#but my seasons over at the end of the month (or maybe even earlier) so

[seaofreverie]

Anyway how is everyone doing

[chocosvt]

HER | part five.

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k 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.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

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

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

 “And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’  Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

��Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze. 

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!” 

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

 “Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so��� pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place?  But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.” 

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

 “Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions. 

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. ��He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

[randomshyperson]

Five Times You Go Through Wanda Maximoff's Window - [HS Challenge]

Summary: A clumsy spider and a grumpy witch are roommates in Avengers Tower. And it takes you five missed windows to finally get things right. [Prompt]

Warning: None, fluff and funny, spider!reader and emo!wanda, avengers being a family, happy ending | Words: 2.937k

A/N-> This was such a funny one to write because I always wanted to try the Five Times Prompt! I hope you guys liked it.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Holiday Season Masterlist

-&-

The first time you missed a window in Avengers Tower, you still didn't know the place properly. 

You had just come out of a fight and your costume was still smoldering. You stumbled between one window and another and thought you had counted the floors correctly when you balanced yourself inside, and almost fell out again when something pushed you.

Your spidey sense acted immediately, of course. It was a disastrous situation, to be honest. You jumped like a frightened animal away from the magical energy of the witch, the true owner of that room and window, while instinctively hitting her right in the face with your webs.

Wanda yelled angrily, and you, hanging from the wall, only had time to fall straight to the floor before she hit you in the chest this time.

Of course, the confusion attracted the attention of the other Avengers - Vision, and Steve appeared just before Nat, the men confused by the whole thing, but the widow, as soon as she saw the younger witch trying to untangle the webs from her face, burst into laughter.

You were blushing a lot when you went to apologize.

"I'm really sorry Wanda, I thought it was my room."

"It's fine." She retorted between her teeth, and it didn't look like it was fine at all. You rubbed your shoulder, the magical blow left your skin sore and Wanda sighed. "Sorry about the hit. I thought it was an intruder."

Natasha interrupted the whole thing with another chuckle, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes that threatened to return every time she looked at Wanda's grumpy expression over the webs. "You two are clearly an example of attention. You've just earned some extra training."

You and Wanda grumbled in unison. Of course, Natasha was just tormenting you and the training was going to happen anyway, because Wanda escaped as many of them as she could and was already getting sloppy, and you well, in the routine of neighborhood friend and university, it was difficult to attend all the Avenger commitments.

Wanda had no trouble hitting you in training, and you almost thought she was doing it with a certain satisfaction. You couldn't blame her, she would certainly have got away with it if it hadn't been for your disastrous encounter earlier.

You just hoped that future interactions between you would be friendlier from then on.

-&-

The second time you missed a window in the Tower, your intention was not to be late.

This was because Natasha had asked - or politely threatened - you to organize your spider routine, if that was possible, and be present at the introduction of the New Avengers.

Well, that was rather unfair. In addition to your full-time job as a New York superhero, you also had college and your job as a Daily Bugle Photographer, so it should be understandable that delays would occur. But maybe that was your fault, for missing three birthdays in a row, and not even making it to Captain America's shield ceremony last month after Steve retired and assigned the job to Sam Wilson.

In any case, you tried to get to the tower for Kate Bishop's introduction to the team and ended up in the wrong room again. 

Only this time it was worse, as you ended up bumping into the owner of the bedroom who certainly wasn't expecting to see anyone.

Wanda didn't fall to the floor with the impact only because you acted quickly and held her by the waist, turning your bodies so that the entire collision was on your back. Half the items in your backpack made a cracking sound behind you, but you didn't have a chance to check.

You were still grunting in pain when she pushed you away, and the action caused her towel to fall to the floor.

"I-I..."

"Don't look, you pervert!" She demanded infuriatedly, her face as red as yours. You turned away immediately, but the bedroom mirror allowed you to see her bending down to pick up the towel and you thought it best to close your eyes tightly.

"I swear to God I didn't mean to-"

"Zip it." She cut in, holding the towel tight against her body. "Out." She ordered, and you didn't need to be told twice.

You stumbled out with your eyes closed until you found the door, and Wanda had to look away and bite her lip to hide her smile for all the times you hit your head on something before leaving.

You didn't find her again until half an hour later when you had already met Kate Bishop and discovered that she would probably be a friend. She was a very funny girl, and your close age made it easy to get friendly with her. 

She had just commented that it was amazing to have another Avenger going to NYU, and how you could go to classes together and have coffee when Wanda reappeared in the room and dropped something in your lap.

You stared wide-eyed at the red spider's underwear, clutching the item as if you expected it to disappear.

"You forgot it in my room." Said the witch with an indecipherable expression, but with eyes sparkling with mischief. Of course, she left out the part about the item falling out of your backpack during the disastrous encounter earlier, and that was enough for Sam to chuckle knowingly with Clint and Natasha from the kitchen counter when they whistled at the comment.

You turned as red as the colored garment. "I dropped it in her room." You tried to clarify in embarrassment, but Clint added.

"Oh, yes, that happens." He taunted, and you huffed in embarrassment as you got up to find your backpack and remove that outfit from their sight. 

You only missed Wanda's satisfied look when Kate didn't invite you to take her to university again and the subject was forgotten.

-&-

The third time was intentional.

The Avengers were going through a very difficult time since the whole Winter Soldier thing became public, and even with Steve retired, Mr. Stark still wanted closure on the murder of his parents with Mr. Barnes. 

It wasn't your business, but at the same time, it was because the Avengers were one big family and anything that happened to one had an impact on the whole team.

The atmosphere was rather miserable because it seemed that everyone was going through heartbreaking situations at the moment. Natasha and the Red Room, Bucky, Tony and Steve's drama, and Kate with her mother's arrest. Then there was Vision and the Space Stone that had been giving him nightmares, and well, Wanda, who was celebrating her first birthday alone since the death of her twin brother.

So the third time was intentional, because you had cupcakes in your backpack that were a bit of a mess, and you only came in after knocking.

Wanda still had to get used to the image of you hanging at that height.

"Hi." She greeted, not hiding her own discontent about that day. You continued to sit on the edge.

"Hey." You said with a small smile, twirling your bag in front of you. " I won't be bothering you, I just came to bring you something."

She grimaced, biting her lip. She wanted to say that you're rarely a nuisance, but instead, she remained silent.

You take out a closed box from your backpack, a little crumpled, but the contents are safe. There are several colorful, well-filled cupcakes from your favorite place in the center. All with little birthday decorations.

"I didn't know your favorite flavor, so I brought you one of each. If you're allergic to anything, we can throw it away." 

Wanda doesn't take the box held out to her. "Hm, I don't... celebrate today." She says clumsily, looking away. You swallow dry, nodding.

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to... I don't even know what I wanted. I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I'll take these away and leave you alone."

But Wanda grabbed you before you could leave the room, and instead of pulling away, she hugged you. Quickly, as a thank you, but it warmed your cheeks.

"That was sweet of you, okay? Thank you." She murmured just as embarrassed, busying herself with grabbing the box of cupcakes because she didn't know what to do with her hands.

You smiled. "No problem, Wanda." You say, and before you lose your nerve, you add. "To be honest, the cupcakes are just an excuse. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I'm here if you need a friend. I know how hard days like these are, and being alone is sometimes not a choice, it's the only option. I wanted you to know that there are people with whom you can share this pain. Or if you don't want to talk about it, these cupcakes."

The next hug is longer and makes you wish you'd missed the window more often, even if this time it was on purpose. Maybe when all the drama has passed, and Wanda trusts you to become friends, the window will stay open for you.

For now, she lets you stay to watch sitcoms with her and grimaces when you stumble out the window to answer a spider's call. 

It's stupidly dangerous, she texts you that afternoon.

You respond with spider and web emojis.

-&-

The fourth time, you were bleeding.

Almost unconscious, and struggling to crawl through the windows. Fearing that the exhaustion and injuries would be enough for your powers to fail, and inevitably cause you to fall from the tower. 

Perhaps it would have been better to take the front door.

You felt yourself losing consciousness, and your right hand detached from the glass. Before gravity could do its job, a familiar prickling sensation covered your entire body and you were pulled into Wanda Maximoff's room.

"What happened?"

She looked worried, almost desperate to be honest. Your appearance was probably not the best. Well, who could blame you? You've just guaranteed New York's safety for a while longer after one of the most intense fights in months. Why do villains dressed as animals always land such hard punches?

You try to smile at Wanda, to make a "You should have seen the other guy" joke, even though Rhino wasn't badly hurt and the victory was more thanks to your new electric friend and his tricks that knocked the big guy out, than to you. Maybe you're losing your grip.

Wanda didn't laugh, her powers put you against the soft cushions and the next thing that left your mouth was a grunt of pain when she touched your ribs.

"I'm gonna call Bruce-"

"No, I'm fine." You tried to move, but your body hated the idea. So did Wanda, because her magic became harder to ignore. "Please, Wands, I shouldn't be out there."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

And you have to ignore the pain to keep talking and try to look casual about it with a shrug that makes you wince. "I was still recovering from the last fight. I thought I could handle it."

"You're unbelievable." She grumbles, seeming to remember beyond her own busy routine, the image of your bandaged arm after the last villain you encountered. Clearly, it had been against the advice of the rest of the team that you had joined another fight, and obviously, the consequence of your stubbornness was swinging yourself utterly wrecked into her window at dawn. "You need an x-ray."

You groan but are unable to resist her magical efforts that force you to your feet and drag you into Bruce's lab.

The whole thing becomes a blur in your injured head. But you know that you've been given a hard time by at least half the team, until the medication kicks in and you feel better enough to realize that you're already lying on a bed, with Wanda Maximoff beside you.

"Sorry about the scare." You mumble, and you don't need to clarify any further for her to understand exactly what you mean. You know you'll probably have to work harder than that to remove your nearly dead figure from her memory, but that's a start.

Wanda doesn't take her eyes off the book but sighs. "It's okay." 

You know that's not true. So you try to be honest with her.

"Today is one year since Aunt May died." You say quietly, just loud enough for the two of you in the Avengers' infirmary room to hear. Wanda immediately raises uncertain eyes. It's your turn to sigh and look away. "I just... couldn't keep myself from doing anything. When Miles' suit warned me about Rhino, it was the perfect distraction."

Wanda absorbs your words for a few seconds until she puts the book aside. She leaves the armchair and approaches the bed to sit down next to you. 

"Next time, ask me to distract you." She says, one of her hands going up to your face and caressing some of your bandages. "We could watch a movie, or go out to eat. Or even..."

But she doesn't finish, her cheeks suddenly reddening. You give her a lopsided smile. "What?"

"I don't know, anything you want." Says the witch, turning her face away. 

Mentally thanking Bruce for the painkillers that allow you to move, you sit up properly to lean toward her. "All right, I have a suggestion." You whisper, and it's the first kiss between you as you break the distance.

Wanda's lips are soft against yours, shy as she never is. Only with this kind of thing, of course. The goth girl who won't let anyone give her a bad look and has a punk attitude all the time, but can't keep her gaze if you wink at her from across the room. And always blushes when you text her that she looks pretty when she's concentrating on the Avengers meetings.

She's the one who separates, although just as breathlessly, she warns: "I'm still mad at you."

You bite back a smile, absorbing for a second the image of her swollen lips and flushed face. "Well, I suppose I should distract you from your anger then." 

She snorts good-naturedly at the statement, but you kiss her before she can comment. The two of you keep smiling throughout.

-&-

The fifth time, it's a new window.

Well, actually it's a whole new place because Wanda Maximoff has left Avengers Tower and moved to suburban New Jersey. And you were late.

The whole team had already helped with the move and left after an afternoon snack at Wanda's new house. For the first time in a long time, New York had no villain after Spidey, and you were stuck in university bureaucracy.

You apologized dozens of times by text message for not being able to help with the move, and in fact, the whole team laughed at the situation. It was just bad luck that you missed such a fun afternoon.

It was late evening when you arrived on the dark balcony. Through the windows, the lower floor was empty and perhaps you had strange habits because you didn't even consider just ringing the bell. One tug of the webs and you were at the second-floor window, tapping on the glass for Wanda to let you in.

"We have a door, you know." It was the first thing she said. And you smiled, slightly distracted by the figure fresh out of the shower, still with damp hair.

"We?"

She scrunched her nose, her hands working to remove your backpack and jacket. "It's just semantics." She retorts, but you keep smiling. You let the jacket fall into the backpack on the floor before sliding your hands around her waist. 

"Oh, of course. For a second I thought you had found a roommate." 

She rolls her eyes bemusedly. "You know the invitation still stands."

You smile, your anxious fingers drawing patterns across the exposed skin at her waist. "Well, Captain Rogers' influence is making me a bit old-fashioned but before I move I'd like to do a few things first."

"Hm, is that right? Like what?"

Shrugging as if your heart wasn't racing in your chest, you retort. "Like... marrying you, for example."

Wanda hesitates, surprised more than anything. She looks at you as if she's trying to decide if it was a joke, but you don't feel her magic in your mind. 

"Do you really mean that?" She asks almost unsurely, and you sigh before letting go. You duck down to pick up your backpack again and reveal the real reason for the extra half hour of your journey from the university.

A little velvet box hidden in the front pocket. 

"I was saving it for our anniversary, but I don't think there's such a thing as the right moment. Every day I'm ready to marry you, and I don't need a dinner party for that." You declare nervously and swallow dryly when you meet your girlfriend's watery eyes. "B-but I can totally ask you next week-"

She breaks into a tearful laugh, pulling you close again. "Shut up, you fool."  She says practically against your lips before kissing you hard.

It's only later in the evening, after you've laughed and kissed and lost yourselves in hours of pleasure exploring each other's bodies, for the first time holding hands with golden rings on your fingers, that you, still breathless with Wanda almost asleep against your chest, ask:

"That means yes, right?"

She uses magic to throw a pillow in your face.

[starlight-library]

Birthday races | CL16 & AL14

pairing: Charles Leclerc & Arthur Leclerc & reader

summary: your best friends are both in October with one day apart. Usually, you're on top of the best combined birthday ever and somehow the one year you rarely plan happens to be the best one yet.

warning: platonic fluff!! lil platonic trio!!

fc: none!

a/n: in honor of my favorite leclerc duos & being charles birthday twin (yes, my birthday is october 16th!) please enjoy this belated/early birthday blurb!

wc: 1.3K

October is your favorite month. You have a giant list of reasons why October just so happens to be the superior month: the weather, flannels, spooky season, pumpkin carvings, and libra season. There was just so much to do but your absolute favorite thing about October is your best friend's birthdays.

It was even better considering their birthdays were only a day apart. October 14th and October 16th so you had just planned a fun filled day with activities they would boy enjoy on October 15th and spent the day celebrating your two closest friends. You really went all out since the activities started typically at midnight on October 15th. Typically from then to noon, you three celebrated Arthur and then from noon to midnight it was Charles, always ending at midnight with you and Arthur singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Charles. It was simple and routine and almost like second nature.

“We leave on my birthday for Austin.”

You stare at Charles and Arthur like they grew three heads each. This is the first time in years that you had to cut your celebrations short due to scheduling and you’ve fully planned things around their races to make sure this happened but this was different. You were so busy with things going on in your life that their birthdays have completely slipped from your mind and now have nothing planned and only…24 hours to figure something out.

“That’s fine!” You beam a smile so they didn’t pick up on the panic coursing through you, “I’ll just adjust my plans.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, “I know you spend forever planning these things…”

“And really they are wonderful and if I could I would fly out first thing Thursday morning but with media day—” Charles asks.

“Guys. Guys. Guys!” You finally say over Arthur and Charles talking about maybe somehow leaving earlier, “It’s fine! Really. You have work and you want to support Charles. When have I ever been upset about this before?” You giggle softly while leaning forward slightly, “I’ve planned around your schedules before, I can do it again! Besides, I’ve been dying for a challenge lately!” You clasp your hands together, “ this will be great!”

This was not great. You had spent Arthur’s birthday running around town trying to plan something. Anything. It seemed the universe heard you and really amped it up because there is nothing to do in Monaco. Everything has magically been booked up and you are about to pull all your hair out because you’re certain that this is going to be the worst birthday you’re going to throw for them before an idea clicks.

Why bother going out and running the town when you guys can just stay in and be lazy? It’s perfect! Charles and Arthur can nap and last minute pack before their flight while still celebrating both their birthdays. You take a second trip around town and collect everything that you need, including last minute birthday presents (not your proudest moments this year but hey, you do what you got to do) and a huge surprise, and then get home roughly close to 8pm and only have 4 hours to get things together.

You decorate your living room and giggle happily seeing your hard work. You somehow found Ferrari and racing themed decorations (balloons included) and had happily turned your living room into a mini race track to mirror Monaco. It was…a valiant effort on your party as you tilted your head at the rather wonky layout. Table at the start for drinks, each section existing with something else. Mostly mini party things: sunglasses, shot glasses, balloons (that didn’t make the cut so were now sacrifices to being victims to Charles and Arthur trying to see how could have the higher voice off of helium), cupcakes (which currently had a placeholder), and a few other things. You set a table up for the food which would be the pit lane.

It was all coming together.

You spent the last two and a half hours between baking the desserts and cooking the appetizers. While that’s happening, you also start getting the drinks ready. You were so in the zone that you didn’t realize how much time had gone but you managed to get it done. You step back to admire your hard work after setting the stations up and your huge surprise before there’s a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

Ushering to the front door you glance at your ring camera panel seeing Arthur and Charles standing outside talking to each other. You open your door just enough to stick your head out and smile brightly. “Boys!”

“Y/N!” They say in unison.

“Okay, the two of you close your eyes,” you instruct and watch them before opening the door. By some miracle, you manage to guide the two of them in without them tripping over one another as you lead them to the ‘start of the track’. “Almost there.” You have Charles shuffle into pole position, given he was older, and then place Arthur in p2. You step back and quickly take your phone out to snap a photo before smiling. “Open your eyes!”

You watch them open their eyes and look around. Charles’ eyes widen while Arthur whispers a soft ‘wow’. The two of them break out into wide smiles (almost identical, thank god they looked different). “Tadaaaa,” you say while giving them some jazz hands, “I made a…rough layout of the Monaco track.” Turning, “the snacks are at the pit lane, drinks are at the start and you have to take a shot before you start racing and then each corner has a little surprise. Cupcakes, candy, birthday presents,” you list off before turning to them, “also if you look behind you—”

Charles turns and gasps loudly, “Y/N!” Arthur turns and covers his mouth before laughing loudly.

