heard you want to fuck me, old man." Straight to the point, she really wasn't shy. God, he should bend that little brat right over that counter…

"I do, yes," he chuckled. "Assuming you want that too of course."

"Oh, definitely," she confirmed, licking her lips. "Why don't you start with kissing me then."

Now if that wasn't the textbook example of a great idea. He closed the last few steps between them, now standing right in front of her, looking down. He brought his hand up to her face, very lightly caressing her cheek for a moment. Being so close, he was once again reminded how young she was, and that morality voice in his head popped up again. You could almost be her father, you creep. He wondered if Kat ever had any qualms about her age.

Fuck it.

As soon as their lips touched that voice went quiet. How soft she felt. How hungrily she kissed him back. God, how much he wanted her. He buried his hand in her hair to pull her even deeper into the kiss, and when they finally separated he needed a moment to catch his breath again. She would be the death of him one day, he could tell already.

Smirking, Mika looked up to him. "If you fuck half as good as you kiss, then this is going to be a very interesting night…"

Gabriel laughed, then went for another kiss, pulling her closer and letting his hands wander over her body. He couldn't wait to get her out of her clothes.

Kat's voice interrupted them. "Starting without me, I see." She leaned in the door frame, eyebrow raised, amused by the view.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," he chuckled, being sure she understood.

"Why don't we take this upstairs then…"

[in3rci4]

A THOUGHT ABOUT MARIA'S BODY ON THE UPCOMING TCM GAME NEW MAP

So as some people would know , probably on the new map where in Nancy's house , apparently in Johnny's room , you might encounter Maria Flores's ( Anna's older sister and protagonist of the petals short playthrough ) body there . Here's a HC or a theory about this .

The sawyers do not grieve like the majority of people do , they keep the bodies of those close ones with them and act like they're still conscious or somehow alive . Examples of this :

Their grandmother on the first and second movie makes apparition but as a dead corpse , we can see her on her wheel chair and wearing her clothes close to her who we assume , her husband . On the second is more clearly this appreciation towards her on the end of it , where Chop Top ( Robert Sawyer ) seems to be worried about the safety of his grandma and accusing Vanita of killing her ( this was obviously a dark joke because she was dead a long time ago )

On the second movie, we can see that the sawyers kept some of the victims bodies / skeleton's as decoration , except for Franklin and Nubbins . Nubbins is the twin brother of Chop Top and known as the hitchhiker on the first movie but we only got to see one of them . He got inside the van and had a conversation with Franklin , who seemed to be the only one interested on the things that he was talking about , but after Pam sush them down and they deny him money for the picture , he leaves the van after cutting himself and Franklin's arm with his knife . Franklin dies after searching on his own with a flashlight the other ones by Bubba , and Nubbins hit by a truck while chasing Sally , his sister . Maybe this HC hasn't sense because they both die on the same day / night , but there's a possibility that Nubbins kept Franklin's body for seeing him as a " friend " before getting inside the house ( this would make the other members know to not mess with the body ) . Nubbins's corpse is used on the movie as a morbid puppet that they drag around ( specially his twin ) that they still talk to , feed and dress him up as if he was alive .

Now , the story of the game happens before this event , the first victim ( well , not first but you get it ) is Maria Flores , a college student that her car broke down and started to take pictures around from the nature and animals . Correct me if I'm wrong but I think that she saw Jhonny on a bar and found him attractive but nothing else , but it wasn't the same for him . He stalked her from afar or without being seen by her . @lelandswife wrote a HC about Jhonny killing in order to receive some kind of affection from his family but specially his mother , so when he found attractive Maria ( or whatever thing he had for this poor girl ) and saw her adoration towards the bunny she was trying to take a picture of , he killed it in a morbid show of affection . María looses track of time and gets more and more deep inside the Sawyers property even if it was already dark , taking one last picture of another bunny before getting jump scared by Jhonny that steals her camera . I don't remember who exactly wrote the HC , but there's one going around that he might not wanted her to be a victim more and was only playing around with her , scaring her away with the hope she gets out of their property . María runs but on the opposite direction of him towards the Sawyers house , Sissy opening the door from her pleading screams for help , only to encounter Bubba , running again , but this time , Jhonny ( I presume he didn't care at this point if she would get alive or not ) hurts her , drags her inside the house with Sissy and gets killed by Bubba with his chainsaw . So , I think that if we are able to see Maria's body is because Jhonny WANTED to keep it , and if for what it looks like for her missing clothes ( This might can change on the future , but the model of her body only has a ripped shirt and panties ) , he not only kept it intact , but more probably than not abuse her already dead body and treat her corpse like a morbid sex doll ( Who knows , maybe he does that with girls that he likes until their corpses are way too far rotten to be treated such way ) since the possibility of him treating her nicely genuinely out of love is almost impossible due his personality .

