#bc I wasn’t mature enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 7 months ago

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HER | part six (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.6k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

here it is... the FINAL part 😭 it seemed that a number of you were quite worried as to how i'd wrap this up, and i can finally give you the answer! :3 this has been an epic journey. thank yew for ur time 💕

more rambling continues at the very end. as per usual. again, a little bit more of an early upload! as a treat <3

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

—SEPTEMBER 30TH.

The morning after was strange.

Early sunlight permeated through the living room’s white cloth curtains, dappling in water-like speckles against the glasses still held on his nose. For a moment, Wonwoo was frozen, as his mind made the shift from deep sleep to consciousness, though when he finally did awaken to find his blanket half-pushed off the recliner and the remnants of Chinese takeout left scattered across the coffee table, his lethargy started fading.

Vernon was gone.

Judging from the text on Wonwoo’s phone, the boy had quietly made his way out at around seven in the morning. It surprised Wonwoo to no end that Vernon could manage to sleep so little yet remain fully functional all the time. He seemed magic—or maybe it was something else that Wonwoo would be concerned to know about.

He spent some time cleaning off the coffee table.

Down the hall, his bedroom door remained closed.

When you finally did emerge, it was with the olive-green dress draped over your arm and the ivory heels in hand, which you proceeded to arrange on the small dining table by the kitchen.

Notably, however, there was something off about you, something that Wonwoo interpreted as nerves with an underlying awkwardness you didn’t typically, if at all, demonstrate. When he asked if you wanted breakfast and tea, your response was a tiny head shake and a poorly fit smile. Though, Wonwoo wasn’t going to paw at you.

He found that mornings always tended to be quite sobering, even if he hadn’t exactly drunk enough to make the room spin or swallowed some colourfully disguised pill on his tongue. Just the air was enough to rewire his head—that cooler, crisp air that he either loved or hated.

Undoubtedly, you had much to think about.

Wonwoo helped you get a hold of Princess using his phone, and the two of you watched television in silence while waiting for her to pick you up. He escorted you down through the pottery shop when it was time, and you sported very little shame, walking out onto the bright city sidewalk in just his t-shirt, clothes and shoes wrapped in your arms. Princess had this awfully perplexed look slapped onto her face while leaning over to nudge the car door open for you, and in that moment, Wonwoo was scared of how it all appeared and what might transpire now that the giddiness and frivolity from the night before had ebbed away. He didn’t regret anything, though. Not at all.

But, in truth, what the fuck even were you two?

And what was supposed to happen now?

—OCTOBER 3RD.

Since you had left his apartment in a daze that Saturday morning, Wonwoo hadn’t seen or heard from you. It was concerning him as time passed, he couldn’t deny it, but he also trusted you and wanted not to make you feel pressured into explaining yourself.

He was caught in a brisk walk along campus after leaving his early lecture, a warm coffee cup pressed against his lip that he had grabbed from the ground floor of SRX—they had been giving hot drinks away for free, and, consequently, it tasted like it. Nonetheless, the air was chillier by the day as autumn pushed its way in and decorated the walkway with dry leaves that rustled and crunched under his shoes. It was nice to have something hot in his hand.

He took a second to glance down at his phone.

Still, no messages from you, Wonwoo realized with a suckling sip of the very watery coffee, nearly tempted to text you himself—not anything pushy—just a simple reassurance that he was there for you if things weren’t going well.

Suddenly, however, Wonwoo had smacked into someone.

“Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, readjusting the computer bag slung over his shoulder and pushing up his circled glasses.

To Wonwoo’s complete and utter misery, he was unfortunately acquainted with the person he’d bumped shoulders, and now he was wishing that he had just kept walking like an impatient asshole.

Seokmin was standing before him, dressed in a similar-style woolen trench coat that his hands were stuffed into, the sun turning certain threads of his chocolate brown hair all shimmery. He hadn’t gotten back to Seokmin’s numerous texts ever since Wonwoo sent a brief, very purposefully vague message to the boy that night he ran out with you at the dinner party.

Now he was wondering if the shoulder bump was intentional.

“Wonwoo… uh, hey,” Seokmin stumbled.

Sniffling, Wonwoo let a second or two pass before answering.

He was still debating whether or not to walk away.

“What’s up?”

“You just get out of class, or?”

Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah—advanced stats.”

Seokmin flitted a barely-there smile, staring at his coffee cup.

“Is that the free stuff from SRX?”

“Indeed.”

“How does it taste?”

“Uh, watery… like shit, basically.”

Wonwoo knew—he fucking knew—that there was something buzzing on the tip of Seokmin’s tongue that he just couldn’t spit out. His absentminded expression and clear not-giving-a-damness about whether Wonwoo’s free coffee was actually good completely betrayed him. Not wanting to dawdle and get stuck in the mud of conversation, Wonwoo swallowed the lump in his throat, flashed his friend a tight-lipped smile, and pitched a goodbye, blandly wording it as, “I won’t keep you. Later.”

But Seokmin didn’t seem prepared to let that happen.

And Wonwoo’s eyes nearly rolled backward into his skull when the boy turned around and attempted to catch his attention again.

For some stupid, incomprehensible reason, Wonwoo stopped.

Maybe he knew the conversation needed to happen.

It only made him loathe the situation more.

“Yeah?”

Seokmin dragged a hand through his hair, brushing it up and down against the back of his head while he squinted at Wonwoo.

“I think… uh… if you’re not busy… I think there’s maybe some stuff we need to talk about. I don’t mean to like, catch you at a bad time or anything… do you wanna go sit at the picnic table over there?”

At Seokmin’s carefully suggested inquiry, Wonwoo followed the boy’s pointing finger toward the empty table placed on the large grass circle that the walkway wove around. With his grip hardening into the coffee cup, Wonwoo stopped to think despite knowing his answer.

“Okay… yeah.”

Wonwoo realized it had never felt this weird and stilted to sit down with Seokmin despite him being quite a reliable friend over the months, though Wonwoo was developing the sneaking feeling that his study buddy was about to deal an irreparable blow to their relationship. Seokmin’s folded hands were sitting atop the flecked, aged wood of the table, thumbs nervously twiddling, meanwhile Wonwoo remained silent to sip from his coffee that only became more and more tasteless.

Eventually, his friend seemed to find the words he needed.

“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard… but… Her and Mingyu are taking a break. They’re officially pressing the big pause button. I wasn’t there to witness the conversation, although I get the gist it was a pretty… uh, unpleasant talk,” Seokmin winced, bracing his teeth, “and… well, naturally, I learned that you were a big part of that talk, seeing how it looked and all—you and Her running out at the dinner party…”

He left what seemed like a purposeful pause, and Wonwoo assumed that he was supposed to feel pressured and jump to make a correction or provide an explanation, but he kept silent and rather expressionless. Ironically, Seokmin was the one to continue his spiel.

“Well, basically, there were some accusations thrown around as you can imagine. And I’m not sitting here to point a finger and question you to death about everything, but I just thought I’d give you the table—uh, literally—to explain what’s been happening.”

Wonwoo finally set aside his drink, then shifting off the strap to his computer bag, letting it fall down his shoulder. He didn’t make a huge, overwhelmed sigh even though his body was screaming for it, nor did he ponder abandoning the conversation despite the magnitude of everything Seokmin laid out for him.

Fuck—he hated being matured.

“I can’t speak on her feelings. But I like her.”

“Oh—you do?” Seokmin was astonishingly surprised.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So, then, does that mean—”

“Actually, sorry, I’m downplaying it like a coward,” Wonwoo interrupted, shaking his head, “I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.”

It was then that Seokmin simply didn’t speak at all. His mouth had formed a hollowed shape, resembling something like a gulping fish, and Wonwoo capitalized on the silence to keep his thoughts fluent.

“I understand, okay? I understand why Mingyu is pissed. It takes two to tango, I get all that. And I know you probably want me to state my regret and all that so I don’t seem like such an asshole, but, honestly, I don’t really regret anything. Mingyu doesn’t care about her.”

Seokmin chuffed, rubbing at his chin. “Okay… I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that in particular. But you are admitting to it? I don’t know what it is you’ve done but you’ve done things with Her.”

“We’ve never had sex if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And—”

“We’ve never kissed, either… the only thing I was supposed to do was help her write that little love story. Which you set up, by the way. I didn’t know it would turn into this. I tried to get out of it.”

“I never thought she would stick it out.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sucked in his bottom lip, staring across the weathered wood at Seokmin. “You probably wanted her to drop it the second she mentioned it. I bet Mingyu thought the same.”

Seokmin scrunched up his face in disagreement. “That’s not necessarily true. She just fixates on stuff and then burns out after. She's always been like that, ever since I've known her. I figured the book would be no different. I thought it was something she needed to get out of her system, I didn’t think it would start rolling and—” he leaned forward into his palms for a moment, swallowing audibly. “Sorry, I just—I don’t get it, that’s all. I don’t get her fixations.”

“I think you’re just uncomfortable with her self-expression.”

“She—it’s not self-expression, though. Look, I know a pinch of what her story is about. It’s not about herself. It’s about Mingyu.”

“You think that just because she’s writing about someone else, there’s no pieces of herself in it? Her own feelings? Her own perspective? C’mon, Seokmin. You’re fucking smarter than that. You know what it's actually about.”

His friend’s eyes drifted away from him.

Wonwoo then cleared his throat. “Look, you don’t really need all the details, Seokmin. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how she feels about me. I can surmise. I can say we’ve had moments that we shouldn’t. But—genuinely—you probably know more than I do and you’re lying to yourself if you can’t realize that Mingyu is just some advantageous prick who makes her miserable.”

“Well, I think that—I don’t know if it’s really—”

“He walked into an opportunity with her and he knew it. His whole fucking life and career was basically set up for him the second he met her family. He’s beyond lucky Her ever looked his way.”

“Jeez, Wonwoo. Honestly, it’s not like that.”

“How is it not?”

Seokmin ran a hand through his hair, appearing flustered and without a tongue to make sense. “Just—okay—I’ve been around them a lot. I know how it seems from an outsider’s view. They can argue and push buttons. Their relationship isn’t perfect, but whose is? Mingyu didn’t just walk into the family asking for this and that—he’s never asked for anything, no handouts. Everything that’s been ‘set up’ for him was because Her’s family wanted it. They know he’s a good guy.”

The scoff shot from Wonwoo’s mouth like an arrow. “I’m sorry but, what do they want for Her? Were we at the same dinner party? Did you see her nearly burst into tears? She has to live life in this rigid box, trying to conform to everyone else around her. Don’t you think she wants to live her own life? Be her own person?”

“Of course, but—”

“No—why is there even a ‘but’?”

“I don’t think you understand. Her has everything she needs.”

“You mean, what everyone thinks she needs.” Wonwoo tossed his hand up in the air, laughing, while also getting the strong impulse to ring out his friend’s neck. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. How can you be so close to her, but you don’t realize how unhappy she is? You know what I think? You’re part of it, Seokmin. You're always in her business, hovering, watching, sewing seeds of doubt, shooting down her interests—and you disguise it as help. No one in that house listens to her. They’ve told her who she should be instead of letting her figure it out for herself. How can you be so complicit in that? She gets no support from any of you, about the decisions in her life that actually matter. And Mingyu—honestly, he can go fuck himself. He’s just as complicit as you. He’s soul-sucking.”

“God—sh-she’s an adult.” Seokmin was exasperated, his cheeks reddening like two ripe apples. “She doesn’t have to visit her parents. She doesn’t have to date Mingyu. Nothing is forced on her. No one is dragging her there. I help because I know what she's capable of. I know the perfect life she can have. Her parents know, too. But she just gets sidetracked! She gets wrapped up in stuff that doesn't matter! If she hates everything, she can easily walk away.”

“But you guys have made that so impossible for her.”

“How?”

Wonwoo proceeded to clench his fist up so tight he thought his skin might bleed, the edge of his knuckles pressing down on the table.

“She doesn’t know who the fuck she is.”

Seokmin instantly paled. He looked whiter than a snowflake.

“That’s like clipping a bird’s wings and then asking why it can’t fly away. Knowing who you are is such a big part of life. It’s arguably the foundation. What the fuck do you want her to do? I don’t even—I honestly don’t even want to look at you, Seokmin. Let Mingyu beat me up if he wants to—let it happen a thousand times—” slinging the computer bag back over his shoulder, Wonwoo was rising from the picnic table while glaring down at the stiff, empty-faced Seokmin, who had suddenly morphed from a friend to a bitter stranger, “—I don’t care what he thinks. It’s not going to change how I feel about her, or make me stay away. I’ve seen who she can be and what she actually wants from life, and it's not some snotty, vapid, copy-and-paste hell that her parents are forcing on her. But neither of you seem to give a shit. You’re both completely undeserving.”

Stepping away from the bench, Wonwoo tensed his jaw as the sunlight splashed over him, breaking in between the skeletal trees and their resilient orange leaves. “Got everything you wanted to know? Go run it back to Mingyu. I’m sure that’s what you were gonna do anyway.”

The anger in his chest felt like it was going to crawl out from his mouth and squeeze Seokmin into a ball, therefore Wonwoo exercised his breathing while on a strict path back down the walkway.

Abandoning Seokmin did hurt him more than he had thought, knowing he just lost a friend from his already very limited circle, someone whom he clicked with so readily. At the same time, however, there was a lightness about it. As Wonwoo’s frustration seeped out during the walk back to his apartment, some of the weight pressed into his shoulders released itself like water evaporating from a blacktop.

He just wished he could be at your side more than anything.

There was obviously a reason for your silence.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I heard about the break.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I’m here if you need anything at all.

…

[ Her | 4:05 pm ]: you talked to seokmin?

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: Yeah. Never again.

[ Her | 4:07 pm ]: mingyu is so mad

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: I figure.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: please avoid him if you can. i’m worried

[ Wonwoo | 4:08 pm ]: I’m not.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: wonwoo he’s seriously pissed

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: can’t you hang out with vernon some more

[ Wonwoo | 4:09 pm ]: Seriously?

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: yes

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: mingyu got into trouble with dots and had a real big scare. so he doesn’t like to mess much with him or his friends. he'll showboat but that's about it

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: well ik dots died but u get the point

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: Fair.

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: But I can’t just pull Vernon around as my Mingyu repellent lol. Honestly, if he wants to rock me, idc.

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: well I do care

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: ugh

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: life has been sucking so hard lately

[ Wonwoo | 4:11 pm ]: I want to come see you.

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: I want that too. but I need more time, k?

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: I know.

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: Here if you need me.

—OCTOBER 18TH.

For the past two weeks, Wonwoo had been walking around with the looming possibility of getting jumped by your six-foot tall, rather muscley boyfriend, and he was thus very relieved to have made it this far without eating a fist to the face. Well, now Mingyu was an ex.

Maybe.

The pause in your relationship read like a gray area that Wonwoo had been treading the thinnest eggshells on, prompting him to wait and hear the truth from you directly whenever you felt steady enough to tell him. He wondered if today might be that day.

Placing another strawberry onto the cutting board, Wonwoo chopped his knife through the leafy green bit, removing the stem. The cleaned-up strawberry was then dropped into a bowl of fresh ones that you had been picking away at for the past few minutes or so.

Wonwoo smiled while grabbing another berry to cut.

“I feel like this bowl hasn’t gotten any fuller, for some reason.”

Your legs were swinging as you sat atop the small kitchen island while looking down at his every movement with the knife. Once he dropped another cut strawberry into the bowl, you scooped it out.

“Just making sure they don’t go bad,” you responded, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “The fruit you buy usually goes bad within the minute? Are you getting into a fist fight with it?”

You poked at his hip with your socked foot. “Well, you said you were cutting it for me. So can I eat it or not? I’m getting mixed signals.”

“No, of course you can eat it. I’m just teasing.”

“I don’t do too well with delayed gratification.”

Wonwoo smiled at you, proceeding to remove the last few strawberries from the basket to cleanly dissect their stems. He then turned around, tossing the cutting board and knife into the stainless-steel sink with a clatter. After washing his hands, he was back at the island, noticing that the bowl was now seated in your lap like a bag of movie theatre popcorn with just the perfect amount of butter and salt. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything—that focused look to your face as you ate the fruit he prepared was much too captivating. He wanted to catch one of your swinging legs, pull you right to the counter’s very edge and have you wrap yourself around him. He wanted everything with you.

In your earlier days together, Wonwoo used to be a lot more evasive about his staring (at least, that’s what he wanted to believe), but now he didn’t feel as required to be so painfully subtle and imperceptible about things. He let you snack until you were satisfied, the empty bowl then being exchanged with a damp rag to clean your fingers.

“So,” clearing his throat, Wonwoo braced his hands against the granite island and glanced at you from behind his glasses, scanning down the unbothered, relatively straight face you had, “everything going okay?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded, making only an “mhm” sound that didn’t leave much to be interpreted.

Wonwoo saw the hands that plunged swiftly between your thighs, how you were quick to squeeze around them, like there existed something weighted and hidden.

He wanted to leave it up to your discretion—he really did.

“Okay, that’s good… just—uh, he’s not giving you a hard time, right? He’s not bothering you at all?” Wonwoo asked, adjusting the rim of the black beanie he’d thrown on to keep his messy hair tucked back. “I don’t mean to disinter anything. I’m only asking because I—”

“Because you care,” you finished his sentence quietly with a trusting and faint smile, “I know. Thank you. It is hard for me, though… I don’t know why this particular thing is so hard but it is.”

Wonwoo slid his hands together, moving them slow along the cold granite. “No… that’s understandable. I get it plenty.” Hell—he didn’t just get it—Wonwoo had miserably and insufferably lived it for damn near a year at that point. In fact, tomorrow would mark the day that he came home to this same apartment only to discover the interior stripped of all the traces, sentiments, and artifacts that breathed miraculous life into the girl he once thought to be his other half.

A whole fucking year without Jeanie.

How flipped things were. How oddly coincidental that he was now in the same space but with a new person to create everlasting memories. You had the most opposite personality and spark.

Wonwoo sighed. He got close to you, settling his hand atop your knee before gliding it underneath your thigh, gripping at you firmly and pulling you forward until he was bracketed in between your legs. Your response was smitten, and he couldn’t deny that he loved to practically see your heart beating under your chest in addition to sensing the warmth that flourished off your skin like you were sizzling in a pan.

Wonwoo set one hand down on the counter, right next to your hip, while the other tended to the side of your face, his fingers running behind your ear and down the slender path to your silk-smooth neck.

“Look…” he breathed out, finding your eyes that were now a bit watery and tinged with stinging emotion, “I know it’s hard. And I would never rush you into figuring things out… but I like you…” Wonwoo swallowed, letting his thumb play with your earring meanwhile his deep voice triggered the sharp, raised hairs spreading down your arms like an electric current, “I love spending time with you—even just being in the same room as you, getting to stare at you—but I just—when I don’t know what you are to Mingyu, I don’t know what to do with us.”

You drew in an immediate breath, then releasing a quiet laugh mixed with a runny sniffle. “I-It seems like you know…”

He pushed both his hands into the countertop, smiling at you.

“Well, I know what I want to do…” Wonwoo murmured, gazing so intimately into your eyes as the oceans he urged to drown in, “but you have to understand my reservations about it. That’s all.”

Bringing a pinky finger to your mouth to nibble on, you nodded.

Softly, he pinched the bare expanse of your waist. You gasped.

“Because I do, in fact, want you.”

You didn’t say anything, although Wonwoo noted that you were staring back into his gaze with so many hues of simple human emotion pulsating behind your eyes—there was frustration, possibly at yourself and everything you couldn’t yet communicate, and twinkles of impulse that matched rhythm with your heart. Then, employing unforeseen abruptness, your fingers were running down the back of his neck all ticklish and he felt the warmth from your breath feather his lips as you moved in closer, smirking at him, hazy like a sunrise pouring its light through a thick cover of morning fog.

“If you can be patient for just a little longer, you'll have all of me.”

Thankfully (or maybe not so thankfully judging from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins in a hedonistic, addictive sort of way) there were a few knocks at his door.

Your eyes rolled. “Is that your landlord or something?”

Wonwoo took a step back, letting you slide off the countertop while he adjusted his glasses and brushed down his t-shirt. How were you suddenly so casual? One second you were chewing nervously on your finger with the timidness of a newborn doe and the next—back to your typical self. He watched you approach the door, tilting his head.

“Uh, maybe? She usually texts me, though.”

“Or Seokmin with a batch of chocolate apology brownies.”

He chuckled, folding his arms. “Doubt it.”

Really, Wonwoo had no idea who it could be. It possibly was his landlord who had perhaps forgotten her usual warning text, or maybe his younger, sometimes irresponsible neighbour across the hall who would specifically ask to borrow his scent-free laundry detergent every now and then. As long as it wasn’t Lady Liberty on the other side (in Vernon’s tried and true nicknaming spirit) then Wonwoo had no reason to care.

“Welp,” you made a balmy, popping sound with your lips, “only one way to find out. I think I can smell the chocolate.” But once the door was pulled open, that little joking smile fell from your face concerningly fast, as though someone had plucked it right off.

Fuck—Wonwoo thought right off the cuff—it was Lady Liberty.

Your head quirked ever so slightly. “Uh, hello…”

Whoever the person was, they were just outside the threshold of what Wonwoo could see from his spot in the kitchen—except, now he didn’t think it was Mingyu at all, since your tone seemed more confused than anything else.

For a moment, Wonwoo just stood where he was, not particularly understanding why he couldn’t even twitch a measly finger.

“Hi—I’m sorry, is this the—is this—does Wonwoo still live here?”

From across the room, you shifted him a glance.

There was a heavy pause before you answered.

“… Yeah.”

“O-Oh, well… um… I’m so sorry, but are you living here as well? Is he home? I don’t mean to bother or anything. I guess I came by on a whim. It’s a little hard to explain… I can always come back later.”

At that point, Wonwoo was making his way beside you.

That voice—that delicate wispy voice, lighter than a tuft of cotton adrift through the breeze under a salt blue sky—there was such a familiarity about it that he was getting dizzier by the second. Your jaw was distinctly clenched as Wonwoo stopped at your side.

He took one look into the hallway and damn near fainted.

“What the fuck…” Wonwoo whispered, his mouth suddenly stark of moisture as he lifted a hand to grab the door’s edge, “Jeanie?”

“Uh, hey, Wonwoo.”

Wait—never mind, never mind—he panicked. Maybe he did want it to be Mingyu. In fact, Wonwoo would have anticipated Bohyuk showing up outside his door, or his parents, or his girlfriend of two weeks back in sixth grade who broke up with him over a juice box before he could guess that his ex who disappeared without a trace would be there.

It sounded borderline insane, but Wonwoo almost wanted to poke her just to test if she was even real. She looked real. She sounded real. You didn’t seem to be staring into empty space while side-eyeing him worriedly, rather you had very much acknowledged her. Wonwoo’s grip fastened to the door, then realizing he was using it as a personal crutch to keep him upright as his legs slowly regained their rigidity and strength. He also realized that you likely had no idea who she was until her name had been distantly tugged from his lips by his instincts.

Jeanie splayed out her hands in a demonstration of submission.

“If it’s a bad time, I can come back later…”

Wonwoo noted that you had taken a step away from the door, although you continued to stare at Jeanie with a countenance that refused to spoil much—it seemed inquisitive and curious but still hardened—the moment was probably overwhelming you, too.

He gulped dryly, flicking his eyes back to her. “Uh, well, I wasn’t even—you’re like, the last person I would expect to see and—”

“It’s okay. I’ll leave.”

Jerking back to you, Wonwoo nearly gave himself whiplash.

“Her—you don’t need to—”

But you shook your head.

Grabbing the cream purse off the couch and slipping back into your comfortable, clean white tennis shoes, you seemed eager to go while simultaneously jaded at the circumstances.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you stopped in front of Wonwoo, adjusting the strap wove around your shoulder, “this seems important, so… I don’t want to stand in the way of anything… I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Then, you turned to Jeanie, sticking out your hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She looked to Wonwoo for a split second.

“Um, yeah, you as well…” Jeanie eventually accepted the handshake, sounding breathy with nerves, “sorry about all this.”

While making your way to the staircase, Wonwoo quickly stepped into the corridor and waved at you, feeling his chest tighten.

“I’ll call you, okay?”

You flashed a transient smile. He hated watching you leave.

Jeanie was watching you, too, hands politely folded at her abdomen, bunny rabbit teeth digging at the skin of her ruby-stained and calloused lips. She had always been a chronic lip-biter—anxiety, thrill, or stress, Wonwoo vividly remembered the blisters she absentmindedly inflicted unto herself from the bad habit, similar to the scars marking the cuticle of his thumb. After a year Jeanie looked different no doubt, but she also reflected an unchanged image through her conserved, fidgety behaviours. She was shy like a budding flower kept just short of the sun.

“Are you okay if I come in?” Jeanie mumbled, hardly able to maintain eye contact with Wonwoo for no more than a second or two.

He stepped back, beckoning indoors.

“Yeah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Looks pretty nice in here…” she remarked soft-spokenly, taking a moment to marvel the space she once came home to every day, although she couldn’t seem more like a stranger to the apartment even if she tried—like a magazine cutout slapped onto a novel.

Wonwoo rubbed under his nose. “Well… I make due.”

Her hair used to be a symmetric, blunt length with her chin, but she had clearly grown it out over the months. The black tresses thrived in long and loose ribbons down her back, shinier than sea glass polished by rough waves. She was never one to wear much makeup either—trimming her eyebrows, glossing her lips, and flicking on some mascara was all she really ever cared to do, and Wonwoo remembered being in love with her simplicity.

Jeanie proceeded to walk behind the couch, squeezing the back in her hands. She was so tiny. That hadn’t changed much. He could only stand in one place, keeping still, examining her every movement and fighting against the trillions of voices clawing to his mind’s surface.

“Feels strange to be in here,” she laughed, running her fingers along the couch’s fabric, staring around the space, “I think it definitely has more of your touch now… it was nice to see Saskia again, too.”

“Yeah.”

She stopped on him. “You look well. Healthy.”

Wonwoo squinted at her. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t say it in a rude, impatient way. Genuinely, Wonwoo wasn’t angry with her, not like he might have been a few months ago.

But he was confused and feeling increasingly anxious. You were gone, probably on your way back home, though Wonwoo wished you hadn’t left at all, even if it were to make things sticky and awkward. Your presence in a room was the comfort he badly, painfully missed.

“Sure,” Jeanie cleared her throat, “I’ll explain. Care to sit?”

Together, they nestled onto the couch.

Wonwoo was kept to one end while Jeanie sat more in the middle, pulling at the long, flowy hem of her fern-patterned blue dress.

He tugged at the rim to his beanie, waiting for her to speak.

The girl gripped onto her knees, poised a soft, gentle look in his direction while taking in a breath. Their nerves seemed to be coalescing like different colours bleeding from freshly soaked paintbrushes. If anxiety were personified into butterflies, the room would start fluttering.

“I guess I thought it was time. Taking a shot in the dark, I know. I didn’t know if you would still be here, but I got lucky…” she clutched at her dress, fingers pulling into the airy material. “Wonwoo, it’s not like I don’t think about you, or wonder about you. I know what I did, how much it hurt… then I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come back to here, with you. But I processed it all and it became an itch I had to scratch.”

Puffing out through his nose, Wonwoo almost laughed.

“Yeah—you wanted to see if I, what? Threw myself off the building or persevered, becoming some big money writer?”

Jeanie blinked at him a few times, furrowing her neat, straight brow, with every hair gelled down perfectly in place.

Wonwoo shook his head, lifting out his hand.

“Okay, my bad. That sounded like such an asshole thing to say.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Her cheeks flooded with a tide of rosy pink as she chuckled. “I-I just… well, you seem different now.”

He pushed up his glasses. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Jeanie clasped her hands together, thumbs tapping.

“Well, I guess you seem more... upfront, not as prevaricating. Maybe that’s how you’ve always been and I just never really saw it or you picked it up from someone else.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

“I am sorry. I know it was all so… sudden. I know this is sudden. I thought about calling... my hands would just shake so much whenever I picked up the phone, getting all sweaty and stuff. It felt like something that I had to just do. And, well, once I was back in the area, I didn’t even want to lend myself time to dwell. I only came in yesterday.”

“You went back home, then?”

“I did.”

“I figured… well, I got the hint pretty clear when your mom sent me that email. It was only a sentence or two long, but it hurt like hell.”

“It’s what I asked her to send. It’s all I felt you needed to know.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Jeanie sighed, “I feel warranted in what I did… even so, I-I think I owe you an apology. Because, well, you were and still are someone I regard highly. You were going through something pretty serious… I mean, it’s obvious you’re taking such better care of yourself.”

“It definitely hasn’t been linear.”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, the girl smiled. “Well, what in life really is? It only feels that way when you’re going straight down.”

He hmphed, thinking. “… Yeah. Really though, don’t worry about it. An apology isn’t necessary. You’ve always been too gracious.”

“I-I guess… but, I think it is, since—”

“Jeanie, c’mon. It’s really not. I was dragging you down.”

“Wonwoo, I feel like—”

“I’m telling you—”

“Well, I’m telling you and it would mean a lot if you just let me speak and get this off my chest. Please. Then you can have the floor. Tell me to package it all back up. Whatever it is you have to say. But I spent our entire relationship just listening and trying to understand you and interpret all your vague signals when I should have been trying to understand myself, and what I wanted. I’m not the verbose type, I know that. Going off on longwinded tangents about my feelings has never been something that suits me but I’m here now and I owe it to the girl who just sucked it all up, all the time, trying to be this perfect girlfriend for you.”

He managed a long, introspective breath.

Fuck—he really did owe her that. He owed her so much more.

“… Okay,” Wonwoo nodded complicity, “you’re right.”