The huge surprise happens to be three electric ride-on cars. Charles was a black Ferrari with red accents, Arthur’s was the reverse of that, and you had picked a white Jeep, “They’re remote control and derivable on its own. I also replaced the batteries with drill batteries so without further ado,” you go to your laptop and play the iconic countdown to start a race. Rushing over, Charles had managed to pour shots without making a huge mess.

“Lights out and away we go!” Croft’s voice rings from your laptop. The three of you immediately take your shots. You manage to get in your jeep first and turn it on before taking off, forgetting that the drill battery is much more powerful and you almost take yourself out. You laugh loudly as Charles curses, struggling to turn his car on while Arthur screams when he starts driving and Charles is shouting at Arthur to be careful.

The three of you race till the wee hours of the morning. Mostly because you had to pause to recharge the drill batteries but also Charles had spilled two drinks, Arthur got frosting in his face after grabbing a cupcake and accidentally pressing the gas and you were playing host and driver. You ended up winning the race by 2 seconds. After, the three of you settled down as the boys opened their boo baskets (that you were calling ‘boo birthday baskets’) and all the gifts you had picked. The boys loved them.

Three of you ordered a huge breakfast and just chatted. You bring the cake out about three hours before Charles and Arthur have to leave to pack and you sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to both Arthur and Charles and watch them blow out their candles (having given them candles on opposite sides of the cake) and settle down on the couch, all cuddled up together, watching some trashy reality tv to end the birthday celebration which the three of you had decided would be the go to birthday celebration from now.

[blacktofade]

Gemtho (rpf) prompt: mutual masturbation over discord audio calls (but no video)

Happy Friday! I probably should've posted this on AO3 since it's so long, but I'm lazy. Enjoy the spice!

---

Etho’s the only other person on the server when Gem logs in, which feels about right.

Uh oh, he writes in chat, quickly followed by, Can’t sleep?

No, she types back, thought I’d make good use of my time.

She’s actually been awake since three that morning, but after forty minutes of tossing and turning, she’d got up.

Group? he asks, and she eyes her microphone wearily.

Six months ago, she would’ve easily said no, but since the end of the last season, it’s felt like Etho’s found more and more ways for them to hang out and talk — something she enjoys more than she probably should.

When she checks the audio options, he’s already in a voice chat, just waiting for her to join.

She sighs, dragging her mic closer and unmuting.

“Hey,” she says quietly, well aware that she has a bad case of morning voice.

“Hey hey,” he answers, not sounding at all tired. “Can’t sleep?”

It doesn’t seem to matter that he’s just typed it.

She yawns. “Nope. Jetlag. You still up? What are you working on?”

He hums distractedly, not answering. “Sometimes a warm drink helps.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, gaze sliding across to her almost empty mug of tea, which hasn’t helped at all.

“Or maybe some of that meditation stuff.”

Gem snorts quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

She’s sorting through shulkers, trying to find the items she’ll need for the build she’s planning to work on.

“Or something to tire yourself.”

“Didn’t know you were in the business of offering free advice,” she tells him after a moment. “I should’ve joined the server earlier.”

Etho lets out a breath of laughter. He’s used to her teasing now.

“You think I’m just gonna start doing jumping jacks in my office?” she asks when he doesn’t defend himself and she almost startles when she turns the camera away from her shulker and finds his character lingering nearby in her storage room.

He’s found her.

“No,” he says and she hums thoughtfully, moving her character around him to get to her chests.

“Push ups?”

“There are other ways to tire yourself,” he tells her. “It doesn’t have to be exercise.”

For a long moment, the suggestion of his words doesn’t even register.

But then it does.

She laughs before she can stop herself, and when he lets out his signature laugh — low and breathy — she realizes he said it purposefully. It’s not just unfortunate phrasing.

Worst of all, there’s still no one else online, no one else who might overhear. That’s a joke specifically for her.

“That’s inappropriate,” she tells him, heart fluttering, and when she moves her character, the head of his shifts, following her with his gaze.

He laughs again, like he's well aware, and it makes her want to get him on the back foot.

“What makes you think I haven't tried something already?”

That shuts him up. But as she continues moving around, he still watches her.

“Because you’re here,” he says eventually. “It sends me to sleep almost every time.” 

Gem freezes, doesn't dare breathe or make a sound, but as much as she’s trying to stay calm, all she can think about is Etho tossing and turning in his own bed.

She wonders how long he usually lasts before he gives in and slips a hand into his underwear.

“I shouldn't have said that,” he says, voice strange, and his character doesn't move, like maybe he's taken his hands off his mouse and keyboard. Maybe touching his face in embarrassment or regret. “I'm sorry, Gem.”

The words continue to buzz around inside Gem's head.

Of course Etho jerks off. He’s only human. As a single woman, Gem understands more than anyone. Masturbation is normal.

But the confirmation that Etho isn't some faceless, sexless being…

Gem presses her thighs together.

“Are you still there?” he asks after a moment, and his voice is tentative, unsure.

Gem swallows and takes a leap of faith.

“Almost every time?” she asks, bravado paper-thin. “With results that good, I should try it, huh?”

His silence is pointed and Gem shuts her eyes, hoping for the best.

If he doesn't immediately log off and leave her hanging, maybe she'll finally get an answer for whether or not what he's been doing over the last few months could be considered flirting.

If he's into her, he might let her push things as far as she can.

“If you’re that tired,” he says, clearly aiming for nonchalance, but his voice is tight, “it's worth a shot.”

“Okay,” she agrees, like it's the easiest thing she's done all day.

Etho's character continues to stare at her, and not for the first time, she wonders what his expression is behind the screen.

She wonders if he’s imagining her with a hand between her legs.

“If I log back on, you'll know it didn't help.”

She opens up her game options, ready to disconnect from the server.

“You don't have to log off,” he tells her and Gem suddenly can't breathe.

“I — ” she starts without finding direction. “Yes I do. People — ”

“No one will hear,” Etho says as though reading her mind. “We're in a closed group.”

She thinks that might count as premeditation.

He got her alone in a closed group.

Though Etho would have to assume she wouldn’t back down from his suggestion, that they would end up at this moment.

A heavy silence fills the voice chat and Gem hesitates, starting to make assumptions.

Because there’s a strong insinuation that although other people shouldn’t overhear her, Etho should.

But Gem isn’t going to jump to conclusions. Not with this.

“Should I mute?” she asks after a long moment. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” he says, so definitively that Gem knows his panic was for show. For in case she immediately rebuffed him and he needed to backpedal.

This most likely is all going according to plan for him.

She feels lightheaded, and more awake than ever; the opposite of what she’d been searching for.

She swallows, one hand coming up to her braid, a nervous habit.

“Unless you want to,” Etho offers, like a liferaft in an endless ocean.

He’s giving her an out.

But Gem thinks she’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity.

“Give me a minute,” she says, and she’s up, away from her desk before Etho can even respond.

She heads upstairs, heart racing, hands shaking as she makes it to her bedroom, pulling open the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She doesn’t have a huge toy collection, but she has a vibe she knows will make her come quick and easy — something she thinks she'll need knowing Etho will be listening.

She’s never done this for anyone before. She doesn’t want to get halfway through and realize she has to fake it.

She almost expects Etho to have dropped from the voice group when she returns, maybe too much time alone with his thoughts, to realize how stupid they're about to be. But his character is still motionless in the corner of her storage room, his icon still on the left side of her screen, ringed with white, as though his mic is picking up noise she can’t hear.

“Back,” she exhales, trying to cover up how out of breath she feels from running up and down her stairs.

“Second thoughts?” he asks, like a challenge and she shakes her head before realizing he can’t see.

“Grabbed something to help.”

He doesn’t have a reply for that — which pleases her — and she wonders what he’s imagining. Probably something large and obscene.

She checks the server list again, a last ditch effort to judge the risk of being caught, but it’s still only the two of them online.

Carefully, she shifts in her chair, nudging at her sweatpants and underwear, knowing if she stops to think about it, she’ll lose her nerve.

“You should — ” he begins, voice rough, sounding a little uncertain, as though not sure if he’s actually allowed to speak.

“What?” she asks, spreading her legs, one hand on her bare thigh, not daring to touch herself yet.

“Adjust your mic,” he says. “The settings.”

“What?” she repeats. “Why?”

“Disable the noise canceling.”

Gem’s stomach flips. He wants to hear everything.

“I don’t — ” she says, not sure what she's trying to argue, because she's already shifting to her other monitor to pull up the settings.

“What mic do you have?” Etho asks. “I can look up how to — ”

He's definitely more desperate than she is.

“I got it,” she tells him, and she does.

She disables everything, increasing some of the levels, even knowing it’ll be a pain in the ass to reconfigure later for her videos. At that moment, it doesn’t seem to matter. She needs to give Etho everything he wants before he changes his mind.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she says and he grunts, but doesn’t complain.

She sets her hand back on her thigh, adjusting to get more comfortable.

When she finally touches herself, she’s not surprised that she’s already wet, but she’s surprised by how much she wants it, how good it feels even with the numbing nervousness of having Etho right there.

She exhales shakily and Etho makes a soft noise.

She draws the arm of her mic down, closer to her lap, working at herself and hoping Etho can actually hear.

“Is that okay?” she asks quietly, out of breath, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, she suddenly hears him exhale — not particularly loudly, but like he’s done it directly into her ear — and she realizes he must’ve turned off the noise suppression of his own mic.

She shuts her eyes, head tipping back against her chair as she lets herself imagine what he might be doing. What he might want her to hear in return.

She slips two fingers into herself, the noise of it loud with how wet she is now.

“You sound — ” Etho starts, confirmation that he can hear too, but he doesn’t finish the thought, doesn’t tell her how she sounds. She just has to hope it’s what he wants.

Etho’s breathing stutters and she has the sudden realization that he really is touching himself while listening to her.

For some reason, she never assumed it would be reciprocated. She thought he just wanted to listen.

But there’s an unmistakable noise in the background of his mic.

She can hear the sound of him jerking off.

“Oh god,” she whispers, knowing she won’t need her vibe to get her the rest of the way there.

Just knowing Etho is on the other end of their call, touching himself because of her — that’s enough.

She moves her hand faster, and she’s always quiet while masturbating — an unlearned habit from living with other people — but she lets soft ahs escape her every time her fingers shove in as deep as they can get. She wants him to hear, to know how good it feels.

“Are you,” Etho starts, pausing as though swallowing or maybe trying to catch his breath. “Are you using the sex toy?”

“No,” Gem tells him. “Just my fingers.”

He lets out a noise Gem’s never heard him make before and Gem finds herself squeezing around her knuckles, wishing they were his instead.

“I want to see,” he says, and Gem thinks if he pushes, is insistent enough, she might actually be stupid enough to send him something.

“Use your imagination.”

She smooths the pad of her thumb across her clit and knows she’s close.

“I am,” he promises and she can hear how wet he sounds, how easy his strokes are.

Whatever he’s thinking, it’s good.

“Etho,” she pleads, because she has no idea what to imagine for him, but she wants him to have broad hands, long fingers, a cock big enough to satisfy her. “Tell me to — ”

She can’t get the words out, but it doesn’t matter.

“Let me hear you, Gem,” Etho says.

She doesn’t stand a chance.

She comes, three fingers stuffed deep, palm rubbing over her clit, shaking her way through an orgasm that has no right being as good as it is at five in the morning.

She pants loudly, not caring if it blows out the sound from her mic, because she can hear him — the way he’s clearly starting to lose control. His stroking isn’t as rhythmic, as steady, and he’s quietly repeating her name like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

He goes silent, and if not for seeing his icon light up on her screen, she’d think he’s muted.

But then he exhales in a rush, like he’s just come all over his own knuckles.

Gem genuinely can’t believe it — she’s listening to him and still doesn’t believe it.

Her brain feels foggy, and not just from her orgasm.

“Fuck,” she says, and means it in every way.

There’s another long silence, something twisting in her stomach — not quite regret, but a realization of what they’ve done.

She just listened to Etho jerk off while he listened to her fingering herself. Whatever’s been building between them for the last six months is now an entirely different beast.

“Fuck,” he agrees, and a surprised laugh slips out of her before she can stop it.

She reaches for the box of tissues she keeps on her desk, using one to wipe at her fingers before carefully moving her mic up again. Her whole body trembles as she pulls her panties and sweats back into place, and she wonders if Etho’s feeling the same way.

She can hear noises, the clink of a glass maybe, like his mouth is too dry and he's taking a drink of water, and then after a long minute, the head of his character on screen moves.

She half expects him to immediately log off, too full of shame or guilt to even say anything else, but then he clears his throat and lets out a soft laugh.

“Um,” he says, and that feels about right.

“Yeah,” she agrees, rubbing at her heated face with her clean hand. “That was — ”

“Good,” he finishes for her unexpectedly, and he’s not wrong.

It was good. Better than good even.

But having him confirm it, that she’s not going crazy, gives her a flicker of hope that maybe they can build something from this.

“Feeling tired?” he asks after a moment, and she suddenly remembers what this has all been about — helping her sleep.

“I don’t know, I — ” She’s interrupted by a yawn so wide her jaw clicks, and she blinks at her screen. “Huh.”

Etho laughs again. “I told you — works every time.”

“Well, what about you?” she asks, not quite accusatory, but she can almost hear the smile in his voice.

“I was thinking about logging off anyway.”

“Huh,” she repeats, watching his character move from side to side.

“Y’know,” he says eventually, “we still haven’t finished that tunnel between our bases.”

It's one hell of a segue and she feels a little lost until he continues.

“Maybe we could work on that tomorrow — later, I mean — when we’re both awake again?”

Even after that, he wants to spend time with her.

She finds herself cautiously smiling at the thought.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We could do that.”

“Cool,” he says, and she can’t believe he’s this way after just coming. She can’t help but wonder what being in bed with him — in the afterglow of sex — would be like.

She thinks he might be fun.

“Cool,” she echoes, letting him hear her amusement.

He watches her a moment longer, exhaling quietly.

“Sweet dreams, Gem,” he tells her, and before she even gets a chance to wish him the same, he’s gone — from their chat and from the server.

Without a thought, she follows his lead and logs off, pushing her chair back as though needing the extra space.

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation — head tipping back as she stares at the ceiling.

And after a moment, she yawns again.

Maybe his advice is sound after all.

[sugarushwriting]

bad idea, right?

frat boy sunghoon #5

part(s): one two three four

gonna start off breaking y’all’s hearts, but then happy ending yay

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

you really thought things were going well between sunghoon and you. three months and you both still argue like an old married couple. kiss like it’s the first time. fuck like it’s your last day together. comfort each other like best friends.

maybe you both started this relationship or situationship too soon.

although you both never thoroughly said “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” to one another, he was yours and you were his. you both weren’t seeing other people.

or at least you thought.

you hadn’t seen sunghoon for about 4 days as you had to force yourself to stay away to study for an exam, and finish a 5 page research paper for separate classes.

sunghoon would’ve just distracted you with his good looks. so you made the difficult choice to stay in your own dorm, in your own bed.

currently it was saturday night, and as usual the frat was having a party to end the football season and begin the basketball season.

you had originally told sunghoon you wouldn’t be able to make it.

however, you had the best roommate who helped you study for the exam (which you passed the day prior) and helped you with your paper (you did all the hard work, she proof read and made sure you had all materials). so, you finished your paper a day earlier than you planned.

with a big smile, you hugged minnie and literally skipped to the frat house to surprise sunghoon. sadly it was cold as fuck, so you wouldn’t be wearing a mini skirt that sunghoon claims to hate seeing you in but he secretly loves.

you wore tight flare jeans, and a off the shoulder knit black top, with black boots. you rather be warm and comfy than cold and uncomfortable in clothes that your man (?) would rip off anyway.

but your heart sank when you searched for sunghoon throughout the party, his own roommates and friends not having seen him for the past 30 minutes.

you tried one last door quietly, and immediately cusped your hand over your mouth, holding in a gasp, shutting the door back.

inside, sunghoon pulled away startled, “what was that?”

“nothing baby.” a female voice purred and brought her lips down to the hockey player once again.

he kissed her a few times back, hands resting on her hips until he pulled away, wiping his lips.

meanwhile you, your vision blurred fighting back tears and a sob. running down the steps, you ignore jay and the others calling after you.

“are we done?” sunghoon said, pushing the girl off his lap, she pouting.

“hoonie, i thought we were having fun?” she tried her best to seduce the boy, but he pushed her hand away from touching him.

“don’t call me that.” he spat. “this stays between us, and you lay off my girl.”

“we’ll see about that, sunghoon. hopefully she’s still your girl after this.” the girl twirled her fake red hair in her fingers, biting her lip.

you ran back to the dorm, cursing at yourself for even liking a guy like sunghoon.

he was a fuck boy for sake. a hockey player. a frat boy.

then you cursed at yourself once again for leaving like a baby. why didn’t you go in there and yell at him? yell at her?

because you were vulnerable with someone for once.

walking into your dorm room, minnie was surprised to see you back so early, and her face fell witnessing the tears fall down your cheek.

“oh baby, what happened?”

you sniffled and let out the biggest sob, running into your roommate’s awaiting hug.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

sunghoon had a raging headache the next morning. after leaving whoever that girl was behind, he drank himself unconscious.

he didn’t like kissing lips that didn’t belong to you. but he felt he had to. to keep you protected.

however that didn’t last when an unknown number had sent photos of him and the girl in close proximity and the girl on his lap, kissing him.

not only to his number but yours as well. the unknown person literally created a group chat to rub it in sunghoon’s face.

after seeing those pictures, you showed minnie, who immediately deleted the text and blocked both the unknown number and sunghoon.

sunghoon drive himself crazy, nearly pulling out all his hair on his head when you didn’t answer his texts or calls.

“she blocked me.” sunghoon swallowed. “no, no, no.” he threw them covers off of himself, slipping on sweats and a random shirt, for once not caring about his appearance.

he quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face, before running down the steps of the shared house, ignoring his roommates calling for him.

he had one thing on his mind and that was getting to you.

his peach.

“peach, baby, please open up!” he nearly cried himself knocking on your dorm door. “i can explain peach, please!”

you laid in your bed, wearing a hoodie of his, crying while hugging a pillow.

minnie walked up surprised to see the boy at the door.