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

melda tâe, pray tell: what are the ojv!style/starsev's favorite foods? <3

HELLO MELMË!!! Oooo this is such a fun ask ilysm and I love any excuse to be Incredibly Annoying abt the OrangeJuiceVerse so YEP HERE WE GO!!!

Kyle- Kyle SO has a sweet tooth!!! (I love that that’s a universal Kyle hc btw) that boy is THERE for any baked goods deadass even those shitty gas station packaged muffins (Stan is scribbling out the nutritional information (or as he calls it, Food Lore, well into their 30s)) and Kyle def consumes anything sugary. As for actual real food, he likes Italian a lot which works very well bc pasta is a general hit w everyone. Favorite fast food place is subway and he ALWAYS rearranges the sandwich components to make sure the distribution is right (he claims he doesn’t have obsessive compulsive tendencies) (he does) so this guy is THE reason the ojv is called the ojv, his favorite beverage is orange juice with seven ice cubes and a pinch of salt bc he’s picky even when he claims to not be, he’s also a red wine enjoyer

STAN!!! Oh my god he and Cartman and Kenny are bottomless pits!!! Stan is a big boi and he’s packing away everything he eats bc 1) he hates waste, and 2) he’s just hungry. BUT he’s really more of a savory guy. Veggie king, ofc, and he’s at every fast food place in town ordering any vegetarian option, ALSO!!! This man LOVES spicy food but his stomach doesn’t. He’ll get a couple crunchwraps sub refried beans and slather that shit in Diablo sauce, but there’s a pretty good chance he’s gonna be nauseous a few hours later. Also he loves Kyle’s cooking!!! Bc Ky likes to cook when he’s stressed and Stan likes Kyle, and Kyle makes this really kickass homemade bread (jalapeño cheese bread oh my god I really want some now) Stan is also SO bad at drinking water but he is in fact a soda enjoyer. Miller Lite and the cheapest vodka known to man (before he stopped drinking) are a staple, also he frequents the local smoothie king and gets a chocolate hulk. For most of their life style has been ordering an olive and pineapple pizza. Stan always dips it in extra marinara.

Tweek- he is seriously just a snacker. Like Girl Dinner has nothing on Tweek Dinner. His meals look like a Charlie Brown thanksgiving. If he even remembers food is a thing. But like Craig will come home and be like “what do u want for dinner” and Tweek’s like “oh I ate a whole jar of pickles” the amount of half eaten granola bars in that house smh. BUT he can decimate so much garlic bread. A very big lemonade fan.

Craig! He’ll eat whatever, nonchalant KING unless!!!! He’s having a bad day and is already on the cusp of a meltdown. If he’s overstimulated it’s a sprite and an uncrustable. A grape uncrustable. Also I just feel like he likes seafood? I cannot explain why, but he does. Also he’s really good about hydration, he likes routine and he has one of those bottles w the time markers lmao. And he’s weirdly pretentious abt craft beers like when he and Kyle take their lil excursions to their spot he’s drinking an ipa that’s lowkey gross but then he’s just shrugging at Kyle and being all “idk the citrus hits in the aftertaste” like an asshole.

KENNY ok Kenny is also not picky in the slightest, how could he be with how he grew up, but I feel like he’s especially fond of easy meals like casseroles, frozen pizza, that kind of stuff. When he starts actually making a stable living off his art he hits up ALL the local food trucks and small businesses and broadens his food knowledge, and he’s keeping the smaller struggling businesses going just by his support. He is another example of ojv losers not drinking enough water, thinks Mountain Dew counts, literally he would’ve developed scurvy in college if left to his own devices. SMH ily kenneth also he and Stan have both thrown up bc they tried to one up each other doing shots of hot sauce

Marj my queen! She, like Kyle, likes sugar, if the homies are going to a diner she’s getting pancakes, and she takes her coffee ALL dressed up. Also kenny is the grillmaster and Marj is making the BEST sides for the bbq!!! Omg she loves her some pasta salad and a lil shrimp shishkabab moment like put this girl on the cover of a southern living magazine with her sweet iced tea (she makes the best sweet tea) marj my goddess pls quit causing problems on the internet and just use ur hospitality degree to run a b&b and make the best biscuits and gravy ever