“Leaving was the very last thing I wanted. I swear it. I agonized over the choice every day. But you didn’t even notice. That’s when I knew it was more than bad, and whatever it was you were going through was just pulling you down so deep, like a whirlpool. It’s like… I would talk to you, and there was no one inside. When I felt like you needed space, I gave you space. When I felt like you had something hard to say, I would sit with you all day, trying to ease it out, waiting for you to say it.

When you seemed so angry at yourself and everything around you—I-I don’t know—I tried to be the best thing for you. But I was hitting wall after wall. Sometimes I wonder how much of it was my fault. If I had just been upfront about my feelings then maybe things would have been… well, you know, different. I guess I never did say much because it seemed like the last thing you needed to hear, like I would be adding to your already massive collection of burdens. You have to understand, I felt trapped, Wonwoo. Like I was in a glass box or something.

I was decaying from the inside out. If I didn’t leave, if I didn’t make that split second decision to phone up my mom and tell her everything that morning you left for work—then maybe we would have gotten even worse. Maybe we would have just drowned. I don’t know. I’m… glad, relieved, happier than ever, that I don’t know what might have happened. And now that it seems we’re both… whole… I feel like an apology is just a way for me to say that if I had the steel to speak for the both of us, maybe we could have spared so much pain in between.”

Jeanie’s doe eyes twinkled with tears. “I thought that being apart might heal us both… I-I did it ‘cause—in essence—I did it because I cared, Wonwoo. About you. So deeply. But I also needed to start caring about myself, too.”

The corners of his mouth flitted in an unbridled smile toward the girl, his gaze admiring how the evening sunlight warmed up her cool-toned skin and shimmered through her strong, healthy hair.

“I know,” Wonwoo finally answered. “I’ve known for a while.”

Jeanie stayed for about an hour longer, until the sky started darkening. Together, they filled each other in on the breakages in each other’s distant lives, like a spider reweaving a gash through its cobweb. He was pleased to learn that she was doing quite well for herself—now moved out from her family house and living with her younger sister, Jeanie held true to pursuing her ambition of managing the library she had always adored coming to during her childhood (he remembered it specifically as “the one with the bean bag corner and the giant toy crate with the giraffe.”)

Wonwoo felt he didn’t have much to say regarding himself, however, he had plenty to say about you.

Rubbing at a strand of her hair, Jeanie nodded. “Yeah, I remember Her. She—like—she did scare me a bit… I don’t know—she really seemed to know what she was doing. I was a little envious of that. And she had really great style. She could pull anything off. She came in looking for a textbook one time, but I made my co-worker help her instead. I think I was too nervous to talk to her.”

Wonwoo had his legs stretched out onto the coffee table, hands settled on his stomach. Itching at his eyebrow, he smiled. “I probably would have done the same, back then. Honestly though, she’s nothing like what she seems. I can promise you that.”

Jeanie was quiet for a moment, adjusting the legs tucked up underneath herself. “So… you two are… you’re dating?”

“No… it’s weird. I wish.”

“I recognized her when she opened the door. I was pretty confused since… of all the people that you could have over… she seemed like the most unlikely candidate. I-I mean, I’m not saying that you could never—I’m not saying that it could never happen—”

He tilted his head at Jeanie, grinning slyly. “No, just say it. You didn’t imagine I’d ever even be able to talk to someone like her.”

The girl’s face flushed. “Well, you’re quite the opposites.”

“In some ways.”

“I don’t think she’d like me.”

Wonwoo pursed his lip in disagreement. “That’s not true. To be fair, you’ve ever only got to see one side of her. She’s trying to figure shit out just as much as we are. You never really stop, I suppose.”

He felt Jeanie’s gaze still on him for a few seconds, her mouth twitching into a delicate, sincere smile made brighter by her eyes. “So… you figure she’d like me? Even if she knew all the details about us? How rough it all was?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms, staring back toward her confidently. “I figure she’d probably like you more than me, actually.”

8:28 pm

“Hey, thanks for picking up.”

“Oh, no big deal. You called me at a good time. I was just about to start my skincare and I would have needed to sit for fifteen minutes doing absolutely nothing in a slimy face mask.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m guessing your conversation is over and done with.”

“Yeah. She only left like, five minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t want to sit alone in your bedroom contemplating the universe for an additional hour with all the blinds drawn? Woah. Wonwoo, I am impressed. Finger snaps.”

“Finger snaps.”

“So… am I allowed to know how the whole thing went or did you just call me to hear the sound of my voice?”

“Both. But mostly to hear your voice.”

“Okay. Enlighten me then.”

9:45 pm

“Anyway… yeah. The conversation went well. I still can’t believe she actually came back to see me. Like, what a mindfuck, you know?”

“That took a lot of courage from her part.”

“Yeah, it did. Makes me proud, though. To hear her actually speak her mind. She really was just trying to be the best possible person for me and the only thing that got her is heartbreak. She’s putting herself first, now. She’s spending a couple days in the city with her sister.”

“… Do you think that you’ll want to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Do I need to?”

“Do you?”

“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, as much as it was a shock to see her again, there was great closure in it. If she had come to see me way sooner, no way would I have been open to it—I probably would have freaked the fuck out and had an anxiety attack or some shit—but I feel way better about everything now. I felt like I understood her choices, kinda like I was the one making them... but, you know, we’re evolved people at this point. We’ve veered onto two separate paths, neither one being greater than or less than the other… just different.”

“Right.”

“We just wished each other well.”

“No, that’s great. You put a bow on it. I just didn’t really know what the whole thing was gonna entail… so, yeah, I had gotten kinda worried… like—once I knew it was her—I thought she looked so perfect for you. You two just made immediate sense in my mind. She’s got such a sweet voice, and the kind, shy personality that everyone always adores. I think if you stuck her in a room with me, she’d hate my guts.”

“Ha—Jeanie hates no one’s guts. She’s got no room in her heart for that kind of stuff. You two are different for sure, but I think that’s what would make you interesting and attractive to each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t think you’d like her either. But I told her you’d probably like her more than me.”

“What! She actually thought that? I mean, maybe I seemed a little damp when I left, but that was just my mind on overdrive.”

“Need me to arrange a date between you two?”

“Ha—she did have a great perfume on. Maybe ask about that.”

“Well, I will if I see her.”

“She doesn’t know about the book you were writing for her, does she? I can’t believe that’s been sitting on your laptop all this time.”

“No, she doesn’t. I used to sit there and stare at it every day, but I don’t think I’ve even opened the damn document in months… since I met you, my mind has gradually moved away from it, I guess. I think now it’s more of an effort thing. All the time I put into it. It’s like, if I delete it, I’m deleting that time from my life… does that even make sense?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

“… Did you ever finish your book for Mingyu? I know you wanted it done before your anniversary in December. It seemed like you were on track to have it done quite early, with all that time you gave yourself.”

“I did finish it, actually.”

“No fucking way—that’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah. Now I’ve just gotta decide what to do with it.”

—NOVEMBER 3RD.

Wonwoo was fairly surprised that Princess had invited him to her birthday dinner at Terra Cotta. At one point, he wasn’t certain where he stood with your closest friend, even if his relationship with her presented itself as amicable on the surface—he always thought that maybe deep down, Princess really did despise him. Then Wonwoo wondered if you had nipped at the birthday girl into inviting him, although that didn’t seem like something in your character.

Through all his fretting, thumb-scraping, and late-night pondering in the shower, Wonwoo eventually came to the conclusion that was probably the simplest and most accurate: Princess just liked him.

A call from Vernon came through right as Wonwoo was getting into bed last week, to which the rambling boy had impetuously thrown out, “yeah, I got an invite to Her’s best friend’s birthday dinner or somethin’ like that—what was her name again? Penelope? The sexy dark skin girl with the braids? Anyway, I told her I’d love to go, but I’m gonna be out of town for a few days in November. Said I could hook her up with a couple MDMA bombs, though. Y’know, as a gift.”

Thus, that concluded the story of Wonwoo having to sit at a rather large and reserved candlelit table in an expensive, esteemed restaurant, surrounded by some friends and strangers alike, with a plastic baggie of hard drugs shoved into his pants pocket that he couldn’t stop worrying about. Vernon had wanted him to leave it with Princess when appropriate. Most people invited were going to the club later in the night—Room 319—which he figured could only be survived by going buckwild off ecstasy. As his knee continued to ricochet underneath the tablecloth, Wonwoo was soothed by your hand sliding over his thigh.

You gave him a solicitous glance, smiling with care. “Why don’t I just put it in my purse?” The offer was whispered amongst the conversation.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but flit his eyes around the table, ensuring no one was giving his general direction a lick of attention. The waiters and waitresses would pop from the blue every now and then with bottles that seemed glued to their hands, scouring for anyone who needed a top up on alcohol. His glass had been seldom touched for the past half-hour.

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Wonwoo,” you deadpanned at him.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh my God—just give me it. It’ll take me two seconds to dig it out from your pocket and shove it in my damn purse. Besides, I can’t enjoy myself when the anxiety is emanating off you in waves.”

His knee immediately stopped jerking. Wonwoo looked you straight in the eyes, the stiffness turning him into straw. “Is it really?”

“Yes!” You laughed quietly, your head hunkering down on his shoulder for a brief moment. “Now, give me it please. Pretty please.”

Sliding a hand into the smooth pocket on his pants, Wonwoo began fishing out the small plastic baggie while puffing, “fuck—alright.”

“Gosh,” he heard you mumble while discreetly taking the capsules from him, rustling them into your purse, “you could never be a drug dealer, could you? How are you even friends with Vernon? That dude probably walks around with sample sizes taped to his jacket.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo was finally able to roll out his shoulders and relax—even give you a humorous little smirk, “I have a way better chance of escaping the drug dogs than he does. I’ll get a nice head start.”

His thigh was met with a slap before your hand pulled away. “I’m acting like I don’t know either of you.”

To be fair, Wonwoo couldn’t picture his bad-mouthed, fairly uncouth friend in a snotty establishment like Terra Cotta, especially considering his ideal places to eat were twenty-four-hour diners and cereal pantries belonging to girls whom he’d just slept with. The restaurant was no doubt beautiful, though it was definitely for the upper echelons who could not only afford it, but also act the pleasant, opulent guise.

At least the table that Princess reserved was a bit more separated from the other tables in the restaurant—it was close to a waterfall built into the wall, encompassed by all sorts of burnish-looking smooth stones.

Neither Seokmin or Mingyu were at the dinner—two absences that no one seemed to be questioning. To Wonwoo, that was a gigantic relief—he assumed you felt the same. Clara was there, seated further down the table, but Bells wasn’t. Seungcheol was an obvious guest, and besides you, he was the person that Wonwoo had spoken to the most since arriving at the restaurant—he’d even given Wonwoo the slip on his secret gift for his girlfriend, which was a two-week vacation to the Bahamas after the winter exam season.

Wonwoo was a little jealous.

He would love for you and him to vacation somewhere.

Maybe even take you back to South Korea.

“So, you guys,” Princess had started a conversation with you and Wonwoo from across the table, hands folded underneath her chin while she smiled kindly between you, “think you’ll come to the club after?”

You pouted at her, “we’re passing, babe. A million sorries.”

“Awe, that’s okay.” She reached across the pristine tablecloth to lay her hand over top yours. “You already took me out for my birthday, anyway. And let me vomit in your washroom for two hours.”

“Mmhm. You’d do the same for me.”

Princess giggled, her grin luminous and wholly genuine. “Oh, of course. I have already done it!”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about Room 319. The stories I’ve heard about that place—sounds like some shit from a movie.”

“Trust me, you’ll get the entire script in a bound book. I know the club thing isn’t for everyone—that’s why I did the dinner. And I’m doing cupcakes instead of cake! Remember those red velvet cupcakes we had that one night? And then that other night? Fuck—I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn things.”

“Oh, those were fucking delicious.”

“De-licious. Have you ever got to try one, Wonwoo?”

He swallowed, a bit jarred to be welcomed into their conversation that he had been happily listening to from the sidelines.

“I tried one. I liked it.”

Princess gasped at him. “Only liked? Be serious!”

“Well, ask me again later tonight. I wasn’t having it fresh.”

“I will be asking. How’s Vernon? I’m sad he couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, he’s fine. Sometimes he just mysteriously disappears from town for a couple days—I don’t ask because I don’t want to know. But, uh, he did leave me with a gift for you… if you didn’t already know.”

“Oh… oh! Right!” Princess straightened up, nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You can give it to me when we leave. Outside.”

“I have it actually,” you clarified, flickering a transient look at the tiny purse you had moved onto the table, “when we take a girl’s trip to the washroom, you can have it. The dose is pretty high. I know I don’t have to worry about you and this stuff, but be careful, y’know?”

“Of course. Just make sure you hide the purse in your lap when the waiter comes back. They love offering to take bags and satchels and all that stuff to hang in the coat room.” After clearing her throat with a sip from her pink, frothy champagne, Princess curiously poked at you two. “So, how do you guys plan to spend the rest of your night?”

Wonwoo opted not to speak.

You grabbed your wine glass, swirling the aromatic alcohol around inside while shrugging. “Not sure. It’s chilly out. Hope you don’t freeze your tits off standing outside in the mile long line for the club.”

“That’s what this push-up is for. The padding’s so toasty warm.”

Laughing with Princess, you ended up snorting.

Seungcheol, who was sat beside his girlfriend and had been occupied in speaking to a friend Wonwoo forgot the name of, finally parted from his conversation, turning his head at the last second to hear the giggling.

“Push-up? What are you guys talking about?”

You shook your head. “Nothing—just her bra.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol mumbled, “what about her bra?”

Princess smiled. “Just that with all this padding it’s got, it’ll keep me nice and warm when I’m waiting outside. Perfectly insulated.”

Rubbing a thumb and index finger along his jaw, Seungcheol grinned all relaxed-like while Princess rolled her dark brown eyes at his comment, the gold accents in her inner corners glimmering.

“I bet my hands would be a lot more efficient. Nothing warmer than skin on skin as they say.”

She shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. “Who says that? Now, bedroom eyes away before I make you wear a bag over your head.”

“I don’t see a bag here.”

“As the birthday girl, I’m pretty sure I can request one.”

The dinner officially wrapped up around ten at night. Wonwoo was able to reaffirm with Princess that the red velvet cupcakes were indeed moist and delicious. As everyone stood right outside the restaurant in the nippy, cold November weather, giving hugs and farewells to those who weren’t clubbing, he made sure to wish Princess probably the twentieth happy birthday she’d heard that night. He waited for you to give her another speech about staying safe but still having fun, sprinkled with lots of “I love you’s” and inside jokes that Wonwoo wondered if he would ever understand, before you two left on your own.

Each time he spoke, his breath would come to life in a warm wisp from his mouth, meanwhile the streets lights reflected in the melted snow all over the sidewalk he aimlessly wandered down, with you sticking close to his side. It hadn’t been a heavy snow, at least.

“Be honest,” you said, glancing toward Wonwoo, “how relieved are you that we’re not going to the club? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Is ten the most relieved?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at you, completely unabashed. “Ten.”

Kissing your teeth, you nodded. “That’s what I expected.”

“So,” Wonwoo hummed, stopping beside you at the intersection while waiting for the crosswalk light to change, “what now?”

Your eyebrows raised. “Still want to do something?”

As the cars whipped past, throwing up brisk winds and exhaust into the twinkling city atmosphere, Wonwoo shrugged. “The night is young.”

“What's on your mind?”

“We’re not far from Centertown. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute walk or so at this point. There’s a bar there I want to try. The Honeymoon.”

He was glad you didn’t seem opposed.

“Sure. I’m down.”

Once the crosswalk was open and the floods of people started pressing forward, there was somebody who passed them—somebody who almost went completely unnoticed by Wonwoo until his memory reloaded and he suddenly found himself pausing to observe over his shoulder.

You pulled at his sleeve. “What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Wonwoo replied, wetting his dry lips while heeding your polite tug, “the woman that passed us—she’s dressed exactly like this prostitute that Vernon told me he saw last winter, hanging outside Room 319. She has the heels and everything.”

“What the fuck. Really?”

“Mmhm,” he laughed, “he called her Pink Heels Lady. To be honest, I thought he was lying… but I’m pretty sure that was her.”

“Spooky. Coincidence or fate, do you think?”

Wonwoo glanced at you, seeing the intrigued smile on your face.

“I don’t know, actually,” he responded after the question hovered around in his mind for an oddly long second, deciding to pick up your hand in is, “I assume it’s just the universe working its magic.”

Wonwoo was never particularly into bars, although he could tolerate them much more than a club despite their parallels. The seedy lighting, deafening music, and signature throw-up gutter in the street or alleyway right outside the building was crucial to both, he had realized.

The Honeymoon was a newer bar that had garnered some notable buzz. It was less like a pub, being slightly more formal with a touch of modernity that had landed it just below presumptuous, in Wonwoo’s opinion. At least the music wasn’t overbearing, nor was there intoxicated, flush-faced men hollering at sports teams on televisions that would never hear them. You decided to sit at the counter, sliding onto the heightened chairs and leaving your jackets draped over the low backs.

You bristled, shaking out your shoulders. “I’m cold.”

Wonwoo cupped his hands overtop your icy cheeks for a moment, allowing some of his warmth to seep into your skin.

“A drink will fix that right up.”

“How are your hands hotter than mine? You’re always freezing.”

He smiled at you, letting you have your face back. “I can warm them up at will to your benefit.” Wonwoo joked, bumping his knee against yours. “What do you think of the place?”

Your lip pursed as you glanced around, examining the bartenders filling up glasses with their silvery, shiny spouts, and then over your shoulder at the numerous other tables occupied by the city’s strangers. For a frigid November night, it was quite full.

“It’s nice. The lighting is pretty. Reminds me of Alley Cat.”

“Oh, yeah. Vernon took me there once to celebrate my exams being done, then he got into a fist fight with this university student over something I can’t remember—smashed a glass on the dude’s head.”

Predictably, your eyes rolled. “Only Vernon is getting into fist fights at Alley Cat.”

Wonwoo chuckled. “Well, now he can’t get into fist fights there at all—management banned him and the other guy. Apparently, they’ve got this back wall of people who’ve been kicked out and he’s on there.”

“Figures,” you sighed.

“Oh my gosh! Wonwoo? It’s you!”

At the sound of his name being excitedly called, Wonwoo was soon met with the surprised but cheerful expression coloured to Sierra’s freckled face. He hadn’t forgotten that she worked there, but he was clueless about her schedule. She looked very pretty, glowing in a halo almost, with her coarse, reddish-brown hair pulled back slick into a ponytail and a crisp, clean black uniform tailored to fit her perfectly.

Wonwoo grinned. “Hey there. I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

Sierra set one hand onto the lacquered wood counter while the other stuck to her hip. “I don’t usually. Fridays are game nights with my little sister. But there was a call-in. A little extra cash never hurt.” The girl’s big, round eyes then flitted to you. “Her, right? I don’t think we’ve ever met formally. I know you’re one smart cookie, though.”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered, smiling back at Sierra, “you were at the party, weren’t you? The one Seungcheol threw this summer?”

She nodded, “I was. I made a few drinks here and there.”

“I never got to taste one,” you frowned, pouting.

Throwing up her hands, Sierra was quick to exclaim with her typical charisma and sugar sweetness, “what! Preposterous! I think I’m pretty wicked at it. What are you thinking of having?”

“To be honest, I’m not looking for anything too fancy at the moment. In fifteen minutes from now, I won’t be able to promise the same. I’d like to start off with a rum and coke, if that’s alright. For now.”

Sierra grinned. “No, that’s perfect. What about you, Wonwoo?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have the same. For now.”

“Well, for now, I’ll start you guys off with two rum and cokes.”

Leaning his elbows onto the countertop, he threw her a question.

“How’s it going with Carmen?”

While she prepared the drinks, Sierra blossomed into a smile. “Oh, it’s going great. She’s genuinely a blast. We’re going to the movies next week—that horror one is coming out, about the swimming pool—we think it’s gonna suck but that’s what makes it fun.”

Once Sierra slid you the cold glass, you tilted your head at her while fixing your lips around the black straw. “Who’s Carmen?”

“My girlfriend.” Sierra answered. “We met here, actually.”

“Ugh, no way,” you swooned, pressing a cheek into your hand as the next drink was given to Wonwoo, “that’s so fucking adorable. Does she ever tell you how beautiful you look in that all-black uniform?”

Giggling, Sierra wiped down the countertop and flushed. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s honestly just a t-shirt and slacks!”

“Well, you’re making it work.”

“Please—my face is heating up! You’ve got quite the gorgeous dress on yourself, you know. I always wonder where you get all your clothes. Wonwoo, have you complimented her yet, tonight?”

Mixing the ice cubes together to hear the satisfying clinks using his straw, he answered easily. “It was the first thing out of my mouth.”

Sierra nodded in satisfaction. “Good! Well, I won’t hover. But if you need any refills or have any questions, you can try to flag me down—or ask Jamie! She’s just down there. She’s great at martinis. Later!”

Once Sierra had left to busy herself with tending to others waiting service at the counter, you looked to Wonwoo, lips downturned.

“Jeez, she’s so freaking nice. How come I don’t have that kind of natural charm? Not that I’m not charming. But hers is so… magnetic.”

“Everyone’s got their natural quirks.”

“Yeah, well, my natural quirk is that I’m probably going to down this in the next two minutes. And then have three more after that.”

Wonwoo rubbed a hand to your shoulder, smirking into the glass that he raised to his mouth. “Just focus on the one you have now.”

3 more rum and cokes (+ 1 martini) later.

“No, no—but then, it gets even worse! Because not only had she been lying straight to his face the entire time, so was his best friend! They were seeing each other for weeks and weeks—he had no idea. What gave it away though, was the perfume. He was always telling her not to wear heavy perfumes and stuff because it will leave a scent on the sheets, but she messed up—so they freaked it, she spends the night, and then the next day when he’s over, he goes into his friend’s room looking for a charger and smells the perfume on the sheets! He puts it together! And then, and then—”

You paused, picking up the wide-mouthed martini glass to take a sip in the midst of your long-winded and passionate adultery story that Wonwoo had been struggling to follow for the past blurred time interval, the names now completely lost on his ears. There was hardly anything left in your glass, which led to your frustrated grumble, followed by an attempt to flag down the bartender, Jamie.

However, Wonwoo swiftly caught your hand despite his own impaired state, lowering it back to the countertop.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” He pushed forward the cup of water he requested for you. “The least you can be right now is hydrated.”

Although you weren’t happy about his thwarting, you did yield to the advice and drink some of the water. Wonwoo knew he should probably have some himself after his own splurge on the bar’s pricy concoctions, but he still felt that he was holding up quite well. Before Jamie could whisk by again, he made sure to ask for another cup.

“So, what happened next?” Wonwoo nudged your elbow while you stared off cluelessly, urging you to continue the story.

“What?”

“He smells her perfume on the bedsheets. Now what?”

However, you were suddenly slumping forward, forehead nestled into your hands. For a moment, you stayed like that without word, until Wonwoo couldn’t help his concern and touched at your bare shoulder.

“Not feeling well?”

You shook your head, whining out, “no, no. It’s not that.”

He frowned, scooting to the edge of his chair and securing his arm across your shoulders. His voice was softer and closer against your warm cheek as he attempted to gauge that sour, twisted expression past your concealing hands, wanting to understand your hiding.

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s bothering you?”

Again, you remained silent, biting your lip. There was such tenseness in your body that he could simply feel with just his arm.

Wonwoo leaned back, instead tugging at your wrist. “Can I at least see your face? Please?” You didn’t budge. “Her, you’re worrying me a bit, here. Do you need me take you home—”

“Okay, I have something to tell you.” Breaking abruptly from your husk, you were now staring straight and square at Wonwoo with distinct inebriation cloudy in your eyes, although there was something else too that compelled Wonwoo to bite his tongue and listen. “Honestly, I think I’ve held onto this long enough. And, I’ve wanted to confess this to you for a while now, but there was just so much debris in my life that I needed to sort through first. But you’re beyond important to me, and I just think that it’s time you finally know… so, can I tell you?”

“Um…”

Wonwoo’s throat was suddenly bone-dry and his pulse had spiked to the point where he could feel a vein along his neck start throbbing—he even pondered waving down the bartender for another drink to pacify his growing nerves.

Ultimately, Wonwoo wouldn’t last that long. Pushing up his glasses, he nodded, noting that you hadn’t blinked once while you waited.

“Sure. Tell me.”

Your upper lip twitched.

“Mingyu’s been cheating on me, for two years.”

Wonwoo was quick to feel all his awareness become dull and drowned. He hardly registered his elbow shifting across the countertop, almost knocking over the glass of water onto the floor, nor did he realize the manner in which his mouth had subtly dropped open. You continued to stare at him with intensity, likely studying every tweak and fidget in his body language before swallowing deeply and choosing to continue the revelation.

He tightened up his jaw, trying to seem firm.

You looked ashamed of yourself as you admitted, “it’s been going on for two years, and I’ve known for about a year.”

“Really?” He answered, sounding mystified. “An entire year?”

“Give or take.”

Then, Wonwoo was shaking his head. His fist had clenched up tight, though it wasn’t the usual automated response that accompanied his anxiety—he found there was immediate distaste and anger swirling together like storm clouds in the pit of his stomach.

Your gaze was cast to the water glass on the countertop, which you moved away for no apparent reason, your expression emptied.

After a frail sigh, you continued, “do you remember that day I came into creative writing and got super upset at that guy for sitting in my seat? Remember how we talked about it at the nature museum, and I told you that I had a fight with Mingyu before going to class?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that day, I tried bringing it up to him. And it totally didn’t go over how I thought it would. Mingyu denied it all… of course, I only had some vague but suspicious texts to go off of, which he explained his way out of pretty poorly. But I just accepted it for the sake of our relationship. And I never brought it up again until… you know.”

Wonwoo let a natural, stagnant silence fall in between you, meanwhile the encompassing atmosphere was kept flowing by the various conversations of those around you—seemingly happy—with plenty to drink as they kept warm from the bitter cold just outside.

He was biting his tongue, though he couldn’t hold the question any longer, piquing his, “do you know who he was cheating with?”

A huff shot straight through your nose.

“I know…” you mumbled, “and you know her, too.”

Suddenly, a name popped to his mouth without thought.

“Bells.”

When you didn’t confirm nor deny, opting to stare off to the side to conceal the emotion springing forth, Wonwoo knew it was solid truth.

“Fuck…” he cursed, grazing his hand across the smooth leg that was folded over your knee, “I’m so sorry… I’m at a loss for words.”

You could only sigh while a glossy film developed in your eyes.

“I mean, I’ve been through all the stages already—grief, denial, acceptance—whatever the other ones are—so I don’t know why I’m still getting so choked up about it. I obviously didn’t want to believe it… I mean, who the fuck does? Especially when you truly do have feelings for that person.” Shaking your head and sniffling, you exasperatedly flicked out a hand. “Her and her stupid sparkles. That was when I really started putting it together. Oh, I’m going out to play poker, babe! And the next day, I’m wearing his sweater, and I realize there’s these fucking little bits of glitter on it, inside it—it was like a fucking beacon that was just screaming at me—hey! Your asshole boyfriend is cheating!”

That was something Wonwoo had noticed himself, after Bells had bumped into him at the party—the girl’s adoration for sparkly clothing and makeup essentially left behind a glaring trail of glimmery breadcrumbs. Wonwoo had found them on his clothes once he took them off and could really see the fabric underneath the light. The confession suddenly painted your actions that night in a new colour.

Rubbing against your temple, you explained further despite the struggle to speak over that clogged sound coming from your throat.

“It’s not like I’m stupid, either, even if right now, in this situation, I seem like it. I know what Bells is like… she’s spoiled rotten—always has been—and is used to getting whatever the fuck she wants. But, you see, that’s the thing! That’s the fucking thing! Seokmin, Clara, Bells, even Princess—I only met them because of the webs my parents have in their business world. I was never really allowed to find my own friends. It really just shows how much they had a say in my life… don’t misconstrue, I truly do love Princess and she’s by far the most normal, grounded person amongst them. She actually listens, and cares. But I was only allowed to befriend her ‘cause my parents know her parents.

Mingyu seemed like the one person I was actually able to connect with on my own… but he’s honestly changed so much. It’s like, my parents were able to get their little fangs in him and warp him. And now… I really don’t think he loves me at all… I think he loves my image, and what I represent, and the opportunities that come with me… but, I don’t think he actually, genuinely loves me like he used to... like, back then, he was so, so sweet. He was always fumbling over himself, nervous, trying his best. I mean, you've read about it! He used to want to be an architect, Wonwoo. A freaking architect! He sketched all the time. He has a closet drawer full of sketch books from when he was younger. But everything's different now. He doesn't care. He hates when I bring it up! He hates me!

And I don’t just think—I know it, Wonwoo. He resents me, but he won’t let go. Instead, he just sucks the life out of me, like he’s trying to get me to hate myself, too. And I do. I guess, as long as I hate myself, it makes me perfect in their eyes. I’ll just keep letting them mould me until I feel complete.”

Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know what to say except for the fact that you were right—as long as you always felt subpar, or lacking, or frustrated with your drought of true identity, it would lead you back to the reliance you had on the deceptive characters in your life—it was nothing but a miserable cycle designed to bog you down and snuff you out. At least your tearful eyes had dried up.

You looked at him fondly, with a gentle smile. “That’s what I like so much about you… even if you didn’t intend to—which I know you didn’t, judging from what I’ve heard about you trying to avoid writing with me—” (he bit his inner cheek coyly, casting a somewhat anxious hand through his hair), “—you helped me realize parts of myself that were always there, but only needed some nurturing. You actually encouraged me. Supported me. And—okay—I know I said that I hate myself—but since I’ve met you, I’ve been replacing it with an understanding of my situation. I’ve been kinder. I’ve been more of myself. I like to think what we have is a sort of symbiosis.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Do you think that I’m… stupid… for staying?”