“can i help you?” she crossed her arms. “this is my dorm.”

“you must be minnie,” sunghoon choked out. “please, please let me in to see her. i need to explain.”

“why don’t you explain to me first?” minnie asked standing her ground.

sunghoon sighed. “i—i can’t.” he shook his head. “just know i was doing it to protect her. protect us.”

“how does making out with another girl protect you both, huh?” minnie shot.

sunghoon hung his head in shame. “i didn’t know someone would send her photos.”

“she knew before the photos sunghoon. she went to the party to surprise you after finishing her work and caught you in the act.”

sunghoon snapped his head up, mouth open, eyes blurry. “wh—what?”

minnie nodded. “she came back crying to me, blaming herself.”

“no, no, no, it’s not her fault! it’s mine. i shouldn’t have taken the blackmail seriously.”

that’s when you ripped the door open, stopping the bullshit. “oh please! blackmail? seriously sunghoon? that’s the best you can do! if you wanted to end whatever this is between us you should’ve just said so!” you spat.

sunghoon and minnie were taken back from your outburst. (minnie was secretly proud though).

“peach—,”

“don’t call me that! you lost your privilege when you put your lips on another bitch!”

you pulled minnie in by her arm and slammed the door in sunghoon’s face, heart pounding.

sunghoon raised his fist to knock but decided against it. he’d go to the ice rink.

on the other side of the door, you let more sobs fall.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

the next few days, sunghoon felt like a zombie. a recluse zombie. he went to class and to the rink, that’s it. no extra curricular activities, no parties, no gatherings, nothing.

you became a recluse yourself, which actually was your usual self. back to keeping your nose in the books, in your own world, ignoring men around you.

you hate to admit that you missed sunghoon so much. you missed his touch, smile, laugh, the little beauty moles on his face. the softness of his hair.

you missed the sex too, of course.

you sighed, unable to concentrate on the book in front of you as you sat comfortably in a chair in the student center on campus.

it was pretty quiet besides the few students scattered around on this floor.

trying to get back into your book, a shadow peeped over the book and you were startled to see karina.

“hi.” she waved, biting her lip.

“hi karina.” you looked at the girl confusingly. you hadn’t spoken to the girl in months, so what was up now?

“i heard what happened between you and sunghoon.” karina said and took a seat next to you.

you raised an eyebrow. well, rumors spread fast. “that was fast.”

“well i saw you running out the house party. it seemed you were about to cry. before i could run after you i saw sunghoon with another girl.” karina pouted and reach to hold your hand. “i’m sorry.”

one thing about karina was she was good at acting. you didn’t know if she truly felt sorry or was faking. you had to tread carefully.

“it’s fine, i’m way out of his league anyway.” you sighed, pulling your hand away.

“nah babe, he’s out of your league.”

yeah something was definitely up. the karina who you used to hang out with would have definitely agreed with the first statement and never made the second one.

later that evening, karina found sunghoon after his game and cornered him after he came out the locker room.

with a wicked smile, she looked at the boy who seemed to haven’t slept in days.

“aw, poor sunghoon. missing his peach.” karina mocked, stalking towards him.

“what the fuck do you want karina?” sunghoon spat. karina just stared at sunghoon with a smile. sunghoon wasn’t dumb. it instantly clicked. “you set me up didn’t you?” he narrowed his eyes.

karina slowly clapped. “took you long enough. who else would know your peach’s deepest darkest secret?”

sunghoon still didn’t know himself, but if it was bad enough to be blackmailed about, he would do anything to protect you.

“why me?”

“i couldn’t go after her, in no way would she dare kiss another guy in exchange for blackmail. plus, you’d be too hard to sway away from her. on the other hand, all it took was one kiss with another girl and poof. bye bye peach.” karina chuckled.

if sunghoon wasn’t a gentleman, he would’ve punched karina by now.

sunghoon scoffed. “all it takes is for me to talk to her and she would understand i was set up.”

“tsk, i wouldn’t do that hoonie.”

“don’t call me that.” he spat.

karina laughed. “unless you want me to tell a certain someone your dirty little secret, i would stay away from her.”

sunghoon looked at her confused, scratching his eyebrow. “wh—what dirty little secret?”

karina smiled. “oh, nothing. i just happened to talk to two girls. one named minji the other named, what was it?” karina tapped her chin, in a deep fake thought. she snapped her fingers, “oh, jiheon!”

sunghoon’s own heart dropped hearing two names he hadn’t heard in forever.

“you really were a terrible human being in high school and during your first year in university, sunghoon.”

“i’m not that same person anymore!” sunghoon exclaimed. “and the second one, i didn’t know she was—,”

karina cut off the boy, “do you really think she’d care about that?” karina stalked closer to him. “don’t think i don’t know you also only slept with my best friend in the first place was to get back at me.”

sunghoon’s nostrils flared, “ex-bestfriend.”

“ha, is that the only part you’ll respond to? why? because you know the other part is true.”

“was.”

“doesn’t matter.” karina crossed her arms. “i’ll be seeing you around hoonie.” she smiled and walked off giving him the peace sign with her back turned.

sunghoon leaned against the nearest wall, leaning his head back. did he just lose you forever?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

another month passed, and the first time sunghoon had seen you was just now. looking in your eyes as he found you in the crowd at his hockey game.

he was currently in the penalty box for fighting.

“sunghoon has been getting in trouble too much lately. if he keeps it up, he won’t be able to play in the finals!” sunoo gasped.

“that’s if the team makes it then. they play worse when their co-captain is in trouble.” jay added.

you shook your head, sitting next to the group of boys closest to sunghoon.

you hadn’t wanted to come for obvious reasons, but sunoo and minnie both encouraged you. one, sunoo didn’t want to come without you.

minnie had told you, “if you still find yourself having feelings after seeing him, you need to talk to him. hear him out, and find closure.”

minnie was right. even if you had no plans going back to sunghoon (which honestly broke you), you needed to find closure.

“how long has he been getting in trouble?” you asked sunoo softly.

he looked at you with a soft expression and a sigh. “about a month.”

���he won’t tell us what’s going on in that mind of his.” jay said, resting his chin in his hand. “the boy usually is able to control his anger either by being on the ice or you know,”

“fucking other girls.” jake leaned from beside jay finishing his sentence.

jay shook his head. “i don’t think the boy has been laid in about a month. actually more than that. you were the last girl he was with.” jay turned to you.

the boys knew you and sunghoon were no longer together. they just didn’t know what happened.

you looked at the boys who all were staring at you. sunghoon still looking at you from the penalty box.

“are you gonna ever tell us what happened?” sunoo asked grabbing your hand.

you sighed in defeat. “maybe one day. i need to talk to hoonie first.”

eventually sunghoon was welcomed back in the game, and his team won it, sending them to semi-finals next weekend in the city next over.

the arena slowly emptied out, leaving you sitting on the bleachers. before sunghoon walked to the showers with his team, you told him you would be waiting for him on the bleachers to talk.

about 30 minutes later, sunghoon walked out, dressed nicely with his hair still damp.

you looked up with a smile and patted the spot next to you.

you both sat quietly next to each other, scared to talk first.

in the end, it was sunghoon who talked first. and explained everything. don’t the time he was cornered at the party, up to karina’s threat a month ago.

“i should’ve tried to explain—,”

“you did hoonie, i just ignored you.” you sighed. “i’m sorry.” you apologized with a smile.

“nothing to apologize for peach.” he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. his heart fluttered when you didn’t push him off and tell him not to call you peach.

even more, you called him hoonie.

“i should’ve known karina was behind it. i should’ve had more faith and trust in you.”

“it’s okay. i’m a frat boy with a bad rep.” he kissed your hair line.

what you both knew what needed to be discussed was your secrets that were threatened to be revealed.

you inhaled deeply, needing to get this off your chest to sunghoon. “i’ve only told karina—regrettably, and minnie.”

sunghoon tightened his grip of your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. “it’s okay, i promise you can trust me.”

you explained how you indirectly killed an old friend of yours in high school. “she was so drunk, i should’ve fought harder to take the keys away from her!” you cried into his chest.

“peach it’s not your fault.” sunghoon soothed you by rubbing your back.

“it is! if i would’ve just taken her keys, then she wouldn’t have been able to drive! i just—i tried to fight back, but i was more inebriated than her. turns out someone spiked many drinks girls had when they weren’t looking.” you clutched his shirt in your grip.

sunghoon let you cry for a good 5 minutes until you calmed back down. “i’m a bad person, hoonie.”

sunghoon shook his head. “not worse than me, peach.” he sighed. sunghoon was nervous to tell you.

he swallowed, and you waited patiently to hear what his secrets were.

“the first girl, minji, um,” he scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “minji was a sophomore, i was a senior in high school.” sunghoon sighed closing his eyes. “i was a stupid, stupid teenager, peach. i knew she had a crush on me, and so did my friend group. there was an ongoing bet on how many girls we could mess around with, which bases. bonus if she was a virgin.”

you gasped, “sunghoon,”

“i led her on, knowing she had a crush on me, telling her that i didn’t want anything serious. she let me take her virginity and then i just ignored her.” sunghoon said. “at first i didn’t care, i had told her i didn’t want anything serious. she followed me around and i got so mad, i don’t remember what i said, but it was bad enough minji ran away in tears. few days later she attempted to take her own life.”

you held in a breath. “is, is she—?”

“she’s alive. after that, i sought her out and apologized. apologized to her almost everyday for the rest of my high school years. don’t think she ever really forgave me, just told me okay and to move on.”

you held tighter. definitely disgusted by what he did to the girl, no way excusing his behavior. “what about the other girl?”

sunghoon’s vision threatened to become blurry with tears, but he stated to himself he had no right. if anything, he was angry with himself.

“it was my freshman year in college. one of my first few frat parties i’ve been to. i walked in on two people, quickly apologizing and walked out. turns out she was being assaulted. she was barely conscious, her mouth covered by the guy.” sunghoon spat the last part disgusted.

“sunghoon—,”

“don’t say it’s not my fault because it is.” he said. “i could’ve stopped it! i could’ve beat that guys ass for disrespecting a girl. for hurting a girl. if i just had paid closer attention, i could’ve stopped it.”

“sunghoon, it’s not your fault.” you said.

“it is!”

“did you give her to this guy, knowing she was barely conscious?”

sunghoon stared at you like how could you even imagine something like that? “of course not.”

“then no, it’s not your fault, sunghoon.”

“the girl says the same thing.” he sighed.

“you’ve talked to her after the assault?” you asked and he nodded.

“yeah, i testified as a witness. although i quickly walked out, i was quick to recognize the guy. i had seen him earlier in the night wearing the same jersey and jersey number.” sunghoon explained. “i took her out for coffee to thoroughly apologized, and she told me it wasn’t my fault only the guy who assaulted her fault.” sunghoon closed his eyes. “even though i understand she says it’s not my fault, i am still disappointed in myself.”

“where is she now?”

“she moved away. dropped out of college. haven’t spoken to her since.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you both arrived to sunghoon’s place after an intense conversation. you both had demons in your past that you all had to work on. but also agreed you both should’ve just tried harder to communicate.

it felt good to be laying in sunghoon’s arms, wrapped in his scent.

“just so you know, i’m making love to you tonight peach. nice and slow.”

you pouted. “aw not hard and fast? thought i found someone who matched my freak.”

“your freak? what about mine?” sunghoon laughed.

you playfully pushed his shoulder. “i match your freak!”

sunghoon quickly hovered over your body. “matching my freak would be letting me fuck you until you can’t walk in the middle of the ice rink.”

sunghoon leaned down to kiss the soft spot on your neck, immediately causing you to moan.

kisses trailed down to your exposed thighs as you only wore one of sunghoon’s shirts. nothing else.

“i will rent out the entire rink if that means i get to fuck you all over it, peach.”

sunghoon wasted no time to find his favorite place between your legs, your thighs immediately wrapping around his shoulders due to sensitivity.

you’ve missed his tongue.

it seems like sunghoon miss you, or shall you say cunt, because he inhaled your scent from below.

his tongue lapped up all you had to offer, his hands keeping your thighs now pushed apart. back arching off the bed, your fists gripping the sheets, you weren’t going to last much longer.

sunghoon knew your body like a map, and he knew you were close.

he removed his lips hesitantly, kissing back up your stomach, dragging the shirt with him to pull it over your head.

he kissed your lips once, nibbling at your bottom lip. “we’ll come together, peach.”

his nose touched yours, both of you looking into each other eyes, as you felt sunghoon trace his fingers over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its path.

as smooth as always, sunghoon pulled his pants and boxers off with ease, his shirt already being discarded. he eased in slowly to you, your body needing to readjust to the stretch.

“a month too long, peach.” sunghoon groaned once his full length was inside you.

“never again.” you groaned. “fuck sunghoon, please move. i don’t care if it’s fast or slow.”

your nails scratched his back, for sure leaving marks. his right arm wrapped around your stomach, leaving his arm as a barrier between the bed and your back.

sunghoon kept his promise as he fucked you slow. he had to be sure to get his point across. you were his. he was the only one that could make you feel this good.

his left arm kept sunghoon’s body from fully resting on yours, your eyes screwed shut, with your legs resting on each of his side.

this was the first time you and sunghoon ever took it this slow. not even lazy morning sex was this slow.

“hoonie, i—i’m close.” you moaned out, back arching more.

sunghoon bent down best of his ability to attach his lips to your neck. “come with me peach.”

soon you both came together, sunghoon not even worried about pulling out.

─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ─── ─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ─── ─── ᯓᡣ𐭩

authors note

≽^•⩊•^≼

the dirty little secrets could’ve been better but oh well

i love frat boy hoonie 🩶

[604to647]

Birthday Present

1.3K / Javier Pena x fem!reader

Summary: Someone leaves you a birthday present on your desk.

Warnings: Angst, pining and yearning, but also some hurt, allusion to past relationship, allusions to smut, allusions to infidelity (possible/perceived? left ambiguous on purpose), reader is described as having hair that can be adorned with accessories, set in the Escobar seasons of Narcos (but which one/when is up to you), reader works at the embassy (my h/c is in Treasury because I only know how to write Finance girlies, but it's not important)

A/N: I've had a Javi P story swirling in my head for a long time, long before I even conceptualized Safest with You; but I'm fully committed to SwY right now, and don't think I have it in me to write another multi-chapter fic at the same time. So here is just a little angsty one shot of these two dummies; maybe one day I'll revisit and write the longer story for them that they deserve.

Multiple hands usher you to the office breakroom, where everyone from Treasury and several people from other embassy departments are waiting with a cake adorned with lit candles.  Someone dims the lights and the crowd starts singing “Happy Birthday” to you as you smile and welcome their kind attention.  After the candles are blown out and cake slices dispensed, you give your thanks after some small talk and leave most of the crowd to enjoy their midafternoon break.  Making your way back to your desk carrying the paper plate with your generous slice of cake, you’re surprised to see a small black velvet box with a red bow sitting on top of your files. Momentarily confused, you have to think back to remember that it certainly hadn’t been there when you left for the break room earlier.  You pick up the box and find it to be quite light; as you turn it over in your hands, you look around to see who it might be from.  Unfortunately, most people are either still having cake or just returning to their desks as you have, so there's no one who would have been around to see who left it.

You sit down and open the box; inside, resting on the soft black fabric, are two matching metal hair clips, each with a small, delicate looking silver bird adorning its end.  They’re beautiful and subtle, definitely something that would have caught your eye at an antique store – these were not purchased at any of the local souvenir stores near the embassy, that was for sure.  Your knee jerk reaction is to think they’re from Javier.  Among his many names of endearment for you, his favourite had been to call you his pretty bird. 

But you weren’t his pretty bird anymore.  No, you hold up one of the hand-crafted clips in your hand to admire it, these weren’t from Javi.  He had no reason to give you a gift with such sentiment.

Not when he hadn’t spoken a word to you in the two months since he had broken your heart; not even a word that night you had silently pieced together the scene in his apartment with the beautiful half naked woman on his couch and him standing in the living room shirtless, his pants unbuttoned.  You had apologized for interrupting before leaving your key to his apartment on the kitchen counter, then crying, made your way upstairs to ask the Murphys if you could use their phone to call a car.

You had felt so stupid.  It was entirely your fault for letting Javi break your heart.  You had heard all the whispered warnings around the office of Agent Javier Pena’s philandering ways; some shared as jovial gossip, but also some more bitter testimonials.  But that hadn’t been the man who had helped translate your clumsy Spanish with the Columbian embassy staff.  Or the one who had gently threaded his fingers through yours when unwinding from stressful days over long, lazy dinners. And it hadn’t been the man who had been too shy to cross the threshold of your apartment until you practically yanked him in and let him pull orgasm after orgasm from you until you nearly forgot your own name.  So you had ignored the murmurs about his reputation, allowing what had to be hubris to think it wouldn’t apply to you.  And you had fallen in love with Javier Pena.  You fell head over heels for the puppy eyed, baritone voiced gruff who cared more deeply about his work and the innocent people of Columbia than anyone knew; who had a tender heart that hurt every time Escobar’s violence touched lives that he, Javi, could not save.  With his words and his gentle and not so gentle touches, Javier had made you believe he had fallen in love with you too.  In the end, it must have simply been another weapon in his arsenal of charm to keep his bed occupied and his roster of rotating paramours never ending.  You had fallen for it, thinking you had somehow been special, when of course, you weren’t. Stupid.

No, Javi had no reason to think of you on your birthday.  The gift wasn’t from him.  But this certainty comes with another realization close on its heels: that despite everything, a small part of you wished it was.

---

Javi had waited patiently the entire day, peeking out the door of the DEA office he shared with Steve, down the hall to the big windows of the Treasury department to watch for when you would leave your desk.  All day long, people came by to wish you happy birthday, and you had smiled sweetly at everyone and thanked them for their felicitations. 

Never once did you look down the hall in his direction, but it had been months since you had done so.  It used to be a secret ritual between the two of you; when the DEA would rush down this same hallway for a raid or mission, you would lock eyes with him and mouth words of encouragement, a simple “Be careful” or “Come back”, and him countering “Always” with a cocky smirk, but eyes filled with adoration.  And he had kept that promise every time, always returning to you and proving his devotion over and over with his words, his hands, his mouth, his cock.  Worshipping you, really.  His pretty bird.  The most perfect creature to have ever stepped foot in the US Embassy; sweet, smart, a force to be reckoned with, but most of all, kind, and by some miracle, you saw those same qualities in him.  You made him feel like a better man that he was, and loved him for all that he strived to be.  He had never wanted to be separated from you.