Cartman. Bruh. Eric Cartman. He has THE most expensive taste known to man when he’s older but until he gets into the Rich People scene he doesn’t really care about what he’s eating or if it’s of good quality. In college he dragged the m5 to some shitty steakhouse bc he heard it was a good deal, and also bc he was mad at Stan for belting As Long As You’re Mine from Wicked and he knew Stan wouldn’t have any food options there lmfao that asshole (he did have to put a dollar in the Fuckwad Jar). He will also eat the weirdest combination of things. Who is putting whipped cream and chocolate syrup on fried chicken? This man. He is a Diet Coke enjoyer lmfao also he drinks martinis with olives bc “it makes me look sexy and kewl” he doesn’t like olives btw he’s just an asshole

I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS!!! The ask is always open for ANY of my AU’s or if ur just bored or want fic recs I’m a huge loser and my sp obsession is ever ridiculous.

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

1.

There's a beautiful simplicity in the way college students choose their seating arrangement in large lecture halls. No assigned seats. Just vibes. On the first day of class, everyone shuffles in, bleary-eyed and foreboding. The semester is fresh. There's potential. There's dread. There's an uncertainty. How will this class be? Will I find it easy? How's the professor? Is there anyone I know here?

They find a seat in an empty hall that looks appealing to them. A seat they will sit in for the rest of the semester. They go from the freedom of winter or summer break back to the confines of grades and assignments.

Some prefer the back row, some prefer the seat closest to the exit, and others prefer to stay hidden, being just another head among the sea of students. I, personally, always found myself in the middle somewhere. I could hide easier. Never the back row, though. My eyesight was too poor for that.

Calculus is easy for some. For me, an English major, not so much. I knew I would struggle horrendously in class when I sat down in the fifth row on the first day. My mind was not oriented in the realm of math. I knew dozens of papers and other writing assignments would be due in my other classes. Looking over the syllabus, it was clear that I wouldn't be able to wrap my head around derivatives and complex analysis. 

I sighed internally and opened my notebook, preparing for the worst. It was the fall semester of my third year at Tulane, and it snuck up on me, truly. 

The school wasn't large. Class sizes weren't huge, so it was hard to hide, but I sure as hell tried. I thought I did a pretty good job of being unknown. I was born and raised in a small town near Salem, Massachusetts. I grew up in the kind of neighborhood you'd see in movies. Victorian-style houses painted with bright colors, trees lining the streets that would turn shades of orange in the fall. We'd get some pretty cold weather and tons of snow in the winter. I basically existed in only Doc Martens, oversized corduroy jackets, sweaters, and baggy jeans.

That upbringing put me in a weird position in New Orleans. I liked to think of my town and Nola as sister cities. They had the old-world charm of small main streets lined with shops and the kind of architecture that made you think you'd stepped back in time. I was a pretty smart kid, so Tulane was enticing due to its low acceptance rate and similarity to my hometown. I got in with my high SAT scores and GPA. My scholarship essentially gave me a full ride. It seemed like the perfect place for me. I didn't anticipate just how out of place I'd feel.

For one, the weather never dipped below 50 degrees, even in the winter. It was more humid there, as well. I suffered a fashion crisis, knowing I couldn't rely on large jackets for comfort. I moved as far away as I did to get out of the small-town rut. Everyone I knew went to UMass or Boston. Tulane was a new start. As time passed, though, Tulane became just another small town to me.

Everyone knew everyone. No one was above petty drama, not even me. News about social matters got around quickly. There was no class I joined that I didn't know a single person in. As much as I wanted to disappear, I easily got swept up into things. For example, I wasn't one to engage in the school's Greek activities. But even then I still went to their parties to get drunk, which meant I rubbed shoulders with almost every frat bro and sorority girl on campus. I would always be home by midnight, though.

Greek life was the lifeblood of Tulane; the thing that kept the social scene going. Everyone was involved. Everyone. I refused out of defiance, but even my closest friend and roommate, Lily, was in a sorority. I wasn't particularly interested in paying to have friends, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

Lily and I met freshman year. I put in an application for a random roommate pairing; an unintended consequence of me knowing no one at Tulane. I got extremely lucky, though. The housing department paired me with Lily Davies, an education major with dreams of one day teaching kindergarteners. She had pin straight blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a bright smile. Despite how innocent she sounded, Lily was the sickest son of a bitch I'd ever met, and I loved it.

She was a crop-top-and-leggings-wearing-bastard with the sickest sense of humor. She was wild and witty with a sunny disposition. She blurred the lines of the dichotomy between popular and weird. Lily was a Louisiana-native, born and raised in Lafayette. Tulane was also her way of getting away from people from her high school (who had mostly gone to U of Louisiana Lafayette). 