Immediately, Wonwoo’s face furled in disagreement. “No, no. Absolutely not. Mingyu’s been with you for so long. He has an integral quality in your life. It would be difficult to uproot yourself just like that. No one’s a better judge of that situation than you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

As you relaxed back into the bar chair, Wonwoo could practically see this heavy, dark mist levitate from you and dissipate into the air. He knew that feeling of relief and inner freedom very well, and there was almost nothing that could compare to it.

Wonwoo then sipped from his glass of water, continuing to watch the stiffness melt off you like ebbing spring snow. "So, what was his response like? To your accusations? Was he at least honest?"

"Yeah, I got it all out of him eventually," you revealed with a very cumbersome sigh. "But he was deflecting like crazy... I'd never seen him like that before... he was fumbling his words all over, like he used to when we were first dating. But it was different. It wasn't nerves, it was just blind anger. He said I was no better. I mean, he's convinced we've had sex, and he wouldn't accept my denial, no matter what."

"It's not black and white," Wonwoo said, squeezing your arm, "it seems to me like a natural consequence. You felt trapped and alone."

For a split second, Jeanie flashed in his mind. A sear of guilt snapped through him. Mingyu would have much reflecting to do.

Nodding your head, you looked to Wonwoo and graced him with the words he may or may not have been waiting months to hear: "it's all over now—Mingyu and I—I made that extremely clear. And I honestly don't care what anyone else has to say. My mom didn't want to believe it... she's been acting strange since. I don't blame her."

In response, he merely nodded, warming you up with his gentle eyes.

But then he was shifting forward in his seat, elbows settled to the counter. Although it was quite late and he felt exhausted from drinking, his curiosity about a particular matter was still sharp.

“So… I’m wondering… what's your reason for writing the book?”

You gulped. “I wanted a way of looking back on everything. Seeing if maybe I could find myself somewhere amongst all those memories. Maybe when I started losing Mingyu was when I started losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I was losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I never really knew myself to begin with.”

He shrugged, his face colouring with admiration for you.

“Well... have you found something?”

Your only means of response was a twinkle-eyed grin.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t as dreadful as Wonwoo anticipated, mostly attributed to the alcohol soaking up in your stomachs, keeping your blood warm even in the face of a tough, harsh wind. Back when it wasn’t so late in the night and his lips had yet to touch his first rum and coke, Wonwoo thought he would take himself home after seeing you off first. But now it was almost midnight, and he had this impending feeling of vertigo while he walked, and he was therefore very limp to fight the offer that involved a comfortable stay at your place until morning.

Wonwoo wasn’t exactly sure where he deposited his coat or his shoes, or even his phone—instead he found himself sitting at the end of your bed, listening to the muffled sound of a running sink behind a closed door as you were busy in the washroom.

He leaned over, removing the glasses already slid down his nose and rubbing a palm into his eye until stars traversed the length of his vision. So, Lady Liberty was a cheater. For the past two years. It did bring Wonwoo to wonder what else Mingyu had said during your argument. Did he ever give a reason for cheating? Did he feel boxed into a life that wasn't the enriching utopia he surmised it might be, but he was toughing it out for the sake of success? Was he cheating because he was mad at you or mad at himself?

Or was he honestly just an asshole?

The Mingyu he was familiar with was shifty, and hardened, and image-obsessed, and now Wonwoo knew for a fact he wasn’t delusional for feeling the tension between you and him whenever you were together. God—he could practically cut all the thickness in the air using Seokmin’s nose and serve it like pieces of cake. But Mingyu hadn't always been like that according to your allegories. Deep down there could still be traces of the man you fell in love with, flickering like shiny little minnows beneath murky, clouded water.

But it was too late now.

Fitting his glasses back on, Wonwoo rolled back the sleeves to his crisp white dress shirt, proceeding to take a gander around your bedroom that he hadn’t revisited in quite some time.

The running sink in the washroom across the hall was finally turned off, although Wonwoo had stopped paying attention to the background noise in place of reading your every detail off the walls. In minuscule ways, the room had changed. There were missing photographs from the dresser, your makeup vanity drawers no longer left ajar in your likely last-minuting rushing to ensure everything was perfect. The closet seemed cleaned-out. Emptier than it once was.

“I thought you might fall asleep.”

He jumped slightly, realizing that you were in the bedroom now, setting down your heels in the corner before making a stride toward the closet where the dress over your arm was hung back up.

Wonwoo bit his lip. “I questioned it.”

You smiled, and within that moment he noticed the long t-shirt you were draped in was the dark blue, logoed math shirt, the one you’d picked after sprinting back to his apartment amidst a rain storm. He felt something in his chest swell and ache in response to how pretty you looked wearing it. Wonwoo knew he was staring, blushing, but he didn’t care. You had two of his t-shirts now. He hoped that collection might continue growing. He hoped that you wore them until his scent was naturally replaced by the strawberry sweetness of your own.

“Thinking about anything in particular?” You asked, arms folded.

Slapping a guilty little grin on his face, Wonwoo shrugged. “No.”

But then you started striding toward Wonwoo, uttering out something half-whispered that sounded a lot like “liar”, and now he truly wasn’t thinking about a damn thing, not even his own breath, as you proceeded to slide your arms around his neck and seat yourself in his lap. He was frozen. You hadn’t been this fucking close to him since you two had cuddled during Seungcheol’s party.

But this was worse—this was full-throttle intimacy with your penetrative, fluttering eyes eating up his soul while your bare thighs squeezed the sense out of him, trapping him, testing him.

“Scared?” You whispered, moving your face in closer.

Yes—he was horrified—he couldn’t even speak with you smiling at him so innocently despite the flames you were igniting.

Though, when he felt a wriggle from your hips that seemed to push against him in all the right places, Wonwoo’s hands were immediate on your waist, tight and stilling, and he swore there was a vulnerable, pliant spark in your eyes that he had never seen before. Maybe Wonwoo could have been more polite about the approach, but after waiting so, so long, he felt like a rocket ship rife with fuel.

He kissed you.

In one decision his lips were pressed to yours, and in a kiss that was full of friction and earnest want, he could only dig deeper. Your arms curled further around his neck, to which you slipped in a quick, sharp breath before pouring yourself back into him so suddenly, mouths moulding again and again, spit slickening, noses bumping. He would have paused to take off his glasses, though Wonwoo was in no place to leave your lips for even a second—especially when your playful tongue glided with his and the world around him melted like wax.

Maybe he was biased (or maybe it was love), but Wonwoo swore it had never felt this right to kiss someone. He knew it, somewhere outside himself, far out in the ever-expanding universe and every other version that belonged, that this moment felt destined to happened. Wonwoo had never particularly believed in fate.

But then he wouldn’t know how else to describe you.

His hands itching to touch more of your skin had gravitated to the thighs clenching at his hips. Your warmth and smoothness only made him greedier. As the kissing became messy in the desperation, he couldn’t help but slide his hands to your ass, immediately kneading his cold fingers into the flesh, pulling, squeezing, pushing you closer into him because he quite literally wanted you to engulf his body.

Then, you were gripping at the back of his hair. You had opened up his throat for your wet lips to continue exploring, and Wonwoo felt every suckle and teething bite draw him further from clarity.

Each kiss slithered lower, until you were gradually lifting from his lap and placing yourself onto the carpet floor. Wonwoo had leaned back to tightly fist the bedsheets behind him, although he would never waver his lusted eyes from the sight of you between his spread legs, on your knees, palming him overtop his dress pants while biting your swollen, glistening lip. He almost wanted the camcorder to capture it.

“How does it feel?” You hummed, staying focused on each pressured movement your hand applied to his prominent erection.

Wonwoo chuckled, clearing the huskiness in his throat, “like I’m gonna die.” His head tilted back. “Holy shit.”

Flashing nothing but a conniving, pleased smile, you tended to undoing his belt buckle. Wonwoo was burning up. As you pulled down the zipper to his pants and helped him shift down the waistband to his underwear an adequate distance, he couldn’t process anything but the fact that he might burst like an explosion of confetti the second your hand would touch him.

Except, you opted to sit back on your haunches.

Tilting your head, you smirked at him.

“I would like a demonstration, please.”

He almost choked. “A what?”

“A demonstration,” you repeated, shuffling closer in between his thighs and gazing up much too seraphically through your lashes, “won’t you show me how you touch yourself, Wonwoo? Please?”

For the life of him, he couldn’t produce one stupid fragment of a sentence, or even a word. God—it didn’t fucking help that you took reign and offered to get him started—your hand carefully reaching past his underwear, gripping onto him gently to spring his erection free. A shiver surged throughout his body at the sensation. Hotness spread like molten lava across his face as the result of your lascivious, teasing actions stood leaking and stiffer than wood right before your eyes, which were agleam with thrill and haze.

You seemed as though you were going to pounce on him.

But he could visibly see you swallow the temptation.

“Aww, you have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen,” you giggled, wrapping a hand around him that was soft and warm, “would it make you feel better if I started you off, then? Gave you some help?”

Wonwoo’s fists were tangled so intensely into the bedsheets he was surprised the fabric hadn’t disintegrated. Holding his breath, he watched you lean forward until your mouth was hovering an agonizing distance over him, only to produce a line of spit that dripped onto his head. His jaw unhinged in a groan. Then you began working the saliva along his shaft, pumping a hand up and down, occasionally flickering your thumb over the sensitive tip only to remove the contact so casually, likely knowing it would rip him apart.

“Your turn.”

He took a second to push up his glasses and shake his head.

“M’not gonna last long, you know,” Wonwoo grunted, at last heeding your request and beginning to stroke himself for your viewing pleasure, “especially after that big display. You fucking tease.”

With an arm slid over his thigh and the drool collecting in your mouth, you couldn’t have looked anymore dazzled by the thirst you were experiencing, your eyes refusing to part from every tug delivered by his own hand. It was a spell, and you were unapologetically under it.

“Mmm, a tease?” You purred, smiling. “I was just trying to help.”

“Were you?” Wonwoo scoffed, pumping faster while continuing to twist up the bedsheets using his other hand. “Rubbing your fucking spit into my cock is tt-trying to help me? Is that what you think?”

“Mmhm,” you answered, straightening up as Wonwoo felt himself become tenser, felt the pressure in his abdomen climb.

He shuddered, a groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of his fist wetly slapping up and down consumed the room and Wonwoo knew it was only a matter of seconds before he lost it. You were basking in every sound and movement.

“Fuck, fuck, I-I can't—”

Suddenly, you’d pushed Wonwoo’s hand away. His stomach flipped upside down. Before he could recognize the brief loss and regain of pleasure, your suckling, wet, hot mouth was already sliding down around his erection, your grip fastening to whatever you couldn’t quite reach. Wonwoo bit his lip so hard at the sensation that something coppery-warm was tasted on his tongue, although that was the least of his concerns when you were throating him with messy desperation. His hand rested on your scalp, nervous to push your head down too firmly, but once he did, you moaned out so erotically around him that Wonwoo fragmented.

His hips bucked straight into your face while his fingers had tightened at the back of your scalp, feeling every intense throb expand against your throat, spurt after spurt filthy in your mouth. But you were diligent and zealous and Wonwoo knew you were swallowing it all despite the few tears trickling onto his pelvis. His length didn’t leave the velvet, pillowy confines of your mouth until every bit was expertly milked out from him, though had Wonwoo let his hand drift off your hair in case you wanted a breath.

With a hiccup and a wipe against your chin, you were tasting the bedroom’s heavy air and exhaling ragged as Wonwoo marvelled you.

“Trying to take my soul with you or something?” He huffed, using his thumb to remove some leftovers from the side of your lips.

You caught his hand in an instant. “No—” you piped up, quick to close your mouth around the digit and suck off whatever he politely removed, laving your tongue like you were licking a popsicle, “—I want all of it.”

He thought he might crumble, hearing you mumble such obscene words while tracks of tears dried overtop your cheeks, your voice sounding somewhat hoarse from the labour of taking him whole.

You were climbing back onto Wonwoo’s lap almost blindly, his next breath taken away by a passionate kiss you pushed so fervently onto his lips. There was another tangling of tongues, saliva mixing together, but neither attempting to take control— though at this point Wonwoo would gladly oblige to throwing you on the bed and twisting off those frustrating panties he imagined were sticking to you. He could feel your arousal dampening through the baby pink cotton as his length twitched back to hardness underneath you.

“Wonwoo,” you whined breathily into his ear while grinding your hips against him in search of friction, “I’ve got to tell you something I did.” You bruised up his neck with more kisses. “Something bad.”

His eyes were shut, hands continuing to grope your ass. “Yeah?” He mumbled, feeling your tongue drag across a vein in his neck. “You did something bad? What could that be?”

Your hands drifted down his chest, yanking open the buttons on his dress shirt in satisfying pops. Warm, feathery breath hit his ear. “That day I stayed the night in your bedroom… alone…” you kissed him on his mouth, letting it linger and last, “I couldn’t help it.”

Wonwoo had gripped the side of your face, meanwhile he rubbed underneath the waistband to your tiny, thin underwear.

“Couldn’t help what?”

He flinched as your hand sunk down to grab his cock.

“I touched myself,” you confessed just an inch from his face, “I laid back against your pillows, spread my legs all wide… I had my fingers stuffed so deep inside myself, but it still didn’t feel like enough.” Again, you were softly stroking him. Wonwoo continued to uphold that unwavering, painfully honest gaze you were pinning him in. “Nd’ I came all over your t-shirt, Wonwoo. I played with myself until my fingers were cramping and my legs couldn’t stay open anymore.”

He gulped—heavy—like swallowing a chunk of lead. His tender thumb grazed along your cheek and rubbed over your puffy lips. “I wanted to fuck you so bad that night,” Wonwoo soothed your confession with another, which was already quite obvious, “I dreamt about it. I wanted to bury myself so fucking deep inside your gut.”

You shook your head, eyes teary. “Why didn’t you?” He felt the delicate stroking motion along his erection come to a pause.

Wonwoo cradled your cheek. “It would have fucked everything up.”

“But I wanted it,” you whimpered. “I’ve been wanting it for so long and you just left me there. I would have been quiet. You could have put me face down in the pillows and just used me all you wanted.”

“No,” Wonwoo argued, “I would never want to use you. I want us to be together in everything. I know you wanted it. But lust makes you think different. Just like it’s making you think different right now.”

He softly slotted his mouth with yours, exchanging a much slower, sweeter kiss that lit a glow in his belly. You puddled right into the contact, curling your arms back around his neck to hold him tighter.

Much lighter kisses dappled the edges of your lips.

Wonwoo could feel you start to smile.

“I figured something was off the next morning,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t know how to face with you without thinking about it. I felt so dirty. But in the moment, I needed something.”

He nipped down your slender neck, letting his hot breath and reverberating, husky tone tickle your skin until your hairs stood up.

“How wet were you?” Wonwoo purred, smirking.

Immediately, your hips were pushing down on him. “Soaked,” you then whispered, “I was making such a mess. I tried so hard to be quiet. But part of me wanted you to hear.”

Wonwoo’s hands drifted up your t-shirt, gliding slow against your stomach, coming to reach the plump, sensitive breasts that he could only surmise were waiting for his attention. He cupped them in each palm, giving a tender squeeze and pull that pitched your breath into a squeak. Caressing your neck with more wet, open-mouthed kisses, he felt the absentminded grinding reignite the friction between you.

“Did you touch up here, too?”

His thumbs brushed your pert nipples. He felt you shiver.

“Y-Yes.”

Tsking his teeth, he pleasured them with slow, rubbing circles that you mewled in response to. “You’ve got the softest skin. I could touch you until I die, and it still wouldn't be enough.”

“Mmhm,” he heard you exhale shakily, “I touch myself at home, too. Put my pillow between my legs. Pretend I’m grinding against you. Then let my fingers take me again and again until it hurts.”

How dare you fucking say that to him—how dare you put such an intimate visual in his mind to haunt him like a ghost to hallowed grounds. How many times had you done it? How many times had you stood right in front of him, smiling so innocently, despite knowing damn well what you had done to yourself the night before.

Wonwoo pinched your nipples, watching you flinch.

“Does it hurt right now?”

You nodded.

“Where?” He lowered his voice, sinking his hand back down the creases in your tummy until it paused right on your mound, his eyes trained to your suddenly very desperate, misty look. “Down here?”

“Yes.”

Holding eye contact with you, Wonwoo trailed his hand further along your panties until his touch was situated right between your thighs, directly feeling the wet fabric, the radiating heat, the aroused pulsations. Your fingernails were pricks in his shoulders.

“Fuck, you are drenched, aren’t you?” Wonwoo commented, rubbing his hand against you through the cotton material, your hips soon chasing the overwhelming pleasure. “Can feel you throbbing against my hand, you know that? Bet it aches so fucking good, hm?”

He grinned hard at your eyebrows knitting together. While he massaged you with one hand, the other gripped your chin where he pushed a hot, uncoordinated kiss onto your whiny mouth.

“Lay across my lap,” Wonwoo whispered in between the hasty break for air, “let me play with you instead, make you cum. Please.”

To his delight, your compliance came easily.

It didn’t take long for you to splay yourself in the desired position, with Wonwoo pushing up the shirt to bunch at your waist while your bottom was perfectly presented in his lap. He massaged you, leaning down to mark a trail of kisses along your lower back, along your ass—spreading you wide to see the large, soaked patch glistening on those easily rippable underwear.

“Just open your thighs a bit more,” Wonwoo instructed, to which you quickly listened, “fuck—perfect—all this, only for me.” He pushed his thumb against you through the panties and you instantly squeaked.

“Right?” He urged. “Is this all just for me?”

“Mmhm—yes, yes. I fucking promise. Just for you.”

Wonwoo bit his lip to stop the size of the immediate smile from breaking across his face. Your hips wriggled up as his touch drifted away.

“I need more,” you groaned in frustration, “please.”

“More here?” Wonwoo pulled back on one side of your glute to help reveal the sensitive area, then rubbing his thumb against your clit.

Your entire body jerked, and he noticed your fingers dig into the bedsheets, clawing them up. He figured the wet friction between his thumb and your panties was frustratingly amplifying every little sensation in a dull but very cruel way. He continued his ministrations, adding some more pressure for you to squirm and moan at.

“Does it still hurt?” Wonwoo asked, letting his other hand slide up your bare waist, the skin beginning to sweat and turn even warmer.

“Please,” you groaned, attempting to adjust your hips against the stroking from his thumb, “I feel like m’gonna fucking die, Wonwoo.”

“Still need more, then?”

“Yes!”

Deciding to throw you a bone, Wonwoo grabbed those thin, pink panties in his hand and helped you slide the constricting fabric down and off your legs. Once he spread you nice and wide, let the cold air ghost the slicken, swollen skin, you had gasped. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t speak—he only stared at you with all the stars in the universe collecting behind his eyes, glittering like a snow globe—at how beautiful and exposed and needy you looked.

He let his fingers slide ever so slowly along your clit, drawing up to your hole, then pushing back down to hear you whimper brokenly.

Wonwoo swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“Do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?” He complimented, his fingers soaking in your arousal. “I knew your cunt would look pretty, but this is more than that. God…” experimentally, Wonwoo shifted a finger gentle into your opening, giving the digit a wriggle and few shallow pumps. Immediately your intense warmth clenched down tight before loosening, engendering him to effortlessly press in two more long fingers. “There you go… good girl…” he mumbled his encouragement as you gripped the bedsheets and moaned a guttural sound, “taking in my fingers so fucking well—they slide in so easy… make such perfect, dirty noises whenever they fill up this gorgeous cunt.”

His thumb touched at your clit, lending it some attention that had you twisting and bucking back to receive even more pleasure.

“God, Wonwoo…” you gasped, sounding lost to the ecstasy while letting him take his time with mapping out your inner walls with curious strokes, “that feels so fucking good. You have no idea. Feels like m’gonna pour all over you.”

He grinned, further stimulating your swollen clit, maintaining the pattern as you propped up on your elbows, tugged at the bedspread, and released a mellifluous, shuddering moan from your throat.

“F-fuck ye-yess…” you whined as his fingers squelched deeper and his thumb continued its circles, “yes, yes, yes, keep doing that—oh-oh, fuck! M’gonna cum all over your fingers—m’gonna make a mess!”

“That’s all I want,” he breathed, his chest tightening at how much arousal was pooling sticky around his digits, “that’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted—make a mess all over me, like the pretty, desperate girl you are. Let me see it. Let me feel everything. Cum just for me.”

Your entire body proceeded to seize, Wonwoo’s fingers now struggling to pump, as this striking wave seemingly coursed through you and resulted in heavy fluids wetting his dress pants. It took a moment for you to power through the pleasure, though Wonwoo was at least able to maintain his stroking gestures against your clit until he noted the sharp, almost spastic twitches in your muscles.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo hummed in satisfaction while he gingerly eased his fingers out and left your poor, throbbing bud alone.

He smoothed his hand down your back, offering you a moment to relax, breathe, and ride out the electricity.

“Fuck,” you wiped at the sweat on the back of your neck, chuckling at the discomfort, “I can feel it all between my legs.”

Wonwoo smirked. Hard. He bent forward to peck your temple, then brushed his lips against your stinging hot ear. "How about I clean that all up for you?" The velvety whisper caused your body to jitter.

"Clean me up how?" You turned your head, catching his eye.

There was a swap of positions. Wonwoo lowered himself to the bedroom floor, the carpet spongey against his knees, while you lay down on your back and draped your legs off the edge of the bed. But he was hungry for you, and greedier than a treasure hunter, and you went limp as he hitched your knees over his broad shoulders.

Being face to face with your intimate heat was like the kiss of life—new energy was taking over him—giving him desire unlike any other.

He didn't know if he wanted to keep staring at you, your soft skin messy with slick and twitching anticipatorly at his closeness, or if he should stop prolonging the moment and just bury everything into you. Adjusting his glasses, Wonwoo licked his bitten lips. You were in the midst of shuffling up to your elbows, likely wondering what the hell he doing, staring between your thighs for so long.

But as quickly as you squeaked his name, it was interrupted by an intense gasp a second later. You leaned all your weight onto a single elbow, tossing your head back, panting for dear life as Wonwoo striped his tongue long and flat against your heat. His hands gripped your hips, sculpting them over your bone while he tasted your arousal, all sticky and musky and delicious to the point of addiction.

"O-Oh my god, Wonwoo," you cried, letting your body collapse onto the bedsheets, limbs becoming jelly, "that feels fucking amazing."

He licked into you like he were trying to reach the centre of a sweet, colourful jawbreaker. Every pass from his tongue was firm, encompassing, smothering you in pleasure and painting you with spit. But you reacted best when he toyed his ministrations around your sensitive clit—your back would jolt off the bed, arched, as your thighs hugged him tight—Wonwoo heard your begging akin to a distant echo. He would even smile into you, glasses all foggy, chin running in wetness, as you preached his name dumbly, losing your mind. Wonwoo pressed his mouth hot against you, flicking his tongue to your overstimulated clit, focusing hard on his pattern.

"Fuck, fuck!" You shouted, writhing into the sheets. "Please, Wonwoo. Please, please, please—I'm—I'm gonna cum! Please, just—k-keep—"

There was a surge of something warm and liquid that Wonwoo wanted to drink like a peach's nectar. You were throbbing right under his tongue and he loved it to a point that felt utterly insane. He didn't want to stop even if the world was ending. His face plunged in deeper, his hands grafting into your hips harsher, completely ignorant to your fingers pulling at his hectic locks of hair. Wonwoo only wanted you and nothing else and he was going to drown in it.

But you were attempting to sit up, your sweaty body becoming better at escaping his eager, hungry licks that dug into your slit, and once he heard you wince particularly sharp, he knew he had to stop.

He sat back, removing his glasses and wiping off his chin. You slid a leg from his shoulder, using a foot to gently prod against his chest—a light scolding for perhaps enjoying you a little too much.

"Are you starved?" You laughed heavily, gulping down a breath.

Wonwoo fit the glasses back to his face. "For you? Yes." He then licked at his teeth and lips, still yearning to find traces of your arousal, only to realize you were shaking. "Shit—I'm sorry if I hurt you." Standing up, he cupped your face, bending down to kiss you gentle on the lips over and over. "I'm so fucking sorry. You taste amazing, that's all. And you're so beautiful. I couldn't fucking help it."

With a giggle, you tousled his hair. "No, I'm fine. I like a little pain." Your eyes were back to shining. Then, you caught his mouth, stealing another kiss. "But I’m even greedier than you—," pushing yourself up, you nipped at his lips, “—and I want that pretty, long cock inside me to hit all the right spots.” The exchange had you seated back in Wonwoo’s lap, where your bare, soaked pussy was free to brush against his straining and achingly hard length.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo smirked, welcoming your spit-smeared mouth.

Feeling your hips grind against him, you purred, “yeah.”

“I’ve got no protection,” Wonwoo admitted in between the make-out session, hardly able to pry your lips from one another as you slid backward on the bed with Wonwoo climbing over top.

Helping to shove off his dress shirt and slacks, discarding them to the floor, you shook your head. “Don’t need it.”

Returning the gesture, Wonwoo had you fully undressed. The entirety of your bare body on full display felt like something sacred—an artwork that had been crafted with unimaginable attentiveness to every single detail, no matter how miniscule. He couldn't liken it to anything else in his life but a distant memory from childhood—a grand mausoleum that he found himself inside with his older brother, the ceiling intricately chiselled with angelic, satin-like bodies.

Your words seemed distant. It took a second for him to remember.

“Don't need protection? Why?"

As your hands locked behind his neck, pulling him down close, you dug into his eyes with an emotional gaze. “Finish inside me.”

He stuttered, furrowing his brow, “seriously? You won’t—”

“No. I’m taking precautions, you know.” Brushing at his dampened, thick hair, you asked, “have you ever had unprotected sex?”

Wonwoo scoffed, surprised at the inquiry, “yeah. But—is that—you really want that? With me?” He stared down at you intensely.

“I only want it if you want it, too.”

He nodded, biting his lip, taking a moment to examine your perspiring face alongside the the rising and dipping of your chest.

“I want it,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, “I definitely want it.”

Truth be told, a splinter of nerves had lodged into his chest at the thought of having to perform to your anticipation—Wonwoo was never really sure if he would ever get intimate with you—and as his gaze again streamed your body, he felt overwhelmed. But then your fingertips were stroking down his bicep, seemingly drawing out the forthcoming anxiety from him like you were pulling out a thread of energy, and the easygoing smile he was met with tamed his heart.

Wonwoo eased closer toward you, allowing your expert touches to be the guide. Your hand had returned to his length for a few more thorough and especially lentamente tugs, prompting him to hiss into your neck while very flushed shades of pink crawled up his face.

He felt himself throb, wanting to simply collapse against you and climax at your hand for the second time. To make matters even more complicated, Wonwoo felt you shift slightly, and then the tip of his impatient cock was suddenly gliding all slippery like butter along your folds. Wonwoo’s arms started to shake.

You laid your palm gentle against his neck.

“How’s that feel?” You whispered in a trembling breath, meanwhile continuing the heavenly ministrations of tracing your clit with his length. “I-I think it feels quite nice—getting you all wet.”

“Amazing,” he answered, pressing his forehead to yours and pecking at your lips, “you want me to take it from here?”

Keeping silent, your grip drifted from his erection and you seemed satisfied to let the control sway now that Wonwoo was adjusted. Just before he aligned himself, however, he looked at you and laughed.

“Can you push up my glasses real quick?”

You chuckled, “seriously?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be see you properly?”

“Nothing,” you flashed a tender smile, then using your finger to help position the glasses back up his nose, “there you go.”

Wonwoo proceeded to slide himself inside you at a slower pace that allowed him to bask in the intimate sensation—he made damn sure every little squeeze, flutter, and convulsion your heat cushioned him with was felt—though that made it considerably hard for him not to release in pathetic fashion, before he had even made a good, swift thrust. You were soaking up the moment just as much.

He didn’t want to advert his eyes from the pleasure cascading like ripples across your face for even a second. Once he was buried in still and deep, completely stuffing you to the hilt, your breath had fogged up his glasses.

“Fuck—s-sorry—” you squirmed through the apology, your hips occasionally canting against his in unbridled twitches, “—I can hardly fucking think right now. Do you know how much you’re throbbing?”

He choked out a hoarse laugh, “do you know how insanely good you feel to me? Feels like m’gonna fucking break into a million pieces. ”

“I want you to break me into a million pieces,” you whined so needily, looping your arms around his neck, “fuck me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He was positive you had told him that in a dream once.

As euphoric as you felt clenching around him, Wonwoo truly did want the sex to last. His thrusts into your heat weren’t frantically impatient, rather they grooved incredibly, purposefully deep—each stroke was thoughtful but hard, slow but timely, and judging from your high-pitched keens and the nails scraping against his shoulder blades, he knew you were appreciating the moment just the same.

Wonwoo grasped your sweaty hands in his, your fingers interlocking tight, in order to hold them against the sea of silky pillows above your head. With another especially daggering thrust that made his teeth clench and his abdomen flutter, you had jerked and cried out his name, followed by a breathless, “rr-right there!”

A leg wrapped around his hips, your ankle digging uncomfortably into his side while he continued to push his length into the spot that was making you howl. But it was getting increasingly difficult to continue the tempo—your leg was tightening around him like a boa constrictor and your warmth was clamping down with plain strength, almost as though your body was attempting to lock him inside.

He merely squeezed your hands harder, losing his breath. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Taking advantage of another thorough stroke, Wonwoo had the bedframe thudding the wall, his words hotly pressing into your ear. “You’re trying to keep me suctioned in.”