Now he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you had addressed him directly in the last two months: once in a meeting and once while crossing paths in the Ambassador’s office - a polite nod followed by, “Agent.”

Agent.

As if you didn’t know his name.

As if you hadn’t cried it out over and over while writhing in pleasure beneath him.

As if you hadn’t whispered it following the three sweetest words he ever heard from you.

I love you, Javier.

I love you more, pretty bird.

And now it was “Agent”.  Now you hated him. But he still loved you so, so much.

So he had waited until your entire department had left for birthday cake before slipping into the vacated room and leaving your present on your desk.  He had seen the hair clips in the window of a little Columbian antique store while on a recon mission in a village outside of Bogota; thinking of you immediately when he saw them and how perfect they would look in your soft hair.  He had bought them that day, but the box had been sitting in his desk ever since, waiting for a way to make it into your hands where it belonged.

He knew he couldn’t give them to you directly, he was still unable to face you; he had already seen devastation and hurt replace what used to be love and admiration in your eyes the night he didn't stop you from leaving his apartment, allowing you to think he had cheated on you. He was too much of a coward to face those same eyes now and what he might see: disappointment, hate.  Impatiently, he hovers in the safety of his office doorway, waiting for you to discover your gift.  When you do, he watches your face go from surprise, to thoughtful confusion, to delight as you admire the hair clips.  Your eyes seem bright and a little bit sad as you examine the little bird decorating the barrette in the light.  He breathes a little sigh of relief when you ultimately smile and put the dainty accessory away, slipping the gift box into your purse.

Javier hopes you love your present.  He wishes he could help you attach the hair clips to your hair, but contents himself with knowing that when you wear them, you will be carrying his love with you, even if you don’t know it.

[beemynumberone]

Pictures are all from Pinterest.

Paper Lanterns

-> pairing: Time-skip!Kita Shinsuke x Reader

-> format: point form short-ish story

-> genre: fluff, sfw

-> author’s note: the details are probably inaccurate. but we’re here for the vibes and feet-kicking fluff so why not.

my haikyuu masterlist

You recently graduated in ecology and was looking for work

Fortunately, there was a job offer as a consultant to help a rice farmer make his paddy field more efficient and eco-friendly

The pay was good and frankly, you needed any experience you could get your hands on

The only downside was that you stayed in the city, quite far away from the field

And thankfully, the farmer agreed to let you stay at his place during the two months spent improving the field

You were just worried that the farmer would turn out to be a creepy old dude

But from the text convos you guys had about the job and the farmer’s profile picture, the farmer seemed foine fine

When you first arrived at the field, you got a good shock

The farmer was young, as you guessed. But his looks?! His profile did not do him justice

And also, he was so gentlemanly. Helping you carry your belongings into your room and showing you around the house (or maybe your bar was too low in the first place, you didn’t know)

But nevertheless, you maintain a professional relationship, because you’re here to work

So you started work at the field with Kita, the rice farmer

Both of you ran like clockwork

Got up at 5am, had breakfast (Kita made porridge and you made the eggs)

You guys were efficient workers. You made the data collection and crunched the numbers while Kita worked in the field.

And at the end of the day, you would share your results over dinner

At first, only Kita used to cook dinner until you asked if you could share the load.

After much debate, he relented. Only if he could wash the dishes after you cooked.

Oddly domestic, you thought.

Kita marvelled at your intellect and how you found ways he never knew existed to make better use of the resources in the field

Kita even participated in some of your mini experiments, curiosity taking a hold on him

You used to finish data crunching earlier than Kita finished work in the field

So you decided to try your hand at rice planting

It couldn’t be that bad. Everyone begins somewhere right?

Wrong. By the end of the afternoon of work, your feet are littered with blisters and are sore from the friction of your plastic boots squelching through the paddy fields for a few hours

Kita sees you in pain and bites his tongue to hold back the nagging, scared that he might scare you away

So instead he decides to set up a warm salt bath for you to soak your feet

And he prepares the foot bath everyday until your feet recover, which leads you to feel guilty but also turned on and confused

Dang bro, how are you real? He’s not

So your time together draws to a close

And coincidentally, the day before you leave, the villagers hold an event where there’s a tradition of lighting paper lanterns to celebrate the last day of the harvest season

Kita brought you to experience it. Something about experiencing the true country life before you leave, he told you

You wore the prettiest dress you brought

The night atmosphere was wayyy too romantic for both of your sanities

There were couples, old and young, as well as families present by the water side, waiting for the right time to fly their lanterns

And you look over at Kita. He looks straight out of a dream, hair flowing in the small breeze.

He dressed up too, you notice. In a black button down and khaki slacks, as opposed to the cotton shirt and trousers you’d grown to see him in.

His countenance looks neutral. But inwardly he’s in a dilemma

It felt routine to see you for breakfast and to check out the field and bond under the rising sun

And when he first saw you in that “city outfit” of a blouse and skirt, he assumed you wouldn’t last a week in his lifestyle

Which he realised awkwardly too late that the skirt was a culotte and that you adapted just fine (other than the blisters but that was a rookie problem, he excused)

He was going to miss sloshing in the rice paddy in pink boots (yours, which he was grateful for since they brought him closer to you after the blister incident) and yellow (his)

To see the gleam in your eyes that he grew to love very much, when you found something interesting

To listen to you ramble on about what you were so passionate about

Even the mini experiments you conducted in the field were fascinating

He could never get bored with you around

He was really not looking forward to you leaving

Back to the present: He bought two paper lanterns, one for each of you

And as tradition says, you have to write your wish on it, let it fly and the wish would come true

Be true to your heart, Kita whispered, breath tickling the shell of your ear

Shiversssss (in a good way, of course)

You hesitate for a while. Your wish? - to not leave this familiar routine you’d grown to love, not to leave him

And while Kita has his back turned, you decide to write in really tiny handwriting your true wish 

Kita looks over his shoulder and sees your small scrawl

The words are much smaller than the reports he’s seen you write, he notes

He knows that you can’t deny your guys’ chemistry

And seeing you shy about this whole “thing” makes his heart flutter more

And since he’s always believed in being sincere in whatever he does, he decides to go all out and write his true wish (in a big handwriting, mind you)

And when the wind picks up, you both prepare to let your lanterns go

Looking over, you spot Kita’s wish. And your heart stuttttttters.   

As you look up, he locks eyes with your bright, inquisitive ones

Your hair is swept up as prettily as can be in the wind, flying lanterns in the background illuminating your figure

And Kita yearns a little more never to see you leave for good

He opens his mouth to confess

But what actually comes out is:

“You write like you’re afraid to show your true thoughts.”

Kita comments, awkwardly gesturing to the scrawl on the side of your lantern 

“At least I wrote what I truly wanted to say!” You retorted playfully, with burning cheeks

“Can I have a look?” Kita asks

And you think to yourself

No time like the present. You don’t have anything to lose. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate, you’ll be off and running tomorrow anyway

And so Kita reads your wish while you stand close beside him, practically clinging onto his muscular arm both out of trying to retain some warmth in the cold wind and also embarrassment, praying that he can’t hear your furiously beating heart

And while this happens, the wind stops blowing

Your heart drops, because now you can’t make your wishes

Kita finishes reading and sees your crestfallen face

“Don’t worry, your wish has already come true.” 

Your eyes brighten as you realise what he is insinuating

“Your wish too, Shinsuke.”

And so the next day, you don’t go back

And seated at the entrance of the house are two paper lanterns. 

Here is the vibe I got for their dynamic btw (city girl x country boy):

[moonctzeny]

Let’s start the year off right

pairing: ex boyfriend to lover!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: smut, angst

wc: 1,8k

warnings: groping, fingering, oral (female receiving)

a/n: hey Autumn @smileyerim​ ! I hope you enjoy this fic for the secret santa event!! 💖 I’m really sorry I was sooo late 😭😭 hope you had an amazing holiday season and you enjoy this!!

“What about him?”

Sliding further into the couch, you sigh at your friend pointing at yet another prospective victim. He was tall, and cute, yet the way he was holding his drink gave you an ick you couldn’t shake off. The new year’s party you were currently at was full of them, in fact. The hallway overflowed with single men your age, almost like a pretty boy factory, all of them not quite fitting your piece of the puzzle.

“How many times do I need to tell you? Even if he is into me, I’ve completely forgotten how to flirt!”

“Well if you never practice, how the hell are you gonna get out of your dry spell?”

“Just sit here and wait for the universe to send someone my way?”

“Hey, you can’t refuse to take a risk, and also pester me all night about how horny you are. You gotta pick a struggle.”

You groan at his remark, your frustration growing bigger. The boy you were looking at sends you a smile, and you hope he doesn’t invite himself over.

“It’s not that it’s just… I’m gonna have to ask him for his name, and his work, and his friends, then his family… all for it to possibly not work out in the end.”

“Building a relationship of any kind takes time, y/n. It’s not like Santa is gonna fall from the chimney with your new year’s kiss!”

As if rehearsed, someone barges through the front door right then, magnetizing everyone’s eyes on him at once. The stranger in a bright red Santa costume has his head fallen, warm brown locks swinging as he pants heavily.

“Sorry I’m late! Your elevator’s broken.”

“Not a chimney, but close enough”, your friend mumbles, amused, before gasping as the other man finally stands up straight. You could have recognized those dimples anywhere.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Good to see you too”, the stranger responds to your not-so-subtle observation, though he wasn’t much of a stranger anymore. He was no other than your ex, the one you’ve so skillfully managed to avoid for months, until Fate decided to bring you back together right before the year changed and you’d decide to change with it. He seemed eager to aid Fate, confidently striding towards you and Mark, before ungracefully sprawling himself onto the tiny couch next to you.

“Nice outfit”, you sigh, trying to inhale as little of that cologne you got him for your last anniversary that made your knees turn to jello.

“You always told me I look good in red”, he retorts quickly, witty as ever. “My friend’s kid threw a party and they were looking for a Santa.”

The explanation mellows you out a little, appreciating the reason behind the ridiculous attire.

“Anything you want to ask for from Mr. Claus?”, he jokes, “What do you wanna get for Christmas?”

“Fucked”, Mark deadpans, and manages to escape your chokehold right on time.

“Hey Mark could you please go get yourself a drink in the kitchen? And stay there?”

A wicked smile stretches across the younger boy’s face.

“Oh, I see, I see. You want me to leave you two alone”, he hums, entertained, and you decide not to swear at him at hopes he leaves you alone faster. Jaehyun’s breath that suddenly tickles your ear makes you jump in your seat.

“If you sit on Santa’s lap and ask nicely, maybe your wish will come true.”

Kissing your teeth in annoyance, you press the back of your palms to your cheeks, blaming the hotness of your face to a non-existing headache.

“I think I’m having an allergic reaction to your jokes.”

“I thought you liked my humour?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute”, you tell him honestly, and now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. You notice some redness around his chin, probably from the fake beard he must have had on earlier, and you’re reminded at how easily his skin flares up. Your mind time-travels at all those times you saw his pale skin as a canvas, leaving marks in shades of pink and purple, and you’re so desperate to keep your mind off the thought of your teeth sinking into his neck that you’d talk about anything at this point.

“How’s work?”, you ask a bit awkwardly, regretting the question as soon as you see him tense up. Maybe the reason why you broke up in the first place isn’t the best conversation starter.

“Good. I’ve learned to manage my time a bit better. To spend time with the ones I loved. Wish I could’ve done that sooner.”

The small yet intentional jab leaves a dull pain somewhere deep in your guts.

“I’m happy for you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah”, you nod, earnestly, “I know how hard you work. You deserve your success.”

“Thank you”, he manages to choke out, his eyes a little watery, though it could have been due to tiredness. He passes you both a glass full of a fizzy alcoholic drink, and the bubbles in your tongue soothe you a little.

So you take a few more sips, just enough to let yourself enjoy the warmth Jaehyun’s body emits next to you, enough to snuggle up to him a little. You talk, and talk. About your life, about the mutual friends you both had to become distant to after your break up, about the little habits that you used to share. And it feels nice. So nice that when he asks you for a dance, you don’t even think to scoff in incredulousness.

You scan the room for any prying eyes, only to find everyone preoccupied in the own little universe rather than yours. Jaehyun’s palm is big and inviting as he stretches out his arm towards you and you take it, recognizing that the song that started playing moments ago, was the one you used to call as “yours”.

“Can I be honest with you?”

He spins you slowly around him and the room spins with you, the effects of the champagne evident on his rosy cheeks. Your hands play with the soft fabric of the ridiculous costume that he’s somehow pulling off.

“Please”, you whisper, trying to catch a breath as your chests connect in the crescendo of the chorus.

“I’m not sure what to do with all these feelings for you.”

You stumble on your toes a little, stepping on the corner of his shoe. Your attempt to voice out an apology gets fizzled out when you realize he’s hanging on the tip of your tongue for a response to his confession.

“You still have feelings for me?”

“You don’t?”

His hands move awkwardly from their place on your waist, and you feel like your heart is going to break if he moves even an inch away from you.

You glance at the clock. 10 minutes to 00:00.

Screw it. You can’t wait that long.

Grabbing the back of his neck, you pull him down into a kiss. The forceful movement makes his red hat drop to the floor yet he doesn’t seem to care. He presses his lips against yours harder, moving them slowly as the song fades out into another. Big hands bring you closer, resting right above your ass. You can’t help but silently ask him for your kiss to deepen, sliding the tip of your tongue against his bottom lip. He gladly shares a french kiss with you and when you suck on his tongue lightly, a trick you knew how much he loved when you were together, he lets out a groan that vibrates you both.

You’re not sure where he’s leading you but you follow him, hands travelling across his collarbones as you feel your back getting pressed against a door. His face gets buried in the slope of your neck, sucking at your skin until your legs give out. You can practically feel his devious smirk as he prepares his joke inside his head.

“So. Have you been naughty, or nice?”

“Shut up, Jaehyun.”

You knock on the door behind you (that belonged to the apartment’s only bathroom, apparently), and after getting no answer from the other side, you pull Jaehyun inside with you.

You barely manage to lock before your ass is on the cool sink, your skirt getting pulled up to the top of your thighs. You let your fingers wander past the elastic of his boxers, following the path of his happy trail.

“You first”, he moans, and gets on his knees in front of you. He inserts his middle and then his ring finger, establishing a pace that is both leisurely and sinfully wonderful. And when his lips find your clit, you’re finally reminded of how well he knows what makes your toes crawl; he can play you in the palm of his hand. The sounds of him kissing and slurping echo in the small bathroom, but you can't beg him to stop when you're also struggling to control your moans. You get dizzy from the sensation of his tongue sucking on your pussy and the soft pads of his fingers stroking your walls, and you start digging your nails into the marble in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from falling over.

You can faintly hear the distant cheers of the other party goers from the living room.

“...three, two, one. Happy New Year!”

You bite your fist to stop yourself from making a sound as your orgasm strikes you like a wave, yet that wouldn’t be the end for Jaehyun. He firmly lays one hand on your hips, cupping your left boob with the other. Stars dance over your vision as he continues to lap up on your arousal, sucking on your swollen nub until your whole body starts to shake in overstimulation.

He finally mercies you, pupils blown out from the unadulterated arousal as he gets up on his feet and you take his place on the floor. His cock is pressing desperately against the velvet fabric of his pants, and you’re ready to return the favor when a loud knock on the door startles you.

“Get out already! Some people have to pee!”

You have no choice but to laugh at the other party, straightening out your clothes in silence. You were on your way to the door when you feel Jaehyun cupping your jaw, leaving a surprisingly soft kiss on your raw lips.

“I don’t want the night to end now. Wanna get out of here?”

You smile.

“Sure. Let’s go do something fun. You know what they say; whatever it is you’re doing on the first day of the year, you’ll end up doing for the rest of it too.”

“Guess I’ll have to do you, then.”

It was your turn to kiss him now, yet the intention behind yours felt much heavier.

“Let’s start the year off right.”

[angelicglib]

‧₊✩ Christmas Comfort ✩₊‧

[ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 25/12/23 (REPOSTED: 28/12/23)

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After Johnny's death and a failed mission, Simon returns home to his girlfriend.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 3,252

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort, angst, a somewhat happy ending (it will never be fully happy without soap I am sorry) possible mw3 spoilers (if you have been living under a rock please avoid)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: This is my first story here, please be kind I beg <3 also very sorry for this but I had the idea and thought it would be quite a bittersweet story for the holiday season !!

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

─────────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────────

Christmas this year is going to be tough.

You know it from when you open the door to him on Christmas Eve. 

Time has passed, he hasn’t been home for months and you were starting to convince yourself that it’s going to be years before you ever see him again.

When you were talking on the phone earlier, sometime during the middle of November, he had made a comment that he wasn’t going to come back home until he had made sure he had the pleasure of declaring that the enemy that had murdered his best friend was officially gone for good. While your chest tightened at his comment, you had nodded along and assured him that they would catch Makarov eventually; there were only so many places one man could hide before he’d revert back to familiar ground. 

You feared the same for Simon at that moment. In fact, even with him home safe, you still do.  

Of course, you would never say that to his face.

Despite his capability in combat, however, you often find yourself awake at night wondering just how capable he was when it came to processing and dealing with loss. Had he done what you assume he has done, he was most likely going to run from it instead of addressing it. Problems will build up and up until they came tumbling down. It’s a simple thought to construct during the late nights you have been spending alone since the news of what had happened to Johnny had found its way to you. Just as such a thought is easy to construct, you find that another one comes to you quicker than the former: where would Simon be when the building he’d constructed over the years fell to pieces? 

There were only so many places he man could hide before he’d refer back to familiar ground. Even if said ground was crumbling around him. Maybe in his misery, he would find solace in falling to his doom with the chunks of shattered earth surrounding him.

If that assessment is wrong, it doesn't matter; your brain has decided it before your heart even gets a say.

You have very little to go off of concerning with how he dealt with loss, the occasional comment about his mum was enough for you to know that he wasn’t the type to completely forget about a loved one. 

He's vague about his past. The less said about it the better. 