Our friendship was the only reason I survived at school. Lily would force me to leave the dorm and socialize. There was a standing, open-invite to any of her sorority events for me. I rarely ever went, but it was nice to not be alone all the time. 

After freshman year, Lily and I moved into an off-campus, two-bedroom apartment. Both of us had no problem footing the bill, as my scholarship and her in-state status made school itself cheap for us. She had the opportunity to move into the Pi Phi house, but she declined out of respect for me, knowing I'd have to find another random roommate again. There was a small chance that it would work out as well as it did the first time. I felt bad being the thing stopping Lily from branching out, but she swore she didn't mind, and that she'd "rather live with The One And Only Hannah Martin."

She balanced me. She was the pop-music to my indie-records. The Nike to my Converse. The silver to my gold. You get it. 

Two years of school went by in a flash. By sticking my head in the books, only emerging for occasional social time, I managed to forget to "cherish my youth," as old people would say. Another thing that snuck up on me was my math requirement. I needed one math class to graduate. Most English majors try to get it done in their freshman year to get it out of the way. I, instead, prolonged my dread until I couldn't any longer. 

As I surfaced out of my sea of thoughts, I noticed the lecture hall had filled up quite decently. I took stock of who was in the class, rolling my eyes inwardly at some. Archie Brener. What a loser. The professor stood at the front of the room, shuffling through his papers, just two minutes until he was due to start the lecture.

The number of people filing in had dwindled significantly, and the seat next to me was still not occupied. I celebrated internally, happy that I would get more legroom and a chair to throw my bag onto. My elation was short-lived, though, as the hall's door swung open with a crash, and a blonde-haired boy rushed in to grab the first open seat he could see. I whipped my head around to see what the noise was about as Kyle Spencer rounded the chairs and rushed down the stairs, eyes scanning the crowd. Despite his rush, he made a point to fist-bump Archie as he passed him. Of course, he chose to sit in the seat next to mine. 

He sat with a huff and hurriedly unzipped his backpack, pulling out an already-crumpled notebook. I tried not to stare, but the last time I had seen him, he was streaking through the Kappa Lambda Gamma house. I averted my gaze when his naked form ran past me, but I had already seen too much of him and his "brothers."

"I nearly didn't make it," Kyle panted next to me, clearly catching his breath from running here. "I read it wrong. Thought this class was in another building." I looked over to see who he was talking to. It quickly dawned on me that he was talking to me. 

"Oh, uh, haha," I replied awkwardly. He leaned forward in his seat again, returning to fumbling through his bag. I returned my gaze to my notebook and began to idly draw some flowers in the corner of the blank page before me. I felt someone tap my shoulder, though.

"Sorry," Kyle whispered, "but do you have a pencil? I can't believe I forgot mine." He laughed shyly to punctuate the end of his question. I nodded and reached into my own bag, producing a brand new no. 2 pencil for him to use and abuse. 

"You can keep it," I murmured. It was about to be a long semester.

Next Part

[meet-the-thenardiers]

"The one where I decided to play Victor Hugo"

Y'know, I truly wanted to see an adaptation of Les Misérables set in some Latin American country, and also in a more modern setting.

Yes, I know that some elements of the original novel could probably be lost due to the change in time period (and place), but at least there would be a HUGE chance of seeing little Euphrasie "Cosette" Fauchelevent wearing school clothes that looked like these:

(In case you're curious, these pictures are from two Mexican soap operas, "Gotita de Amor" and "Carita de Àngel")

And don't even get me started on the First Communion dresses.

(I don't know for sure if this applies to all Latin American countries, but I know it was a common occurrence until some point – ​​especially during the late 19th and 20th century)

And while we're on the subject, allow me to give you a little piece of history:

So, the school I attended as a child was originally designed to be a school for girls and young women only. A "single-gender school", if you will.

Here is a short excerpt from a local news report about the school:

"On July 21, 1903, eight Benedictine Sisters arrived in Olinda, Pernambuco [...] They were invited to help in the future mission in the Amazon region. As this mission took a long time to be carried out, the sisters found another field of apostolate: in the catechesis and education of youth."

From the beginning, the Benedictine Sisters have dedicated themselves to the education of young people and women above all else. Schools have been established in the places where they have settled. Thus, throughout their history, many types of educational institutions have emerged [...] including a College in Olinda and a Conservatory of Music in Manila. In the Philippines, the Sisters run 25 schools belonging to the Congregation, with approximately 30.000 students. In addition to these educational institutions, there are other educational institutions, such as: Household Schools, Dressmaking Courses, Schools for the Disabled, Nursing Schools and Bible Schools. In addition, courses of all kinds are offered to meet the specific needs of people."