Your whimpers were falling apart like crumbling clay. Wonwoo tried to understand what it was you were mewling at him, something involving his name, how good it felt, that he should keep going, meanwhile tears were springing to your eyes and wetting your glimmery cheeks. Wonwoo bit his lip. He was throbbing wildly inside your heat, knowing you were only getting dumber and turning incoherent as he speared you so intimately on his cock.

Wonwoo wasn’t going to last much longer and neither were you. He was already feeling himself burst and break—the convulsion ripped through him like a landslide and now your leg was fully hooked around his hips, pinning him against you while he emptied himself disgustingly deep inside your warmth.

The sensation must have triggered your own orgasm, because his cock felt like it was practically being suffocated as you squeezed down on him. Wonwoo thought he might blackout when you whined his name into the dim bedroom humidity, strung in a loud, trembling lilt that cracked beautifully in the middle.

Your arms were winding back around his neck, pulling his face to yours, a kiss crushed onto his awaiting mouth.

“I need more,” you panted in between the kisses, “don’t feel full enough yet. Cum inside me again, Wonwoo. Please, take me again.”

“Again?” He smiled, his glasses bumping your nose. You were completely uncaring, only nipping at him harder. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my fucking life.” Suddenly, you were wriggling underneath him, rolling onto your stomach, and repositioning yourself such that you were face-down-ass-up. With eyes twinkling bright in pure, carnal lust, you threw him a a yearning glance from over your shoulder. “Fuck me again, nice and deep like before." His heart shot into his throat. When you begged, it was like his world was shrinking into a bubble where only you and him existed. "Please—I need it before your cum starts leaking out. I need to be filled by you, Wonwoo. Please.” You looked like you might cry if he didn't oblige the plead.

And so he did, his fingers planting a firm grip on your strong hips.

As much as you were willing to take, he was willing to give, finding himself submerge further and further into the intoxicating nature of it all until he started to lose his mind—all he knew is that it was concerningly late at night, your bedsheets were sticky and ruined, and you had gone from being thrust into the pillows to slapping yourself down on his cock while Wonwoo hazily watched. He loved the sight of your sweat, your glowing light, your bouncing breasts and pleasure-drunk face far too much. At some point, you had slumped forward into him, spent to fucking hell.

With your chests were pressed together, his cock still throbbing and stuffed inside you, there was a moment of nothing but thick, laboured breathing and heartbeats synchronizing. He kissed your temple and wrapped his arms around you, proceeding to mumble something sweet and half-asleep that contained your name.

You had squeezed his length unforgivingly in response.

“Fuck—don’t get me hard again. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I like when you use my name.”

He smiled into your cheek. “I can tell.”

Wonwoo had woken before you.

Mostly because the bedsheets had been gradually wrapped up and tugged away and progressively stolen from him during the night, letting the cool, morning air dust over him like spray from an ocean. You were a fidgety sleeper, he had realized, sometimes even a mumbler, although Wonwoo had never been able to discern what it was you were sluggishly declaring in your dreams.

He turned his head to you, saw the bare groove of your back, shapely like a flower petal, and your arm dug underneath the silk pillow, observing every breath your unconscious body took.

Then, Wonwoo was leaning over you, feeling his fingers sink into your fleshy waist while his lips touched a kiss against your warm cheek. He hoped you wouldn’t mind him using your washroom for a shower.

Afterward, Wonwoo retraced the apartment, finding his shoes a questionable distance apart—one stood square at the front door while the other was left in the hallway leading to your room. His winter jacket was tossed over the arm to the couch, meanwhile his phone involved a more in-depth search. For some reason, he’d left it atop a shelf beside the television, hidden by a clumsy stack of textbooks.

When he tapped the screen, it illuminated some text messages from Vernon that had been sent at around two in the morning—mostly inquiries about the birthday dinner and whether or not Wonwoo had bothered going to the famed and mysterious Room 319.

Though, he opted not to respond, realizing the details he wanted to share with his friend would likely require a sit-down discussion over burgers, fries, and sodas at Solar Pop. Making his way back to the bedroom, Wonwoo carefully creaked open the door to find you half-shoved onto an arm, making tired circles against your eye.

He smiled, coming to sit beside you, handing off the glass of water he poured for himself.

“Are you leaving?” Was the first question you blearily pieced together after accepting the water but not drinking anything from it.

Wonwoo shook his head. “No.”

You managed to sit up properly, the sheets settling around your hips while you continued holding onto the glass. For a moment, you seemed to just observe Wonwoo, your eyes still swollen from sleep.

“Where are you going, then?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nowhere,” Wonwoo laughed, pulling one leg up onto the bed. “I got up to shower. Went and found my things. Got a glass of water, which you’re now holding, by the way.”

You swallowed, looking down at your lap.

“Oh…” after a recollecting pause, you took a sip from it.

Wonwoo smiled, his eyes softening like fresh brown sugar, as he proceeded to unstick some matted hairs from the edge of your face.

“You’re a pretty big sheet stealer,” he said, continuing to spread his fingers about your features, removing fluffs and rubbing off bits of dried spit, “and you seem to like talking, even in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah… I should have told you that.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I liked not knowing.”

“Did you?” With a laugh and smile, you drank some more water.

“Yeah. Because it’s you, it makes me adore it even more.”

“I don’t always mumble. I swear. Only sometimes.”

Wonwoo didn’t care. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess I should shower, too. Then I’ll change the sheets and get new ones on.” You abruptly raised the blankets at your lap, lifting up a leg to examine something Wonwoo couldn’t see. “Yeah, I definitely need to change the sheets… oh! And take my pill. Fuck. I can’t forget.”

“I can help with the sheets.”

“Okay,” you said while leaning forward to pull open a drawer on your nightstand, revealing a thin, silver cartridge of pills, “thanks.”

After you had showered and gotten dressed in a clean spare t-shirt, you changed the dirtied sheets to your bed together.

Then you and Wonwoo spent some time together in the open, bright living room, lounging on the couch. Maybe you had kissed a few more times, and maybe his naturally cold hands had found their way underneath your loose t-shirt to curiously massage and press along your pretty chest, and maybe you had kissed a little more after that while the sun rays slid up your sensitive skin.

You twisted away from Wonwoo’s lips with a giggle.

“M’kay, that’s enough, or else I’ll need another shower.” You grabbed at Wonwoo’s hands that had been squeezing your breasts.

Although he didn’t want to stop, he listened, relaxing against the pillow he had stuffed between his spine and the arm of the couch, now throwing an elbow behind his head. You were leaning back against him, getting comfy between his legs, and for a few minutes or so, the two of you gazed out those large, floor-length glass windows into the awakening, snow-capped city.

He felt you stir against him.

“You know… sometimes you don’t always speak English.”

Wonwoo itched his eyebrow, chuckling, “what?”

“Last night, like, when I was riding you—” your head tilted back onto his shoulder, beaming him a smile, “—you would start switching languages. In between English and Korean. It was so cute.”

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusted his glasses, staring down at you while his cheeks became rosy. “I don’t know, it’s just something my brain does automatically. I don’t always realize I’m doing it.”

You grinned; eyes sparkling. “When it feels too good?”

Ruffling a hand through his hair, he simply smirked at you.

“Having a front seat view to the most beautiful girl in the world riding me just happens to be something that makes me feel really good.”

You pushed your head up to kiss him, followed by a sweet and brief whisper that he smiled at, “compliment appreciated.”

A few more quiet minutes passed. Wonwoo thought he could spend the entire day just sitting on the couch with you warm in his arms, watching the snow tumble down like wisps of tender willows.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

You got quiet.

Then, your weight against his chest was gone, and you had half-turned yourself around to look at him, seeming nervous.

He tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered, glancing down briefly before soaking him back into your agleam eyes. “I just want to apologize, actually.”

At that, Wonwoo stiffened. “Yeah? What for?”

With a sigh and another anxious moment to fiddle with the rolled-up cuff belonging to his wrinkled dress shirt, you were reserved.

“Ever since we fought, I can't help thinking about it. I mean, I’ve thought about what you said, and the fact you apologized, and explained yourself, and how you gave me time to process it all. You gave me so much grace, even when I felt like I hated you… but… I also said some hurtful things about you… I mean, back then I felt like you deserved it. And, I don’t know… maybe you did? Like, maybe we both needed to just be there, screaming at each other, digging our guts out, throwing up all this stuff to the surface because no one else has ever given us that freedom or made us feel like we could before. Anyway, I just feel like it’s only right that I say sorry, too.”

Scratching at his neck, Wonwoo swallowed. He never thought of it like that. ��Uh, sure. If that’s what you feel you need to do. ”

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I really, truly am.”

He smiled, grasping at your hand and threading his fingers with yours. Pangs of regret were flooding your eyes, filling them up until they were undoubtedly teary and Wonwoo had to wipe it all away.

“It’s fine, I swear,” he whispered, moving in closer to you, brushing at your cheek as you sniffled. “Nothing has ever truly changed how I feel about you. You’re incredibly firm but sensitive, and have such fiery passion, and you’re curious about everything, and I know that it hurts so much to live without really knowing yourself. But I see you, and I feel like I know you. I never want to stop knowing you, alright?”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

Your mouth pressed against his, and he tasted the salt from the tears that beaded down the slopes of your cheeks, warm with life.

“I love you.” He felt the whisper touch at his lips. “I really do.”

Wonwoo held onto your face like he was cradling a big pearl. “I love you, too.” Another kiss sealed the expression into felt, tangible emotion. “But honestly, you already knew that.”

Later in the day, you came up to Wonwoo as he ate lunch at the table, only after having disappeared into a distant office space further down the hallway. You dropped before him a clear, plastic duotang, which held a notably thick stack of papers that had quite a weight to it upon picking up. It only took a few flips into the papers for Wonwoo to realize that it was the completed book he used to proofread for you—a series of chronological memories between yourself and the boyfriend you had gradually drifted apart from.

True to your word, you had forged ahead and finished the book alone.

He was proud to hold the evidence.

Wonwoo asked what you planned to do with the book now that it was done. He even wondered if you might let him read some parts he never got to work on, though he understood if you preferred to keep the contents private. As he was in the middle of lifting a hot spoon to his mouth, Wonwoo suddenly paused at hearing your response.

“I think I’ll just shred it.”

You didn’t seem to care.

The decision came easier than pressing a button. There was only one copy of the book, apparently, and you had plans to turn all its pages into literary confetti. But that was a very you thing to do, Wonwoo had come to accept. Writing served many purposes, and it seemed that the purpose you had sought out was met. Somewhere, in all those paragraphs, sentences, letters, and ink, you found the fulfillment you had always ached for. At last, you struck a glimmer of promising gold after digging through all the haze and confusion.

“Sure,” he answered, “shred away.”

—8 MONTHS LATER. END OF JUNE.

“It looks so pathetic!”

“What?! No it doesn’t!”

Peeking up from the mason jar of earthy blue water he’d been swirling together using some dirtied paintbrushes, Wonwoo saw you seated across from him, talking to a very dismayed, upset twelve-year-old girl. Sierra’s little sister, Cora, had enrolled in his landlord’s ceramics class over the summer, and thus every Saturday evening she spent her time moulding unwilling chunks of grey clay alongside other similarly aged students. It was only Cora in the shop since she had been the last to get her teapot in the kiln, taking extra time with every minute detail.

Though, despite her care and attentive pace, Cora was still not pleased with the teapot, leading her to grumble and shake her head.

You were sitting beside her, a hand rubbing along the little girl’s back while she continued scrutinizing her creation. Ever since you moved into Wonwoo’s apartment back in May, Saskia had quite liked you more than her average tenant, and that somehow transformed into an offer to help her teach the summer ceramics class (with pay).

Wonwoo was always there to assist in the clean-up afterward—his favourite part was submerging all the greasy, bristly paintbrushes into a clean jar of water so that he could watch how their colours bled out in thin, swirling hues.

“No, no, no—it’s just bad.”

“I’m telling you. It’s not.”

Cora picked up the lid to the pot, then placed it back down. “There—look—it doesn’t even close properly. And the spout is not spouty enough… it’s too thick, I think. Hardly any tea will go through!”

“Well, I really like it.”

Tucking a tuft of poofy, rust-brown hair behind her ear, Cora gave you a suspecting and funny sort of look that made Wonwoo smile to himself. She was a very shy student, but she talked to you the most.

“You say that about everything I make,” Cora sighed.

“So what?”

“So…” she nibbled on her small lip, looking off to the side, “you have to say that, because you're nice. You’re like my mom. She says she loves everything I make. But then why don’t I ever love it?”

“She loves it because you made it, obviously. And she loves you. I think love changes how we look at things. Even the impractical.” Then, you picked up her teapot and moved it closer. “You know why I like this teapot? Because it shows you’re determined. I mean, look at all those bowls on the newspaper over there—you’re the only one who did the teapot! And you did it mostly by yourself. You wouldn’t even let me help you roll out the clay. So, that’s why I like it. Because I see you in it. And when you tackle it again, you’ll know what to do differently. Plus, you know you can ask me for help, right? You know I’ll always help you.”

The little girl’s freckled face suddenly became less twisted with judgement and frustration. She set her elbows onto the table, scratching at a Hello Kitty bandaid along the back of her hand, while you gave her hair a quick ruffle. Wonwoo started drying off the paintbrushes using paper towel before moving them into the cup labelled “clean” with a piece of tape.

“What should I do with this, then? If it won’t work,” Cora asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But for now, just leave it with the other stuff. We’ll give it a nice glaze next time around. Make it even prettier. Then you can decide what to do with it—whether or not you want to keep it or smash it on the ground. It’s up to you, Cora.”

Wonwoo tilted his head. “Why don’t you turn it into a miniature flower pot or something? Fill it with soil and plant something in it?”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “I like that idea, actually.”

“Me too,” you said, shooting Wonwoo a sly wink that he smiled very stupidly at, “look at this guy over here. Lurking with his good ideas.”

By the time Sierra was available to pick up her sister, Wonwoo had officially finished cleaning all the paintbrushes and whittling tools, as well as replacing the tablecloth with a fresh one. The three of you stood at the base to the shop’s very small stoop, exchanging some general conversation while a sleepy Cora held onto her sister’s hand and leaned her seemingly heavy head against her side.

The sky was a tame yellow shade, not as bright as a buttercup, but something delicate of the like.

“Hey—I heard you guys are planning a vacation!” Sierra chirped, adjusting the car keys in her hand, “is that all true?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, flashing Wonwoo a soft smile, “uh, we decided that we’re gonna spend some time in South Korea. I haven’t visited his family at all. But, yeah. Gonna leave start of August and come back right before October. So, a pretty good chunk of time.”

“No way!” She exclaimed.

“We’ll see how it pans out,” Wonwoo commented, sliding his arm around your waist and digging his fingers into your hip. “But my brother won’t shut his mouth about meeting her. And my parents are obviously curious. Besides, there are some great places I want to show off.”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m jealous. And totally sure you guys will have a great experience together. We’ll miss you here, though.”

“Please do,” you laughed, and Sierra pinched your cheek.

She then looked down at her sister, who had her eyes shut.

“Okay, I’m gonna get this little dove home. Thank you so much for helping her at ceramics by the way. She talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You touched at your face, seeming flustered. “Well, I love helping her out. She’s a sweet girl with a lot of will on her shoulders.” Lowering your voice, you moved in closer to Sierra. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a cute gift she can have while we’re gone.”

After parting ways with Sierra and Cora, you and Wonwoo returned upstairs, back into the apartment to prepare for supper.

Both of you were feeling particularly lazy, and the shiny red tomato he was supposed to chop ended up being ignored in place of eating ice cream straight from its tub.

You were the one who grabbed it—Wonwoo was only following suit as he picked up a spoon and curved some out.

Something else interesting about you that Wonwoo had learned since moving in together was that you didn’t really care to ever sit on a chair, even when you were eating. It was either the sofa, the floor, or the kitchen table, in which you would be holding onto your food even though he always thought how easier it could be if you did sit down properly. The quirk was fun, nonetheless, and Wonwoo had admittedly started looking at the kitchen table in a different light after he proceeded to give you oral on it one night. Consequently, it bloomed a very dangerous habit between the two of you.

A habit that might become drastically less accessible once you two jetted off to his native country for over a month, confined between his parent’s cozy home where he grew up and the two-story apartment his wealthy brother and sister-in-law owned in the glittering heart of South Korea’s Seoul. He was nervous. You were nervous. But at least you were together.

Over the months, your parents had gradually come to accept him as your boyfriend, even if they weren't exactly warmed up to the idea at the start. Wonwoo revisited your home a few times alongside you to help in the explanations of your story and future prospects, although he partially understood that Mingyu was like a precious sapphire to your family and having him out so suddenly was hard to stomach.

He spent years nestling himself a comfortable burrow and smoothing out the bumps to make a crafty façade that, particularly your mother, couldn't help but outwardly adore. Like a son. Like Seokmin, too.

Wonwoo thought Mingyu might give him trouble.

In truth, he'd scarcely seen him, unless transient glimpses of his towering, quickly bustling figure from across a university campus or city street were noteworthy. Obviously, he wasn't inside Mingyu's head and he really had no inclination as to what the boy might be thinking on the occasion he spotted you and Wonwoo hand-in-hand at the park, or sharing breakfast at the café along Sunnyside.

But if Mingyu maintained even half the feelings that Wonwoo did for you, then he was positive it hurt like fucking hell.

Of all people, Wonwoo supposed he himself knew best.

—AUGUST 1ST.

“Wonwoo!”

He closed his dresser drawer, almost slamming his fingers inside. Your voice echoed from the living room, sounding hectic.

“Yes? What’s up!”

“The taxi’s here!”

Fuck. He immediately thought. The time was flying by.

Wonwoo had made a gigantic list of what to pack, but over time he kept adding and taking things away from it. Now, it was early morning, soft rain and cracks of bursting light coming down outside, and he was doing a final clean-sweep of the bedroom as well as his poorly scribbled list to ensure everything he needed was with him.

Quickly approaching the window, Wonwoo glanced outside to see the cab parked at the curb. Fuck. Again. Vernon always said he would happily provide you two a ride to the airport, but then the boy was unsurprisingly wrapped back into some trouble, and Wonwoo hadn’t seen his best friend in over a week.

Graciously, however, Vernon had given him a heads up and a proper goodbye beforehand. He’d even left him a voicemail to listen to, which immediately jumped into Wonwoo’s brain at random as he scrambled around the bedroom in search of his phone.

“Just give me one more minute!” Wonwoo shouted.

There was a pause on your end, and then a sigh.

“Do you need help?”

“No—all good. I promise. Can you let the cab driver know?”

“I will.”

“Thank you!” Wonwoo sang, finding the phone blended into his bedsheets, then proceeding to open his inbox. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” You shouted back. “Just hurry the fuck up!”

He let Vernon’s message play while also tossing his suitcase onto the bed, stuffing in a few more last-minute grabs with utter clumsiness.

“Heyyy, Glasses! How are things? I’m shooting you this cute little message at arounddd—oh! Looks like it’s two in the mornin’! It’s two in the fuckin’ mornin’ and I’m pulled up outside this dude’s house all ‘cause he can’t pay me back for my good, hard services. It’s nothin’ serious, though. Don’t get all uptight like usual. You know I’m good at handlin’ stuff and keepin’ my cool. Probably my better qualities. Anyway, I’m bored as fuck. I’ve spun this Lloyd CD about four times and I just can’t listen to that dude anymore. He can sing, though.

I am pissed you’re leavin’ me. And I’m pissed she’s leavin’ me, too. You guys are what I look forward to whenever I drive down into that shithole city. Well, I think just about every city’s a shithole city. In fact, the city I’m in now is probably more of a shithole… Seokmin texted me the other day—said he wants to talk—which is vague as fuck and to be honest, I’ve been ignorin’ it ‘cause I can’t get myself to give a god damn. But maybe I’ll hear him out. That guy was a cutie, wasn’t he? I still think you’re a bit cuter. And better at mini-put.

I’ll miss you a lot when you’re down there… it got me thinkin’ about the night when we first met. The New Year’s Eve party. You remember that pretty well, don’t’chya? I saw you come in with those guys—they didn’t look like your crowd at all—but then after a while you were alone. Wanderin’ around. It didn’t even seem like you knew anyone else was there. You had the blankest look on your face. Like you were stuck in a loop and you didn’t even know it. I don’t know that I felt pity or anything… hell, maybe I felt a little. I just talked to ‘ya ‘cause I wanted to know if you knew where you even were.

You knew you were at some stupid, loud, awful fuckin’ house party jammed with unfamiliar faces. You knew how much you hated bein’ there. But I don’t think you actually knew how you got there, or why, or what was supposed to happen next. It kinda drew me to you. I wanted to understand it. And you gave me the weirdest look, too, when I stopped you. But once I got you outside, away from all the bullshit, you loosened up just a bit and I realized I was talkin’ to this smart, well-rounded, thoughtful guy who was just a little lost in the weeds.

I know you didn’t really care about me like that. I was just some jumped-up weirdo who could give you mint weed at a sweet price. But I still liked you… I dunno… other people see you differently when they care a whole lot, don’t they? I guess they see things about you that others can’t, or they know exactly what you could be when others don’t. They see stuff even you can’t see. It’s like a superpower, I think… my best superpower is probably makin’ girls giggle. I’ve got a lot of charm, wouldn’t you agree? Ha—anyway—stay safe on your trip, tell Her that I’ll miss her a lot, too—oh! Oh!

Fuck! That’s it. That little fucker is comin’ outside—he can’t resist his two am darts on the porch. God bless you, nicotine! Okay, uh, guess this is me hangin’ up on you. Later, Wonwoo!”

At that point, everything Wonwoo needed was packed. But he’d taken the additional time to complete Vernon’s voicemail, now sitting on the edge of his bed while staring out into the early, glimmering rain shower and the water droplets collecting against his window.

Then, Wonwoo glanced down at the laptop he had open.

He hadn’t written in… months. Not even months—it had been over a year since Wonwoo wrote. And, somehow, it felt good not to write.

It felt necessary to step away from the craft.

Besides, writing would always be there. Just because he hadn’t filled up a document on his computer with harmoniously arranged words, or penned anything down in the journal he used to scribble poetry in, that didn’t make him not a writer. In fact, it could be crucial to know when to step away from something—when to let go of an invisible weight keeping one from progressing. While he hadn’t thought about it in months, it floated to the surface of his mind that there may be something he should let go.

The unfinished book. 01.

Wonwoo deleted it. Simple as that.

Shoving the laptop into his shoulder-sling bag, Wonwoo made sure to knab his journal from the nightstand before he left, just in case anything did excite him with a crack of inspiration as he embarked on his newest chapter with you at his side. Rolling his suitcase hurriedly behind him, Wonwoo rushed out onto the street, feeling the rain graze his hair and skin, while you were leaned against the cab, arms folded and teeth anxiously raking over your bottom lip.

He peppered the cab driver in apologies while he helped shove the suitcase into the trunk.

“Liar—” you grumbled after sliding into the cab, undoing the buttons on your coat, “—you said one minute, not one lifetime.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo laughed, removing his glasses to rub off the mist and dew, “but that voice mail from Vernon distracted me.”

“Let me do it,” you said, taking his glasses with a sigh, “we should be fine. I know we’ll make it on time… I guess I’m just on edge.”

He watched you massage at the lenses gently with a sleeve. The driver climbed back into the cab, now pulling away from the pottery shop and driving toward the beam of light that sliced through the dense clouds, like the sun was handling a giant blade.

“Everything’s gonna work out, I promise… and I already told you that we’ll be staying with Bohyuk first, right? Him and Nari?”

Handing the glasses back to Wonwoo, you nodded.

“Yeah… god—I hope he likes me.”

“Oh, he will. You guys are pretty similar, actually.”

The look you gave him warbled slightly.

“What if that’s a bad thing? Every time you tell me a story about your brother, it usually involves you loathing him for something.”

“Those stories took place years ago.”

“But the feelings are still there, aren’t they?”

Wonwoo settled his hand over top yours, giving your fingers a soothing squeeze. He knew you wanted to make the perfect first impression. After all, first impressions were not something that could be easily taken back or erased, unless the people you were meeting were quite forgiving. And Bohyuk was fortunately the forgiving type.

It was only time that Wonwoo exercise the quality as well.

Leaning in close to your face, Wonwoo gazed into your eyes, watching their frantic nature become still like the surface of a calm pond.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, alright?” He murmured.

Huffing out an intense, long breath, you nodded.

“Alright… can I have a kiss, please?”

Lifting his hand to graze against the side of your cheek, he paused to admire your beauty for a moment, only to properly cup your face and push his lips to yours—which tasted sweet and balmy—before feeling you push back firm. He proceeded to give you another soft kiss for good measure, one that cured you to smile all fluttery and coy against his mouth until he was inevitably smiling, too.

In fact, Wonwoo only ever found himself smiling that hard when he was with you.

—END.

heyyyy :] ramble incoming...

first and foremost, ABOVE ALL ELSE, i just want to say thank you! i know this was a very, very long fic for me to be uploading on tumblr. this site is not the most fanfic friendly (or creation friendly for that matter) so stomaching the fact that this needed to be split up into so many parts was like a dagger to the heart! for those who decided to buckle up and lock into this journey, i honestly thank you so much <3 life was not always kind in the process of writing this (hence the fact it took me 2 years, plus some extra) but i was so dedicated to seeing this story through! a lot of the frustration i was feeling toward myself was funnelled into wonwoo's character, so this is quite personal :3

nonetheless, i hope there's something, even a single thing, someone else can take away from the story as well! both wonwoo and her as characters introduce their own unique themes--wonwoo (at the core) is more so about learning to let go in order to progress, whereas her is about using creative tools to help guide the search for identity. i think that writing has helped me learn a lot about myself (even uncomfy, icky things) so i wanted that to be represented through her.

of course, these are not the only things they stand for! but these are the elements i based their characters on, to which other concepts sprouted from. i also loved the idea of pairing someone as lost and misguided and emotionally stunted as wonwoo with this girl who seems so bossy and firm. at first he doesn't like it, but that was really what he needed to accept some of the flaws holding him back. idk if you're familiar with the EXCUSE ME! HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES! meme but that's what comes to mind when i think of them xD

additionally: special shout out to vernon. he became a much bigger part of this story than i originally intended. he is in some ways wonwoo's foil. vernon knows he's flawed but that's sorta his strength and what makes him genuine. he witnesses wonwoo's entire journey, so at times he also feels like our role, the "reader" and gives wonwoo some wisdomy parting words without rly knowing it (but that's part of his charm <3 i don't want vernon's emotional intelligence to be underrated, which is also an ode to the conversation wonu & her have back in the museum. wonwoo knows there are different types of intelligence and emotionally he is lackinggg).

also small s/o to seokmin. SORRY! HAD TO DO IT!

this has been my slowest slowburn! i wasn't sure how late they were going to kiss. but i didn't want to force anything. i wanted to add the moment when i felt it was surely right! also, if you haven't yet listened to the playlist and you're curious, i recommend listening to the very last song, writer, by ellie goulding. i've been listening to that song for many years, and one day it hit me how coincidentally her lyrics overlap with some of the fic's storyline!

i think it adds a nice final touch <3

LASTLY!

upon contemplation, i will be uploading this fic to ao3 in the same chaptered format it's been posted here! i realize the convenience to bookmarking on that site (and it also doesn't give people's phones a heart attack when trying to read something lengthy) so i hope that appeases some of you who wish to reread with more leisure! i'll be under the username @/uglypluto!

i'll upload the final chapter (this chapter) to ao3 probably between late sunday & early monday.

THANK YOU x100! 💕

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

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trashmouth-richie · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 | steve x reader ; eddie x reader

summary: when your boyfriend dies as a result from saving you and your friends, you find yourself deep in the throes of grief. and in your lowest moment you find a new vice, something… or rather someone unexpected.

6.1k, reader is named “nellie” simply bc i refuse to use y/n, smut, 18+ only, multiple chapters, future drug use, mature themes, heavy depictions of grief/suffering leading to questionable decisions

big s/o & thanks to @rebelfell + @rxqueenotd for spit ballin’ ideas and beta’ing ❤️‍🩹

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

His body laid for three days before Owen’s team braved that cold and eerie pit of desolate hell. Strong hands had pulled you away from his body, and you had tried to claw your way back to him, begging for death to take you instead.

That night you watched him choke on his last breath, his lungs gurgling with a squelching pop of blood as hesmiled one last, and final time, his last words played over and over again.

“I’m so lucky to have been loved by you.”

His skin was still warm when the others found you clutching onto him, laying beside him as if you were cuddling during another time. A time when monsters didn’t exist and all you had was happiness. Legs thrown over one another as you watched a movie in the Wheeler’s basement, or when your wet hair seeped into his skin after a late night of swimming at Lover’s Lake, or the feel of his fingers tucked into the nape of your neck while you kissed him at your lockers back in high school.

Never. You’d never feel that from him again.

Large arms wrapped around your middle hauling you away. And you scrambled, kicked and slapped to get back to him. Screaming his name over and over. Because they weren’t his hands, and they would never hold you again, he was dead, Steve was dead.

The hours after were a blur, somehow the rest of you had managed to get away. Eddie jump started an abandoned military vehicle that a rescue team had left while under attack, driving back to the gate that reopened under the ruins of StarCourt.

Your head laid in Robin’s lap the entire ride back while Eddie drove, silent tears falling down everyone’s cheeks, Dustin sobbing into Nancy’s bony shoulder.

You all stayed together those first few nights, laying in a fortress of blankets and couch pillows in your living room. It all seemed to move in slow motion, a terrible aching dread filled your soul and refused to leave the hole in your heart.

The house you and Steve had rented was large enough to accommodate everyone for a few days. Those days were spent telling favorite stories of him. Talking about the pride he had for everyone, the mother hen of the group. How he would lay down and sacrifice himself for everyone he knew and he did just that.