‘You keep pawing an’ clawing at my brain like a damn puppy,’ he said, trailing his hands through your hair. You were guilty, for sure you were. Curiosity was sure to be the death of you in that regard. He’d let small facts slip on occasion, although, you knew his accidental slip ups were most definitely intention. 

Of course, Simon Riley was no fool.

’Just tell me something,’ you begged, ‘like… I don’t know, what was your favourite food to eat at Christmas when you were younger? Ooo, I bet it was something like liquorice. You’d so make your nan pissed by robbing all the good shit out of the sweet tin.’ You laughed at the thought of a tiny Simon Riley climbing on top of a chair, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to snatch the sweet, sweet treat of liquorice. 

‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?’ he scoffed, ‘actin’ like I’m an old man doll,’ he snorted, ‘stop tryin’ to pester me f’r memories you have no business viewing.’

‘Is it illegal to be curious now?’ you asked with a playful smile. It was silent for a moment, and you lifted your head in an attempt to find his eyes in the darkness.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, ‘you don’t wanna know me from the past, love,’ he huffed, ‘doesn’t matter now.’

‘You won’t even tell me what your favourite food was during Christmas?’ 

‘No,’ he reverted back to the same Simon you had seen when Johnny had been talking his ear off during the rare nights out you had had with 141. ’Now go t’ sleep, gonna be tired in the morning if you keep rambling on. My ears are burning with ya, doll,’ he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. 

Despite everything telling you to pull away from him, you maintained your closeness, the warmth of him far too appetising to refuse. Exhaling deeply, you rested your head against the pillow, staring straight at the wall in front of you. Your heart hurt at the very thought that he cared so little about his past that he fought to keep everything from his earlier life away from you. Even the smallest things. Of course, you would never had pried him, only the few passing comments in hopes for him to slip up as he had done a few times before. 

Another hard sigh escaped you as you close your eyes. He shifted behind you, resting his head against your shoulder. You thought nothing of his sudden movement; it wasn’t uncommon for him to do so while you were sharing a bed together. Only, he turned his head, his breath ghosting your ear. Inhaling, he swallowed hard. ‘Mum used to make us roast dinners,’ he whispered, ‘used to always slap my hand away whenever she was cooking cause I used to always rob the pigs-in-blankets while she was still getting dinner ready.’

A small laugh passed your lips as you turned in his hold, placing your hand against his cheek with a cheeky grin. He stares back, blue gaze gutting through the darkness, slicing your soul to pieces.  ‘Now, will y’ stop huffin’ and puffing and just go to sleep?’ He asked, placing his hand over yours. 

‘Soundly, Lt.’

Even behind the mask, you could sense the sadness, the loss. A flurry of emotions hits you when you first see him after what has happened. What can you say to him? Anything other than I’m sorry seems to be an insult to him and to the memory of the man that is sure to haunt him.

The mask hides his face, but it never hid his eyes, his tired and war-weary eyes. It's a brutal sight to see the man who had put the fear of God through you when you had first met reduced to this crushed soul. 

‘Simon,’ you say after a while of the pair of you just standing there, staring at each other. For a brief moment, it felt as though you had opened the door to a stranger instead of your boyfriend. Lifting his head, his Adams apple bobs beneath his balaclava as he steps forward. You take a step back, letting go of the edge of the door. Still, he doesn't speak, only standing there, observing you. ‘I thought you said you weren’t coming home until—‘

‘Don’t wanna talk about it,’ he answers, closing the door behind him.

His clothes are branded with the stench of war, and you take note of his bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying? You thought it impossible for such to be the case, he’d do no such thing. But, when he shakily inhales, grabbing the edge of his balaclava, your stomach dropped.

‘Place looks nice,’ he says, though his eyes don't leave you, ripping his mask from off of his face, shoving it into of his cargo pants. His words were shaky despite the stoic expression on his face. ‘You been alright?’

You look at him with wide eyes. ‘I- uh- yeah, yeah, just sorting out last minute things for Christmas,’ you answer, ‘how about you go and get a shower, get changed into some fresh clothes? I’ll make you something to eat—‘

‘Not hungry,’ he answers frankly, ‘appreciate the offer, doll, but I think I’m just gonna go straight to bed,’ he says. All the moisture in your mouth disappears and you’re forced to swallow a dry mouthful of air as you look up at him. 

‘Right,’ you nod, ‘I- I’ll be up right after you, just gonna turn everything off down here,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer you after that, dropping his duffle bag down on the ground by the front door as he traipses up the wooden steps of your home. The garland wrapped around the bannister winks at you as you watch Simon walk up the stairs, almost mocking you for ever think it was a good idea to decorate.

The entirety of your house is wrapped like a Christmas present, reds, greens, colourful lights- everything. Whether it was the right thing to decorate or not, you choose not to focus on it too much as you rush around the house, switching off the decorations and the lights, leaving the washing you had been doing on the counter in the kitchen. 

All of it can wait. But he can’t. 

So, with such a thought in mind, you busy yourself with your plan. What is included in that plan can be decided as you’re walking through the house, back to the staircase you have just seen your poor boyfriend walking up.

Jogging up each step, you decide that ultimately, everything that has happened in the past few months with be something he will not be willing to discuss with you; he made it clear when he walked through the door. Don’t push him on it.

When your foot hits the last step, you nod to yourself as you consider what you would do if he did want to talk to you about it. If he wants to talk to you about it, then you rejoice in his openness. But it isn’t necessary for him to have your undying support. No matter what he decides, ultimately, your heart is never going to fail on him. 

Before heading into your bedroom, you gulp when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out of your pocket, your eyes scan over the message, a shallow exhale escaping your lips. 

Mum &lt;3: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. made sure to grab extra pigs-in-blankets incase Simon decides to appear sometime. Love you xx

Begrudgingly, you stare down at the message before looking at the bedroom door. From beyond it, you can hear the running water in the shower and all you can think about is him. So, with a deep breath, you look back down at your phone and begin to type. 

From ‘me’: Slight change of plans but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it there tomorrow. Simon’s just got home and he’s not good. Don’t think socialising is what he needs right now. Sorry, I love you xx

Choosing has never been easy, yet, when you pushed open the bedroom door and saw his clothes sitting on the bed the pair of you share, you decide that that choice was the easiest one you have ever made in your life. It isn’t a sacrifice when it is necessary. At least, not when it comes to Simon at least. 

--

‘I’m not going home tomorrow,’ you tell him when he walks out of the bathroom. Part of you feels bad for bombarding him with something as soon as he walks out, but the affirming text from your mother causes your heart to swell, and when you see him again, it bursts. His hair is damp and he pulls his face out of the towel with a surprised look. His scarred cheeks are branded with a subtle red tinge from the heat exuding from the bathroom. The heat works well to melt his features just enough for him to mould them into a dissatisfied sneer. ‘I don’t wanna fight you on this, Si.’

‘You can’t cancel on your family,’ he says, approaching his dresser. ‘Not right. I don’t want you to do that for me,’ he continues, grabbing a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. ‘Go spend time with them, am fine here.’ 

‘I already told my mum,’ you say, ‘she’s fine with it,’ you quickly reassure, far too aware that he very well may be a ticking time bomb.

Oddly, you request of not fighting on it seemingly works as he looks over his shoulder at you. There is simply no fight left in Simon Riley anymore, you conclude it from the way he shrinks as he exhales, padding up to the bed. It was as though he had left the house as a grenade left the hands of a soldier. Upon his return, the body of what made him him: his danger, his determination, and his strength had all been lost and you find he has been reduced to the pin pulled from the grenade. 

Looking up at him, you find that it is up to you if you’re going to discard it or keep it as a keepsake.

Pulling the edge of the duvet, you pat the side of the mattress, ‘c’mon,’ you say gently. He doesn’t wait to climb into bed beside you, resting his weary head against the pillow. It’s as though someone is pressing down on his chest as he heaves a sound unlike anything you have ever heard. Exhaustion was clear, but grief was easier to identify in his eyes. Leaning over, you turn the lamp on your beside off, trying your attention to him, lying on his side. 

There’s nothing to say. Not to him, not for him, not for yourself. You just lay there and stare at him hoping something will come to you. Anything said will be a bittersweet lullaby, you’re convinced. Nothing is going to put him to sleep. ‘Your minds running; faster than mine, sweetheart,’ he says. His eyes are closed when you look at his face. ‘Don’t want you doin’ stupid things ‘cause of me.’

‘Nothing is stupid when it comes to you, Si’,’ you weakly state.

At this point, you heart is racing, your tongue tangled as you contemplate every single word on the edge of your tongue. ‘Mum said she’ll bring us dinner tomorrow,’ you say with a weak smile, debating on whether or not you should spoil the surprise. ‘We can eat it and watch something… if you want to.’

‘What’s she bringing,’ he asks.

‘A roast,’ you answer, ‘it is Christmas after all.’

He’s quiet for a while, almost as though he doesn’t even want to think about what day it is. December 24th. Christmas Eve. You’re unsure how exactly the holidays work in 141, only noting that he had been away a few times during Christmas. Oddly, this is one of the first ones he’s home with you. His second Christmas since knowing Johnny that he isn’t with him. Your heart weakens at the realisation, your brain cursing you with the knowledge of something so agonising.

They had spent Christmas together.

And now they won’t and never will and it isn’t just because of the distance between Manchester and Scotland.

Rather, it’s because of the distance between this life and the next.

Your eyes well with tears and you close them. Your heart hurts for the man lying in front of you, and when you hear him clear his throat, you find it difficult to contain your own sorrow. ‘Doesn’t feel like Christmas,’ he tells you, his voice trembling as he does. ‘Haven’t slept at all since ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about him just… lyin’ there,’ his throat tightens and his tone grows pitchy as he inhales deeply, swallowing hard. ‘I shoulda done something, I should’ve been there f’r him.’ 

He’s crying at that point, but not sobbing. In fact, you only know he's crying because, when you place your hand against his cheek and the pad of your thumb wiped away a tear that falls past his eye. ‘You were,’ you choke out, ‘even in death, you were loyal to him, Si’, don’t you dare go cursing your own name for something you were not responsible for,’ you demand. ‘You’ll get him.’

‘We’re fallin’ apart without him,’ Simon sniffles, ‘bet he’s sitting up there pissin’ himself seeing me like this,’ he utters. The pair of you share a laugh at the thought and you move close to him. ‘I just… I told myself after everything that happened to mum and Tommy, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause that fucked me up, but then I met Johnny a- and I met you.’

You hold your breath. 

‘Simon—‘

‘And what if I can’t keep you safe? I’ve failed at it so much and that fucking pricks got me doubting myself now—‘

‘Shut up,’ you firmly say, ‘I don’t wanna hear it, Si’,’ you utter, ‘and neither would Johnny.’

You press your thumb against his cheek, ‘doubt is a killer, and it’s not me who you’re not gonna be able to protect if you keep thinking the way you are, it’s yourself,’ you continue, licking your dry lips, ‘and… and if you die, then who’s gonna steal the pigs-and-blankets on Christmas Day?’ 

Whether it was time for humour or not, you’re unsure. But, as you thinking for a moment, you recall the tales told to you by Simon during his time away, particularly his time with the Shadows. 

Two goldfish are in a tank… 

‘You still remember that?’ he asks eventually. You feel the muscles contort in his face as he smiles at you. 

‘Always,’ you respond, ‘mums got them with the dinner tomorrow ‘cause I asked her too… said she got extra incase you planned on robbing any of them.’ You feel bad telling him such information knowing that you had chosen to cancel the holiday. If anything, you’re worried about the guilt you’re causing him by rambling on about the stupid fucking pigs-in-blankets. ‘My point is Si’,’ you take a deep breath, ‘I need you here with me so you can fulfil your duty.’

He shifts and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing his face into the nape of your neck. Your hand brushes through his hair, melting in his arms as his hot breath fans against your neck. ‘Wanna see your family tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘Are you sure—‘

‘’Ave been stuck in my mind for nearly two months,’ he confesses, pulling away from your neck. ‘Fighting with myself over everything, I’ve hardly spoken to Price or Gaz,' he says. You press your lips together, the thought of him being alone nauseating. ‘Be a waste of money as well if I didn’t try pinching the food your mums made, wouldn’t it?’ 

You feel him smile as he presses his face back against your neck, his grip on you so tight its almost painful. But you relent, allowing him to have the comfort he so deserves. Resting your head above his, you close your. Whatever awaited you in the future can wait, you conclude.

‘I proud of you,’ you whisper, pressing a kiss onto his head. 'Never gonna let you doubt yourself ever again, not on my watch,' you continue, 'now sleep. We can talk more when you're ready.'

He smiles again.

'I know I can sleep soundly now,' he utters against your skin, 'got you beside me.'

With that, the pair of you fall into silence. You don't sleep, not until you feel his breathing steady against you skin, the subtle rise of his chest as he keeps his arms around you. You keep running you fingers through his hair before eventually, you find your eyes growing heavy and you drift off.

─────────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────────

[joedirtymadre]

Feelings

RYUSUI X READER Fluff story. It’s ok. (Taking requests 📲)

“(Y/N) don’t you ever get jealous whenever Ryusui talks about loving and wanting every girl he sees?” Minami asks. “Yeah, it is quite strange for your partner to do that…” Ruri added. “Oh come on, you all know that Ryusui doesn’t mean it like that,” Kohaku said. “Well you never know, maybe (Y/N) does feel jealous, she just doesn’t wanna say,” Minami said, trying to push me to talk. “Uhh… well I don’t know. I don’t really get jealous, because I know he means different types of love or want with people,” I said. “Hmm… well I guess you have a point, but if my man said he wanted every girl in the world I’d leave him. Why put up with that?” Minami scoffed. “I guess that is true. Doesn’t it get annoying?” Kohaku asked. “Not really… well…” I started. “Ooh! Do share!” Minami said with stars in her eyes. I laughed awkwardly, it makes sense that a reporter wants all the details. “Well…” I repeated. I watched as the 3 blondes squeezed in closer to hear clearly. “I just wished that we would go on real dates. Where he doesn’t have Francois tag along, not like there’s anything wrong with Francois!… but I wish that we have normal just us time. Where…” I sighed. “Where he just pays attention to me and nothing else…” I ended and looked up to the speechless group. “Selfish isn’t it?” I asked nervously. “No!” The 3 said and hugged me. “That is not selfish, and even if it is, you have a right to be selfish!” Minami shouted. “She’s right, your partner should treat you with respect! They should show you how much they care about you,” Ruri explained. “Man that dumb pirate! I should knock some sense into him,” Kohaku frowned. “No! No… it’ll be fine I swear! Plus, he’s busy trying to help Senku rebuild the world. So it’s obvious he doesn’t have time… for his girlfriend,” I said the last part softly. “Oh (Y/N)…” Ruri frowned and patted my shoulder. “Trust me you guys, everything is fine,” I smiled. “If you say so…” Minami said. “Hmph, I could still beat a thing or two inside of him,” Kohaku said. I laughed and walked away from the 3 to begin tending the garden.

I finished watering and planting some more vegetables that prosper during this season. “(Y/N)! My beloved!” I heard and quickly turned to see Ryusui… and Francois. “Hi Ryusui, hello Francois,” I smiled and wiped my hands before walking over to the two. “Hello (Y/N), you vegetables look beautiful. I hope to use them in my cooking,” Francois bowed. “Well of course you will, Francois! (Y/N)’s vegetables mixed with your superb cooking will surely make an excellent dish. For the world’s greediest man!” He laughed. I smiled and then remembered the conversation I had earlier. I shook my head and noticed the looks on Ryusui and Francois' faces. “Something wrong my beloved?” He asked. “No… nothing!” I said. “Hmm…” I caught Francois' stare for a bit. “Well, I must excuse myself, as I need to begin dinner,” Francois said, and quickly bowed and turned to walk off. “Huh? Hmm… even Francois is acting strange…” Ryusui said as he began to think. “Who knows?” I shrugged. “Hey, are you sure you’re alright?” He asked again. “Uhh… yeah, I am,” I said. “Hmm… well alright then!” He smiled. “Now I have to go find Senku, he said he needs some last minute ship checking, to ensure that we are able to set sail by the end of the month,” he said. I nodded, “I’ll see you later,” I smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek, and we both went our separate ways.

Sun was setting and I decided to head to bed. I slowly walked home, “Hey! (Y/N)!” I heard and turned to see Ryusui running after me. “Oh, hi Ryusui. How are you? Did you finish checking the ship?” I asked. “Yes! But forget about that, are you free right now?” He asked. “Yes?” I said, confused. “Good, follow me!” He said and grabbed my hand, pulling me to wherever he was taking me.

“Where are we going?” I asked. “You’ll see,” he said. Then suddenly he stopped, quickly turning around to face me. “Close your eyes,” he said. “O-Ok,” I stuttered and covered my eyes with my hands. I then felt Ryusui step behind me and place his arm around my lower back. He then guided me to wherever it was he was taking me. A few more steps and Ryusui stopped. “Alright, open your eyes,” he said. I finally uncovered my eyes and stood in shock by the scene in front of me. It was a small picnic! “R-Ryusui did you do this?” I asked in amazement. “I did, as well as these,” he said, and handed me a small bouquet of wildflowers. “Oh, they’re beautiful, thank you!” I said and jumped towards him for a hug. “Of course, but I’m sorry that everything isn’t as top quality as usual,” he said. “Huh?” I asked. “Well… you didn’t look so happy earlier. So I asked Francois ways that may make you happy and they suggested a nice date, so I decided to put something small together,” he said. “Thank you, I love it. Everything is perfect!” I smiled. We sat down and ate the sandwiches Ryusui made. “Ha ha! I guess you could call this date a success!” He said proudly. “Mm-hmm!” I nodded. “Good, then I hope this means you can tell me what was bothering you earlier. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything,” he said softly and placed his hand on top of mine. “Oh, well…” I started. “Ryusui, sometimes when we hangout you usually start talking about other stuff, but sometimes I wish… that you would just pay attention to me. Plus have more dates like this, just the two of us… without Francois,” I said softly. “I see,” he said firmly. “Sorry, I’m being so selfish,” I said. “It’s alright, plus there’s something else isn’t there?” He asked. “Ha ha… I just wish that whenever we have times like this you don’t talk about wanting other people or things,” I said nervously. “That sounds weird now that I said it out loud! I take it-“ I was interrupted by Ryusui suddenly pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “No it’s fine!” I said. “Stop doing that! Stop acting like it’s no big deal, it’s ok for you to share these feelings with me,” he said firmly. “You’re right! I tend to bring up other people or things that I want too much when we’re together. I didn’t realize how annoying it was for you, especially when you want to just enjoy the little time we have together before I travel out to sea,” he said, tightening his hug. “I just didn’t want to bother you. I know you have your mind on other things, especially when trying to rebuild humanization,” I smiled. Ryusui shook his head, “Yes, but I need to have time and mind set aside for you,” he said. I leaned up and pulled him in for a kiss. “Thank you for understanding, I was nervous you’d get angry or annoyed by my feelings,” I said softly before pulling him in for another kiss. “So tell me beautiful, would you want to spend the night at my place tonight? You’ll have all my attention tonight,” he said as he kissed my hand. “That sounds lovely,” I said and followed him back to his hut.