YES, THE BENEDICTINE SISTERS ARE BACK EVERYONE

Normally, schools of this type, in this case, those that were "single-gender", were private – requiring a certain amount of money to be paid each month. But for students who came from poorer families, it was possible to get a scholarship.

I don't know much about this information, but apparently there were some rooms available within the school property, where students could stay overnight during the week. This was because e some of the students lived in places that were far from the city (in rural areas for example) and this made it difficult for them to have to travel every day to attend classes.

Since that was where the nuns lived, they had no problems regarding food, comfort or safety of the students either.

And, of course, no boys were allowed

The uniforms, as you will see in the images below, consisted in:

Long-sleeved white blouses. But there were also short-sleeved blouses for outdoor activities.

Long, dark blue pleated skirts with suspenders;

White socks;

Black shoes;

White gloves and a dark blue beret – which matched the tone of the skirts.

I had one of those by the way, but we didn't use it on a daily basis, only on special school occasions: like church, the school anniversary and marching band parades.

Unfortunately (or not), by the time I attended the school, many of the original traditions had been lost over time. The nuns were no longer responsible for teaching the classes – but they still lived on the school property, three of them more specifically. Both girls and boys could study at the school, and our curriculum was no longer the same.

Now, imagine my shock when I discovered that my aunt, her sisters and friends (who also attended this school) used to have French lessons. They even learned how to sing the French national anthem...

I was a little jealous of them, to be honest 😭

[mangatxt]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @creativenicocorner; thanks nico!!

tagging @kreauxlighe @tomezeme @mosshook @carriecmoney and anyone else who wants to do this. no pressure!

answers under the cut

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

23

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

489k. i want that half-million by year's end.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently, i only write mp100 fics. my ao3 has some older fics from hq!! and a couple other fandoms I used to write for.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i'm not gonna list them out because they're all older stuff i'm less enthusiastic about recommending now. the top four are daisuga (hq!!) fics I wrote in college, and the fifth is an inukoko fic I wrote before tokrev ended.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to keep up with them. It means a lot to me when people take time out of their day to send me their thoughts, and I've made a lot of friends from it! But I get overwhelmed and behind on it sometimes, and then I'm like... I probably shouldn't respond to this until I post a new chapter. oops.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hands down, weekly consultation (mp100, gen, mcd).

second place goes to the one for the road (tr, kokoinu), which ends in a breakup.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of my fics have happy endings.

the parachute candidate (mp100, serirei) has a pretty happy ending. so do halo effect (mp100, serirei) and phototropic (mp100, gen).

but i think the happiest ending is probably the twelfth annual rising sun spiritual union holiday decoration contest (mp100, serirei), because reigen wins money instead of more time with roshuuto.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've been super lucky to have overwhelmingly positive reception to my fics. i didn't love all the foot commentary on that one tokrev fic, but it is what it is.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do. very serious smut only, like dick hanahaki and schrödinger's office smut and slow-motion trainwreck sex column

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i wrote a short haikyuu!! x fullmetal alchemist fic for daisuga week a long time ago. that's probably the craziest one.

in medias res (mp100, gen) is the little match girl isekai, so that probably counts too. reigen literally crosses over.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

a few offers, but i'm not sure if they were completed

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have been responsible for the prose output of all of my fics, but i've had a lot of help for various plots. for example, i feel that half the blame credit for bringing flora obscura into being should go to @crownorclover

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

serirei (mp100). it has two characters i adore individually, a setting with so much canonical room for shenanigans, and a lot of open-endedness to the development of the relationship that makes it fun to speculate over.

i'm still partial to kokoinu (tokrev) too. both kokoinu and serirei have that bodyguard/loyalty trope to them and are often written within a greater found family. it's good stuff.

i also like the inherent appalling messiness of reishuuto but it's not that serious

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

that novelist!hawks fic i started once. rip.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i like an off-the-wall premise, and i am incredibly committed to the bit.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i tend to overwrite things. need to work on brevity.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

for the manga series i write for, i try to write in scanlation/fansub language for the most part. that's how i interacted with them originally, so that's how the character voices sound in my head. not everything in one language has a 1:1 translation into another.

mp100 has a lot of cultural/wordplay jokes that don't translate well into english. i have a lot of wordplay in my fics to match the tone, but i've only managed to make a wordplay joke that translates both ways once. so much respect for translators who figure out how to make that work on a regular basis.

i try to do as much research as possible to get things right, but i know i'll make mistakes. for that reason, i really appreciate people who beta read for me, who put together writing resources and other research materials, or who are kind enough to leave constructive feedback.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

pokémon.

i can't find it anymore but at one point, my 12-year-old ass wrote a fic where gym leader chuck's wife is like "chuck you spend all your time with the waterfall. i want a divorce." laksjdlkasj

i'd totally write it again.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

the parachute candidate.

(i think i'll like sage advice a lot more when i finish it)

[millermenapologist]

https://www.tumblr.com/millermenapologist/753018718824660992/ive-read-right-now-your-list-of-topics-you-would?source=share

Actually, that was a smart fucking response!! I doubt I would answer in this level, I mean, you made me realize I talk like a teenager compared to you (that's a compliment btw💖)

And I as someone who haven't read the book, You managed to clarify some things I had no idea about, and the whole concept of 90s is actually true and a point that never came to my mind when thinking about lolita: this was an era in Hollywood with this concept of "oh naughty teenager falls in love with older man or a male with some kind of power (like a teacher)" - I mean, The Crush starring Alicia Silverstone is an example. Those really had a part of internalize to people the belief that teen girls have a dubious innocence.

And what you said by the end just confirmed that this movie is truly what I was thinking: a coquette horror story🫠

I feel bad for her. I mean, she had a hard ass fucking life even after him, and then died so early giving birth. When I remember about the girl reading in her backyard or loving a normal life with her mom, it's hard to imagine that this person is the same one that had that life and ending. Does the movie says something about her baby and husband, or not?

Anon you're too kind (๑•з•)))⋆♡⋆ฺ=͟͟͞͞=͟͟͞͞

Also, I 100% talk like a teenager too. I'm one of those annoying ass people who repeats "like" every other word, the magic of having learned English by watching YouTube videos from 2016. My writing just happens to be a lot more curated in style because my college internship was at a place that required a lot of writing and not only I was the only woman, but I was also the only ESL, so... it was the trenches. The trenches, I tell you!

Oh, and on this topic! In his entire career of (bestselling) writer, Nabokov rarely did impromptu interviews: if someone wanted to interview him, he'd ask for them to send him a letter containing all the questions they wanted to ask him, would type down the answers, and then read them out loud during the interview. He claimed that his reason to do so was because English wasn't his native language, but it was very much another way for him to fuck with people.

Rest of the "professional" answer below the cut, and beware that, because of the very last question, I'm gonna mention stillbirth.

We are still getting this kind of movies, tbh. Miller's Girl is from this year, and it comes with a very similar premise too: young girl (albeit this time we managed to get her to turn 18! Let the kingdom rejoice!) goes out of her way to seduce a much older man because the idea of it tickles her fancy, and, as a consequence, his life is ruined from top to bottom despite him being the actual victim of the story.

We did get a lot better, as a society, at treating kids like kids (just look at the stark difference between Katherine Hardwicke's Thirteen and Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade), but as soon as we're talking about (especially) girls in their late teens, then it's still treated like open season.

Anyways, yeah, the movie is a coquette horror story, and I can't but find funny the fact that so many people on TikTok got up in arms when others started referring to Lolita as "coquette." It is. We can acknowledge it's a story about a child being abused while also recognizing its soft atmosphere and pastel tones.

I do wish that the coquette people would also find a way to include the horror too, tho...

[...] to buying beautiful things for Lo. Goodness, what crazy purchases were prompted by the poignant predilection Humbert had in those days for check waves, bright cottons, frills, puffed-out short sleeves, soft pleats, snug-fitting bodices and generously full skirts! [...] Did I have something special in mind? coaxing voices asked me. Swimming suits? We have them in all shades. Dream pink, frosted aqua, glans mauve, tulip red, oolala black. Part 1, Chapter 25, p. 107

You picked them? They're just there for a second, a small detail that your brain barely notices, but Humbert did, indeed, refer to the shade of pink he wanted to buy for Dolores' swimsuit as "glans mauve," and the black swimsuit is not simple black, it's "oolala black," which hints towards it being a lacy undergarment designed to look sexy.

The whole book is littered with descriptions of what Dolores wears, and although the coquette style definitely does fit those descriptions, what it constantly misses is that sense of uneasiness that comes from them, the little details that make you furrow your eyebrows, re-read, and go "Oh."

Also, I definitely forgot to mention this in the other response, but I think that the movies (both) aged Dolores up, brought her to a very vague age that was around ~16ish, but in the book Nabokov was very clear: Humbert is only attracted to children aged from 9 to 14 at most (he has a whole monologue about it that wasn't brought up in neither of the adaptations), and Dolores was 12 when they first meet. The bulk of the novel takes place between the summers of 1947 and 1949, and Dolores was born on January 1st 1935. At her oldest, when she was with Humbert, she was 14.