A solemn silence fell over everyone, after a kick to the chest of reality fell like a veil—that he would never again come walking in the door. That Robin lost her best friend and confidant. That you would mourn your boyfriend, lover, and friend until your dying days. That Dustin lost his first male father figure. It all came crashing down at once, and no one spoke much after that besides the occasional sniffle or to open the back door to chain smoke the anxiety away.

Claudia eventually called to have Dustin come home. Jonathan stopped over with his long haired friend from California, and you were anything but friendly to them. How could you be? You watched in jealous rage as Jonathan pressed kisses to Nancy’s cheek and rubbed her back soothingly.

She lost a friend. You had lost the only person who knew you from the inside and out, and it wasn’t fair.

Everyone trickled out of the home you shared with Steve. One by one, silently not wanting to be the last to leave, to have to watch your eyes wet as you were left to your own vices, left in this empty house that held all of your memories.

You couldn’t blame them. Hell was here and you were swallowed by its warmth, the flames licking your neck as you fell deeper into it, succumbing to the heat.

Eddie was the last to go. He was oddly quiet during the last few days, leaving late after everyone had fallen asleep just to return again in the morning. He had asked to use the phone only once, quietly excusing himself to use the bathroom afterwards, coming back to the living room looking even more lost than he had earlier, his eyes wet with fresh tears.

It was almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should be here or not. He didn’t know Steve as long as everyone else did, but over the last year they’d gotten close, as if they were almost family more than they were friends.

You had come to know and accept Eddie and Chrissy well, over the last year you’d spent a few nights every couple of months double dating at Enzo’s or game nights playing Scrabble at your house. When the world flipped upside down again, all of the fun came to an end, and the last nine months or more had been spent strategizing… trying to find a means to end this real life hell once and for all.

And it did end, but at what cost?

Eddie’s shadow lingered by the front door as you walked over, one of Steve’s button down shirts hanging loose on your shoulders, the sleeves damp with your tears.

His dark eyes swam with something you hadn’t recognized at all the past week, it wasn’t fear like it had been when you were miles below in another dimension. But you couldn’t nail down what he was feeling as he asked, “are you gonna be okay?”

You stared at him, raising an eyebrow with an exhaustive look.

His fingers worked the rings on his left hand. “I mean, tonight… are you alright, alone? I can stay if you...” He paused for a while, his tongue pressed into his cheek as he stared at the blue rug, his boots pinching his aching feet. Raising his eyes to yours once more, “I— I know how it feels when someone you love dies, it’s…hard.”

Tears welled for what felt like the hundredth time in twenty four hours, and you shook your head. You dreaded this night when things should return to normal, when your friends had to return to school, their jobs. Things had to go back to the way they were— but you couldn’t. Not now, Maybe not ever.

You remember how Eddie had missed school for weeks years ago back in elementary. But you weren’t friends then so you never knew, and you felt like a bitch for never asking. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t—.”

He turned his face away, smiling and finding interest in the wood grain of the front door, “it was a long time ago, I’ve had time to heal, but it takes awhile.”

All you had was time. Time without Steve. Time to mourn the loss of the only man you’ve ever loved. Silent streaks slid down the apples of your cheeks, and Eddie stepped forward like he might crush you into a hug, but he stopped short. Instead rubbing his hand lightly down your arm, “I left my number on the counter, call anytime. Okay?”

You blinked back at him and nodded. If you wouldn’t have been crying you could have seen the turmoil stir in the caffeinated browns of his.

“Thanks, Eddie… I might just take you up on that.”

He smiled gravely, “I did— I didn’t know Steve for as long as everyone else did… but he was a really good friend to me.”

You looked up at him, eyes welling with tears at the man all of Hawkins marked to be a Satanic Cult Leader.

“He cared about you and Chrissy a lot, Eddie.”

He smiled sadly and turned away before you could catch him wiping his eyes, or notice the wobble of his bottom lip.

“I know, I did too…take care, Nellie.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Steve’s cologne was still on the bathroom sink. Dried toothpaste was stuck between the bristles of his toothbrush left from his rush to leave that morning— the last one he’d ever have.

His bar of soap in the shower still held dry bubbles from lathered skin the last night you’d spent together. You had shared the warmth of a shower, shampooing his hair and Steve attempting to help shave your legs, giggling between the spray of the water. Later he laid you down making you whimper as he kissed your neck, fucking you slow and deep, whispering in your ear how you were his entire world.

You hadn’t slept in your shared bed since his death, and now that the chaos had dissipated, and the house was quiet outside of the usual clicks and hums from the refrigerator, you braved the lonely queen sized bed and slipped between the cool sheets.

The sweet burn of cedar, clove and a tangy bit of citrus surrounded you. Steve’s aroma, his smell held you like a child as you cried into his pillow. Curling your body into his side of the bed, you imagined his large hands splayed across your belly as he held you close to him, pulling you tightly against him so there wasn’t a single inch of him not touching you.

But in the end it was just you alone, trying to find warmth in cold sheets with a wet pillow.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The alarm clock had scared the shit out of you.

The ringing turned to chimes in your dream, and when you woke— alone, it was in a puddle of sweat, the bed sheets wrapped around you like those horrible black vines had.

The kitchen tile was cold on your bare toes as you padded to the coffee maker. Steve considered himself the best barista in Hawkins, and no matter how hard you tried to replicate it your pot of coffee never stood a chance next to his.

Digging into the Folgers can, you dump two heaping dollops of grounds into the filter, pressing the ‘on’ button, mentally preparing for the worst cup of coffee you’d had since before you had started dating Steve. No hope to be found, optimism long gone.

It took only a moment, a single sleep riddled half thought for you to slip up, your mind forgetting for just a second as you accidentally wondered what you and Steve would do for the weekend.

Your nerves went into shock, you gasped in guilted embarrassment at the audacity to forget that. How? How how how how how! Pulling at your hair you scanned the kitchen table, eyeing Eddie’s number written on a pad of paper, but grabbing the phone you dialed a different one instead.

She answered on the second ring, her voice sleepy and haggard as you whispered through choked tears, “h—he’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Robin answered, sheets shuffling around, “he’s gone.”

Tears fell in large drops down your face, as you nodded at the answer you already knew, silently needing the confirmation.

How would you be able to walk the streets alone without Steve’s big hand crimped tight around yours? How could you live without ever hearing his voice, his laugh ever again?

When you hung up, Robin didn’t call back, and even if she had you wouldn’t have picked up. The day brought visitors trying to cheer you up. Rubbing your back as you stared blankly at the wall. Promising you things would get better, would be easier as time went on. Bullshit. All of it.

As sweet as they were, how the hell would they know? How could they possibly hurt as bad as you did?

They had lost a friend, an older brother figure, but they didn’t know Steve on the intimate levels you did. They had no idea that he woke with terrors almost every night. Or that he had failed his driver’s test twice, or that he had a patch of light freckles on his nether region.

Steve had been everything to you and now that he was gone you didn’t know how to cope in a world without him. If whatever higher power could grant Chrissy new life, and Eddie was spared from the bats, why wasn’t Steve?

Your questions went unanswered as your mind reeled with pictures of him, flicking like a movie, your eyes stinging with anger.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Every night since he had died, you had slept in a pair of Steve’s boxers and a Hawkins High Prom 1984 shirt.

From what you could tell, Robin was in the same shape you were in, unable to go back to work, barely sleeping. The only difference was she had Vickie at home to comfort her, hold her and wipe away her cries.

You couldn’t help but feel nothing but jealous and sick to your stomach at the thought of how you were having to go through this alone. No matter how selfish that made you, you simply couldn’t care.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Nancy woke you the morning before the funeral with a sharp knock on the front door, and an armful of baked goods. She made coffee as you stared a hole into the kitchen floor, she vacuumed as you thumbed through Steve’s wallet, silently tearing up over his driver’s license picture.

She folded laundry while you sobbed and screamed at a very surprised Keith when he called to ask why Steve hadn’t shown up for his shift. Nancy didn’t blink when the phone was pulled from the wall and sent flying across the living room as you pulled your hair in a fit because Steve is gone. Dead. Not coming back.

Nancy simply rubbed your back, pushing away hair from your wet cheeks after you fell asleep with your head in her lap. And when you woke, feeling worse than hungover with swollen eyes and a sore throat— she wouldn’t let you apologize.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Surprisingly, Steve’s parents found it in themselves to pretend they gave a shit long enough to plan his funeral.

Everything was gaudy. Overdone and full of rich smells of roses so strong you wanted to vomit.

Pearls clung to your ears and neck. The velvet of your black dress was warm on your body despite the cold gusts of wind that chapped your stocking clad legs. The sun wouldn’t shine today, or in your mind ever again.

Robin showed up first, clinging to Vickie’s arm, a sad smile on her freckled face. She wore a dress, a sort of last laugh for Steve’s sake to see her dressed up. She throws herself at you, all legs and tear stained cheeks, squeezing your face into her shoulder.

“He would have hated this,” she sniffled after glancing around at The Harrington’s entourage, “look at her wiping her eyes as if she’d even talked to Steve within the last year.”

Steve’s mother stood in all of her Chanel No 9 glory, delicately dabbing a silk hanky to her dry eyes, as funeral goers grasped her manicured hand and spilled condolences.

The sight alone made you sick. Mary could win an Oscar for her performance. Nobody but you and Robin would have any idea that Steve hadn’t spoken to his parents in over a year. Christmas to be exact. The first and last one you two had spent at their enormous home.

What should have been a nice evening ended in harsh words and Steve’s father saying he was disowning him. Steve held his head high on the way home, apologizing for his parents and promising that he would never have anything to do with them again.

And from there up until they were told of their only son’s death— The Harrington’s never once tried to make amends.

“Always a show with her,” you sighed angrily.

“How are you doing? Vickie asks shyly, “Is there anything we can do?”

“I’m fine, really. I—I’m okay, slowly but surely.”

Vickie smiles and squeezes your hand, “He never loved someone as much as he loved you, Nel.”

The words hit like a bullet.

You knew.

Of course you had known. Steve told you that himself on more occasions than you could count, you didn’t need to hear it from someone else, didn’t need the reassurance that a man who literally died to protect you really did love you.

It felt foreign—sounding horribly wrong coming out of a mouth that wasn’t his. Body on fire with something worse than rage, all you wanted to do was scream. Nodding your head once you excuse yourself, pushing out of the side exit and down some cement steps to the outside.

Air. You needed to force air into your lungs before you collapsed. Your chest felt as if it was going to burst into flames, suddenly everything felt so restricting. The air was frozen and bitter, resembling yourself lately and the outcome of the last few days.

Gasping, choking on wailing cries you pulled at the neck of your dress, kicking your shoes into the dead grass. You yanked barrettes from your hair and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes until you saw spots of gold and green. Anything to try to get some relief try to stop the sensation of being suffocated by something you couldn’t even see.

“Nellie?”

Tears poured from your face as you whimpered, struggling with the zipper on the back of your dress.

It wasn’t fair. Why him? Why Steve? He was so good. Much better than you. He was kind and handsome, he loved big and treated everyone around him like they were the most important person in the room.

He was the best friend, best boyfriend, best everything.

It should have been you.

A pair of warm hands land on your shoulders pulling you backwards and upright, frightening you before the warm tobacco spiced voice whispers in your ear.

“Breathe, Nel… c’mon sweetheart.”

“I- c—can’t… Eddie…I—” coughing and clawing at the necklace of pearls, you desperately tried to unhook them, their weight feeling like boulders sitting on your chest, threatening to break you to pieces.

Eddie moved the hair from your neck, and in one little clink the necklace fell into your hands.

“It’s off, it’s off— c’mon now, you gotta take a deep breath for me.” He spun you around placing his warm hands on your cheeks, sweeping away the icy tears.

He was dressed in all black, his leather jacket tight on his arms. A frumpy, wrinkled tie loose around his neck looking like it had been tied and re-tied too many times before he just gave up.

“In and out,” he instructed softly, taking your hand and placing it against his chest, “match it to mine. Feel it?”

It didn’t work, it wasn't helping. Eddie didn’t waste time before the cold leather of his arms wrap around you, delicately rubbing your back as you collapsed into him.

The wind bit at his face as he held you close, stroking your hair. “It’s alright, ‘s gonna be okay, I’m here— we all are.”

You let yourself break, let the sadness consume you before the funeral could start and you had to be brave for everyone. You wouldn’t let his parents see you this way, they already thought you were every bit of trash but Steve had always held you higher, placing you on a special little pedestal. And with him, nothing else mattered.

Wiping your eyes, you pull back enough to see Eddie’s face, the dark sunglasses he wore were fogged up on the inside, shielding away his own turmoil, but his lip quivered slightly.

“God, Eddie,“ you sniffed, voice wobbly as you murmur, “Sorry.. ‘m such a mess.”

“Don’t do that,” he almost whispers, voice low and sensual, “don’t apologize.”

If you could see his eyes you would notice how sad they were, how he was doing his very best to hold it together. How he had bags under his eyes from not sleeping. You’d see the guilt etched into the darks of his irises for being alive, for coming out of there alive.

The door swings open with a loud crack, caught in a gust of blustering wind, Dustin standing on the threshold trying to hold onto the handle for dear life, he winces when he sees the two of you.

“Hey, it’s—” he looks at his watch, “they’re ready to start.”

Eddie removes his hands from your arms and shoves them into his pockets, all the warmth leaving you as the wind creeps through the fabric of your dress.

“Be right there man,” Eddie answers tight lipped, trying to convey to Dustin that you needed a minute to collect yourself, “save me a seat.”

When the door shuts with great force on Dustin’s end, he bends down to scoop up your discarded heels, holding them by the backs. He sets them on the ground between the two of you, gathering your arm in his hand as you steadied yourself with his body to balance while you slipped your feet in.

Taking one last ragged breath, Eddie moves beside you looking up at the church, then back at you.

“I don’t think I can say goodbye.”

Eddie swallows hard, reaching out with a cautious hand but deciding at the last minute to shove it into his pocket, “you don’t have to, y'know? My m— well, I heard once that a person’s spirit can live on as long as you need them.”

“D’ do you believe in that kind of stuff?” you ask solemnly, “The afterlife? Reincarnation?”

“I believe that Steve would want all of us to keep going, to be the best versions of ourselves…. and he would probably scold us for being late to his funeral.”

You smile then, wrapping your hands around your arms rubbing warmth into them. “He definitely would, I can almost hear him fussing.”

“Hands on his hips, no doubt,” Eddie said with a grin, “But he’d pull himself together…be strong for everyone, he was always good at doing that.”

You look at him, completely unaware of his own inner struggles. “That was Steve, always brave, always willing to defend someone.”

The door busts open again, this time it’s Hopper, his bristly mustache matching his thick eyebrows as he stares with annoyance at your tardiness.

“Shit,” Eddie jokes, “better go before he calls the hounds.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It was a closed casket per your request, even though his mother argued to have it open. Wanting the sympathy from her friends of being a parent “burying-their-child” and to have people comment on how he looked like her, how beautiful they both were— it was sick.

Dustin made a speech. His hair pushed back just how Steve had taught him back in high school. He shed a tear at the end when he referred to Steve as his best friend. Climbing down from the podium, he slumped in the pew next to Eddie, sniffling softly as his shoulders shook.

Robin recited a light hearted poem, promising to keep the store running and to finally get her driver’s license. Her eyes sparkled as she recounted the laughs she and Steve had shared.

When it was your turn, your heart felt like it was filled with lead, the walk up the ugly church carpet felt as if it drug on forever, and you had to take several deep breaths before adjusting the mic.

Your poorly written speech talked about how Steve lit up every room, how he was adored by everyone at Hawkins High. But now, under the scathing florescent lights under the wet eyes of your closest friends, the jumbled words looked like nothing but bullshit.

Tears rimmed your eyes and you felt the same death grip of panic rising on your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, body shaking as you fumbled with the index cards, “I- I can’t.”

It was Joyce who met you at the podium with a caring smile, and open arms guiding you back to the pew. She didn’t mind that you sobbed into her shoulder making a mess of her cotton dress. And when the service was over and it was time to go to the cemetery, she held your hand and led the way.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You felt numb as you stood next to Robin. Her icy fingers laced with yours as you zoned out completely while standing at his gravesite. Someone was talking but you couldn’t register who it was or what they were saying.

Your body was present but your mind was floating in a memory.

“Should we have spaghetti tonight? Or do you wanna order a pizza and I’ll pick it up after I leave work?”

Steve’s comforting voice filled your ear as you twirled your finger around the cord in the stockroom at Melvald’s. A common occurrence for the two of you, each sneaking off to call each other during the day. Eight hours away from him was too much.

“Already got the noodles boiling for spaghetti, honey,” he practically purred into the phone, “tell Joyce you’re taking off for the night and come home to me.”

Your smile squeaked through the receiver, your heart skipped beats at the thought of Steve Harrington wanting you… two years together it still seemed like yesterday that you had gone on your first date.

“Steve,” you giggled, “You didn’t have to.”

“Ah ah ah, I won’t listen to that,” Steve lightly scolded, “I like to cook and take care of my girl, we’re a team, Nellie.”

You begrudgingly sigh and feel heat rise to your cheeks, you really were one of the luckiest girls. “Okay Captain, what kind of noodles are you making?”

Steve chuckles through the receiver, cream colored phone balancing on his shoulder as he adds salt to the boiling water.

“It was a toss up between angel hair or fettuccine… fettuccine won, and I picked up some garlic bread from Enzo’s.”

“Ohh, you’re spoiling me rotten,” you purr, imagining what you would do to thank him…something involving your favorite part of him and your mouth, “I’ll stop at Bradley’s for some drinks, what are ya thinkin’?”

Steve smiles, putting a dish towel on his shoulder, “surprise me.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The church basement reeked of furniture polish, clashing with heavy floral perfume to mask the smell of mildew from a previous heavy rainfall.

The Women of Fellowship were serving ham on wheat buns with chips and a veggie tray. Their faces planted with a christian sympathy smile as they cut brownies and refilled the punch bowl.

A bottle of champagne sat chilled in a bath of ice per Mrs. Harrington’s demands. No reason to be so down all day, might as well make it a special occasion! As if the death of her only son wasn’t enough, was too boring for her.

You rolled your eyes and shoved your plate away as her obnoxious laugh erupts from behind you. Steve’s father telling his colleagues a dirty joke no doubt, his face red from stifling a laugh and the whiskey he clutched in a monogrammed flask.

“Nellie?” Nancy chirped, adjusting her slim figure to whisper gently across the table your group of friends were sulking at, “I have some frozen meals my mom and I put together, I can come over tonight and give you the instructions if you’d like?”

Nodding softly you meet her eyes, “Thanks Nance, that’d be really nice.”

It went silent again, Max fidgeted with her hair, pulling it back in a loose ponytail. Will’s watch beeped but he clicked it off lazily, running his hands down his face. Nobody knew what to say or what to do. What do you say at a friend's funeral?

“Are they always like this?” Eddie blurts through the quiet, cocking his head towards the Harrington’s. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm slung over the back of an empty chair beside him, his sunglasses were still on, just as they were through the church service and at the gravesite.

Everyone at the table looks to you, expecting some sort of an explanation, but you simply shrug, “I- I don’t really know them very well.”

“Steve’s parents?” Nancy questions, “they’re super sweet, when I—”

She stops then her mouth closing with a pop to remember that it probably wasn’t the time to talk about her long ago relationship with Steve at his funeral in front of his current girlfriend.

“… they uhhh.. they were always nice.”

It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know. Mostly because you and Steve had never mentioned it to anyone besides Robin. But her words stung, hit your chest like a thousand mad bees.

You stand on shaky legs, “I need—yeah…” Without giving anything more you walk away, almost taking the table cloth with you from it tangling in your purse.

“Nellie,” Robin tries, her own eyes swimming with hurt, but you’re already two tables away, squeezing between padded shoulders and hands holding plastic cups of punch, bleary eyed to find anywhere to be but here.

Turns out a broom closet storing Christmas decorations stuffed right with the plastic light-up yard Bethlehem set, was the right place to have a breakdown.

You were hiding for a solid ten minutes before you heard a soft knock and a quiet ‘Nell?’ And your unladylike sniffling gave you away as you wiped your nose on the blanket swaddling baby Jesus.

“Rob,” you exhaled annoyingly, “I’m fine, okay? Tell Nance I’m sorry.” But to your surprise it was Eddie.

“Hey.” he says cautiously, clicking the door behind him and leaning against it.

You looked from him to your shoes and muttered out a soft, “hi.”

“So… Mr. and Mrs. Harrington seem like real big pieces of shit… wow.”

You snort airily fiddling with the run in your stocking, “Yeah, they’re something alright.”

Eddie slides down the door, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him, exhaling a deep breath,“It’s been a long day,” he finally said.

“I don’t know what to do next.”

Eddie looks at you confused, and eyes you when you stand abruptly and start pacing around the cramped closet.

You’re erratic, talking fast and crazed, “I told myself that all I needed to do was just make it to the funeral. Make it through the funeral and…and then I would figure it all out from there! Now here we are— and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do after, Eddie!

“After it’s over? And– when I leave… he’ll still be here in the ground, and I— ” you start to apologize but refrain, “.. I should go.”

“Talk to me,” Eddie stands to his full height, reaching towards you, just barely grazing your elbow with his fingertips. His voice nearly breaking, “it helps to get it out.”

You hiccup, and pull away, stumbling over a slew of strung together sentences that you’re barely breathing through to get out.

“..’s… shit, he was all I had. My parents are gone, I don’t have any siblings. It’s been… d’ you know that his parents have never approved of me, but Steve he— he fought for me, for us. Without him…I’m alone.”

Eddie follows you his hands firm your biceps to try to calm you down. “All your friends are here. Robin, Vickie, the kids…”

His words have no meaning to you, none of it mattered, your pain was demanding to be felt, and frilly words with no merit wouldn’t sugar coat this. “He’s gone, Eddie! He didn’t get to have a second chance he—died!”

He’s level headed but slowly losing his own battle, trying not to break thinking about his luck and the never ending guilt he carried.

“We were all there, all of us are hurting, Nellie. You can’t shut people out and clam up.”

You try to wriggle free from him, but he’s stronger, and all you can do is cry, “I— can’t keep going! Not without him!”

Feeling the weight of survivor's guilt and the agony of never being able to be consoled by Steve again, you break. Sobbing uncontrollably. Eddie’s arms surround you, holding you tight and engulfing your cries with his own tears, and little shushes from his throat.

“I’m sorry, Nellie. I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t cry— it will take time but you.. we will be okay.”

His voice is wobbly and his chest shakes as he cries silently grieving for his best friend. With tears running down your cheeks you pull away slightly to see his face.

In the dim light you can make out that his nose is tinged red, and with unsteady hands you reach up and pry his sunglasses from his face.

His eyes were red, a little swollen from rubbing them and fatigued with lack of sleep. You could kick yourself for not recognizing how hurt he was, how self absorbed you had been. Both of you are crying together, clinging onto each other under the yellow light in that makeshift storage closet.

Throwing yourself at him, your cheek presses into his chest as you both sob into one another. Meshing your suffering with his.

His chin is resting on your head, hands wrapped in your hair. Your hands are clutching the opening of his shirt, fingers just barely grazing over his bare chest. Minutes passed and you exhale an exhausted sigh.

Lifting your face up to tell Eddie that maybe you should get back, your nose brushes against his. And when you both should be moving away, straightening yourself up and wiping your eyes, neither of you pull back.

Eddie’s breath fans against your cheek, a small shudder on your skin, the emotional hold of the day, his arms wrapped around you it was nice… it felt, good. Without thinking, without acknowledging what you’re doing you tilt your head and line your mouth up with his, pressing your lips to his.

It’s unexpectedly tender, and what should startle him doesn’t, but all of that sweetness is quickly swallowed by a hunger you had never felt before.

It’s nothing but grabby hands and needy mouths. His hands go from soft and consoling to roughly working his pants down in the same hastiness- that you’re hauling your dress up.

Eddie grabs you from the crook of your knees as if you’re weightless and shoves you up hard against the wall. Your mouth hangs open in a silent plea as your panties get ripped to the side. Tears are still flowing down your face and if you were to look at him, you’d see that his haven't stopped either.

It’s desperate the way you’re clutching onto his shoulders. As if every ounce of pain was leaving you with every inch of him. You whimper with each pump of his hips and Eddie is doing the same, holding you impossibly tight, grunting into your ear.

It’s raw and harsh, the shelves shuddering with the pace of him taking you, and you’re all in, moaning when you’re close. Holding the nape of his neck and wringing his curls as you start to unravel, your nails clawing into him as your mind explodes.

When you finish, he’s close behind, groaning deep and biting his lip as he shakes violently with his release, pumping all he’s got into you.

What’s left between you is gasping breaths and tear kissed skin, a set of broken Christmas lights under Eddie’s boot.

His jacket is still in your clutches when you open your eyes, coming down from a high you clung to stay up on. But the weight of your decision comes crashing down when you realize what you had done.

Regret is painted thick on your face as the realization comes full force. You need to get out of here. What kind of grieving girlfriend were you to have fucked your dead boyfriend’s best friend in a church basement at his funeral.

A whore is what you are.

Eddie must have realized what kind of slut you were too because he sets you down and immediately turns away from you, shoving himself back into his pants.

But, before he can say anything, before he can try to talk you off a cliff— you’re already out of the door, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the horrifying expression twisted onto your face.

You don’t hear Eddie calling after you, or the way his face turned to fear as you threw open the door, practically sprinting away from him.

Lucky for you, nobody questioned why you were darting up the basement steps, or why you looked absolutely wrecked. Your keys fumbled in your hands as you unlocked your car, terrified to look back, running from your mistake, from Steve from Eddie.

The road was a dangerous blur on your drive home, your eyes flooding over obscuring stop signs and headlights. Your cheeks were still stained with yours and Eddie’s tears.

Tears that were shed in grief from the death of your boyfriend, the same ones that stayed on your face as you got fucked in a closet by his best friend. And more tears fell as you tried to comprehend why for the first time since Steve’s death, you felt comfort.

—

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie fanfic #steve x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #stranger things

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kkanabel · 3 months ago

Text

co-pilot mischief ✫ soaked & see-thru ✫ chapter dos

captain curly x teasing!reader

it’s been a month since your epiphany that Captain Curly has a sweet little crush on you, and you’ve been teasing him the entire time. what happens when you push him even closer to the edge?

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~3.1k

t/w: STRONG sexual references but no actual yucky (yet), so imma say this is rated mature, reader being lowkey sadistic, cute curly <3, gn!reader/pronouns but reader wears a bra, mentions of curly's mayo slinger , depiction/description of nipples, (service?)dom!curly

a/n: hi. been obsessed with this video game recently—well, especially with Curly (go figure. i like fictional men). i needed to make something self-indulgent bc i just like this man way too much. and because i just want to make a world where none of them have to suffer. enjoy~

~janana does not exist in this world~

Planned Shipment Duration: 382 Days Elapsed Transit Time: 322 Days

It’s been a month since your epiphany that Captain Curly has a sweet little crush on you.

Once you realized it, there was no going back. Since then, you’ve made it your personal mission to tease him, dangling his attraction above his head like a packet of sweetener just out of reach. At first, you thought he’d crack quickly—his stammering, red ears, and darting eyes gave you plenty of hope—but it turns out he’s much harder to break than you expected.

Curly’s resolve, it seems, is made of iron—or at least something close to it. He holds tightly to his professionalism, though you can tell it’s a battle for him. He does his best to pretend nothing’s happening, no matter how blatantly you flirt or how often your hand "accidentally" brushes against his when passing tools or rations.

The moments he falters, though? Those are pure gold.

Like when you "forgot" to zip up your jumpsuit all the way, the collar slipping low enough to reveal the delicate lace of your bralette and the beginnings of cleavage. You’d leaned over the cockpit console, close enough to invade his personal space, pointing at a diagnostic screen that didn’t really need his attention.

“Captain,” you’d said sweetly, tilting your head just enough to let your hair brush against his arm. “Do you think this reading looks a little off? Or is it just me?”

Curly froze, his broad shoulders stiffening as if you’d just launched a torpedo into the ship. His eyes darted to the screen, then to you, then back to the screen again, avoiding your neckline like it might blind him.

“I... uh, it looks fine to me,” he muttered, clearing his throat. His voice was strained, low, like he was barely keeping himself together.

You watched, delighted, as his ears turned bright red.

And that wasn’t the only time. Every brush of your hand against his, every teasing glance, every accidental bump into him in the narrow halls of the ship sent little tremors through his carefully maintained composure. Once, when you deliberately lingered at his side during a crew meeting, your shoulder grazing his arm as you leaned against him, he shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. You didn’t miss the way his hand flexed at his side, like he wanted to move but couldn’t.

It was adorable, really, how he tried so hard to maintain control. His lips would press into a thin line, his eyes locking onto anything but you, but the faint blush crawling up his neck always gave him away.

You couldn’t stop yourself from indulging in the little thrill of it. His reactions, subtle as they sometimes were, made your heart flutter in ways you didn’t entirely expect. It wasn’t just the fun of teasing him—it was the way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. That mix of yearning and restraint, like he wanted so badly to reach out but knew he couldn’t. It was intoxicating.

One evening, you decided to push him a little further.

The ship’s artificial lights cast a soft glow over the cockpit as the two of you worked on a recalibration for the nav system. You’d been at it for hours, but you didn’t feel tired—not when you had Curly as your company.

As he bent over the console, his strong hands deftly adjusting the inputs, you let your eyes wander over him. The curve of his shoulders, the faint stubble on his jaw, the way a lock of his blonde hair fell across his forehead... it was all so unfairly attractive.

“Hey, Captain,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

He glanced at you briefly, a suspicious flicker in his blue eyes. “What is it?”

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” you cooed, stepping closer. “Don’t you think you deserve a little break?”