[ahonice]

it doesn't matter

jamie drysdale x fem reader (ft. trevor zegras)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: drinking, sexual themes and mentions of sex, cursing, jamie being a fake swiftie (dw that is taken care of), reader has a guilty conscious, fluff (some angst i think), happy ending (those are rare on this blog), not proofread because i accidentally queued this so it posted on its own oops

note: i rewrote this about three times over the past two months, hope you guys are pleased with the final outcome. any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. hope you guys enjoy. have a great day, love y’all babes <3 !!!

+++

“hey you’re single right?” your head shot up at the sound of trevor, one of your closest friends, voice. you had known trevor since you moved to anaheim for college, on your first day in town he accidentally took your coffee from the pickup area at starbuck and you chased him down because you would be damned if you spent ten dollars on an iced coffee that you wouldn’t of been able to drink. it would’ve been a lie if you said you didn’t have a crush on him, he was so funny and kind and not to mention the fact that he is genuinely gorgeous, but you never acted on anything because you were worried he wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings, and the fact that the two of you have had one too many drunken, and a couple sober, hookups didn’t help either.

“of course i am, or else what we did last night would’ve been morally wrong, why?” your heart rate picked up, thoughts running a mile a minute. was he about to ask you out? did he actually like you back the way you dreamed he did? was our relationship finally gonna be something more than friends who fuck at times?

“i wanna set you up with my roommate, jamie. i think you guys would like each other.”

+++

it was a crushing blow, not only did trevor just inadvertently just tell you your feelings are one sided, but that they are so one sided that he thinks his roommate would be a better match for you than himself. you felt sick to your stomach, this was in no way a heartbreak, but that doesn’t mean it can’t hurt.

“earth to y/n.” trevor’s voice shook you from your trance, you had completely forgotten he was there. “you good? you haven’t said a word in like five minutes.”

“yeah i’m fine, um who is this guy? i don’t think i’ve heard you talk about a jamie before.” you wanted this to be a joke, for trevor to say he was kidding, maybe jamie wasn’t real and he just wanted to see if i was open to a relationship right now. 

“well he’s on the ducks as well, seems like your type. brunette with blue eyes, he’s got nice eyebrows too, just a couple weeks older than you, i know you don’t like extremely tall guys so him being 5’11 is perfect.” the more trevor went on about jamie the more you realized that jamie was in fact a real person and did seem like my exact type. “he has freckles too, i know you love those on guys and he looks good in the color green, he checks off all your boxes y/n.” you hated that he did. 

“can i see a picture before i agree to anything?” you didn’t want trevor to get suspicious when you said no, so you wanted to seem like you were at least considering it.

“absolutely.” looking over at trevor’s phone you let out a small sound of surprise.

he was gorgeous

“trevor why have you never told me about him before?” you said, grabbing his phone to go through all of his instagram posts. “he is literally beautiful!” 

“i honestly didn’t even think about it, but jamie saw you at our party last week and asked about you and i knew i had to make you two happen.” trevor said, taking his phone back. “come over tonight. we’re having a party before the season starts, you’ll be able to meet jamie.”

+++

it didn’t take you very long to get ready, your hair and makeup having already been done from your errands earlier in the day, but you did struggle picking out an outfit as every twenty year old girl would. you didn’t quite know who it was that you were dressing up for, in previous months it was always trevor. you were always hoping that he would see you and you would end up staying with him until the morning. while that was usually the case, the second part of your fantasy never came true. the part where trevor realizes he has feelings for you that go further than seeing you as a good fuck. but now there was jamie, you hadn’t even met him yet and you were still wanting to impress him. maybe trevor would see you with jamie and it would make him realize his feelings for you. but jamie seemed nice, once trevor left you looked him up and watched a few too many tiktoks and interviews involving him, he seemed like the polar opposite of trevor and that might just be what you need, it also doesn’t hurt that he was just about one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your life, trevor was not lying when he said that jamie was your exact type. settling on a simple pink top and black jeans you made your way towards the uber trevor had ordered for you, palms sweaty and legs slightly shaking as you confirmed where you were headed before you saw your apartment complex disappear in the distance. 

+++

“y/n thank god you’re here, i was starting to think you were pussying out.” trevor loudly yelled as he approached you, great he was already at least three drinks in. “catch up” he said once he was standing in front of you, handing you a beer. 

“i don’t drink this crap, you know this.” you said, shaking your head as trevor silently continued to push the can in your face.

“fine, i bought you some caymans. they’re in the garage fridge, but don’t take too long, jamie is excited to meet you.” you ignored the way his eyebrows wiggled as you began walking towards the garage.

once you were in there you grabbed two drinks, just so you wouldn’t have to come back out for at least half an hour, as well as a shooter. you needed the liquid confidence that would come from the tiny bottle of pink whitney. 

once you made your way back into the party you walked around looking for trevor, stopping a couple of times to greet those you knew, before you found him sitting with the man of the hour.

“y/n! come here, meet jamie.” trevor waved you over, you took a generous sip of the alcohol in your hand before making your way over, sitting down on the couch. trevor in the middle of us, as he began rambling to no one in particular about something you didn’t quite know, your ears tuning him out as the sound of your heartbeat in your ears took over all your senses. 

“y/n, are you even listening to me?” trevor asked you, gently poking the exposed part of your waist.

“no.” the laugh you heard after that made a bush creep up your neck, jamie’s laugh was just as beautiful as he was.

“rude, anyways y/n this is jamie. jamie, this is y/n.” he motioned the two of you towards each other as he talked, jamie reached in front of him to offer you his hand. “now get to know one another, i’m gonna go play pong.” trevor stood up before you could protest him leaving you alone with jamie.

you expected it to be awkward, but it wasn’t. conversation was flowing between the two of you like you had known each other for years, you talked about the basics, what tv shows you enjoyed, favorite movies, taste in music, which then led to a thirty minute discussion about taylor swift and how jamie claimed he was a swiftie but couldn’t name any songs that weren’t played on the radio

“i have a lot to teach you i guess.” you were definitely making it obvious that you were interested in him, but you didn’t care. you’d usually be so shy around a guy so cute, but something about jamie made you calm, that was the simplest way to put it.

“i would love that.” the blush on his face matched yours. you smiled at him, contemplating whether or not you wanted to ask the question you had been wanting the answer to all night.

“so why have i never seen you around or met you before? i’ve known trevor for almost two years now, and i’m over here quite a lot.” 

“i usually just stay in my room all day, especially during parties, i’m not the biggest fan of them.”

“then why are you out here right now and not bunkered up in your room?”

“i wanted to meet you, to get to know you.” jamie answered, scratching the back of his head and giving you a sheepish smile. “i came downstairs last weekend to grab something from the kitchen and that's when i saw you, i really lucked out that you are friends with trevor or else i probably never would’ve been able to find out who you were.” 

you nodded at his response, informing him that you were glad you were friends with trevor too.

“speaking of him, i was hoping to see him again before i left.” you told jamie, standing up from your spot on the couch noticing his slightly upset expression. “let me give you my number, i would love to see you again, maybe begin my lessons on taylor swift to you.” 

“i would love that.”

+++

after exchanging contact information with jamie you made your way outside towards the pong tables, hoping that trevor would still be out there. 

“hey trevor, i was just about to leave, wanted to say goodbye.” you said approaching him in the dimly lit yard.

“you’re leaving already? i didn’t even get any time with you.” he pouted, resting his chin on your shoulder his arms loosely around your waist. 

“sorry trev, but i got to know jamie. don’t let this get to your head, but i think you might be a pretty good wingman.” you joked, your arms around his neck gently running your hands through the ends of his hair. it wasn’t abnormal for the two of you to be so affectionate, so this felt normal.

“good, i’m glad.” his tone didn’t sound like his statement, but you could easily chalk that up to the alcohol in his system finally wearing him down. 

“why don’t i help you get into bed? basically everyone has left already.” you suggested, forcing his head up to meet yours at your eye level.

he smirked before responding. “i like where this was going.” 

“nothing like that buddy, besides you just set me up with your best friend that wouldn’t be a good idea, don’t you think?”

“that's not fair, you can’t do that.” he mumbled, his head dropping back down into the crook of your neck. “you can’t say you're taking me to bed, and then not take me to bed the way i want you to take me to bed."

you rolled your eyes at his comment and began dragging him back inside and up towards his room. once you wrestled him out of his jeans, giving up on putting pants on him because of his multiple attempts to lure you into bed, you got him to lay down and made sure he was comfortable before you headed downstairs to get some water and pain killers for him to take once he woke up in the morning. 

“goodnight trevor.”

you made your way outside onto the front lawn while you waited for your uber to arrive. you usually would’ve taken trevor up on his offer to spend the night with him, but something about even just thinking about doing that was now making you feel guilty. it wasn’t like you and jamie were in a committed relationship or anything, but he seemed to genuinely like you and was actually interested in getting to know you and you didn’t want to do anything to sabotage that.

+++

from: unknown number

can we meet up today for coffee or lunch? i would love to start becoming a real swiftie.

to: unknown number

am i right in assuming this is jamie??

from: unknown number 

yes 🙃

to: jamie🤭

i would love to meet up.

to: jamie🤭

could we get lunch? i am literally starving because of my hangover.

from: jamie🤭

absolutely. send me your address, i’ll come pick you up. 

+++

you were in full panic mode, you had no idea what to wear and the fact that it was visibly obvious that you were hungover didn’t help at all. you told jamie to give you at least thirty minutes, after he told you that an hour was too long. 

you took the fastest shower you ever have in your life before tackling the biggest issue, your outfit. you went through every drawer, bin, and your closet before you decided on biker shorts and a crewneck. you could only hope that jamie wasn’t planning on taking you somewhere with a dress code. 

makeup was applied and your hair was pulled into a claw clip before jamie texted you that he was outside, you did some final touches before you made your way out of your apartment complex. you lucked out seeing that jamie was in a comfy outfit just like you were. once you were buckled up jamie handed you his phone and told you to pick the music before driving off.

+++

“so what is your all time favorite taylor swift song?” jamie asked once he joined you in the booth you found for the two of you, he had taken you to in and out claiming he was craving a burger, and you didn’t complain because you would never pass up the opportunity to fuck up some animal fries.

“i don’t have just one, i think it is humanly impossible to have just one.” you told him, taking a sip of your lemonade before continuing. “i do, however, have a list of my top sixteen songs by her in no particular order.”

“sixteen songs? that’s insane.” 

“she has over two hundred songs, you’ve got a lot of listening to do.”

“well why don’t you give me your list of songs, the only ones i really care about are the ones you like.” you blushed at his words, before stating all of your favorite songs by her. his only responses were “i don’t know that one, never heard of it, i know that one, wait no i don’t”

once you were done and jamie confirmed all the songs were now added to his spotify you two began eating as you gave him a run down of her career.

“so who is your favorite and least favorite ex of hers?”

“i hope you don’t have plans for the rest of the day because i have a lot to say on this.”

+++

“do you want to get dessert? there is a nice ice cream place a few minutes from here.” jamie asked while you two were walking around huntington beach. you didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been hanging out until he asked if you wanted to get dinner, and now three hours after that when he is now asking to get dessert. 

“yea i would love to.” he smiled down at you and you made the move to hold his hand. “sorry, i hope this is ok, i just wanted to hold your hand.” you blushed, turning your head away from him.

“it’s ok, i wanted to as well.” he blushed as well before he began leading the way towards the ice cream shop. 

+++

“i had a lot of fun today, i was honestly a little nervous that with both of us sober it would be a little awkward, but it wasn’t and i would like to see you again. soon. sorry if that is a bit forward.” you told jamie as he pulled up in front of your apartment.

“i’d like to see you soon too, like tomorrow soon. are you busy tomorrow? we could get dinner, a nice place this time, not that in and out and qdoba aren’t nice it’s just-”

“yea i would love to, just send me the restaurants info before so i can figure out what to wear.”

“you’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear y/n.” you blushed at jamie’s comment before leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. you were quick to get out of the car, yelling a goodbye as you ran into the front doors of your building.

+++

“finally you’re back. where the hell were you? i’ve been here for hours.” 

“how the hell did you get into my apartment trevor?” you asked the boy who was sprawled out across your couch eating your food. “stop eating my wheat thins asshole.”

“i found your spare key, i mean hiding it on the top of the door frame is just a horrible idea y/n.” trevor said as he went back into your kitchen, hopefully to put your snacks away.

“what are you doing her trev?” you asked, taking your shoes off before making your way into the living room.

“where were you? you’re never out late, and i got here at like two and it’s now eleven. did you pick up a shift?” trevor was quick to join you on the couch, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over the two of you.

“no, i was actually with jamie, he picked me up at noon to get lunch and then we spent the whole day together.” you blushed remembering how much fun you had today and how it was the first time in a while that you had enjoyed a date that much.

“oh, i didn’t realize that you two were getting along that well.” trevor said, reaching towards the table to grab the remote. “what the hell did you two talk about for nearly twelve hours? jamie cannot be that interesting of a guy.”

“we started off talking about taylor swift and how he is a fake swiftie, just like you are.” trevor cut you off with a gasp and hit you with the pillow he was using. “and then we talked about our childhoods, stories from school and growing up where we did.” you smiled at nothing, just reflecting on this one story jamie had told you about his worst halloween costume, which you then one upped with your own horrible halloween story. “thanks for pushing me to meet him trevor, i know it’s only been a day but i feel an actual connection with him and i can’t remember the last time i felt that with a guy.” 

+++

you and jamie had been going on dates multiple times a week for the past month now and tonight the team had the night off and jamie was taking you to his favorite restaurant for date night. you weren’t dating, yet, but both you and jamie have spoken about it as something you both want. it’s just up to when the timing is right.

“where is he taking you out tonight?” trevor asked you as he joined you in your bedroom. you called him over to help you pick out an outfit for tonight.

“cortina’s” it wasn’t a black tie restaurant, but it wasn’t a jeans and a tshirt restaurant either. “i was thinking my black leather pants and then a nice top, maybe my pink top with the mesh sleeves?” you were met with silence from your best friend, “hello? earth to trevor.”

“sorry what?” you rolled your eyes before entering the bathroom, changing into the outfit you had in mind. “what do you think?”

“i think that jamie isn’t coming to pick you up for another two hours and that gives us plenty of time to have some fun.” trevor said, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving you open mouth kisses on the exposed skin of your neck down to your shoulder, you let yourself revel in the feeling before you snapped back into your senses.

“trevor stop.” you pushed his arms off of you as you distanced yourself from him. “trevor you can’t do that, we can’t do this anymore.”

“why not y/n? you and jamie aren’t dating, there is nothing wrong with it. it’s been a month and i’m getting frustrated.” he groaned, flopping down onto your bed.

“that is not my issue trev, don’t blame me. i can guarantee that there are at least one hundred girls in your dm’s right now who would be willing to hook up with you, go bother one of them.” you snapped back at him, not in the mood.

“i don’t want some random girl, i want you y/n. aren’t you in the mood even a little bit, it’s been a month for you too.” you avoided his eyes as you made your way to your vanity to begin your makeup. “wait have you been fucking jamie? what the fuck y/n?”

“trevor you have no right to be upset, we are nothing. you were the one who set us up. isn’t this what you wanted?”

“no this isn’t what i wanted, i should’ve just made jamie make a move on his own. if that was the case you would still have no idea who the hell he was because jamie is too much of a little-”

“get out.” you cut trevor off before he could say anything worse. “trevor get out and don’t talk to me until you manage to get your head out of your ass.”

+++

“is everything okay? you seem a bit off.” jamie asked, he was right. after your argument with trevor you had been a bit out of it, the guilt of what you had done with trevor in the past was eating away at you. “could we talk about it later? i don’t want to ruin dinner.” your voice was shaky as you spoke.

“yes of course, but i’m gonna be honest i’m a little worried now.” jamie said, playing with the napkin on his lap. 

“i am too, don't worry.” your attempt at a joke didn’t help, but thankfully the waiter came to take our orders. 

+++

dinner was terrible. 

you two tried your hardest to have everything be normal and how things had been in the past month, but both of you were worried about what you had to say. jamie was scared you were gonna break things off with him, he was already nervous for tonight because he was going to ask to make things official between you two, and now he was even more on edge. while you were worried that after you told him about you and trevor’s past that he would no longer want anything to do with you and would break things off before they even got fully started. 

“so can you tell me what is going on?” jamie asked once you two had exited the restaurant and were sitting in his car.

“i want you to know that this started before i even knew you existed and it stopped the moment i met you.” you took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “trevor and i had been hooking up, for nearly the whole time we were friends, but i swear to you the second i met you i cut it off. i’m really sorry for not telling you sooner, it’s just that i really, really, like you and i didn’t want anything to jeopardize that, even though keeping it a secret probably wasn’t the best alternative.” you looked out the window, avoiding his gaze, afraid of how badly he was judging you right now. “i understand if you don’t want to continue this anymore, you can just drop me off right here and i’ll uber home.”

“y/n. i don’t care.” you finally peeled your eyes away from the reflection of the cars in the side view mirror to see jamie looking at you with a smile. “your previous relationships are none of my business, yes it is a bit uncomfortable that he is my roommate and one of my closest friends, as well as one of yours, but i really, really, like you too so that doesn’t matter to me.” you smiled back at him, a few tears building up in your waterline. “i was actually going to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend, and i still want to. so y/n would you make me the happiest man alive and officially become my girlfriend?”

“yes jamie, i would be honored.” you leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek, to not distract him from the road. “it sounds like you proposed jamie.” you laughed. “are things going to be weird around trevor for you?” you hated the idea of being the cause of their falling out, or to have any team problems sprout from this.