Sooooo... to your actual question (the yapping I do, my god...).

Charlotte wasn't exactly a good mother to Dolores, and the movie sweetened her a lot, and not just because he brought Humbert into their home (it's a common trait of predators, to target single mothers to have easier access to children).

In the book, Dolores used to have a younger brother, a child who had died at 2 in a very tragic accident (he's never brought up again afterwards, but it does reinforce one of the main themes of the novel: childhood lost, in the most literal of senses), and Charlotte is hinted as having greatly preferred him to her daughter.

The reason why Humbert escalates to plotting her murder isn't because Charlotte sent Dolores to summer camp (although he complains and complains about it, defining it as him losing two months of her beauty), but because she wants to send her away forever.

"Ah," said Mrs. Humbert, dreaming, smiling, drawing out the "Ah" simultaneously with the raise of one eyebrow and a soft exhalation of breath. "Little Lo, I'm afraid, does not enter the picture at all, at all. Little Lo goes straight from camp to a good boarding school with strict discipline and some sound religious training. And then - Beardsley College. I have it all mapped out, you need not worry." Part 1, Chapter 20, p. 82-83

We have no reason to doubt the truthfulness of this conversation because it works in Humbert's favor: of course he planned to murder his wife! He wanted to take away from him the love of his life, whatever else was he supposed to do? Wouldn't the kind gentlemen of the jury understand his actions, had they been in his place?

So... Dolores would've probably ran away from her mother too, if she had had the possibility. Or from boarding school.

As for her husband and baby, the movie greatly diminished their role in the themes of the plot.

For starters, when she writes him the letter asking for help, she does so by opening with "Dear Dad," and then continues to do so for the entirety of it, referring to herself as "Dolly" in the bottom signature. She desperately wants to believe that that's what he'll now be for her: a father, nothing else. Just... she was terribly scared, and this is a sentiment that's completely overshadowed by Humbert's feelings. She's pregnant and penniless, and so terrified for her future that she went out of her way to contact the man who abused her for years (and that she suspects killed her mother) in the hope that he wouldn't act like a monster and lend her just enough money to get to Alaska, where her husband wants to go because he heard that there are a lot of jobs there.

And you know what his response to the letter is? He becomes angry, violent, and plans to murder her and her husband both. He goes to her house with the intention of doing so, and the only thing that stops him is that he suddenly finds himself recognizing his Lolita in Dolly.

Her husband, Dick (and yes, the name is not a random choice), is a hard-of-hearing man who is completely oblivious to what happened to her. Dolores, a girl who spent her entire life being unheard, ultimately married a man who cannot hear her either. She has to yell at him to be heard, has to scream or force herself into his field of vision to make sure he's paying attention. No matter how much the people say they feel for her, she's still isolated, she's still alone, she's still unheard. Dick is as deaf to her needs and voice and personhood as Humbert was.

As for the baby, we gotta do some plot "rearrangement". The movie opens with Humbert reminiscing his early adolescence spent on the French Riviera with Annabel (again, I still don't understand why in the adaptation they have sex, but whatever), and only at the end (and in text) we're told that Humbert died in prison, Dolores died in labor, and that her baby was a stillborn.

In the book, we get this information as a first thing, in a Foreword written by John Ray Jr, PhD, who informs the readers that:

[...] their author, had died in legal captivity of coronary thrombosis, on November 16, 1952, a few days before his trial was scheduled to start. [...] Mrs. "Richard F. Schiller" died in childbirth giving birth to a stillborn girl, on Christmas Day 1952, in Gray Star, a settlement in the remotest Northwest. Foreword, p. 3-4

Nabokov makes you read the entire plot already telling you how it ends: Humbert gets arrested and these are his confessions, a woman married to a certain Richard Schiller dies in childbirth. You already know, and yet, plot-wise, it makes perfect sense that he'd spoil it within its very first few pages.

The following decision I make with all the legal impact and support of a signed testament: I wish this memoir to be published only when Lolita is no longer alive. Part 2, Chapter 36, p. 308-309

Again, Nabokov is fucking with us. The sole act of getting the book published means that Dolores is dead, and therefore it should be of absolutely no surprise, when the reader realizes that "Mrs. Richard Schiller" is no other than the titular Lolita and that she died in childbirth (and generally, though, the very last paragraph of the novel contains so much information and deserves so much analysis that it'd require a post of its own lol.)

So, now for the baby.

One of the main themes of the story is that of the double (Dolores is the double of Annabel; Humbert is the double of Quimby; Charlotte is a double of Humbert's mother; Humbert's name itself is a double; in the scene in which they walk in their room at the hotel where Humbert assaults Dolores for the first time, he describes it by saying that each object has itself and then its twin reflection in the mirror), and Dolores' baby has a double too.

Some motels had instructions pasted above the toilet (on whose tank the towels were unhygienically heaped) asking guests not to throw into its bowl garbage, beer cans, cartons, stillborn babies. Part 2, Chapter 1, p. 146

It's the slightest of mentions, just as with many other things, but it's there, aids the theme and serves as foreshadowing for what's to come. And, again, Nabokov just genuinely liked fucking with his readers.

Uhm... I think this response is finished here? Lemme know if you (or anyone else) wants more of this, because I could seriously go on all day ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

[whaleofatjme1920]

I NEED AN OUTSIDE OPINION! Me and my friend were talking about highschool a few days ago, it's been a good 5 years since and she brought up this dude I dated. We dates for 2 years, all throughout Jr year and senior year with a break up that lasted about 2 months before we graduated and reconnected.

It was a fine and dandy relationship, we did separate some time after that because he went to one school and I went to another. Life stuff, you grow apart. Yk how it is

BUT. She said that throughout our relationship, his MOM was fucking weird. And yeah I saw it but I didn't see it how she saw it. She said it wad kinda creepy emotional incest and his mom was really really AGGRESSIVE to him and babied his at the time, 26 year old brother who didn't have a job, kept getting into car accidents, dropped out of highscool and had to go to an adult school, then dropped out of college, and was dating a girl who was borderline abusive emotionally and money wise. (The last one yeahhh he needed support but the other things...I think are on the mom bc she babied him too). She would baby his older brother, and be a CUNT to my ex, but then would have fits or like bad anger followed with a silent treatment the next day. What caused these fits? 1. Him doing shit for himself. And 2. ME

His mom never met me, only saw Me like 2 times from the window and decided that she HATED my guts. Granted she is like 60 and Mexican and my style is FAR from what traditional Mexican moms like but, she decided she hated me, never bothered to get to know, didn't bother to support him, and had fits of rage when it came to anything to do with me

Example 1. He got me roses for homecoming and a teddy bear with a sign, she saw. And was passive aggressive to him for the next 2 days. Example 2. He got me some very nice roses for valentines day Jr and senior year. He got silent treatment, passive aggressive behavior and the cold shoulder for 3 days. 3. When I encouraged him to do his own laundry, cut his own steak, and he did. She was not happy. BUT THE STRAW THAT BROKE THE CAMELS BACK, I told him he needs to start picking out his own clothes and she HATED THAT. (He was 16?...he should be doing that on his own? Idk why she got mad) Example 4, anything I gave him, she took away from him while he was at work or school and tossed. Example 5. Anytime he went to my house or out with me, cold shoulder/ ignoring. Or passive aggressive behavior. Example 6, he started making his own money when he got a job and he'd (rightfully) used it to buy whatever he wanted. Sometimes that included taking me out to dinner, or sending me some cash for dumb little bs things, it was never A LOT. But she would stalk his bank transactions and have massive fits followed by cold shoulder for a few days. Anything that had to do with me, she hated. He wanted to go to prom with me and she found out and saw the outfit I helped him pick and yk what her first thought was, "let me body shame my 16-17 year old son who's a bit insecure about himself". Again. Anything that has to with me. She goes absolutely psycho, she saw us hanging out after we graduated and it was summer time, she grouned him for the rest of the summer. And didn't let him out of the house without walking him to get picked up by whoever.

Like she HATED me and anything that had to do with me. And she would get really really AGGRESSIVE to him over weird things. Again, look at the rose example, he got me roses for valentines day and she took that right up the ass (not in a good way)

She has this weird history of like neglecting him in favor of his (at the time) adult brother who was freeloading off them and not contributing to the house. And then having massive tantrums when he obviously started to do things for himself.

Do you think this is emotional incest like my friend said. I thought it was just abusive, and I did help him start doing crap on his own and I helped him out of the house for a bit

His father wasn't really any help, he just kind of enabled his mother and let her do whatever she wanted. Now don't get me wrong I wasn't trying to be a bad influence on my ex, I wasn't abusing him, or using him or possibly putting him in danger but his mom just was very "anti-me" for no apparent reason. Even up until he turn 18 and after she tried to grip her claws into him. What's your opinion?