He straightened, standing to his full height, which only made you want to tease him more. “We’re on duty,” he said, his tone firm, though his nervous countenance betrayed him. “No time for breaks.”

You tilted your head, letting your lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Not even for me?”

His jaw tightened, and he exhaled through his nose. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You held in a laugh in favor of feigning innocence, widening your eyes. “Enjoying what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand hovering in the air before dropping to his side. His blue eyes were filled with an unreadable emotion. “Whatever game you’re playing.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, mock-offended. “Game? I’m just trying to help my captain relax. Is that so wrong?”

His gaze flickered to your hand, then back to your face. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath like he was trying to steady himself. There was trouble written all over his handsome face.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you added sweetly, grazing past him to grab a tablet from the console. Your chest brushed against his arm, and you swore you heard him mutter something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You walked away, hiding your smile behind the tablet. This was too much fun.

But as you glanced back at him, catching the way he ran a hand through his blonde hair in frustration, your heart gave a little flutter. Maybe you were having fun teasing him into madness, but you couldn’t deny that part of you that wanted him to finally snap—wanted to see what would happen when that carefully constructed professionalism finally broke.

A couple of days later, you woke up an hour too early. The mistake had been drinking coffee with Curly too late into the evening. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a casual moment of camaraderie with the captain, but now you were left wide-eyed in the dark, staring at the ceiling of your cabin.

Giving up on the idea of returning to sleep, you decided to make the most of the situation. Slipping out of bed, you grabbed a water sachet and padded down the quiet halls toward the cockpit, still dressed in your pajamas—just a white T-shirt and the shortest of pajama shorts.

Usually, for the sake of decency, you’d slip on a bralette under the shirt during film nights or crew gatherings. The last thing you wanted was to flash someone like Daisuke or Swansea and scar them for life. But now, in the stillness of the ship’s early hours, you felt a little more emboldened. Besides, you couldn’t help but think about how Curly might react.

You’d caught him looking before, though he tried so hard to hide it. When you wore an extra tank top you found in the cockpit locker (It was Curly’s, and it was at least a size too big), exposing just a hint more skin—shoulders and the teasing curve of the side of your chest through the arm holes that were too big, his face turned a violent shade of red, and he’d buried himself in a book—upside down. The memory still made you grin. His excuse about following “Pony Express directives” to “practice” reading things from unconventional angles was laughable, yet endearing in how desperately he tried to cling to professionalism.

Though ever since then, he’s found it difficult to meet your eyes or even glance at you.

Tonight, the shirt’s white fabric was a little more thin than you usually dared, and you knew it fell off the peaks and curves off your body in just the right way. The thought made your pulse quicken, imagining how Curly would react—if he was going to refuse to look at you, you were going to find a way to force him to.

As you approached the cockpit, the faint hum of the ship’s systems buzzed softly, and the doorway glowed faintly with the green and white lights of the control panels. Curly was there, of course, hunched over one of the consoles. His wavy blonde hair caught the artificial light, strands tousled as though he’d run his fingers through them in frustration.

From the doorway, you took a moment to admire him. He was all rugged edges and quiet strength, his broad shoulders casting a silhouette that almost filled the chair he sat in. His stubbled jaw was set in concentration, the faint shadows of fatigue underlining his blue eyes as they flicked between readouts. Even in moments like this, when he wasn’t putting on his usual air of command, he radiated a certain kind of allure.

Curly’s mind was a storm. He hated this—how easily you unraveled him, how effortlessly you bypassed every wall of professionalism he’d built over the years. It wasn’t just the shirt or the skin it revealed—it was you. The way you moved, the way you smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And even then, he felt guilty. Deeply, horribly guilty.

This wasn’t how a captain should think about his crew—especially not about you. He couldn’t stop his mind from straying. He admired your sharp wit, respected your skills, and relied on you more than he cared to admit. You weren’t just capable; you were remarkable.

And that was the problem. Because the more he admired you, the harder it was to ignore the way his thoughts veered into forbidden territory. And tonight, when you stepped into the room, bleary-eyed and relaxed in your white t-shirt, his heart had nearly stuttered to a stop.

“Captain,” you called softly, leaning against the doorway.

His head snapped up, eyes widening slightly before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. “You’re up early,” he said, his voice low and gravelly from disuse, quickly flicking his eyes away from you and towards the ship’s monitors, a habit he’s developed recently.

“Curly?” You said again, waiting until his eyes finally met yours. You stepped inside, deliberately slow, letting him take in your appearance. His gaze darted to you briefly—just a flicker—but his lips pressed into a thin line, and he immediately focused back on the console.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said, shrugging as you approached him. “Thought I’d keep you company.”

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh,” You frowned, “but I wanted to.” You leaned over the console, pretending to inspect one of the readings. The motion caused the shirt to shift ever so slightly, revealing the crux of your neck and the faint outline of your collarbone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him freeze. His strong hands, usually so sure as they worked the controls, stilled. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and a faint pink began to creep up his neck to his ears. “I—uh…” He faltered, his words caught in his throat. “It’s not much to look at,” he managed, gesturing vaguely to the display.

You glanced at him, catching the way his blue eyes flicked nervously to yours before darting away again. His jaw clenched, the stubble along his chin shifting with the movement, and you noticed the way his broad shoulders seemed to tense as though he were bracing himself.

His hands betrayed him, gripping the edge of the console as though it were the only thing anchoring him.

The curves of your chest moved freely with each step you took. The material was thin, revealing your shadowy valleys. The shirt cupped them like a gentle hand, and the peaks of your nipples pushed against the fabric.

He scolded himself silently, jaw tightening. How could he let his thoughts wander like this? It was unprofessional, inappropriate, and downright wrong. You were younger than him, his crewmate, his second-in-command—he was your boss! And still, despite all the reasons he gave himself to stop, he couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric of your shirt caught the light as he cursed himself for having these thoughts while being your superior.

He noticed too much—the curve of your lips when you smiled, the sway of your hair when you moved, the way your presence filled the cockpit and left him fighting for composure.

You’d casually stepped into the cockpit, rubbing your eyes and clutching a water sachet, (trying to look) completely unaware of the chaos you were stirring. The ship’s dim lighting hummed softly around you as you took in the familiar sight of Curly, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he focused on the console in front of him.

Your gaze drifted for a moment, taking in the quiet stillness of the cockpit. You liked moments like this—when the ship felt like it was holding its breath, everything running smoothly. Your eyes quickly darted back at the ship’s monitors, looking for anomalies. But your attention quickly shifted back to Curly, and concern tugged at the edges of your thoughts.

The dark shadows under his eyes and the faint redness around them told you he hadn’t gotten much sleep. His posture was rigid, shoulders tense even in stillness, and you found yourself frowning slightly.

“Curly,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. He turned his head just enough to acknowledge you, his blue eyes weary but alert. “When was the last time you stood up to take a stretch?” you asked, tilting your head in gentle inquiry.

His brow furrowed, and he let out a quiet sigh. “I’m fine,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Captain,” you said with mock sternness, “don’t make me log a report about your poor self-care habits.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face before reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

You stepped back, giving him space while pretending to busy yourself with your water sachet. In truth, you were staring as he stretched. His arms reached overhead, his broad shoulders and defined muscles shifting beneath his Pony Express t-shirt that was too tight in many places. You let your gaze linger for a moment, appreciating the sharp line of his jaw and the way his stubble caught the faint light and the upper half of the coveralls that were hanging casually at his hips.

But you weren’t entirely selfless. As he finished, you casually lifted your arms to stretch as well, arching your back just enough to emphasize the thin fabric of your shirt. You didn’t dare glance at him directly, but you were sure he noticed. You could almost feel the tension in the air shift, his silence betraying his discomfort—or was it something else?

Then, as you reached for your water sachet, the corner of your hand snagged it, tipping it forward and sending a stream of cool liquid splashing onto both of you.

“Oh no!” you gasped, stepping back in shock as the water soaked into your shirt and splattered onto Curly’s lower torso.

“I—I’m so sorry!” you stammered, grabbing for the stack of napkins you always kept nearby for emergencies. “I didn’t mean to—hold on, let me—”

Holding the napkins, you stepped closer and began dabbing at his shirt, focusing on the damp fabric clinging to his lower torso. His breath hitched when your fingers brushed against him, and his hands twitched at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. His breathing had grown shallow, his eyes darting anywhere but at you.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, though his voice was strained.

But you were too focused on drying him off to notice the growing tension in his body. His shirt clung to his lower torso, outlining the solid planes of muscle beneath, and you worked methodically, your brows furrowed in genuine apology as you dabbed the napkins all over his lower stomach and upper thighs.

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. “I don’t even know how I…” you murmured, your voice frantic as you continued your drying. The napkins glided over his shirt, and though your touch was light and innocent, the intimacy of it was anything but. His stomach muscles tensed under your hand, and you felt a pang of guilt for causing the situation.

“Y-you don’t have to—”

“But I do!” you cut him off, leaning in just a bit closer. “I made the mess, so it’s only fair I fix it.”

His breathing grew heavier, though he was trying his best to keep it steady. His gaze flicked toward the damp, clinging fabric of your shirt again, and his cheeks burned even brighter. Your napkin drying eventually ended on his upper thigh—you’d dabbed that place a couple of times already, but this time, you noticed that it was… bulging. And hard.

And massive.

Then you noticed something else.

The air around you suddenly felt charged, and when you glanced down, your face lit up in horror. Your wet shirt was clinging to your chest like a second skin, the thin white fabric leaving very little to the imagination and turning almost entirely transparent. Splotches of color from your areolas were clearly visible under the fabric.

“Oh my-,” you whispered, your cheeks burning as you instinctively crossed your arms over yourself.

Curly’s gaze darted to you for a fraction of a second before he whipped his head away, his face flushing a deep crimson. He instantly peels off his t-shirt and places it over your head to cover you. If he gets just one more look at you exposed, he’ll-

“Thanks, Curly.” You say, relieved.

He looks down and sees your nipples still poking through the two layers of fabric, and he lets in a sharp breath before he tears his eyes away from you. You hold back an amused chuckle from what just went down, and you sigh wistfully as you take in his shirtless form.

“Darn,” you said finally, straightening and tossing the used napkins into the trash. “I guess this means you need to go take a shower and change into dry pajamas. Maybe even get some sleep while you’re at it. I’ll take care of things here in the meantime.”

He blinked at you, looking dazed and overwhelmed, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. How could you have bounced back so quickly?

You smiled sweetly, your tone light and teasing as you gestured toward the exit. “Go on, Captain. That’s an order.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his jaw working as though he wanted to say something. But then he gave a sharp nod, his eyes avoiding yours as he muttered a gruff, “Fine,” before turning and leaving the cockpit.

As the door slid shut behind him, you let out a soft chuckle, enjoying the scent of his t-shirt (albeit wet) wrapped around you. You try to ignore the heat that builds up in your stomach when you think about him, in the shower, taking care of his “little” problem, wrapping his hand around himself with a groan.

a/n: let me know what y'all think!

oh yeah.. smut.. tomorrow…?

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics… also might be accepting requests hehe! i can’t guarantee that i can do em, but i’ll accept ideas!

btw. not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos or inconsistencies stay safe & hydrated as always!

(and go to sleep if you’re reading this super late. don’t be a curly. take care of yourself!)

thanks for reading! <3

crossposted on ao3

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing game #Captain curly #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #curly x reader smut #captain curly smut #curly fluff #mouthwashing fluff #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #grant curly #curly smut

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puck-luck · 10 months ago

Text

wedding crashers | jack hughes

warnings: semi public sex, pining on jack's side, older!reader (jack is 22, she is 26), unprotected p in v (always... do as i do not as i say, wrap it when you tap it), fingering, dirty talk, insinuation of oral (m & f receiving) pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes and a slightly older reader (like idk 3 years older maybe), i feel like he’s so sassy and cocky that he would go nuts if he was able to get an older girl hahaha, maybe it could be like a challenge type situation where they were bantering over whether he’d be any good in bed bc he’s “just a baby” or something so he has something to prove.. 🫣" wc: 4167

You’d first met Jack Hughes in 2015. You were at one of the USA Developmental games with Matthew, your best friend at the time, watching his brother play for the last time that year. Since it was Christmas just recently, this was the only time you’d get to see Matthew until who knew when. Even though it involved hockey, which always stole Matthew’s attention from you, you decided to join him anyway. It was Matthew that introduced you to the Hughes family, after you had commented on Quinn’s performance.

Jack was a goof from the get-go. He was fourteen when you met, so all of his attempts to flirt with you went nowhere. Well, they made it to the front seat of Matthew’s car, where you laughed about the younger boy’s boldness. He was a sweet boy, and cute in a way that made you want to pinch his cheeks, and you were able to watch him grow up and come into himself.

Your friendship with Matthew had dwindled since he was drafted in 2016, but you were still close enough with his family to be invited to Brady’s wedding. It was there that Jack cornered you, hitting on you for the umpteenth time. Now, he was 22 years old, overconfident and cocky due to years of praise from not only his coaches and peers, but from every pretty girl that fell into his company. You were 26, mature and happy with the life you had made for yourself.

Jack had never stopped chasing you, though it wasn’t an overbearing and constant chase. He was sure that he would conquer you someday, having never forgotten the way he rubbed himself raw after he had first met you and you had smiled in his direction. What can he say– he was fourteen and a pretty girl, an older girl had smiled at him.

And, pleasantly tipsy, Jack had decided that today was that day.

He tore himself away from Luke, having delivered a new drink to his underage brother, and made his way to you. You were sitting with one of Brady and Matthew’s relatives, making small talk over a glass of white wine. Your legs were crossed in a way that Jack could only describe as dainty, your nails painted a pretty blush color that matched your dress. Jack licked his bottom lip when an image of your hand around his cock, with those painted nails contrasting the color of his member, flashed through his mind.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack said, not really feeling sorry at all. He turned to you. “I was wondering if you’d join me for a dance.”

You smiled and shook your head slightly, a small laugh falling from your lips. “Sure, Jack.” To the Tkachuk relative, you excused yourself, standing to take Jack’s extended hand. You took a sip from your wine glass, polishing off the drink.

Jack truly couldn’t have chosen a better moment to ask you to dance, as a new song began and decided for you, due to its pace, that the two of you would engage in a waltz of sorts. Jack wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was able to box step in time with the music and lead you through the dance.

You had given Jack a knowing look when his hand found its way to the small of your back, threatening to dip dangerously onto the curve of your ass. Your hand rested on his shoulder, the other in his hand, held close to your bodies.

Jack pulled you close to him, mere inches between your bodies. You laughed again, your head dipping to fall on his shoulder for a split second.

“What?” Jack asked as you flicked your hair from your eyes with a slight tilt of your head. “You’re supposed to be close when you dance.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, Jack.” Your voice was light, almost sing-songy. “Your intentions are nothing if not innocent, isn’t that right?”

“I just want to dance,” Jack deflected, but the smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. His eyes were shining, both from the drinks he had consumed and the charged energy between your bodies.

You raised your eyebrows and pursed your lips, trying to suppress a smile as you and Jack continued to stare at each other. You broke first, looking away and shaking your head.

“What?” Jack said. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, I’m hurt by that.” Jack pouted, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that caught your attention. It was plush and pink and just a little cracked from sun exposure. You knew Jack had spent the beginning of the summer out on the lake, and his skin reflected that– both tan and sunkissed at once.

Though you hated to admit it, Jack had grown up to be very attractive. He glowed, especially in the summer, especially when he had a few drinks in his system and he had grown a little more brash and a little more bold.

“Poor Jacky,” You teased. You tilted your head down and blinked up at him through your lashes, saying in a baby-voice: “I hurt the little baby’s feelings?”

“You did,” Jack agreed, his pout just becoming more exaggerated. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

Your whole body moved with your laugh this time. “I suppose you’re about to ask me to kiss it better.”

“Well, I was hoping for more than just a kiss,” Jack said, chuckling at your laughter. He licked his bottom lip before biting it in a cheeky smile, the apples of his cheeks prominent and pink. His teeth were a sharp white contrast to the red dusting across his cheeks, but you found yourself growing fond of that shameless smile the more you saw it.

“Jack, you’re a baby,” You laughed. “In the real world, you’d have just graduated college. I know things are different because you’re a big, famous hockey player and you’ve been doing this job for years, but the fact of the matter is that you’re just too young for me.”

Jack was unscathed by your rejection, just like he always was. He didn’t even mind that your tone was borderline condescending, like you were talking to a five year old instead of a grown adult.

“Plus, Jacky–” You smiled, itching to hammer the final nail in this coffin. “You can’t handle a grown woman.”

His eyes grew dark at that. “I can handle a grown woman,” He stated, voice definite.

You threw your head back, not quite laughing, but not quite rolling your eyes in exasperation either.

Jack’s hand left yours and found your jaw in a flash, bringing your face back to his. “I can handle a grown woman,” He repeated. His gaze flickered down to your lips. “Let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes flickering down to his lips to match his motions. “In your dreams,” You denied, bringing your hand to his chest to put some distance between you.

Jack didn’t allow it. If anything, he pulled you closer. He pressed his hips into yours, took your hand off his chest and resumed its original dancing position. He tugged you tight to him, tight enough that you were looking over his shoulder and his mouth hovered right next to your ear.

“I’d be so good to you,” Jack whispered. Your eyes flickered around the room, but no one seemed perturbed by yours and Jack’s positioning. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, Y/N. Let me tell you what I’d do, what I have done in my dreams.”

You didn’t say anything, but the fingertips of the hand on his shoulder found the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck and stayed there.

“I always start by kissing you. Always. I’d start slow– just feeling how these pretty pink lips feel against mine. I’d wait for you to loosen up, to open your mouth and invite me in for more. I’m going to keep going slow, but I’m going to slide my tongue into your mouth and kiss you until I’ve figured out just what you taste like. Today, you’ll taste like your white wine at first, but I’m going to kiss you until I’ve deciphered your taste, Y/N.”

Jack moved his hand to your waist and squeezed gently.

“I’d start with my hands here, but I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’ll start moving, feeling every inch of you. There’s not a part of your body where my fingerprints won’t be found. You won’t know what to focus on– when one of my hands is tangled up in your hair, the other one is going to squeeze your ass and really feel it out because I’ve been thinking about it for so long. And all the while, darling, I’ll be kissing you and stealing the breath from your lungs.”

You gasped at that, shifting closer to Jack. He smiled, knowing that he was closing in on the moment that he’d been wanting for the past eight years. His hand moved to the curve of your ass and you’re nearly helpless with it, or just unwilling to chide him for venturing that far. Jack made eye contact with Quinn over your shoulder and smirked, showing his teeth in a cheshire way.

He spoke again. “But then I’d bring my fingers down, won’t I? I’ve made you breathless, I’ve made you moan, I’ve got you begging for more– something you thought you’d never do. Yet here we are, and you’re always dripping for me.”

By the end of his sentence, Jack’s voice was barely audible. You were straining to hear him, and his mouth was right next to your ear. You felt a bit breathless already, strung together by terrible stitching. Your resolve snapped when you felt his lips close around your earlobe, his teeth tugging at your skin gently.

You jumped away from him like you’d been electrocuted by his touch. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving.

Jack fared no better, standing in the same spot. You watch his chest rise and fall, the little bit of his skin you can see between his unbuttoned white shirt glistening. His mouth was slightly open, ready to whisper something else dirty in your ear.

You looked him up and down like you couldn’t decide where to focus, like you were fulfilling a prophecy where Jack made you fumble where you once stood so sure.

In a second, you made your decision. You needed to see how this would end, needed to feel it for yourself.

You grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged him out of the reception hall, down the winding hallways until you’ve deemed that you’re far enough away from the party that no one would be able to find you if they came looking.

You shoved Jack into a closet– a closet, you thought to yourself, wanting to laugh at the absurdity. When you closed the door behind you and turned to find Jack’s eyes, he was waiting with a stoney face, not letting any of his emotions show. You’d have killed to know what he was thinking.

All you could do was nod, mouth opening and closing a few times, but never finding words.

Jack tilted his head, his eyes flashing in the darkness.

“Please,” is the single word that ended up breaking the silence between you.

Jack’s lips were on yours in the blink of an eye. His hands cradled your face and his kiss was insistent, bruising. He was slow, sure, but he was emphatic, unyielding. The kiss reflected the eight years of waiting that had passed before he got this chance.

His hand pulled one of your legs up onto his hip before it circled around you to knead the skin of your ass. Your dress, already short because Brady and Emma had planned for a wedding in the dead of summer, rode up until your behind was barely covered.

All the more for Jack to hold onto as his tongue made its way into your mouth.

You continued to kiss, breaking apart only to take a breath and recover, unbuttoning the rest of Jack’s shirt and pushing it down his arms. Your hands roamed his torso, feeling every muscle that Jack had worked so hard to build.

Jack’s mouth traveled south, sucking along the skin of your neck. He bent down, both of his hands finding your thighs and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around him and ground down against him, finally getting some relieving friction from the sizable bulge that was pressing against his zipper. Jack moaned out loud, gasping at your movements.

“What next?” You asked, grinding down again.

“What?” Jack replied, lost in the moment. His eyes met yours and they seemed cloudy, swirling with lust.

“After you, shit, after you touch me–” Your head tipped back as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “What do you do next, in your dreams?”

It took a minute to register for Jack, too caught up in the feeling of your pussy against his cock, even if there were multiple layers separating you.

“I touch you,” Jack said, the obvious next action. “I don’t do anything, I just touch you. I use two fingers and I find every spot that makes you react. Once I’ve got you figured out, I–”

You cut him off. “Do it,” You told him. Your head felt light, almost dizzy, and you nodded like a bobblehead. “Do it.”

Jack let out a pathetic, wanton whimper at your command and walked forward until you were pressed against the wall. He shifted you over to that you were held up by his thigh and he brought one hand down to your panties.

He felt over the skimpy fabric, which was barely doing anything anymore. It was soaked, darkened with your slick, and briefly, Jack thought to take it off of you and pocket it to bring home as a souvenir. How dirty you would feel going back out to the reception… the thought of it nearly made Jack’s knees buckle. It would be a constant reminder that he’d won, that he’d managed to fuck you and satisfy you after thinking about it for so long.

He allowed his fingers to wander up and down the expanse of your pussy, cataloging how you whined when he rubbed over your swollen clit and how you clenched down when he pushed at your entrance through the fabric covering it. He noticed how your stomach tensed as he teased his way across your lips, running his finger over each curve and ridge.

As if inspired by something divine, Jack pulled your panties taut, making them ride up into your cunt and provide some gratifying friction when you next ground down on his hand. Jack watched, eyes wide, as you chased your own pleasure. His hand was the catalyst and you were moving mindlessly, like he had already plucked every thought from your head and replaced it with desire for him.

“Fuck,” Jack choked out, feeling a spark zip up his spine. “Y/N.”

He said your name with such reverence, and flexed his hand against you like an offering.

“Fuck me,” You said. Your hands found Jack’s hair and you pressed your lips to his. “Jack. I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me, I can’t– oh, need you to make me come. Baby, I’m so close already, I need you.”

Jack’s cock was throbbing like he might burst from the slightest breeze. There it was again– “Baby.” It didn’t mean the same thing now, Jack knew it was more of a term of endearment than an insult, but it lit a fire under him nonetheless. He was going to prove to you that he wasn’t a baby, that he was a man and in this moment, you were his. He was going to fuck you hard, like you’d never imagined he was able to do. He was going to make your legs shake, make it so you couldn’t walk or do anything but sit prettily at your table and sip on another glass of wine to cool you off.

He was going to make it so that the next time he saw you, you’d be begging him to make you come again.

Jack let your feet find the floor again, stepping back just far enough to get his hands on his belt. “Strip,” Jack commanded. “I want to see you.” At the same time, he unbuckled his belt and worked to remove his dress pants. He kicked them away, in a crumpled little pile near his dress shirt. His underwear joined shortly after.

You hurried to remove your dress, eyes locked in on Jack’s cock. It was a burning red at the tip, wet and straining. It stood away from his body, solid and you swore you might’ve just felt some drool pool at the corner of your mouth.

His hand fisted his cock, eyes lasered in on your protruding nipples when you dropped your dress to reveal your body.

Jack sighed, stroking himself slowly to keep himself at bay. “You’re better than I dreamed,” He said, causing you to blush.

“Jack,” You whined, aching for him to come closer, to slide inside you.

“Let me.” Jack stepped forward and got to his knees, gently bringing your panties down and helping you out of them. He dropped a kiss on your clit before standing again.

You brought an arm around his neck, your other hand placed solidly on his chest. You could feel his pulse racing wildly beneath your palm and you suddenly remembered that he’d been waiting to do this for years.

“Come on, Jacky,” You voiced. “Prove yourself.”

It was a weak command, a weak insistence, barely any indicator of sureness in your voice now. Jack had turned you inside-out, made you question everything because you never imagined you’d need him the way you do now.

He practically growled and you could feel it rumble in his chest. He captured your lips with his, nibbling on your bottom lip before filling your mouth with his tongue. It was slippery and wet and it felt like magic.

Jack pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, feeling the head slide in. He stopped there for a minute, breathing deeply into your mouth to ground himself. He couldn’t disappoint you, wouldn’t dare shoot off early and cut short the night that he’d been fantasizing about since he was a teenager.

“So good,” You breathed out, feeding the words to Jack. He dipped his head and inched further into you, moving slowly until your pelvis connected with his.

“Fuck,” Jack whimpered out.

His thrusts started shallow. Jack felt like you were constricting him, squeezing him like a snake in a cartoon. His voice was caught in his throat like an ugly lump and the only noises that could force their way past it were groans and “uh”s that borderline on squeaky. He didn’t care about the noises, he didn’t care that he could be embarrassing himself in front of the girl he’s wanted for so long.

It didn’t matter to you, either– you were too caught up in the feeling of Jack’s cock sheathed inside of you. He was pressing against your most intimate spots and you could feel him throbbing inside of you, dragging delectably along your walls.

His thrusts grew deeper, became longer, harder. Jack’s hair fell into his eyes and you brushed it away. His eyes met yours and the air between you felt thick and charged. You brought your hand to Jack’s jaw and leaned forward, connecting your lips.

This kiss was different. It was soft, intimate. Your tongues slid against each other, licking into each others’ mouths and swallowing each others’ groans and whimpers. You forgot for a few minutes that you were in a closet at the wedding of a man you’d known since you were children, fucking a man that you swore you’d never touch because he’s too young.

That man was quickly proving that he’s one of the best fucks in your whole life.

Here he was, mouthing against your neck after moving away from your lips. He was making these desperate noises, thrusting into you like he’s taking a chance at something he’ll never have again. At the beginning of this night, you might have agreed that he’d never get another chance. Now, you can’t help but look forward to the next time you see him, when you’ll get your mouth on his thick, skillful cock.

You told him such, and Jack fucked you harder as a result. His hands clutched at your waist, fingertips destined to leave bruises.

His cock entering and leaving you caused the closet to fill with wet noises and the sound of the slapping of skin. That, paired with Jack’s pants and whines, pushed you further to the edge. Your climax wound up inside you, tense and heavy in your gut.

“Jack,” You said, voice pleading. “I’m close.”

A moan was ripped from Jack’s chest, sweat beading at his hairline. The look in his eyes was almost animalistic, capturing you in his gaze like you’re the only being that exists in the world.

“Please,” Jack panted out. “Come on my cock.”

The winding coil of your climax unravels as Jack continues to thrust his length into you, drawing himself almost completely out of you and then forcing his cock back into your cunt. Your release leaked down his shaft, coating him completely.

The vice grip of your pussy on his cock made Jack hesitate, made him stutter. He still didn’t want to shoot off, he didn’t want to fill you up with his come, because that meant that this would be over. His dream, journey, his conquest would be complete, and he’d have to find something else to lust after.

He knew in his heart that he was still just Jack, just a younger hockey guy who you’d known when he was pimply and stick-like, one who could never fit into your life the way he wished he could.

He’d almost rather torture himself, deny himself from his release, than have this end.

But end it must, and it ended with a breathy whisper of his name.

“Jack,” You mewled, twitching in oversensitivity.

“Oh,” He groaned as his cock jumped inside you, your walls milking him for everything he has. His eyelashes fluttered as you seemed suddenly re-energized, fucking yourself on his cock as he came inside you. It was like his come brought you to life, something too powerful and symbolic for him, and Jack closed his eyes at the thought.

You came down together, eyes finding each other intermittently in the darkness, only when the other wasn’t looking. Your breaths synched, unknowingly, as you dressed yourselves. You were close enough that your elbows could bump as you pulled your clothes on, but both of you were too conscious of the tension to let it happen.

You finished dressing yourself first and you looked over to Jack, feeling something close to awe as he buttoned his shirt and left some skin exposed. You were drawn to it, wanting to reach out and reveal the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the ridge of his waist again and get your mouth on him, but you couldn’t move.

The tension felt like molasses, thick and heavy. Jack’s eyes met yours and you knew that the emotion in his eyes reflected your own: that you knew everything had changed and you didn’t know if it was for the better or for the worse.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head. You made your way into his space, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a sweet, short kiss. You pressed something soft into his hands, then turned and left the closet, leaving Jack alone in the dark.

He didn’t know how you knew, but you had handed him your ruined panties. He slipped them into the pocket of his pants, mentally noting to find his suit jacket and move the panties to the inside pocket of that garment.

When he saw you again at the reception, almost a half an hour later, you were sipping a new glass of wine. Jack made eye contact with you over the glass and patted his pocket, the small lump of your panties still visible to those who looked closely, and he grinned to himself when he saw you blush.

He’d text you later that night, having bummed your number off of Brady years ago but never used it until now. It was a simple message, teasing and confident, bold like you had come to expect from Jack:

“lmk when u want to see what i can do w my tongue ;)”

note: this might just be my magnum opus. this is my favorite thing that i've written in ages. i had toooo much fun with this. ...will write a part 2 when jack DOES show her what he can do with his tongue... maybe paired with another recent request i got about jack's current injury and what he is or is not able to do with his shoulder.