“yes.” jamie replied bluntly. “and i’m definitely not the biggest fan of you two hanging out without me there, at least for a little bit, but it’ll all work out. i won’t let it get to me or my game, but the second he makes a comment about you it’s over.”

you giggled before replying with a short “got it.” and placed your hand over his.

“and don’t worry, i never plan on going anywhere without you drysdale. you’re gonna have to start coming to girls' nights too.”

+++

note: i actually rewrote this three times and each time the plot was different, the last version was so much juicer and had so much drama (trevor realized he was in love with reader, but he was too late dun dun DUNNNN) but i cut that out because i couldn’t get the wording right. anyways i hope y’all enjoyed, leave feedback (any and all is appreciated), have a great day, i love y’all babes <3 !!!

[ithinkabouttzu]

I need more BoB content! You're the best!

Pls write proposals ideas!

And pls include Speirs ❤️

Easy Co. Proposing to you!

Genre! Romance; fluff

Warnings! Language, suggestive

Description! How the men of easy would propose to you (gn!)

(This is a little christmas gift from me to all of you!! Also this is my first bday on this account and I wanted to treat you guys :) Love you all!! - Mac 💗)

Dick Winters: Him proposing to you would be the most sweet and genuine thing ever. He would spend months just trying to figure out what would be the right way to ask you. He would buy you the prettiest ring ever, I think several months before he would ask you what type of ring like the best and get whichever ring you said you liked. He would wait extra long to propose after asking though just to make sure it’s a complete surprise to you. He definitely is proposing to you somewhere intimate and quiet where you guys can just enjoy each other afterwards. Maybe a quiet spot near the lake, or a pretty hiking trail with gorgeous views. It’s the sweetest thing when he gets down on one knee though, he’s so nervous but still manages to ask you.

Lewis Nixon: I feel like he’s the complete opposite. He doesn’t even realize it himself that he’s proposing to you until like a week before. You guys were sitting on the rooftop just enjoying your time with each other when he finally knew he wanted to marry you. The next day he goes and buys the best shiny ring he can find, one he’s sure that you’ll love. He would be a little nervous but at the end of the day he would just be so excited to surprise you with this. Before proposing to you he would invite your whole family over to the mountain top view that he was going to do it at. Setting out rose petals, and getting a photographer. When you get home from work he’d tell you to get dress as nice as possible, that you guys were going to an amazing dinner. You would be so confused when you guys finally got there. Seeing your loved ones and rose petals all around the scenic view. He goes a bit over the top but it’s adorable nonetheless.

Carwood Lipton: I just know he would come up with such a unique and wonderful idea when it comes to proposing to you. First thing he has to do though is ask your parents for permission before he does. When he gets their blessing is when he can really start planning though. He’d pick out a simple but beautiful ring for you, just a diamond with the band but still it’s gorgeous. The hardest part for him though is trying to pick out where and when to propose to you. He’s not exactly sure if it should be private or public and when would be the best time to actually propose to you. He finally decides to do it during the holiday season while taking you to see all of the pretty lights in the park. At the end of your guys walk to the lights he would take you to a gazebo with lights wrapped all around it with rose pedals (that he set out and planned hours earlier) in the gazebo is when he finally proposes to you.

Joe Toye: He knows for sure that he wants to marry you, but he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to propose. The thought of him having to set up an idea for his proposal is honestly terrifying and stressful. He doesn’t trust himself have as much as he should. So his has the idea to call one of your loved ones for advice on how to do set it all up. When he finally gets their help it’s so much easier, he decides to take you on a little getaway in the mountains and propose to you there. He waits until the last day to propose to you, just because he was so scared you were gonna say no. You could tell that something was up the way he was being so nervous and jittery the entire trip. When he does finally propose it’s perfect. He’s got tears in his eyes at the end of his speech, he honestly didn’t even think he’d get so emotional, but he’s full of love for you and when you said yes it was amazing. He finally knew that he’d have you as his forever and ever 😭

Joe Liebgott: He’d be nervous as shit trying to decide how to propose to you. He makes SURE to keep the ring in his back pocket no matter what. 1st reason being because he doesn’t want you finding it or someone stealing. 2nd reason is because in the back of his mind he definitely would pop the question at any time if he felt the time was right. The proposal would be a little spontaneous, it would be just after a nice dinner date and now you guys were walking around outside where the huge garden was, the sun was setting, the scene was right, it just felt perfect to him so that’s when he popped the question. Honestly it was so cute you could hear the trembling in his voice because of how nervous he was “I love ya’ to death, please marry me” :(

Bill Guarnere: I honestly think it wouldn’t take him that long to figure out that he wanted to marry you. He wanted to marry you right after he met you tbh, so when you bring up the topic a couple months later on marriage and how good you would look with a diamond on your finger he almost immediately buys you a ring. He’s so ready to finally propose to you but it seems like he could never find the right time, it’s like every time that he tries to, something gets in the way. That’s when he just settles for a private proposal at your guys’ place. He makes sure to go extreme though, putting up balloons and rose pedals everywhere WITH and extra bouquet just to give to you, candles lit, music playing softly in the background, with some amazing Italian food. Either way it’s perfect and he couldn’t thank you enough for saying yes.

Eugene Roe: Him proposing would be the best thing ever. He’s so kind and considerate and I know he would makes sure to have everything planned out and decided on when he’d propose and how he’d do it. Of course he’d ask your parents or loved ones for permission to marry you before he goes through with it though and asks if they would want to join in with the surprise. He would want to propose somewhere that’s really pretty and I think it would be somewhere special. A place that both of you really like to go to or hangout at. Maybe somewhere like the beach, or a mountain side that you guys like to go to in y’all’s free time. The ring would also have a nice meaning to it, maybe your and his birthstone on the wedding band and the diamond ring to go along with it or maybe ring that’s been passed down.

George Luz: He really tries to figure out an idea that’s special and creative for you and him but also not too over the top. If you like skiing or snowboarding maybe sometime during that trip, like at the bottom of a run? or maybe even right after you get off the lift, if you’ve never been skiing or snowboarding before he will be glad to show you the ropes lol, either way it would be super cute. I think for a ring he would want to give you something that you really like, before getting the idea to propose to you he would ask you little questions here and there (that you didn’t catch on to thank goodness) about rings and what type of rings you would really like. Before proposing he would be sooo nervous but excited? ughhh he just loves you so much and is ready to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s kinda scared you’ll say no, but when you say yes he gets so happy and excited it’s the cutest thing ever 🥹

Bull Randleman: I think he would propose to you in a very classic way but also very planned and thought out. Maybe after a nice dinner? Like he would talk to the restaurant about setting up a special room there with just you and him and letting the workers know before that he was planning on proposing so he could have the best wine and food possibly (followed with extra candles and roses in the room for the aesthetic) He would be nervous but only a little bit. In the back of his mind he knows that you and him are in love with each other so he’s not so worried that you’ll say no. He makes sure to ask you parents, siblings, any of your loved ones for permission to propose to you first. He’s very family oriented so it’s very important to them to get their approval. The ring would probably be a classic but beautiful diamond ring, one that’s timeless really (like you ;) anyway, his proposal is so sweet and romantic it’s just the best ever.

Floyd Talbert: Okay cute idea: You. Him. At the end of a beautiful hiking trail. One that’s obviously not very hard or strenuous bc he doesn’t want his honey getting sweaty or hurt on the trail before he actually proposes. Makes sure to scope out the area weeks before and finds the perfect area that he wants to propose to you at. Even goes the length of hiding a photographer in the bushes ahead of time. The plan was to get to the very top, and then when you guys got there he would stop because “he wasn’t feeling good” (which is such an obvious lie) and when he’s about to fall down he ends up on one knee and that’s when he pulls out the ring and proposes. It would actually be such a cute and funny idea and the way he planned everything out was so sweet too. Only problem was that the photographer actually scared the crap out of you so bad that you accidentally hit the ring and you guys lost it for like 30 mins 😭 (it’s okay you guys found it afterwards )

Don Malarkey: Okay this sweet boy would be SUPER nervous to propose to you. Like he’s dead set on spending the rest of his life with you but also has no idea how tell you that. He honestly puts so much thought into how he wants to propose to you, when and where. He finally settles for doing something fun, a scavenger hunt around the city. At first when you get there you think it’s just a cute little date idea for your guys’ anniversary. He would make sure to involve your friends and family or anyone you were close to that would be in the scavenger hunt throughout giving you clues and such. When you finally find him he’d be waiting in town square with lights, roses and music playing. Oh and of course the special ring he picked out just for you. He would be so jittery trying to get all of his words out, but he eventually pops the question. It’s adorable and afterwards you guys and your loved ones all celebrate together.

Skip Muck: Tell me why I think him proposing to you would be super random?!? Like just imagine, you and him walking around together, smoking and talking (or just him smoking if you don’t ofc) but just getting into a whole bunch of deep conversations about anything and everything, and when he’s about to take you home he just asks you straight up, “You wanna get married?” It would take you by complete shock but also not? He’s very spontaneous so this isn’t very unusual but, like, he just proposed to you?? When you said yes he’d be surprised, like you actually said yes??? The very next day he would buy you a gorgeous ring and propose to you the right way, making sure that it was official that you and him were engaged. It’s okay though he makes sure to plan out the wedding and honeymoon nicely though.

Shifty Powers: When he realizes he wants to propose to you, his first idea is taking you to the beach and taking a small little trip with you and proposing to you there. He starts setting everything up months in advance, finding the right resort, the right beach, making sure everything is absolutely perfect so that you don’t have to worry at all during the trip. The ring would be so gorgeous, if there’s any specific type of ring you really like he would make SURE to get that one for you, he just loves you so much and wants you to have an amazing proposal. Finally, during the last days on the trip he would take you out to the beach right when the sun was setting, the perfect view to propose. Before hand he would draw out letters in the sand that would say, “Marry me?” When you guys finally get to that spot is when he’d get down on one knee. Honestly the cutest idea ever.

Babe Heffron: It all happens during a simple talk over dinner. Both of you, sitting at home laughing and enjoying time with each other. You guys eating dinner until you made the joke “You know, we should get married” His whole face goes blank right when you said that, turning more serious. Did you somehow know he was going to propose to you later that week? Had you found the ring the he was hiding? “Are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?” You said, a little worried why his expression turned more seriously. “We should” He said, “I’m serious.” That’s when your eye’s completely widen bc what? He was proposing now? “Okay, let’s get married” You reply back happily. Not even realizing he was gonna surprise you with the ring, roses and a proper proposal later the next morning.

Frank Perconte: His proposal to you is simple, cute and sweet. He’d ask one of the shops downtown if he could borrow their rooftop to propose to you at. He’d set up twinkle lights out there for the scenery and rose pedals everywhere beforehand. When the day comes, he would ask you to meet him up at that exact rooftop at the perfect time when the sun started to set. Not telling you why to meet him there but to dress up nicely. You had just assumed maybe it’d be for a small event with friends that he didn’t tell you about? When you get there you’d see him, all nice and dressed up, on one knee with a big ring in his hand. It was absolutely shocking. The ring would be gorgeous, he would make sure to find you the best fashionable ring ever. One that he knows would look perfect on your pretty hand. “What do you say, y/n. I wanna be with you forever. Will you marry me?”

Ronald Speirs: It was so nice. He had taken you out for the day around the city. Going around to different shops together and looking around at all the entertainment from the busy weekend. “Stop here” He’d say, pulling you aside by the prettiest part in town. “What are you doing?” You’d ask him nervously, wondering why people were throwing looks at you and him, until you look back at him and he is on one knee, Opening the small box with the ring in it. “Marry me”, he said in a loud voice, catching attention from people around. You tried pulling him up to stand, anxious by all the people watching you guys now. “Please” He looked up at you. You wanted to say something but you got nervous by everyone staring. All you could do was nod shyly. Being crowded with cheers and applause’s afterwards.

Johnny Martin: Okay he goes a little crazy but I mean who’s he kidding, you’re the love of his life and will be sure to let you know it with his proposal! Calls the Botanical Gardens in the nearest city and asks if they can have the place shut down for just you and him for part of the day (mans is determined for everything to be perfect) Decides he’s going to propose to you by all of the gorgeous tulips. Streamers? check. Ring? Check. A big neon light that says “Marry me”? Check. He’s got it all set up and planned. Luckily the tulips are the end of the walk around the gardens so when you guys are finishing up the trip he can pop the question right there where everything is set up. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. Honestly you would think that a wedding planner designed and set it up by how nice it looks. Even the ring is somehow perfect just how you’d want it? By the end of the night you are sure this man can completely read your mind by how great everything was. (The cutest thing is - you guys get married in the same spot in the Botanical Gardens where he proposed 😭)

Skinny Sisk: He has the hardest time trying to pick where exactly he should propose. Whenever he does the most casual things he’ll just look around and think, “This would be a great place to propose to Y/N at” it’s so cute how much he thinks of you even in the most simplest places. He takes you on a small trip to a beautiful lake house in the summer time with beautiful window views so you can see the lake from the living room anytime. It would be so fun (personally speaking) riding jet-skis and going on the boat, just sun bathing around and enjoying time with each other. The ring he would pick would be so beautiful too. One with sparkle and light but also one that specifically reminds him of you. He would propose to you on the pier in the early morning after breakfast, the sun lightly shining across the lake water making it look so beautiful, you just had to say yes!

David Webster: He makes sure to incorporate art and culture into his proposal to you. I think he would write it in a sweet, simple poem that would put you to tears, genuinely the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. He’s so romantic to you. Taking you out to do all of your favorite things, beforehand asking you to make sure that whatever you want to do, you guys do it! He would ask the question later in the day though, at the end of the night just in case you said no. The ring he’d pick out for you would be gorgeous, with small diamonds surrounding the whole band and one huge ring in the middle. And amazingly, he’d propose somewhere crazy, a freakin’ hot air balloon over looking the sunset city. “It would be horrible if you said no right now, but would you give me the biggest blessing, and marry me?”

Chuck Grant: He gets so excited at the thought of being able to marry you. He gets a little over his head like, he just bought a ring and he’s already thinking about what you’d look like in a wedding dress. It’s such a cute and simple idea but he’d definitely go for a picnic proposal. All the food you can eat with wine and beer, and of course, the shiny ring in his back pocket. He would set up the nicest picnics ever. Bringing everything you guys would need (utensils, napkins, blanket if it gets cold, if you want it there’s a 90% chance he’s got it somewhere in the basket) It would be on a beautiful beach looking over the ocean, the wind completely stopping when you guys got there. The weather was amazing too, it’s like everything was almost perfect for your special day. “I’ll love you til’ i’m dead, Y/N, marry me?”

Buck Compton: His proposal happens during a very random domesticated moment between you and him. He always had the idea of proposing to you when it was just you and him. Getting to enjoy you in the privacy of just your home instead of out in the public eye, but he didn’t really expect for him to full out ask you for your hand in marriage while flipping pancakes during breakfast. He didn’t mean to either. He kept the ring in his back pocket at all times (bad choice, we’ve learned) and when he was putting up dishes, the ring feel out of his pocket, and right onto your feet. Of course you picked it up and he has to explain to you who the ring’s for and why, and by then end of explaining and rambling he’s pretty much proposing to you at that point. “Do you like the ring? If you marry me you might just get to keep it ;)”

Thank you for your request!! You’re the best too! Much love to all of you guys, this is my first birthday post on here! 🩷 If you liked this, make sure to like or reblog! 🤍🤍🤍

[bettsfic]

Hi!

I was wondering how do you elevate or better flesh out a very vague premise (e.g. A man falls in love with his boss). But there are many ways to take vague ideas like this and it’s hard to make it more.

there are really only two paths: the easy, long road; and the hard, fast road. on extremely rare occasion you may hit the jackpot and find an easy, fast road, but in my experience that is like winning the lottery.

the easy, long road:

you write the idea down somewhere. you let it incubate for a really long time. you have faith in the universe that all the pieces will begin to click into place until you go, "i've got it," and start writing.

i call that moment "ignition." when your vague "what am i even trying to write" idea clicks into "wait wait wait, i'm onto something here" and your brain starts churning out ideas for scenes and plot points.

there can be a lot of false starts, where you try to shoehorn your vague idea into another vague idea and see if they make a less vague idea, but sometimes that doesn't work. you may also start working on something else and realize you're unconsciously writing that vague idea you had 3 years ago. but overall it's a passive process. you have to wait for specificity to find you.

the hard, short road:

you write the idea down somewhere. you stare at it until you get a headache, and then you take some ibuprofen and stare at it some more. using the "ignition" metaphor, this is like your car not starting so you just keep turning the engine until it either starts or you flood it.

if you brute force your vague idea, you can potentially ruin it for yourself, but if you're motivated to take this path, i think your first step is to get out a notebook and start brainstorming. if the premise is "a man falls in love with his boss," write a list of industries where they might work. then circle a few of them and start researching those industries to see if you can find a nugget of information that clicks with your idea until you get some kind of conflict churning.

if you can't find anything, you make more lists. list out potential endings, plot points, inciting incidences. character traits and arcs. countries, cities. for every item of every list, make a list of possibilities. if this, then this and this. if that, then that and that. and you go on and on and on until you maybe have enough to get some words down.

an example:

my sister, a copywriter, started doing social media for a welding school. she told me she was learning a lot about welding and that i should write a story about a welding teacher. this school specifically is one of the best in the country, and my sister said something to the effect of, "people come from all over the country to live in this shithole town for six months. that seems like an interesting story."

in my A4 rhodia, on december 19, 2023, i wrote,

story of welding teacher at best welding school in the country

lonely ISTP casey affleck kinda guy (that was my sister's idea; she meant it in a derogatory way)

being taken care of by his grandmother?

all i had was "welder" kind of in the back of my head. fast forward to earlier this month, watching season 3 of the Bad Batch and having a lot of feelings about Crosshair's shakey hands (i've also developed a tremor in my hands).

and then i thought, a welder whose hands begin shaking. that's a conflict, that's an inciting incident. his whole career might be in jeopardy.

i wrote this paragraph:

He'd never admitted to his wife that he wanted kids. They didn’t have any, though, for the same reason he never became a farmer—he didn’t want to raise something just to see it slaughtered. Who knew what kind of war the country would cook up in eighteen years? Turn of the century, sending kids out to god knows where, just the right number of years from Vietnam that everyone would’ve forgotten it, the way that by Vietnam they’d forgotten Korea.

i managed to weave this general idea into the bigger plot of a novel i started a long time ago, and it reignited my interest in that project, and now i'm feeling really good that this 200k monstrosity i thought i would just throw away now might have some potential, more importantly some focus, all because of a vague idea i wrote down months ago.