P.S. I'm not married to the title of this. It was kind of just something I threw out there. They do not crash a wedding. Although their behavior is certainly dramatic & would disrupt the wedding.

#puck-luck's fics #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #andy writes anything🍄

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

SILENT PLEA

Part 1 of kinktober | main masterlist

Being a few feet away from your friends wasn’t going to stop you from seeking pleasure with your professor.

softdom!spencer x fem reader; Thigh-riding, teasing, semi-public, praise, age gap, power imbalance with teacher/student dynamic

words: 2,932

a/n: this one is dedicated to those who just wants to sit on his lap while being praised 🖤 (also i has to repost this bcs of some error it was so weird)

IT WAS HIS EYES. The rich, earthy tones of his irises with subtle flecks of amber and gold held a comforting warmth that seemed to radiate within, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You always found yourself captivated every time his gaze fell on you. It felt as if he had a secret language written in those brown orbs, one that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

Or it might've been his hands. You always knew he had nice, well-kept hands but the more you examined them, the more you noticed how enticing they truly were. The size of them always surprised you, as well as the length of his fingers, but it was the veins running along the backs of his hands that really made you dry at the mouth.

Maybe it was the age difference. The mature lines on his face, those crinkle lines around his eyes whenever he smiled only adding an appeal to his appearance. And the way he carried himself with a sense of authority was definitely a factor, one that never failed to make you weak in the knees.

But perhaps it was just him. All of him. The way he stood at his tall height. The way he laughed at his own joke. The way he spoke in his lectures—the enthusiasm palpable in his voice as he explained the difference between a trigger and a stressor while mentioning he was going to put them in the finals, something he shouldn't have probably done.

It was everything about him. His unruly hair. His tailored suit. His charming smile.

And there was the way that he called you, addressing your first name in a room full of people, yet every time you were alone with him, you felt special. You were always his good girl.

"You're such a good girl for me, you know that, right?"

You knew, because every time you did as you were told, he gave you more. More than what you wanted, more than what you needed. He knew you inside and out, and as much as you hated to admit what you were doing these past couple of months was deemed inappropriate, you still couldn't help it. Everything about him made you crave more.

That was why you found yourself perched on his lap after class. It was wrong on so many levels. Not only was it unprofessional for a faculty member to be sexually involved with a student, it was also looked down upon to be in a relationship with someone almost twice your age. But temptation won over rational thoughts, and you had to admit, the professor you had a crush on ever since he introduced himself in front of the class, was really good at tempting you.

"Spence..." You sighed out, hips squirming along his lap. Each of your legs was on either side of his thigh, and you sat there, waiting for him to do something because you were desperate. How could you not when he had been eying you throughout this morning? The subtle glint of mischief wasn't lost on you when he spoke in front of you and your peers, and now that you were finally alone with him, you wanted his undivided attention.

Spencer's hands gripped your thighs as his eyes swept along your body. They momentarily paused on the low dip of your shirt, your cleavage visible for his own pleasure, before he glanced back up to your face.

"We don't have much time," he reminded, yet his hands were sliding up your skirt. And he was right, there wasn't enough time. Staying in his class after everyone had left wasn't exactly ideal, but it didn't stop you from locking the door before you practically climbed on top of him. You knew his next class was about to start in fifteen—no, thirteen minutes. You had already spent the two minutes waiting impatiently for him to touch you.

Now you couldn't leave this room without having a part of him. You needed him, every fiber in your body was screaming for him, and if you had to beg for him to comply with your needs, you would gladly do it in a heartbeat.

"Please." Your voice was barely a whisper, yet he still heard you loud and clear. "I-I need you."

Your breath hitched as his thumb stroked along the outline of your underwear and it took a lot of self-control for you not to whine pathetically. "Yeah? Tell me what you need then."

You paused, opting to choose the right words that wouldn't sound so vulgar because, with the way your body was reacting, you could only think of wild, explicit things. Your eyes settled on his face, sinking in the way he was watching you intensely, and your words abruptly stopped at the tip of your tongue.

"Go on, use your words," he urged. "Tell me what you want me to do."

You let out a trembling sigh. Everything about him was already consuming you, but the moment his hands danced along your sides, you knew you had to have more. Lust surged within you like a relentless tide, pulling you deeper into its intoxicating depths. It was a feverish, aching hunger that clawed at your insides, demanding satisfaction. The simple warmth radiating from his hands gripping your thighs just wasn't enough. So you braved yourself and leaned closer, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"I-I want you to touch me."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "But I am touching you."

You looked at him through your lashes, biting down your bottom lip. "More," you pleaded. "Please."

He hummed a reply, his hands slowly leaving your hips before they trailed under your blouse, traveling up the length of your body before stopping right on your breasts. Your senses danced with anticipation, every nerve alert and quivering, as his hands cupped each flesh, squeezing them ever so slightly as you felt a thumb brush across a nipple over the thin layer of your bra.

"Like this?" All you could manage was a tiny nod and his smile grew wider. You couldn't help but buckle your hips when he rolled your nipples between his fingers, playing with them in a seductive tease.

"What else do you want?" He gently asked. You noticed the way his voice began to descend, gradually sinking into a deeper tone, and your eyes instinctively fell on his mouth. His lips were a perfect balance between fullness and subtlety. It was gently curved and so inviting that you wanted to feel the shape of them right against yours.

"I..." you started, your voice in a breathless whisper. "I want you to kiss me."

He let out a pleased sound, slowly sliding his hands out of your shirt. "I can definitely do that."

And then he was moving forward, pressing his lips to yours, caging you in with strong hands on either side of your face. You instantly melted like a puddle. You were ice and he was the sun, and the mere taste of him had your body dissipate in his arms.

He teased your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, lightly tracing the pink skin until your mouth parted in invitation. You moan quietly as the taste of him—faint traces of coffee and something incredibly sweet—greeted you. His tongue slid against yours, hot and eager to taste you as pleasure surged throughout your body.

Spencer slowly pulled away, trailing his lips down your neck before he sucked on the spot right under your ear. You could practically feel the smile against your skin as his hands traveled down your arms, holding you gently as he whispered, "Tell me what else you want."

The ache between your legs was too much to handle. A simple kiss was enough for your body to burn with lust. You needed the pleasure, you needed the release, and he was the only one who could give it to you. He was the only one who knew your body as if you were made exactly for him to ravish. Your eyes smoldered with an insatiable longing and your breath came in shallow, hurried gasps, each one a desperate plea for fulfillment.

It was now or never.

"I want you to fuck me."

He leaned back, if he was surprised by your choice of words, he didn't show it. Instead, he let out a sigh as his hands continued to move down your sides again. "Oh, sweetheart, it's not that I don't want to, but we both know I would need more than..." His eyes swept over the watch around his wrist. "...eight minutes to fuck you properly."

Your breath hitched in your throat, then you watched as the curve of his lip turned upwards into a teasing smile.

"But I can't leave my sweet girl all desperate like this, can I?" Then his hands were back on your hips. "Why don't you ride my thigh instead?"

Your face heated up at the suggestion while your mouth slipped out a desperate whimper. Your skin flushed with a warm, feverish glow, and the world around you faded into obscurity as desire became your sole focus.

You were hesitant, but you were also desperate to find your release, so your body started moving on its own, hips rutting against the roughness of his pants. Pressing the growing heat surging between your legs onto his thigh sent a shiver in your system.

Much to his pleasure, Spencer's mouth stretched out into a thin and permissive smile, unable to hide his satisfaction. "That's it," he praised, fingers digging into your hips. His raspy voice only made you burn with red-hot desire. "Keep going."

Following his words, you moved your pelvis. What started out lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction, grinding yourself against his leg with such fervor. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

Attempting to catch your breath, you buried your face into the crook of his neck to suppress your mewls of arousal as best as you could. But as he continued to massage your hips and manually move you back and forth on his leg, the effort quickly became useless.

"This feels good, doesn't it?" He murmured. "It's so cute how easily you get off with just my thigh, don't you think?" He said, giving your ass cheeks a firm squeeze.

You breathed his name as your eyes fluttered to a close. You grind your hips harder down onto his thigh, gasping against his lips when your clit caught on the material of his pants. Your toes curl as the fierce heat of pleasure overtook your senses. You were greedy with it, chasing after that spark as you rocked your hips steadily, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Doing so well for me," he whispered against your ear, hands gripping your hips as you rubbed yourself against his thigh quickly. He smiled when a soft, strangled moan escaped your parted lips, which encouraged him even more. "Look at you, drooling over my leg."

And just to prove his point, he pushed your skirt up along your legs until its material lay loosely around your waist. His eyes took in the sight of you. The way you were grinding against his leg frantically, the thin fabric of your underwear pressing between your throbbing cunt from the constant friction, slightly showing off soft, bare skin glistening under the light.

"So fucking wet," he mused, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he watched you drenching him. "Just the way I like it."

It felt as if you were floating, so pleasurably dizzy it turned your head to mush. It was hard to keep yourself upright, eyes rolling back, body nearly giving out. And the wisest thing to do for you was to stop because you could imagine the mess you were making. You could also imagine the wet patch of your arousal staining his pants, visible for everyone to see.

"P-People will talk," you whispered between bated breaths.

"Let them." He rocked your hips forward, encouraging you to move faster. "Let them know your sweet pussy made this mess on me."

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. You rolled your hips again, and the beginnings of something heady and sweet swelled within you. But in that heat of the moment, a sudden hush fell over the room, and your heightened senses caught the faint sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Your body stilled, every muscle tensed, and your breathing became shallow as you strained to listen to the distant murmur of voices.

Spencer suddenly leaned closer and ran the tips of his teeth along the outer shell of your ear once he felt your momentum slow. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You shuddered in response and found your pace again, faster and longer, continuing to knead yourself against his thigh. But then the sudden jolt of the doorknob sent a bolt of panic through you.

"It's locked," a muffled voice echoed from behind the door. "Isn't class supposed to start soon?"

Your ears perked up at the familiar voice before a second voice chimed in, yet still holding a familiarity you also recognized. "Is he not here yet?"

A small groan escaped your lips. There was no denying who those voices belonged to. They were your friends, albeit not that close, yet you were still acquainted with them and the thought of having people you knew standing a few feet away from you while you continued to rut your hips against him was making your head delirious.

"Do you know them?"

You nodded helplessly.

"Then maybe you should keep your voice down," he suggested, holding you closer to him. "Don't want them to know what you're doing in here, do you?"

He noticed the way your body stiffened.

"Or is that what gets you off?" He asked. "Your friends standing a few feet away while you're grinding desperately on your professor?" His hand sits on your lower back, drifting down to the tops of your ass, forcing you to rut forward.

It was so, so wrong, yet you couldn't stop the pleasure coursing through your veins at the possibility of being caught. The knowledge that your friends were just outside, on the brink of discovering your intimate moment, added an exhilarating layer to your pleasure.

"Spencer," you whined. "Please."

"Naught minx," he mumbled. "I think I like seeing you like this."

Suddenly, he jerked his leg up, catching you off guard and you whined instantly, unprepared to counter the pressure pushing up onto your sore cunt. Muffled cries of ecstasy escaped your lips, your teeth clenched in a futile attempt to hold back your moan.

It didn't take long until a pulsating warmth began to radiate from the pit of your stomach. Each passing second brought a rising crescendo, a mounting tension that threatened to shatter your composure. You whimpered, thighs shaking slightly as you continued the abuse toward your clit, somehow the material of his pants made the stimulation even better and it almost caused you to lurch forward in shock.

"That's it, use me," he encouraged. "So, so good for me. My sweet girl."

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. The intensity of it all was almost unbearable, and yet, you craved more, grinding yourself harder. Your muscles tightened, your breath quickened, your skin prickled with anticipation, and nothing could have prepared you for his next words.

"Cum on my thigh and I'll let you cum around my cock tonight."

That was it. You were instantly gone. The thought of having him stretching you was quickly engraved in your brain. The mental image of you spasming around his cock was enough for you to surrender into a blissful mess. The conversation outside continued and you made a concerted effort to keep your voice down, as waves of pleasure surged through you, causing your limbs to tremble and your muscles to spasm.

It wasn't until the sound of footsteps finally retreating from outside that a wave of relief ran through you, yet your breath still came in ragged gasps as he helped you ride out your orgasm and held you in place, making small ruts against himself with your spastic thighs gripping around him tighter.

"Oh my god—" he pulled you in for a kiss. Spencer's mouth devoured you, hot with a passion that made you dizzy. You whined into his mouth and bucked against him, little whimpers filling his throat. Then you felt his tongue on your bottom lip; you puckered your mouth, letting his tongue invade every corner of your entrance as a thrilling sensation shot right through your veins, finally riding out your orgasmic bliss.

When he finally pulled away, he watched as a string of saliva fell against your lips. He reached out and wiped the bottom of your lip with his thumb as his eyes glazed over your red and sweaty face. They flickered from your face down to your lower half as well as your equally drenched thighs. Yet despite the disheveled state of your hair and the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, you radiated a raw and untamed beauty.

Spencer always thought you were beautiful, but nothing could compare to the sight before him. Your once-pristine hair was tumbled in disarray around your shoulders, framing your flushed face. Your eyes, half-closed and smoky with desire, held an irresistible allure that seemed to draw him closer with every glance. Then there were your lips, kissed to a plush, inviting fullness, beckoned with a promise of lingering sweetness. You looked wrecked, like a hot, beautiful mess.

And he couldn't wait to ravish you tonight.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader

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yunhoszn · 11 months ago

Text

steamed milk

pairing choi san x f!reader word count 2.5k genres fluff﹒smut warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, not proofread, all lowercase bc i wrote this at 2 am… a week ago <3, barista!reader, barista!san, clumsy reader, mentions of burn scars?, mutual pining, little bit of power imbalance but it doesn’t play into the plot, escalates pretty fast, public sex, unprotected sex, cute fluffy moment at the end, may we get f’s in the chat for kim hongjoong’s desk chair

summary a closing shift with san is… interesting… to say the least.

more alright alright alright, i know i have a billion wips and a billion reqs to work on,,, but @bro-atz needed something to read on a flight and i needed an excuse to write with no plot in mind, solely based on vibes and this is what came out of it… i ALSO KNOW i’ve been withholding for a week but that’s bc i wasn’t sure if i wanted to keep this locked in the dungeon for a rainy day or not, until i remembered i should post something in honor of chellateez 🥳

@atzhouse @san-network

“did you burn yourself on the steam wand again, y/n?”

you bite your lip and turn away from hongjoong bashfully. so what if you’re a little clumsy, it’s not like you completely sucked at your job. maybe there were a few milk spills here and there. at least you knew what you were doing most of the time.

“um, what would you do if i said no?” you scratch the back of your neck with the hand that wasn’t burned. hongjoong sighs, leaning back in his rolling chair. as the manager of a coffee shop, he did not get paid enough to babysit and coddle his employees like he usually did.

between you almost always making a mess and then yunho and mingi goofing around whenever they were on shift together, he felt like he was starting to grow grey hairs. he shakes his head with a tsk, pulling out the first aid kit from one of the drawers in his desk. “let’s put some burn cream and a bandaid on it so you can hop back out. the dessert rush is about to begin.”

you nod and rock on the balls of your feet as you wait patiently. your manager dresses your burn and sends you on your way. the dessert rush, aside from the morning rush, was arguably the worst part of the day. shifts at the coffee shop were divided into thirds— open to mid, mid to evening, evening to close. while opens were the most busy, you at least got out early and could enjoy the rest of your day. mids were the slowest, but they took place midday so you couldn’t do much after you clocked off.

closes were the worst, because they were so unpredictable. you weren’t ever sure if it was going to be busy, apart from the usual dessert rush, and that uncertainty bothered you. the beginning of your closing shift was staffed pretty well. there was yeosang, who was probably the best barista out of the lot of you, and seonghwa, a seasoned veteran in this game. he was your assistant manager.

however, yeosang and seonghwa were off at 6 PM and the shop closed at 9 PM, leaving you and your lead for the night to close all by yourselves. and your lead? choi san.

closing with san wouldn’t be such a problem if it weren’t for your massive crush on him. out of the other leads, san was the kindest. he didn’t lose his cool if your clumsy nature got the best of you during a hectic shift. in fact, he took his time to ensure everything was okay. he didn’t care if there were angry customers demanding that their drinks be made. his baristas were his number one priority.

and well, with his appearance today, it would be more difficult than usual. donned in a white button up and some black slacks, his brown apron over, you think you’re going to faint. on a regular basis, san wore simple things like the occasional sweater or t-shirts and jeans, but this new look was making you all sorts of dizzy. you felt inferior beside him. (though technically, you were.)

with hongjoong, seonghwa, and yeosang leaving all at the same time, you were in a crisis. how were you supposed to survive this shift? it’s like the universe meticulously crafted this moment so it could laugh at you. and it all started with you burning yourself on that goddamn steam wand, while you were on bar with san of all people.

“are you sure you don’t want me to send you home?” san asks lowly, making sure only you heard him. the two of you were finishing an order when he asked the question.

“i couldn’t let you close by yourself.” you pout. as hard as it’s going to be working with him alone for three hours, you’d feel awful leaving him to fend for himself.

“i can ask yeo or hwa to stay,” he shrugs, putting a lid on the iced vanilla latte in front of you. “i don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“i’ll be fine, san,” you reassure. “besides, seonghwa would probably kill me if i was the reason he had to stay later than he had to.”

san laughs a little, eyes scrunching up in the cute way they do when he smiles. your heart rate spikes and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. he nods as he turns to hand out the order.

“if you insist.”

maybe you should’ve taken him up on that offer to go home.

you’re too distracted by the way his rolled up sleeves strain against his muscular arms, staring a little too much. hongjoong just so happens to walk out of the back at that exact moment. he thinks your (very obvious) crush on san is funny, but not when the line is wrapped and you’re about to be down two men.

“y/n, there’s five drinks waiting to be made,” he calls out, tapping on seonghwa and yeosang’s shoulders to let them know they can go. “what’s more important that has you standing there doing nothing?”

“sorry…” you apologize sheepishly, avoiding his gaze as you start on the next order; a dry cappuccino with cinnamon. great. another drink that required you using that godforsaken steam wand. a truly evil contraption.

“i can be milk if you’d like?” san suggests suddenly, noticing your hesitation to steam the 2%.

“if it’s not too much of an ask,” you frown. “i just don’t want to hold us back in the middle of a rush.”

“you don’t need to explain yourself to me, y/n,” he quickly swaps places with you. “i think you’re pretty damn good with a portafilter anyway.”

it’s a stupid compliment. only another barista would even know what that meant, but you take it to heart. your body flushes with warmth as you tamp the espresso grounds and pull a shot viable enough to use for the cappuccino. you’re a little shaky as you pour it into the paper cup and wait for san to pour the milk.

this was the closest you’d get to flirting with san, and it was him telling you that you were actually good at your job. what a sad life you lived.

thankfully, you manage to bulldoze through the line with just the two of you. in times like these, your solution is to go nonverbal and lock in. if you talk while you’re making drinks, you get distracted too easily and you find it’s harder to multitask. after the rush, things are slow for the most part and then it’s just you, san, and the sound of cafe music playing quietly over the speakers at 9 PM.

“y/n, can i ask you a question?” san inquires, counting the till as you wipe down the espresso machine and the bar around it.

“what’s up?” you hum, refolding your rag. he shuts the register and walks over to you, leaning on the bar adjacent to the one you were at.

“i’m curious, and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, but i’ve heard that you like me. is that true?” it comes out so politely, you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. you blink as the words process in your brain. this was the end. now you really wished you went home early.

“well— um— i don’t know how to answer that…” you fiddle with your fingers, looking everywhere but at san.

“all i want is a yes or no, because truth is,” he walks closer and closer until he’s directly in front of you. “i have a little crush on you myself.”

“you what?!” you don’t mean to sound so shocked, so appalled even, because he takes a step back, eyes widened by your outburst. you’re just so confused. choi san liked you? like, liked you?

“i’ll take that as a—“

“no!” you stand upright, grabbing his wrist. when you realize what you’ve done, you immediately let go. “i mean, no, as in yes. i do like you, san. i was just… embarrassed… that you found out from elsewhere instead of me. and i’m a little in disbelief that you feel the same.”

“why’s that?” his head tilts to the side a bit. “what’s not to like about you?”

“for starters, i’m the biggest klutz on the planet.” you huff, but that makes his smile grow wider.

“i think that’s your charming point,” he admits, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “while i don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, like when you burned yourself earlier, i do think it’s kinda cute when you accidentally knock over a drink.”

“are you okay in the head? were you dropped on it as a baby?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. he laughs, this time a full on laugh that has him bringing a fist up to his mouth. you think you just shed a tear. and not from your eyes.

“i don’t believe so. i guess i’m just attracted to people who aren’t afraid of being themselves,” he shrugs, reaching out to take your hand into his. “and you check all the boxes.”

remember the whole fainting thing? that’s about to come true. you manifested it.

san brings your knuckles up to his lips, first kissing over the bandaid where your burn was and then all over the back of your hand. you stand there like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing but no words escaping you. was the universe… rewarding you somehow?

“how often does joong check the cameras?” you gasp when his kisses have moved from your hand to your neck. he doesn’t break contact, speaking into your skin as he unties your apron.

“almost never, but you have a point.”

this is how you end up on san’s lap in hongjoong’s office chair, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips locked like no tomorrow. he was a fantastic kisser, which just further proved your theory that he was the perfect human being. along with the subtle flirting, and the obvious knack for respecting boundaries, it’s almost like the universe had hand crafted choi san to be the ideal man. and they say chivalry is dead. pft, san’s existence dispels that notion undoubtedly.

“he won’t know, right?” you pant, arching into him when he sucks at a particular part on the base of your throat. he hums.

“you’re worrying too much,” san’s fingers slip under your top, digging into your waist. “i promise, he won’t find out. but we’ve gotta be quick since he’ll know what time we left.”

“m’kay,” you sigh, grinding down on his lap to help speed things along. the undressing process is a blur. you wish you could spend more time admiring his bare chest and arms, especially because you’d been fantasizing about this moment for almost an entire year now.

“god, you’re so gorgeous, y/n,” he murmurs, reconnecting your lips sweetly. his hands massage the sides of your thighs as you hover over him, preparing to sink down on his cock. “i finally have you all to myself.”

you whine when you do, his words encouraging your arousal. the intrusion has you moaning softly, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer pleasure streaming through your veins. your nails scrape his shoulders and back, toes curling. the tip of his dick grazes that sensitive spot deep in your cunt with ease, as if he was made to be inside of you.

“feels— fuck— feels so good, san,” you whimper, head falling to the crook of his neck. san chuckles, albeit a little strained. his hands remain in your hips, aiding your movement so you don’t get too tired.

“is that right, sweetheart?” he says into your ear, nipping the lobe gently. “you’re taking me so well.”

his praise shoots straight to your core, punching another moan out of you. you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s inching you towards the edge of that familiar tide so fast. it’s san, and like you’ve stated before, he’s damn near perfect. but holy shit, the way he’s fucking you has you thinking that there is such a thing as heaven.

you have to bite down on his collarbone to stop yourself from screaming like a fucking pornstar, leaving a myriad of marks on his skin to restrain the ferality threatening to jump out of you. every drag of his cock on your velvety walls drives you just a little more insane each time.

he’s moving so slow, but so deep all at once, and it’s just the right combination to decorate the backs of your eyelids in stars and colored spots. his ring and middle fingers meet your swollen clit, circling with practiced pressure. the office chair squeaks awfully with each of your bounces on his lap, but you’re too close to pay it any mind. instead, you drown it out with your own noises— warnings of your impending orgasm.

“gonna cum— my god, san, i’m—!” you don’t even finish your sentence, the tide finally reaching the shore. your orgasm washes over you hard and unlike any other you’ve ever experienced before. you aren’t sure if he’s just that good, or if it’s because it’s san. (most likely a combination of both.)

san coos, guiding you through the peak of your climax. once you’ve calmed considerably, you slide him out of you and stroke his cock until he’s painting the inside of your thighs with milky white and a groan. his face screws up in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and brows knit together. his lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks and you think you’ve just fallen in love, for real.

his chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath. you can’t help placing a hand over the left side to feel the rapidity of his heartbeat, smiling to yourself. he mirrors your expression after a moment, leaning up to press a sensual kiss to your lips.

“as fun as this was, and as much as i like the view right now, it’d be better if i could actually take you out after this… and if i could fuck you somewhere nicer than on our manager’s desk chair.” san bites at the inside of his lip, glancing down at the rolling chair beneath you.

“i agree,” you giggle, brushing his hair from his face. “hongjoong’s office isn’t the ideal location for a first date or first time sleeping together. but at least we’ll have a fun story to tell our kids.”

san bursts into laughter at that. “our kids, huh? you’ve thought that far ahead?”

“i’ve had a crush on you since i got hired, choi san, what do you think?” you raise an eyebrow, booping his nose with your index finger. he scrunches it up with a grin.

“i think that i’ve had a crush on you just as long. and if we’re having kids, it’s best to omit some details when we retell this story.”

#atzhouse #san network #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san smut #yunhoszn

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 5 months ago

Note

helloo! idk if youre taking requests, but if you do i was thinking of revenge era gee with fem reader who is also a well know singer. like shes on tour and does some festival mcr is playing at and shes really mainstream so the guys dont have high expectations on her music but then they watch her play and they're like "fuck, she actually does know what shes doing" and somehow her and gee exchange numbers and start texting all day long bc theyre both on tour

idk if this makes any sense tbh.

i saw one picture of ts on the red tour that looks like if it was taken with a shitty flip phone and thought of this somehow

anyway, feel free to ignore this and have a good day :D

Title: Happily Ever Accident

A/N: Hey y'all I know it's been actually forever but I saw this in my inbox and thought it was cute so managed to somehow write this amidst midterms season. Idk how but it happened. It's also not thoroughly proof-read because tbh I'm tried and lazy right now. But here's some content for y'all for once. Also, side note, but as I was writing this I was visioning reader as a Sabrina Carpenter-esc figure. Just in the sense of popularity, stage presence, etc. Pairing: Gerard Way (circa mid-2005) x F!PopStar!Reader Word count: 7,978 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of insecurity

Low expectations. The constant standard he had set for almost every single festival his band was expected to play.

It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t like other people’s music, or festivals for that matter, but considering the label had cornered them into a small handful of non-genre restrictive ones he was annoyed. The culture, the vibes, the people- this was not his place. Not his band’s place, for that matter.

But commercialism was the name of the game, he had learned that early on. He was lucky enough the label had allowed their last album to be artistically driven by him, from songs and lyrics to the artwork on the cover. But there is always a quid-pro-quo in the entertainment industry. And playing at a mainstream festival was apparently one of them.

They wouldn’t have agreed to this had their last music video not gone over budget by a significant amount, and now they were paying the price. On top of that the label had encouraged them to be in public, watch other bands play from the VIP tents. Gerard narrowly lost his shit after trying time and time again explain that they needed time to prep for their show, get in the proper mindset, and that would take all the morning into late afternoon when they were finally on. The label exec begged to differ, giving no ultimatum.

“Fucking hell, if we have to listen to another fucking basic pop artist I’m going to lose my mind.” Frank sighed walking through the festival grounds. The group was by no means blending in, as three security guards stood around them and they could easily hear and see people left and right gawking at them as if they were circus animals.

“Good fucking luck with that.” Ray replied. He was never the sarcastic type, if anything he was the most mature and level-headed. So when he had enough, everyone knew it was bad.

“We have one more.” Gerard too sighed, sticking his hands aggressively in his jean pockets. “Then we’re off the fucking hook.” The group took sighs of relief out of sync.

“Who is it?” Frank asked, seeming halfway curious.

“Uh-“ Gerard stopped, checking his phone to see what their manager had texted them. “Great. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Fuck me.” Frank sighed. “My head is going to fucking explode. Listen, I like all music, but I cannot do this much commercial, manufactured pop.”

“I don’t know, her stuff doesn’t seem as bad as some of the others.” Mikey chimed in for the first time.

“How would you know? I’ve only heard her shit in Targets.” Frank speedily replied.

“Social media, I guess. Enough sound clips from her songs have blown up to make them pretty hard to miss.”

“I’m still keeping my expectations low.” Frank shrugged.

“It’s the last one, try to be somewhat positive.” Ray replied halfheartedly.

“We’re never going over budget on anything again.” Gerard quickly added, turning a corner to the next stage’s area. “I can’t fucking do this.”

She got nervous before shows. She was great at hiding it. But in the last few weeks every festival she was playing had crowds growing bigger and bigger. From what her manager had communicated to her approximately two minutes ago, she had the biggest recorded crowd so far for the second day.

Staring at herself in the mirror of the green room, she pushed every bad thought out of her mind. She even closed her eyes and imagined all the bad energy within her swooping out of her body in swirls of dust and being replaced with positive rays of sunshine. It might’ve been stupid, but it worked.

She opened her eyes, putting on her signature smile, looked herself up and down, reminded herself that she was incredibly sexy at the moment, and b-lined it for the door.

Anxiety be damned, her ambitions had gotten her this far and would get her further, she knew that much. She was happy at this point to be thrown into the group of “pop girlies” currently dominating the charts, because it meant she was catering to an already large fan base, and proving others wrong in their assumptions too.

Give a girl some platform boots, a tight outfit where the tops integrity around her chest was questionable, and a microphone- then you’ve got a pop star.

Gerard stood there amazed. He could not fucking believe it.

Three songs in and he was mesmerized. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked with her or himself. He was trying to rack his brain for reasons to not like this, and blank answers came up time and time again.

To begin with, her songs were substantially above average for pop. They had creative instrumentals, catchy sounds, and her lyrics were truly the star of the show.

But then he took into account her as a person. She was quite attractive, sure. He had seen her enough online and in magazines to see at least that much, but he was sure most of the male population and a decent amount of the female population also saw that. But here, in this light, in that tight little outfit that showed off all the right things just enough to give a good idea, but still leave a good amount to the imagination, he was falling head over heels.

He was almost flustered with her perfection in his eyes, having to catch himself to make sure wasn’t staring like a dog at a bone. After all, there were enough people around to know him and take photos, which would lead to massive and weird speculation online that he simply didn’t want to deal with.

And her stage presence was empowering. She was confident, not selfish. She was sexy as much as she was innocent. She was clear in her intentions and messages, just as much when she left some ideas not fully complete to leave people longing and wondering.

Suddenly he understood all the teenage girls in the audience. She was fucking incredible.

“Told you.” Mikey said next to him with a smirk. It was hard for Gerard to look away from her, but he did. “Don’t always believe stereotypes man. You out of all people should know better.”

“That really wasn’t so bad after all.” Frank shrugged as the group walked back to their own green room, hidden in an array of tents set up on the edge of the festival grounds.

“Yeah, but standing in the heat for that long was exhausting.” Ray commented next, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He was always tense until they got all the equipment set up and knew everything was going to go right.

“I don’t know man, that last show kinda rocked.” Mikey responded. “Been trying to tell you guys that not all pop artists are that bad.”

“Well, a lot of them are.” Frank quickly rebutted. “However, you are right, that last one was incredible. I just thought having a girlfriend who obsesses over pop music had gotten to your head.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

Gerard was silent, partially because he didn’t really have anything to say, and partially because he was hanging on to the last show. He learned through years of art school and sketching under cubicle lights that some of the best art was clear as day yet still left you thinking. That was how he felt at the moment. Dwelling in the really astounding feeling he had.

She had single handedly proved a lot of his fallacies wrong. And he saw with his very eyes how she managed to go from half the crowd being into her to the master tools her voice and movement had that puppeteer the crowd like a pro. Who was he kidding though- she clearly was a pro.

Turning a corner he was so lost in his thoughts, his body in auto drive and his vision turned to the cement ground. He knew he needed to stop thinking soon, get in the right headspace for his own show- and then he bumped into something.

His body lost a bit of its control as his right arm collided with something a bit smaller than him. Suddenly he regained all his consciousness as his stabled his footing again, turning his body to see what it was.

And there, low and behold, in those damn platform boots and an oversized hoodie that went so far down her thighs it was a dress, was the very woman who had captured his mind just minutes ago. She was lingering within him, and now she was right here.

Fate works in strange ways.

“Shit, I’m so sorry-“ She began, regaining her own balance as she clearly took more of a hit than he did given that she was shorter and had boots that, despite looking like they weighed a ton, he doubted helped to ground her any more.

“No, that was my fault.” He quickly interrupted, growing embarrassed as she looked up and he realized he had managed to be rude to her in the last 30 seconds not once but twice. “I should’ve been looking out.”

“Me too.” She calmly replied with a small smile, handing this with so much grace and calmness compared to his internal panic.

This close she managed to look even better than on the screens. Photos and videos didn’t do her beauty justice. She looked almost like a doll- near perfect features, beautiful hair, and a smile that was so comforting and cute and graceful. Her makeup was almost as perfect as it was when she went on, but her mascara was ever so smeared around the corner of her eyes, her lipstick fading, and hell- his mind couldn’t help but wander to a place where he wondered what it would be like if he had put her in this state. And then he shut those thoughts up as quickly as they appeared, choosing instead to wonder how anyone could be more perfect.

“I um- I better get going and leave you guys to get to your show.” She quickly said, but froze up not even a moment later, her eyes growing wide with embarrassment of her own. “Shit that was weird wasn’t it? I don’t know you but- well I do, kinda, but like not personally. I mean knowing your music and band and-“ she stopped talking not knowing what to say, her body almost shrinking in a sense of even more embarrassment. “Fuck. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Gerard gave a chuckle and a smile of his own. He felt better now that both of them felt embarrassed.

“No, it’s okay.” He replied. “We’re just coming from your show, actually.” Somehow she froze even more. He could tell under that huge gray hoodie her muscles had tensed further.

“Oh, uh, I hope you enjoyed it.” She softly smiled, polite but seeming almost nervous. Why was he so bad about talking to women, especially pretty ones?

“It was phenomenal, actually.” He replied, nervous himself and instinctively rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. There was already a thin layer of sweat connecting back there from standing in the heat for so long. But he didn’t care about that nor how he would survive the heat on his stage later- all he cared about right now was not completely fucking up this interaction with the woman in front of him.

“Are you just saying that to be nice?” She asked with a pouty lip as she clearly questioned the integrity of his response. He rapidly shook his head.

“No, of course not. I don’t lie- ever. If anything I went into the show not knowing much- not in a bad way, I mean kinda in an ignorant way if I’m being honest, and you just- fuck, man, the way you controlled that crowd was so exciting and empowering. It truly was incredible.”

Her face looked like a damn puppy dog begging for a treat. If he weren’t human he would have definitely melted by that look. Big eyes and a genuine smile, her cheeks big and emphasizing her reaction.

“That’s really sweet, thank you so much.” She replied, yet again with grace that he wished he had in these moments. “I um- while I would love to talk more I need to take a shower. I feel so sticky and just- gross. But it was really nice talking to you. And thanks so much for watching me, I really appreciate the feedback.”

His heart broke just a bit.

“Yeah, of course.” He replied, and before he could think he blurted out. “You’re more than welcome to come to ours as well, I mean I’m sure you have the artist VIP tent access, but if you wanna get closer I can definitely arrange a barricade pass for you.”

Her eyes lit up and glowed in a way he wished he could see every single day.

“That’s amazing!” She replied. “Would it be selfish to ask for one more too? My best friend is here and she likes you guys too-“

“Consider it done.” He smiled as she smiled back. “I’ll have my manager send them over to your trailer.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” She replied.

“It’s the least I can do. Returning the favor of watching your show and providing feedback.”

“Does that mean I need to take notes for yours and give them to you too?” She asked with a playful smile. Just now he noticed the water bottle in her hand with a straw as she took a sip and damn- he quickly erased all the dirty thoughts that rushed into his mind before it was too late.

“Only if you want to.” Where had this confidence in him come from? He didn’t even know. But right now it was working, and that was all that mattered. Yet again, his body thought before his mind as he said, “Give me your number and we can arrange a meetup. To, ya know, exchange notes and whatnot.”

She seemed flustered, but hid it well. However, the red blush growing on her cheeks and her face that froze yet again for a mere moment told him maybe she wasn’t all that good at this either. But hey, there was a learning opportunity for both of them, he supposed.

“Sure.” She said, as he grabbed his phone, handing it to her as she quickly typed it in.

Y/F/N Y/L/N it read on his screen, the line of numbers under it.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/F/N.” He smiled.

“You too-“ She said, but stopped herself. “I know your first name but I don’t want to say it before you do because that’s creepy.”

He let out a genuine laugh.

“Gerard.” He said.

“Gerard.” She replied. “I’ll see you later, Gerard.”

“So what you’re telling me is Gerard Way wants to fuck you?” Lacey asked her. But she supposed this is why people had best friends- to be both supportive, honest, and borderline crude all at the same time.

“I don’t know if he wants to fuck me-“

“He wants to ‘exchange notes’ on your shows? Code words for ‘come back to my trailer and let’s have sex’.” She said with confidence, sitting down and scrolling through her own phone as Y/F/N changed into a solid black hoodie and jeans to not make her presence obvious. Their show was not about her, and she hoped her presence wouldn’t make it about her.

“Well, I don’t just fuck guys. And I’ll be happy to tell him that if he tries. But he seemed very sweet, and all the interviews of him lean towards him being a very nice guy.” Y/F/N responded quickly, borderline defensive.

“Nice guys can have hookups too, ya know.” Lacey said. She wasn’t wrong, but Y/F/N swore this felt different.

“Regardless, that’s not happening with me.”

“Preach, sister.” Lacy said with a bit of pop in her voice. “If what you’re saying is true, it did sound like you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“We talked for like two minutes. I barely know him, he barely knows me.” Y/F/N rolled her eyes, expertly reapplying her lip gloss in a small mirror.

“Do you know that amount of men after your shows that would fall on their knees and beg for you?” Lacey asked, finally looking up from her phone to make eye contact in the mirror.

“Whatever.” Y/F/N sighed. “I’m just excited we have barricade to a My Chem show. How long have we been wanting to see them?”

“A solid year.” Lacey admitted, standing up to find her shoes. “I’m still not over Gerard Way wanting to fuck you, though.”

Y/F/N was sure rumors would be circulating by morning. As soon as she entered the VIP barricade area alongside Lacey, there was a sudden eruption of screams, and as she looked over a sea of phones were taking photos and videos of her. She gave a polite smile and wave before turning back around towards the stage, hoping as soon as the band got on the attention was going to divert away from her.

Damn her for thinking having a black hoodie on with the hood up would prevent this.

Within minutes though, as the lights on the stage went pitch black and screams from the entire crowd erupted she knew that finally she could just enjoy seeing a band she really liked play from right in front of her. Perks of being a pop star or whatever.

She had to admit that the in-person performance easily knocked any of the recorded ones she saw online out of the fucking park. And while Gerard Way had always been objectively attractive, and happened to be the skinny sad white boy that was her type for whatever reason, he looked really attractive in this light. Like a new skin of confidence took over him. Maybe it was the tight black skinny jeans or fake bullet proof vest with no shirt on under it that perfectly sculpted his lightly muscular arms- and damn the hands. Masculine hands were one of her weaknesses. And his very much fit into that category.

So did she have any notes after the show? No, actually. It was exactly what she had expected, but two fold. She was left amazed and energized as they walked off.

If he really wanted to compare notes with her he was going to be sorely disappointed in the lack of notes she had.

That night did not end with them sharing notes about the others show. Instead, it ended with them sitting on a grassy patch of the festival grounds when it emptied out talking about anything and everything. Gerard had quickly realized how multi-faceted of a person Y/F/N was. Every preconceived notion he had of her was torn down by her random knowledge about random things, her admissions to cringey teen phases she had, cute childhood stories, dichotomy of family and how difficult that could be to navigate.

She was fucking perfect inside and out. And he knew he couldn’t lose her.

In an assertive nature he decided to text her more through the next week. She was on tour in one town, and he was in another. But that didn’t matter. Every other day, or three days apart maximum, they would call from their hotel rooms, or from outside his bus, and talk. About everything. Their days, their histories. What they ate, what they did or didn’t like, who they saw, where they were next, what they wanted to do, asking the other about cool things to do in the city they were in for that day.

And finally, a little less than two weeks after they met, they had that talk.

“So what are we?” She asked over the phone, sitting on her bed and nervously picking at her brightly colored nails. She needed to know before she got too attached and her heart broken further down the line when she was way deeper in than she was now. Not that rejection now wouldn’t hurt- she was trying to save herself from more potential hurt later.

“Seeing each other?” He asked. “I mean, no pressure- we can always take it slower.“

“I would like for us to be ‘seeing each other’.” She replied with a smile growing on her face.

“Great, then we’re seeing each other.” He decided, she could hear the small smile in his own voice despite not seeing him.

“We have a four day break coming up.” He mentioned on a call. A few weeks had blown by, and things felt very normal between them given how abnormal their situation was.

“Okay.” She replied simply, wanting him to go on.

“I want to come see you, if that’s okay.”

“Okay.” She replied again, not hesitant- but a mixture of excited and logistically starting to play a mind puzzle about how this was going to work.

“Just okay?” He asked, now sounding more hesitant himself but equally as confused.

“No, I just mean- like, yes, please come, I really want to see you, but if people see us together again, I think it will kinda be obvious. I- it’s not that I don’t want to show you off, but I kinda like the direction we’re going in now. I don’t want public speculation or opinion to fuck that up.”

Even in a fucking baseball cap and sunglasses at her show, people would grow suspicious of that figure in the secluded family/friends area. They would equally as quickly figure out, judging by the firestorm online caused by her presence at their show the night they met, who it was. And then they would be official without actually saying anything. Just by being together.

She wouldn’t mind being official to the public, eventually. But she wanted more time to have just them to herself.

“I can stand off to the side behind the stage.” He offered.

“Your view is gonna suck.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay then.” She replied affirmatively.

“Okay?” He asked for clarification.

“Yes, okay.” She softly smiled with a giggle. “Come to the shows, I even have a hotel room booked one of the nights.”

“Oh fancy.” He replied with a chuckle. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

She shouldn’t have been nervous. He had seen her perform before.

Well once- the first time they met, and then twice on TV in the last few weeks since her career had managed to blow up even further. But this felt different. It was different.

She knew he could now have expectations of her. What if he didn’t like something, or got the ick from the way she danced or what if she fucked up? What if she tripped on stage for the first time or bumped into something or forgot a lyric or her voice went out-

“On in two.” She heard one of the stage techs say, peeking their head through her green room door. As if one queue, she heard a roar of screams from the direction of the stage, queueing that her little intro video had started. Despite still playing smaller venues, at least ones smaller than arenas, her label had actually been willing to put quite the production into her tour after realizing that her stage presence and personality was one of the things that charmed audiences so much.

She gave herself one final look over in the mirror. Her opening outfit was standard- a body con number decked out in black sequence with red accents and her infamous knee high boots that were plain leather, but that she had begun to notice were also being worn more commonly by fans to her shows. It was one of those trademark things that made her feel more like the pop star she was growing to be. At least the headlines called her that.

Taking her hands, she fluffed out her hair a bit more giving her light waves more volume, dropping them, closing her eyes, and reopening them in her stage persona.

She walked out of the door beginning her strut with the sense of confidence she only gained to this level when she knew she was going to be on stage. As she approached side stage, her bedazzled microphone with her initials on it in small rhinestones at the bottom was waiting for her with one of the stage assistance. She gave him a small smile and nod as a thank you, taking it delicately and wrapping her hand around it firmly.

Her in-ear monitored queued up with her sound guy, Jeremy, who gave her the 20 second warning. She allowed herself one final deep breath, realizing this was her time to shine. Even if he was here for the first time watching her as the guy she was seeing, and just generally in a new light, she recalled meeting him for the first time after a show, figuring if she could impress him once maybe she could do it again.

After all, the version of herself that managed to get his attention in the first place was the one who was about to step into the spotlight in a mere three seconds.

Sweaty, hot, tired, worn, happy. The best ways to describe how she felt almost every night coming off stage.

She felt great about this show. The crowds she was dealing with were getting better at each stop, she figured it was venues being sold out and her rapid growth as an artist that was to thank for their enthusiasm and their increased screaming of her own lyrics back to her.

But what made this show so special was seeing him in one of the boxes up and over from the crowd. He kept a low profile with a plain t-shirt and baseball cap, standing next to Lacey through the entire duration, but the occasional eye contact they made was what kept her going.

He was always at least smiling at her. If not he was beaming, or nodding, swaying to the music, and her favorite was when he was so focused on just her that she caught his lower lip being bitten, his eyes glued straight onto her. She knew she always had most if not all of the crowd in a trance- but tonight his attention was the one she really wanted.

She giggled at something her manager had said as they walked through the back hallways of the venue, sipping on her bottled water through a straw and trying to regain as much hydration and energy as possible. As the turned a corner toward the green room, she paused and gave a big toothy smile as she saw him at the end of the hallway.

There was Gerard, still in his relatively incognito outfit, and a full smile as their eyes met. As fast as she could manage to run in her boots, she made her way down the hall and collided with his torso, breaking out into a fit of giggles as he hugged her back.

“Did you like it?” She asked first, letting her chin fall on his chest as she looked up at him with big doe eyes hoping for a good answer.

“You fucking killed it.” He said affirmatively with a smile, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. “You’re absolutely insane out there. Such a natural- fuck, I wish I had half the confidence and ability you do when I’m on stage.”

“Oh stop it!” She playfully and lightly hit his shoulder as she backed away to walk back to her room with him. In the process he swiftly grabbed her hand in his, intertwining their fingers which made her smile even more. “Don’t give yourself any less credit- you’re a fucking beast on stage.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head.

“But nothing like you.” He replied, holding the door open for her as they entered back in so she could change.

She quickly and stealthily changed into a shirt and sweatpants, sitting down to take her makeup off, or at least that’s what she would typically do. But as she sat and looked at herself in the vanity mirror, catching a glimpse of him in the back scrolling on his phone, she wasn’t so sure she felt all that confident with him in person without all of this on.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, catching her in a trance. Damn, why did he have to be so good on picking up these things?

“Nothing.” She said with a soft smile. His body language with a raised eyebrow implied he definitely did not believe that. “I just- should I take my makeup off?” She asked turning to him. He gave her an even more confused look.

“Is it what you normally do?” He asked and she nodded. “Then yeah, take your makeup off.” She didn’t move, still staring at him. “Baby, what’s wrong- actually?” She groaned.

“It’s so stupid.” She admitted, now looking away from him. “I just- I don’t want you to like, I don’t know, not like me without this on.”

He looked a bit shocked and confused at look, but it quickly melted into sympathy.

“Sweetheart, take your makeup off.” He requited with a sweet tone. “I promise you, I will not view you any differently without makeup on. That is such a minor thing. And I’m not with you for your looks- I mean, you are fucking gorgeous- but that’s with or without makeup.”

“Fine.” She replied, grabbing some of her cotton pads and makeup remover, then going to town on delicately running them over her skin and cleaning everything off.

Once she was done, only a few minutes later, she grabbed her bag and regular shoes, slipping them on and getting up to approach him where he leaned next to the door. As soon as she was a few inches from him, he delicately took her face in his hands.

“See, just as gorgeous as always.” He softly smiled, giving her a soft and passionate kiss. She offered a sheepish smile and a growing blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She nervously replied. “We gotta go though- I’m fucking starving.”

“Holy shit.” She said, taking another forkful of pasta and placing it into her mouth. “This is so fucking good.”

“Mhm.” He nodded in agreement taking a bite of his own. It was nice to have some company to actually eat with, and not just pull out her laptop to watch a show or call her parents who were halfway across the country. Now, she had her boyfriend laid across the bed sideways in front of her as she sat criss cross at the head.

“You want a bite?” She asked. He looked at her skeptical for a moment before nodding, allowing her to grab another few pieces, giving them to him.

“Well, shit.” He sighed with a smile. “That is fucking amazing.” She nodded in agreement. There was a brief moment of silence that followed.

“I hate that we have to go back to being, like- normal.” She said. It was one of those thoughts that just spilled out without her even thinking.

“Hm?” He asked, looking up with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ya know, like being apart for so long.” She said with a tight smile. “We’ve barely spent any time together in person but every time we do I want to spend more and more- and we can’t.” He sighed, putting his fork down in his container.

“I know, baby.” He softly said, taking his now free hand and placing it on her bare thigh, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. “But it’s only another month- then we’re on break and I’ll come be with you as long as you want.”

“Gee, you should get a break.” She said with a serious face. “You need to go home and settle for a few weeks and be with your family and friends there who you haven’t seen in fucking forever.” He shrugged.

“I’ve had all the time in the world to make relationships with them- I want to continue to build ours, and if that means going on tour with you than so be it.” He replied with confidence.

“Even if we do that people will speculate and- we would have to go public.” She explained.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, but,” She took a moment to think, making eye contact with him again as his eyes begged hers for answers. “I don’t want to keep you or us a secret. I would love to show and brag about my super cool, super talented, super hot boyfriend to the world, but I want to keep it private.” He smiled lightly and nodded.

“Then let’s do it.” He said, affirmatively. “We’ll take it at your pace. Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

He had been on tour with her for a full week. And it was becoming unbearable how many things were circulating around.

It started at the first show he came to- a solid handful of people had noticed him and put a name to the face, despite his attempt to remain to himself. A small firestorm erupted online over the alleged rumors. The headlines abusing taboos and cliches of the “pop princess and rockstar” trope that made people go crazy.

Then he actually began coming on tour. She wasn’t sure she had been happier on any other leg of it, until he was there to watch every show, and take her out when she had breaks to his favorite spots in each city, and then end the night in her queen sized “suite” on the back of her bus if you could even call it that. She had even bought more storage bins for under the bed to make room for his things.

But people didn’t need to see all the stolen and sudden kissed, or hysterical fits of laughter, or constant touching that were soft reminders of the other. They didn’t need to know about all the photos they had taken of each other, or the memories made, or the lyrics and words that began filling her songbook as she wrote almost exclusively now about him. At least yet.

But on day nine of them being on her tour together, she couldn’t take the speculation anymore. She couldn’t ignore all the photos taken of him at her shows, or the videos that replayed her not-so-obvious smiles and slow hip movements while making direct eye contact with him. In all fairness, she wasn’t trying to hide it.

People could see moments and snippets of their love. But she wouldn’t let them see the whole thing.

“What d’you think?” She asked, the back of her head leaning against his shoulder as they both looked at her phone. It was a simple story draft for her Instagram of the two of them just a few nights ago walking into a gas station. Not the most romantic thing, but her makeup artist had managed to catch it at one of their stops late at night.

The lighting was perfect and almost vintage aesthetic, offering a slight blur to the photo. It was the two of them holding hands as they walked in, both with hoodies and sweatpants on. Only half her face was shown, brightly smiling up at him, and only the back of his head was shown as a mop of slightly messy slightly put-together black hair.

“I love it.” He said with a small smile, giving her a kiss on the top of the head. In the bottom corner she had just put a small black heart, meant to be a small clue.

“Okay,” She smiled. “I think I’m gonna post it.” She said, looking up at him. “You okay with this?”

“Of course.” He genuinely smiled back. “I don’t mind at all.”

Before she could second guess she hit the post button, immediately turning off her phone and throwing it to the edge of the bed.

“It’s done.” She said with big eyes and a giddy tone. “Like, we’ve confirmed.”

“Mhm,” He nodded with a small chuckle, “We have confirmed.” He leaned down to give her a soft kiss, not even a few seconds later his phone buzzed.

He reached over to grab it, smiling at the screen, and showing her.

I was wondering when you guys were gonna post something. Mikey had sent. It’s been fucking long enough.

She should’ve stopped staring after a few seconds, but she couldn’t help it. She rarely felt this confident in herself, but just as quickly as the adrenaline boost of self love hit her, the sobering of imperfections came knocking too.

Dressed in a long green strapless dress that was built to just fit her, she looked and felt like a Barbie. Her makeup team had really done quite an impressive and good number on her face, exemplifying all her good features perfectly, and covering up or minimizing the ones she didn’t like so much. Her hair hung in a low, sleek pony tail against her back, her nails for once long with extensions that would be removed for sure in the next two to three days.

“You’re absolutely perfect, ya know that?” She heard him, turning around to find her boyfriend with a big smile as one of his hands placed itself lightly on the small of her back. She softly smiled up at him, and he swore his heart skipped a beat and nearly sent him into cardiac arrest the way her big eyes stared right into his.

“Not necessarily, but thank you.” She responded in a small voice. She always got nervous before events- he learned that quickly after having to be on text and call standby as she repeated her own self-doubts while spiraling about things going wrong. No one would have ever known- her presence on carpets, stages, and everything in between was flawless.

And now here they stood for the first time together doing this. Him in a traditional and well-fit suit, her in the dress that would put anyone else wearing the color green to shame. He gave her one good look up and down (what was realistically the dozenth already), relishing in the fact that he was merely an accessory to her- and was blessed to be one at that.

There were already rumors circulating everywhere about the potential for them to show up together tonight. It was the ideal place to hard launch, and after dating for just over six months it finally felt like a good time to let the world see them together in all their glory. She was feeling more confident in him, and he was honestly just along for the ride- a very happy passenger too.

“How do we act?” She asked next, his hand still sat on her back as she leaned more into him so their bodies were no more than two inches apart.

“Like how we normally act.” He replied confidently. “I’m not sure anyone will be genuinely surprised- people have been expecting this.”

“When people set expectations about things they don’t know, it typically doesn’t work out the way they want.” She replied quickly.

He knew better than to ruin her hair or makeup, but at this moment he couldn’t see her for that, so he leaned in without hesitation and gave her a soft kiss as an attempt to calm her nerves.

“We’re not here to appease to anyone’s wants or expectations of us.” He explained in a tone just above a whisper, as if they weren’t the only two people in the room. “We’re here to be with each other- not to explain us.”

It was a relative blur, and she thanked the blinding lights of paparazzi that overtook her vision and senses as soon as they took a single step onto the carpet together. She had never heard the two of their names meshed together so many times in such a short period of time. It felt weird to hear them coming out together from other people’s mouths- but it also felt reaffirming.

His hand had initially snuck around her back, resting itself on the other side of her waist and pulling her close to him. The slight warmth from his body made her feel okay, an emotion she typically had to forcefully place at bay here but was tamed solely by him.

They gradually moved their way down at the instruction of the event staff, and narrowly at the last stop he leaned in to whisper to her, hiding his lips behind the back of her head to not let anyone get a chance to overhear what he was going to say.

“I think I have a new appreciation for my name when it’s next to yours.” He said with a small smile, pulling away and looking down at her.

She couldn’t help herself but to break out into a bigger smile, one that wasn’t posed for the cameras but more authentic. She usually hated her full smile, the cheekiness and roundness of her face making the pictures look unbearable to her, but in that moment it didn’t matter. She playfully nudged him a bit as he resumed his position with his arm around her waist, but this time she placed her hand on his chest, angling herself towards him.

He authentically smiled, not expecting it, and had to resist the urge running deep within him to kiss her. But no one here deserved to see that part of them- no one here deserved to know her like he did.

“New album stuff?” He asked, walking over to the living room with a “new” cup of coffee in his hands (this was his third refill in the last two hours). She nodded from where she sat on the floor, back against the bottom of the vintage arm chair she fell in love with and insisted on having to decorate their new place. Their place.

Gerard had always respected her boundaries with her music. She was being incredibly secretive about her upcoming project- despite it essentially being finished from what he had gathered- but he also knew incredibly well how labels worked. And despite both of them being in the industry, her upcoming album was expected to be gigantic. Both in the reception of it and in the work itself.

“They just began pressing all the vinyls.” She smiled up at him.

“When are you gonna see it?” He asked back, sitting down on the couch and leaning over the coffee table to grab his sketch book and pencils again.

“Hopefully within two weeks.” She shrugged. “That’s if everything goes right. Not that I think it won’t- there’s just… a lot.” He looked up for his eyes to meet her, giving her a sympathetic look and nod.

“Regardless of how it goes, you have worked your ass off for this.” He explained. “Critics will always say shit because they’re jaded and subjective. Most of them haven’t even made music. And your fans are gonna love anything you put out.” She softly smiled back.

“Thanks.” She said. “I can’t wait for you to hear it.”

“Don’t you have the entire record on your computer?” He asked, eyeing the laptop that sat in her lap. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not that simple.” She replied, closing it and getting up. “Besides, I want it to be a surprise.” She finished, walking over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“So are you flattered or what?” Their manager approached where he sat on the bus. He was so lost in the trance of finding the necklace that she had been dying to get for ages online as a surprise album release gift that he didn’t hear a thing.

“Hm?” He asked looking up at him.

“You’re the muse for the number one song on Billboard right now.” His manager replied with a small smile, arms crossed over each other.

“Right.” He awkwardly responded.

He was, indeed, the quite obvious muse for her first single, which happened to somehow skyrocket on the charts as soon as it released and within a few days was impossible not to hear. Whether it be radio, playlists, grocery stores, social media- the damn song was everywhere.

By no means was he upset, he just wasn’t expecting it. He was actively figuring out how to deal with the amount of empty and comical threats he got from fan accounts saying they were fully prepared to fight him if it meant even a shot at being with her. Also, while he had approved of the lyrics she had showed him (well, specifically the incredibly, borderline obvious, suggestive ones) it still made him feel a blush grow on his face when he heard them over and over again.

And the fucking cherry on top was the music video. At this point, he had seen her in many different ways, doing many different things (if you catch the drift) but as soon as he watched it he felt like he was falling for her all over again, ten-fold this time. It also made him begin to seriously question why the fuck you were with him, and simultaneously wonder if all the manifesting bull shit the merch girl was telling them about was something he should look into given that he needed some form of magic to get someone so out of his league.

“Good luck when the album drops, man.” His manager smiled, “Can’t wait to see all the teenage girls that want to band together and fight you.”

Gerard didn’t drink anymore and hadn’t for a while. But he did stare with a smile as she took a shot of tequila and her face immediately grew into a sour and twisted expression.

“Fuck that was worse than I remember.” She said through a small cough, grabbing the water by her and downing a chunk of it.

The low-key album release party was being held at their place. It was primarily close friends, the one producer she worked with on the record and her engineer, then the band as well as some of Gerard’s friends. Despite it being small, the place was buzzing under the dimmed lighting as there was consistently multiple conversations happening in the background, solid laughter mixed in too, and her album playing track by track in order softly in the background.

She sat on the floor, back against the couch, in a simple shirt and jeans, him right behind and next to her sat on the couch. She wasn’t drunk, but was definitely tipsy as she laid her head on his jean clad knee. He looked down at her with a smile, running a hand through her loose hair.

“I love you so much.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for being such an incredible muse.”

He had been complimented plenty of times by critics, reporters, fans- but nothing even came remotely close to that comment.

“Baby, this is all you.” He insisted with a smile back. “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so damn incredible at everything you do.”

She sighed happily, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I’m so fucking glad you bumped into me.” She said. “I was so pissed at first and so tired and hot and sweaty- I thank the universe everyday for making that happen.”

“I do too, sweetheart.” He said, letting his smile melt into a sincere and content one. It only felt right. “I do too.”

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