[angelicglibsss]

Christmas Comfort

[ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] [ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 25/12/23 [ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After Johnny's death and a failed mission, Simon returns home to his girlfriend.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 3,252

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort, angst, a somewhat happy ending (it will never be fully happy without soap I am sorry) possible mw3 spoilers (if you have been living under a rock please avoid)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: This is my first story here, please be kind I beg <3 also very sorry for this but I had the idea and thought it would be quite a bittersweet story for the holiday season !!

─────────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────────

Christmas this year is going to be tough.

You know it from when you open the door to him on Christmas Eve. 

Time has passed, he hasn’t been home for months and you were starting to convince yourself that it’s going to be years before you ever see him again.

When you were talking on the phone earlier, sometime during the middle of November, he had made a comment that he wasn’t going to come back home until he had made sure he had the pleasure of declaring that the enemy that had murdered his best friend was officially gone for good. While your chest tightened at his comment, you had nodded along and assured him that they would catch Makarov eventually; there were only so many places one man could hide before he’d revert back to familiar ground. 

You feared the same for Simon at that moment. In fact, even with him home safe, you still do.  

Of course, you would never say that to his face.

Despite his capability in combat, however, you often find yourself awake at night wondering just how capable he was when it came to processing and dealing with loss. Had he done what you assume he has done, he was most likely going to run from it instead of addressing it. Problems will build up and up until they came tumbling down. It’s a simple thought to construct during the late nights you have been spending alone since the news of what had happened to Johnny had found its way to you. Just as such a thought is easy to construct, you find that another one comes to you quicker than the former: where would Simon be when the building he’d constructed over the years fell to pieces? 

There were only so many places he man could hide before he’d refer back to familiar ground. Even if said ground was crumbling around him. Maybe in his misery, he would find solace in falling to his doom with the chunks of shattered earth surrounding him.

If that assessment is wrong, it doesn't matter; your brain has decided it before your heart even gets a say.

You have very little to go off of concerning with how he dealt with loss, the occasional comment about his mum was enough for you to know that he wasn’t the type to completely forget about a loved one. 

He's vague about his past. The less said about it the better. 

‘You keep pawing an’ clawing at my brain like a damn puppy,’ he said, trailing his hands through your hair. You were guilty, for sure you were. Curiosity was sure to be the death of you in that regard. He’d let small facts slip on occasion, although, you knew his accidental slip ups were most definitely intention. 

Of course, Simon Riley was no fool.

’Just tell me something,’ you begged, ‘like… I don’t know, what was your favourite food to eat at Christmas when you were younger? Ooo, I bet it was something like liquorice. You’d so make your nan pissed by robbing all the good shit out of the sweet tin.’ You laughed at the thought of a tiny Simon Riley climbing on top of a chair, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to snatch the sweet, sweet treat of liquorice. 

‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?’ he scoffed, ‘actin’ like I’m an old man doll,’ he snorted, ‘stop tryin’ to pester me f’r memories you have no business viewing.’

‘Is it illegal to be curious now?’ you asked with a playful smile. It was silent for a moment, and you lifted your head in an attempt to find his eyes in the darkness.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, ‘you don’t wanna know me from the past, love,’ he huffed, ‘doesn’t matter now.’

‘You won’t even tell me what your favourite food was during Christmas?’ 

‘No,’ he reverted back to the same Simon you had seen when Johnny had been talking his ear off during the rare nights out you had had with 141. ’Now go t’ sleep, gonna be tired in the morning if you keep rambling on. My ears are burning with ya, doll,’ he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. 

Despite everything telling you to pull away from him, you maintained your closeness, the warmth of him far too appetising to refuse. Exhaling deeply, you rested your head against the pillow, staring straight at the wall in front of you. Your heart hurt at the very thought that he cared so little about his past that he fought to keep everything from his earlier life away from you. Even the smallest things. Of course, you would never had pried him, only the few passing comments in hopes for him to slip up as he had done a few times before. 

Another hard sigh escaped you as you close your eyes. He shifted behind you, resting his head against your shoulder. You thought nothing of his sudden movement; it wasn’t uncommon for him to do so while you were sharing a bed together. Only, he turned his head, his breath ghosting your ear. Inhaling, he swallowed hard. ‘Mum used to make us roast dinners,’ he whispered, ‘used to always slap my hand away whenever she was cooking cause I used to always rob the pigs-in-blankets while she was still getting dinner ready.’

A small laugh passed your lips as you turned in his hold, placing your hand against his cheek with a cheeky grin. He stares back, blue gaze gutting through the darkness, slicing your soul to pieces.  ‘Now, will y’ stop huffin’ and puffing and just go to sleep?’ He asked, placing his hand over yours. 

‘Soundly, Lt.’

Even behind the mask, you could sense the sadness, the loss. A flurry of emotions hits you when you first see him after what has happened. What can you say to him? Anything other than I’m sorry seems to be an insult to him and to the memory of the man that is sure to haunt him.

The mask hides his face, but it never hid his eyes, his tired and war-weary eyes. It's a brutal sight to see the man who had put the fear of God through you when you had first met reduced to this crushed soul. 

‘Simon,’ you say after a while of the pair of you just standing there, staring at each other. For a brief moment, it felt as though you had opened the door to a stranger instead of your boyfriend. Lifting his head, his Adams apple bobs beneath his balaclava as he steps forward. You take a step back, letting go of the edge of the door. Still, he doesn't speak, only standing there, observing you. ‘I thought you said you weren’t coming home until—‘

‘Don’t wanna talk about it,’ he answers, closing the door behind him.

His clothes are branded with the stench of war, and you take note of his bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying? You thought it impossible for such to be the case, he’d do no such thing. But, when he shakily inhales, grabbing the edge of his balaclava, your stomach dropped.

‘Place looks nice,’ he says, though his eyes don't leave you, ripping his mask from off of his face, shoving it into of his cargo pants. His words were shaky despite the stoic expression on his face. ‘You been alright?’

You look at him with wide eyes. ‘I- uh- yeah, yeah, just sorting out last minute things for Christmas,’ you answer, ‘how about you go and get a shower, get changed into some fresh clothes? I’ll make you something to eat—‘

‘Not hungry,’ he answers frankly, ‘appreciate the offer, doll, but I think I’m just gonna go straight to bed,’ he says. All the moisture in your mouth disappears and you’re forced to swallow a dry mouthful of air as you look up at him. 

‘Right,’ you nod, ‘I- I’ll be up right after you, just gonna turn everything off down here,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer you after that, dropping his duffle bag down on the ground by the front door as he traipses up the wooden steps of your home. The garland wrapped around the bannister winks at you as you watch Simon walk up the stairs, almost mocking you for ever think it was a good idea to decorate.

The entirety of your house is wrapped like a Christmas present, reds, greens, colourful lights- everything. Whether it was the right thing to decorate or not, you choose not to focus on it too much as you rush around the house, switching off the decorations and the lights, leaving the washing you had been doing on the counter in the kitchen. 

All of it can wait. But he can’t. 

So, with such a thought in mind, you busy yourself with your plan. What is included in that plan can be decided as you’re walking through the house, back to the staircase you have just seen your poor boyfriend walking up.

Jogging up each step, you decide that ultimately, everything that has happened in the past few months with be something he will not be willing to discuss with you; he made it clear when he walked through the door. Don’t push him on it.

When your foot hits the last step, you nod to yourself as you consider what you would do if he did want to talk to you about it. If he wants to talk to you about it, then you rejoice in his openness. But it isn’t necessary for him to have your undying support. No matter what he decides, ultimately, your heart is never going to fail on him. 

Before heading into your bedroom, you gulp when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out of your pocket, your eyes scan over the message, a shallow exhale escaping your lips. 

Mum &lt;3: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. made sure to grab extra pigs-in-blankets incase Simon decides to appear sometime. Love you xx

Begrudgingly, you stare down at the message before looking at the bedroom door. From beyond it, you can hear the running water in the shower and all you can think about is him. So, with a deep breath, you look back down at your phone and begin to type. 

From ‘me’: Slight change of plans but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it there tomorrow. Simon’s just got home and he’s not good. Don’t think socialising is what he needs right now. Sorry, I love you xx

Choosing has never easy, yet, when you pushed open the bedroom door and saw his clothes sitting on the bed the pair of you share, you decide that that choice was the easiest one you have ever made in your life. It isn’t a sacrifice when it is necessary. At least, not when it comes to Simon at least. 

--

‘I’m not going home tomorrow,’ you tell him when he walks out of the bathroom. Part of you feels bad for bombarding him with something as soon as he walks out, but the affirming text from your mother causes your heart to swell, and when you see him again, it bursts. His hair is damp and he pulls his face out of the towel with a surprised look. His scarred cheeks are branded with a subtle red tinge from the heat exuding from the bathroom. The heat works well to melt his features just enough for him to mould them into a dissatisfied sneer. ‘I don’t wanna fight you on this, Si.’

‘You can’t cancel on your family,’ he says, approaching his dresser. ‘Not right. I don’t want you to do that for me,’ he continues, grabbing a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. ‘Go spend time with them, am fine here.’ 

‘I already told my mum,’ you say, ‘she’s fine with it,’ you quickly reassure, far too aware that he very well may be a ticking time bomb.

Oddly, you request of not fighting on it seemingly works as he looks over his shoulder at you. There is simply no fight left in Simon Riley anymore, you conclude it from the way he shrinks as he exhales, padding up to the bed. It was as though he had left the house as a grenade left the hands of a soldier. Upon his return, the body of what made him him: his danger, his determination, and his strength had all been lost and you find he has been reduced to the pin pulled from the grenade. 

Looking up at him, you find that it is up to you if you’re going to discard it or keep it as a keepsake.

Pulling the edge of the duvet, you pat the side of the mattress, ‘c’mon,’ you say gently. He doesn’t wait to climb into bed beside you, resting his weary head against the pillow. It’s as though someone is pressing down on his chest as he heaves a sound unlike anything you have ever heard. Exhaustion was clear, but grief was easier to identify in his eyes. Leaning over, you turn the lamp on your beside off, trying your attention to him, lying on his side. 

There’s nothing to say. Not to him, not for him, not for yourself. You just lay there and stare at him hoping something will come to you. Anything said will be a bittersweet lullaby, you’re convinced. Nothing is going to put him to sleep. ‘Your minds running; faster than mine, sweetheart,’ he says. His eyes are closed when you look at his face. ‘Don’t want you doin’ stupid things ‘cause of me.’

‘Nothing is stupid when it comes to you, Si’,’ you weakly state.

At this point, you heart is racing, your tongue tangled as you contemplate every single word on the edge of your tongue. ‘Mum said she’ll bring us dinner tomorrow,’ you say with a weak smile, debating on whether or not you should spoil the surprise. ‘We can eat it and watch something… if you want to.’

‘What’s she bringing,’ he asks.

‘A roast,’ you answer, ‘it is Christmas after all.’

He’s quiet for a while, almost as though he doesn’t even want to think about what day it is. December 24th. Christmas Eve. You’re unsure how exactly the holidays work in 141, only noting that he had been away a few times during Christmas. Oddly, this is one of the first ones he’s home with you. His second Christmas since knowing Johnny that he isn’t with him. Your heart weakens at the realisation, your brain cursing you with the knowledge of something so agonising.

They had spent Christmas together.

And now they won’t and never will and it isn’t just because of the distance between Manchester and Scotland.

Rather, it’s because of the distance between this life and the next.

Your eyes well with tears and you close them. Your heart hurts for the man lying in front of you, and when you hear him clear his throat, you find it difficult to contain your own sorrow. ‘Doesn’t feel like Christmas,’ he tells you, his voice trembling as he does. ‘Haven’t slept at all since ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about him just… lyin’ there,’ his throat tightens and his tone grows pitchy as he inhales deeply, swallowing hard. ‘I shoulda done something, I should’ve been there f’r him.’ 

He’s crying at that point, but not sobbing. In fact, you only know he's crying because, when you place your hand against his cheek and the pad of your thumb wiped away a tear that falls past his eye. ‘You were,’ you choke out, ‘even in death, you were loyal to him, Si’, don’t you dare go cursing your own name for something you were not responsible for,’ you demand. ‘You’ll get him.’

‘We’re fallin’ apart without him,’ Simon sniffles, ‘bet he’s sitting up there pissin’ himself seeing me like this,’ he utters. The pair of you share a laugh at the thought and you move close to him. ‘I just… I told myself after everything that happened to mum and Tommy, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause that fucked me up, but then I met Johnny a- and I met you.’

You hold your breath. 

‘Simon—‘

‘And what if I can’t keep you safe? I’ve failed at it so much and that fucking pricks got me doubting myself now—‘

‘Shut up,’ you firmly say, ‘I don’t wanna hear it, Si’,’ you utter, ‘and neither would Johnny.’

You press your thumb against his cheek, ‘doubt is a killer, and it’s not me who you’re not gonna be able to protect if you keep thinking the way you are, it’s yourself,’ you continue, licking your dry lips, ‘and… and if you die, then who’s gonna steal the pigs-and-blankets on Christmas Day?’ 

Whether it was time for humour or not, you’re unsure. But, as you thinking for a moment, you recall the tales told to you by Simon during his time away, particularly his time with the Shadows. 

Two goldfish are in a tank… 

‘You still remember that?’ he asks eventually. You feel the muscles contort in his face as he smiles at you. 

‘Always,’ you respond, ‘mums got them with the dinner tomorrow ‘cause I asked her too… said she got extra incase you planned on robbing any of them.’ You feel bad telling him such information knowing that you had chosen to cancel the holiday. If anything, you’re worried about the guilt you’re causing him by rambling on about the stupid fucking pigs-in-blankets. ‘My point is Si’,’ you take a deep breath, ‘I need you here with me so you can fulfil your duty.’

He shifts and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing his face into the nape of your neck. Your hand brushes through his hair, melting in his arms as his hot breath fans against your neck. ‘Wanna see your family tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘Are you sure—‘

‘’Ave been stuck in my mind for nearly two months,’ he confesses, pulling away from your neck. ‘Fighting with myself over everything, I’ve hardly spoken to Price or Gaz,’ he confesses. You press your lips together, the thought of him being alone nauseating. ‘Be a waste of money as well if I didn’t try pinching the food your mums made, wouldn’t it?’ 

You feel him smile as he presses his face back against your neck, his grip on you so tight its almost painful. But you relent, allowing him to have the comfort he so deserves. Resting your head above his, you close your. Whatever awaited you in the future can wait, you conclude.

‘I proud of you,’ you whisper, pressing a kiss onto his head. 'Never gonna let you doubt yourself ever again, not on my watch,' you continue, 'now sleep. We can talk more when you're ready.'

He smiles again.

'I know I can sleep soundly now,' he utters against your skin, 'got you beside me.'

With that, the pair of you fall into silence. You don't sleep, not until you feel his breathing steady against you skin, the subtle rise of his chest as he keeps his arms around you. You keep running you fingers through his hair before eventually, you find your eyes growing heavy and you drift off.

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[fort-cozy-mcblanket]

I know this is kind of already answered canonically, but I want your opinion on this:

Who do you think fell in love first, Sheldon or Amy? Follow-up, who do you think has the bigger crush on the other?

In Amy's vows, she states that she felt a connection in the coffee shop & that grew stronger. However, Sheldon's persistence on "She’s not my girlfriend", instead of letting it roll off, is a clear sign of a crush. Plus, he (I think?) asked her to be official couple first. He also proposed, went back to her after the break-up era, and engaged the coitus routine.

Of course, Amy had accepted all of that and then some. She still had feelings for him during the break-up. She also expressed her overall feelings earlier than Sheldon did, asking to move in with her and even kissing him first, etc.

So, what's my dearest friend's opinion?

This is a tough call.

It's true that Amy says in her vows she felt a connection to Sheldon from the first moment they met, but I think Sheldon felt it too and he felt it stronger. He went into that coffee shop fully believing that Howard and Raj were wrong and the entire meeting would be a failure, and yet he was the one who offered to buy Amy a beverage after exchanging a few words with her. He was expecting to meet a woman on the prowl, he never considered his match might also be in a similar situation as him, wary of relationships but nonetheless coerced into the date. When Amy stepped up to him with her multiple layers and direct speech, he was instantly smitten, he just didn't realize it.

Based off what we know of Amy's past and how often she faced rejection from her peers, I believe Sheldon was probably the one to suggest they should exchange contact information and he was probably the one initiating most of their conversations to start out. The four months they spent maintaining daily electronic communications likely helped Amy out a lot in feeling safe in her friendship with him and getting her to a point where she knows he accepts her and that she can trust him. But I think she was still cautious.

It's pretty clear in the beginning that Sheldon was more interested in Amy than she was with him. In addition to the above, he was also the one who invited her on that first date (the one Penny chaperoned) and he also started inviting her out to dinner with the guys, or over to the apartment for games. He invited her to that Brian Greene lecture and to see Indiana Jones with him (though she ditched him on that one). When they "broke up" he was the one going crazy and buying a bunch of cats, while she seemed to mostly take it in stride. When Amy expressed a sexual attraction to Zack, he was obviously jealous about it.

So I would say Sheldon had the bigger crush on her, but these feelings were so completely unexpected for him and he was so deep in denial about it, even after they became boyfriend and girlfriend he had trouble coming to terms with it.

And with Amy, I think her feelings were slower to build, but because she was better in tune with them and more accepting of them, she fell in love first. Or, at the very least, she recognized her feelings as love first. I think she started to realize it could be love as early as season 6 but probably didn't fully admit it to herself until season 7, whereas Sheldon I don't think considered that it could be love until the end of season 7. That's when he acknowledges that Amy loves him (though she hasn't said it yet), and I think a large portion of his train trip was spent mulling that over.

But again, because Sheldon was so resistant to all of this, I think you could also argue that he was in love first but refused to see it. Or maybe that it's all about equal, just expressed differently.

And I'll leave you with this very important excerpt from Jessica Radloff's Big Bang Theory book: