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rosiesmuts · 11 months

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Muse

Le Serrafim Kazuha

4,000 Words

A/N: KazuhaSmuts?

Kazuha Nakamura. Fuck. The gorgeous idol your new muse, her beauty transcending what the camera can capture, able to take your breath away with those curves and bright smile. A consummate professional, striking poses without needing direction, a sense for it without experience, the pictures coming out flawless.

Even in basic jeans and a t-shirt, Kazuha exudes a beauty, a hotness that has nothing to do with being an idol. Her confidence is stunning and her sensuality is electrifying—not something manufactured for a photoshoot but inherent and undeniable. You're standing next to a goddess. Absolutely gorgeous face, captivating eyes, voluptuous curves, and a charm she's too comfortable with. There's no effort there, no faux coyness or intentional sultry look. Just the radiance of a stunning idol who seems almost oblivious to what she inspires, but you can tell from the heat in Kazuha's gaze and her naughty grin, a mischievous desire swirling around in her that she'll never speak out loud—she has you enthralled.

So fuck.

Fuck these lustful thoughts clouding your head and this heat building in your chest. This is supposed to be a job, but when Kazuha reaches for the hem of her shirt and the lines of muscles accentuating her abs as her t-shirt peels up, that desire inside you is more than unprofessional.

Focus.

Fuck.

This is part of the shoot, supposed to show off the 'Calvin Klein' on her sports bra, but the flexing of her body and the little curl on her smiling lips leaves the underwear an afterthought. You should've been used to this, there's been legitimate supermodels in even less clothing in these photoshoots. But there's something about Kazuha, her innocent smiles and demure laughter, this aura of untouchable and almost fragile femininity about her.

And she's fucking teasing you, those faint lip curls, the flash of teeth from her smirk. She knows her effect, she enjoys your lingering eyes and hungry looks. An arm folded up above her head, leaning against the wall as her other hand grips a rolled up shirt, an underwear ad waiting to happen. Everything about Kazuha screams confidence and sensuality, even her long toes, wiggling a bit for some reason as her smirk broadens, the look in her eyes daring you, almost like she's trying to say something she cannot voice.

Kazuha tilts her head, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, biting into it. Seducing with the barest hints, challenging and inciting with the slightest of moves. It feels almost too intimate and that makes it all the more intoxicating, making the breath hitch in your throat and your heart race in anticipation.

"Cut!"

You have to shout out, the sexual tension overbearing and suffocating. "Let's take an hour for lunch everyone. Good work today, we got a lot of good shots." Your voice is steady, hiding your tumultuous feelings as best as possible. Kazuha beams at the praise and your façade of control crumbles as she teases and tempts you even further, giving a flirtatious wink before slipping into her dressing room.

It's a bit of a walk for you to get to your office, but it gives you space to think about what's gotten into you. This is just a photoshoot, you've dealt with plenty of sexy and beautiful models in much more scandalous poses. Kazuha was in plain clothes! There shouldn't have been anything erotic there. And yet the way the fabric hugged her body, her eyes watching your every move, and that flirty edge to her smile, it was impossible to ignore. Even now your mind's lingering on the last image of Kazuha, staring you down.

One hour to gather yourself. That's what you need—to take your mind off of those...impurities. Kazuha, even her name in your head makes your heart quicken and breath shorten. Just get a hold of yourself. No one can read your mind, and as long as you don't go acting out any of those lurid desires then this'll all just blow over...

"Hey."

You didn't even hear your door open, Kazuha's sweet voice catching you off-guard. Your eyes snap towards her, the entire reason for your break now standing in the office, Kazuha's free hand runs through her hair, this act of playing shy a fascinating dichotomy with the sultry woman you just worked with this morning.

All that build-up and time spent thinking about her left you absolutely stunned by Kazuha's entrance. For the second time she managed to catch your heart in your mouth, freezing your tongue and leaving you speechless.

"Can we go over those pictures that you took? I'd like to see them if that's okay?"

Her request is innocent enough, but you can't help but notice she locks the door behind her. A simple, innocent click of the lock, but the implication was very clear.

Kazuha leans in a bit too closely, a subtle grin as she clicks through the pictures and you're not quite sure if this was real or all your dirty imagination playing tricks on you. Did she really just touch your wrist and give it a squeeze or was she just checking the time and brushed by you accidentally?

Kazuha sits in silence, taking a cursory look at every frame before getting to the next. The silence is more than suffocating. You can barely hear anything outside the pounding in your ears. She stops the slideshow on the most salacious photo: Kazuha lifting her top, the slightest hint of her sports bra, her perfect abs captured so wonderfully on film.

"This one is good! Don't you agree?" Kazuha asks, tilting her head at you and pulling her lip in between her teeth, letting her eyes drag languidly down your figure, devouring you in the most erotic manner with just her gaze alone.

"...yeah..." is all you manage to stammer out, voice stuck in your throat and thoughts wandering in places they really shouldn't.

"Don't think I didn't catch you staring..."

Kazuha steps back, reenacting the shot that got you so worked up—her fingers reach the hem of her shirt, inching the garment up, more and more of her perfect abdomen getting revealed, tight lines that curve and ripple in a tantalizing dance, begging for someone to run their tongue across the slopes and dips of her stomach.

Fuck.

This was supposed to be an hour to gather your thoughts and recompose yourself, not go further into disarray with Kazuha standing in front of you. You lick your lips, a futile attempt to bring some moisture back into a dry mouth as your hands instinctively go into your pockets to prevent anything from going out of place.

This time it's different, Kazuha takes her shirt completely off, the gray Calvin Klein sports bra fully visible, hiding her tiny tits from view. It's a feast for the eyes—the flexing of her abs, the dip of her waist, that sensual confidence in every twitch and curl of her muscles.

"Whoops." Kazuha playfully teases, acting like the removal of the t-shirt is accidental, a casual display of carelessness. Her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it hostage and pressing it between her pearl white teeth. That stare, dark brown and chocolate eyes swallowing you whole and consuming you.

It becomes clear as day, the flirting and lustful looks were no joke, an honest come-on from this hotter-than-hot idol. And you could lose everything right here and right now, the implications and consequences could be catastrophic, but when her hand lands on yours, giving you a gentle caress, it's hard not to succumb.

"It's impolite to stare, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha coos. Your hands find her sides, fingertips digging in, unable to hold back anymore. Years of ballet, and now dancing to her own music and choreography, there is nothing less than admirable in her sculpted body, each muscle firm but toned.

The pads of your thumbs feel the ridges, tracing the defined lines, slowly climbing higher and higher.

"Such a naughty man."

Kazuha gives her own belly a featherlight caress, your hands slip underneath the elastic of her bra. Hot flesh greets your palms and her tiny tits are barely enough for a squeeze, so smooth and soft and absolutely perfect. Her nipples harden immediately, small and sensitive, crying out for attention, pinched by your fingers.

This is beyond unprofessional, absolutely irresponsible, a blight on everything a photographer should be—to have their hands under their model's clothes and get so engrossed with someone they've only known for a day. But, fuck. You could always find another job. Just touching and playing with Kazuha though—a chance of this sort of happiness would be gone forever.

The choice becomes clear the moment Kazuha kisses you, hungrily swallowing any excuses and closing any chance of leaving. The way she claims you is exhilarating, overwhelmingly powerful in that seductive passion as she claims ownership with her tongue, overtaking every bit of hesitation and apprehension in your soul and planting a seed of raw, unfiltered lust in the empty void.

Your excitement is evident, something hard is pressed against her thigh.

"Is it just a big camera down there, Mr. Photographer?" A tsk-tsk leaves Kazuha's lips, those dirty, dirty, beautiful lips, and that haughty smile plastered on her face while her fingers nimbly undo your pants. "Naughty, naughty Mr. Photographer!" Kazuha hums the words into your ear, tickling you, making your skin shiver in delight and electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

Her lips are on your neck, her hand is wrapped around your cock. It's all too much—this sexy, gorgeous, brilliant, sensual woman, taking everything with the same enthusiasm and conviction that she'd do in a song and a dance.

Each kiss on your body feels like the brush of the lips of an angel, her hands roaming your body, a subtle hint of her sharp, immaculate nails, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin.

She leaves you panting, a broken record of sighs and low moans until she releases your erection.

"Take off my pants for me Mr. Photographer."

Her words are quiet, her tone more husky than anything else, a hint of arrogance and self-indulgence. A direct command with no room for disobedience. Her back is against the wall, her hips jutted out for easy access— the baggy jeans easily fall off her legs, revealing her toned dancer's physique. Her thick thighs flexing in anticipation, the matching Calvin Klein panties the only obstacle standing in between you and heaven.

Her sexiness is something else, the shapely, sinful outline of her ass, the swell of her curves—that v-line is a mouthwatering treat, teasing with the prospect of a delight waiting to be explored. Everything on Kazuha is toned and breathtaking.

There is no thought, no plan. Pure primal instinct urges you forward, kneeling to run your tongue along that delicious path leading straight down to heaven and bliss and everything you could possibly desire. Your lips press against her stomach, her coy smile grows as you kneel before her, fingers in her elastic waistband, pulling and dragging it down.

Inch by inch, her lower half comes into view and you can't contain yourself any longer.

"Fuck..." the curse slips from you, involuntarily and inevitable, and the sight in front of you is breathtaking: her pussy is absolutely perfect, full and engorged, aching for touch, drooling in obvious desire.

Teasing kisses are planted on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer. She gives a slight groan. That sweet taste of victory. Lips upon lips. Tongue against slit. Kazuha is an impatient one, her hands cradling your head, locking you into position, the silky lips rubbing against yours. The roughness with which her hips move excites you, how desperately she pushes her crotch against your mouth. She's not shy at all, each and every movement bold and intentional, greedy and ravenous, entirely unlike her demure, innocent persona.

It's hard not to enjoy this, enjoying her unbridled desire—getting suffocated by her muscular thighs squeezing the sides of your face, her cunt grinding against you, leaving her delicious nectar all over your lips and chin. The more she pushes, the more she suffocates, the more excited and aroused you become, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs. It is as if your life depended on tasting her juices, that tart ambrosia from this sultry dancer and songstress, an aphrodisiac you'll never tire of.

Kazuha puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle those wanton sounds but failing to completely hide those telltale grunts and moans—her toes curling just another sign. The closer she gets, the tighter her thighs squeeze and... Fuck. If you're gonna die, this is probably the best way to go.

Kazuha shudders in ecstasy, a full body spasm while a cry of pleasure slips free from those luscious pink lips. It's too tempting not to explore her with your fingers as well, the little nub throbbing and aching for stimulation, eagerly twitching whenever your fingers circle it. There is a wild and untamed ferocity to the way Kazuha's legs instinctively curl and flex, writhing in unhindered bliss.

She leans back, pushing more weight into her back, holding herself up on shaking legs and heavy breaths. A sense of victory floods you. She was putty in your hands, her beautiful legs shaking and knees wobbling. Your pride swelled—to have the otherwise impeccably poised songstress a shivering mess.

"That... Was..." Kazuha struggles to talk, the red on her cheeks running down her chest and spreading down her heaving abs. "...Fucking amazing," she pants, her adorable smile permanently fixed on her beautiful face, lips parted just slightly.

Fuck.

Absolutely beautiful.

Her appearance is entrancing. Those warm, dark brown eyes with a sly, playful expression. Plush pink lips pulled into a sultry smirk, teasing, as her hair cascades behind her shoulders. Kazuha pulls you back up, staring you directly in the eye, full of sensual promise.

"I think you deserve a reward, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha says between languid strokes of your cock. Those talented fingers tease you, squeezing and pumping with precision, hitting every one of your buttons, a cocky, knowing glint in her eyes. You're not one to stand idly by, reaching for her sides, massaging her hips and brushing along her waist.

This is not a slow and drawn-out affair. Every touch between the two of you is desperate and fiery, full of passion and an intense need to feel more and more—needing to satisfy your hunger. Her arms reach above her head and you finally toss away that pesky sports bra. Perky nipples beg to be teased and kissed.

You give her pecs a light lick before blowing cool air onto her sensitive, pointed peak. She mewls in response. Each tug on her nipple accompanied by a sultry cry from Kazuha. She's trapped, sandwiched between the wall behind her and your body, held hostage by pleasure. But one simple phrase and she takes back all control.

"Fuck me."

Two simple words. The most beautiful ones. Commanding and fierce. Kazuha doesn't beg. Kazuha doesn't ask. There's no softness in her tone, she knows what she wants and there will be no deterring her. The tip of your hard, aching cock slides across Kazuha's slick folds, smearing her juices, gliding up and down as your shaft teases her clit.

It takes all your willpower to hold back, you want this to last forever. A huge part of you doesn't believe this is actually happening and that this is all just a fever dream. But when your tip first enters her wet, hot heat, nothing feels more real and certain. There's tight, and there's this—Kazuha a woman who spends hours working out her core and performing exhaustive dance routines every single day. There's nothing tighter or better than this goddess's cunt.

Every single movement is an explosion of sensations: her inner muscles flexing and squeezing, gripping, the sensual gyrations of her hips, the shallow thrusting—this is pure perfection. Your head spins, drunk from the desire, the high of fucking this diva, being enticed by every subtle thing about Kazuha and all of it's pure insanity, almost terrifying and too unreal. You lean in, pressing against her body and giving yourself up to her.

It's a paradise that no mortal should ever be worthy of entering. That is what her cunt feels like: Heaven's gates. Something out of this world. It's like all the blood is leaving your head. That carnal desire that's been built up is now set loose in this debauchery, your primal urges taking over.

Fuck the consequences.

Nothing matters right now but this.

Each thrust into Kazuha elicits a cute, soft moan, her tongue hanging loosely from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. Her nails dig into your back, the painful searing feeling mixes perfectly with the sweet pleasure coursing through your body. There's no gentleness or love, nothing other than lust and passion. Flesh against flesh.

Kazuha pushes you back, a naughty expression painted all over her face, pupils wide and tongue licking her lips.

"Wanna see a trick?"

There's no time to respond, her leg lifted into the air, showing off her flexibility and resting on your shoulder. This angle is unreal. You have no idea how she manages to keep her balance, especially when it allows you to slide even deeper into her cunt. The change is striking and her hands clasp over her mouth, failing to stifle a long, loud moan.

It's as impressive as it is erotic, using her ballet skills as a sexual advantage. Each pump in is pure pleasure, so hot and wet, you're drowning in her. Her walls clench and squeeze around your cock, as if she can't bear to let it leave, unwilling to relinquish your presence from her cunt.

"You're making me-" her words are cut off, Kazuha biting down hard on your shoulder in her attempt to stop the cry of passion. A hand wraps around her ankle, gripping her leg, hoisting her a little higher for even deeper thrusts. Her thighs and legs flex, locking you into place, keeping you there as she throws her head back in pleasure.

Kazuha bursts. For the second time. Shivering. Gasping. Pulsating. As if her pussy can't decide what's the best way to please the cock inside of her, an infuriating tightness and gyration around you.

Her leg leaves your shoulder, her whole body leaning against you as Kazuha's tired, labored breathing fans the back of your ear.

"That was quite the trick." Kazuha giggles at your lame attempt at a joke, pressing her finger against your lips.

"Did I say I was finished?"

Of all the things you should have expected after all the salacious behavior she exhibited during her first two orgasms, you really don't know why you should have expected anything less than what she did next: wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist.

Her forehead leans against yours, your tandem breaths sync up, and the calmness lasts for maybe a second before Kazuha presses a small peck against your mouth. She grinds down and starts working against your lap, her pussy bobbing up and down the hardness of your cock. You're carrying her weight now, Kazuha lifting herself up, then letting gravity guide her hips downwards to fully seat your dick.

Your fingers sink into her tight ass. She rides you, no break, not pausing once in her movements, sheathing herself repeatedly onto your girth. She's fucking you—every pent up frustration in living an idol's life is now being released into that. It dawns on you that in no moment were you ever in control, Kazuha stole every bit of agency from you.

Even so, your hips are locked in place.

Even as the room smells of sex and you're completely ensnared in a tangle of limbs. The loud clapping of flesh on flesh ringing in your ears—every bit of this situation is screaming irresponsibility and wrong. To fuck an idol whose star is on the rise would spell an end for a promising career. And yet Kazuha never fails to get her way, it's undeniably clear the moment that devious smile spreads across her face and the heated sparkles light up in her eyes, this vixen is determined to have what she wants.

Everything is burning up—your loins are on fire, Kazuha's steamy hot insides are the match.

"How do I feel, Mr. Photographer?" The sweetest, honeyed voice but with the devil's timbre. Kazuha fucks the words out of you, and your mouth feels so dry—you can't find the will or ability to speak as Kazuha smiles triumphantly.

Your life flashes before your very eyes. The decisions, the events—everything leading up until this very moment where you found yourself impossibly entangled in a gorgeous superstar, unable to get free from this spell. Everything culminates. From the time you were told you'd be working with her. From her flirty looks during the shoot.

Your hour of recess turned into this wild, irresponsible, crazy scenario. A lustful mess, as evidenced by the slick sheen that's collected around Kazuha's tight hole, glistening in the pale light. The tiniest twitches of her face, the furrowing of her brow—she's getting close again.

A handful of violent bounces is all she needed. With a stilted, violent scream and her pussy choking and gushing all over your thick rod. Everything's too hot and your toes begin curling and you can't stop fucking her, holding her perfect round ass, you start thrusting upwards—into her oversensitive cunt.

Kazuha squeals and it's too late to stop now, the sound of her pitiful cries as her body jerks and trembles and shakes—you're cumming together, perfectly synced in this debauchery. Her cunt squeezes the orgasm out of you. All over her walls. Flooding her insides, the warmth spilling out and dripping down and marking the both of you in the naughtiness of this exchange.

She collapses in your embrace, slumping against your chest and struggling to hold herself up. Both her feet rest on the ground, and the exhaustion is evident on her face—heaving breathlessly with a bright, brilliant smile as her knees threaten to give out beneath her.

Kazuha doesn't say anything, not a word, but she's glowing—unable to wipe that gorgeous grin off her face. There's no sign of regret either, or any hint of shame or guilt. No trace of anything but unbridled happiness and pure, raw satisfaction. A mischievous, perverse happiness that a woman in her profession shouldn't exude, not with the career waiting ahead of her.

A knock on the door. Shit. It's already been an hour?! There's a short pause, and she's pressing her finger to her lips, giggling quietly while giving a cheeky wink and getting herself dressed.

"I'll be right out." You yell at the door, sounding a bit winded as the thoughts come to you. It's easy to zip up, put away, and readjust yourself but there is absolutely no way you can cover up the smell, an obvious pungent musk that'd have anyone wrinkling their nose, the smell of hot, sweaty sex.

Kazuha winks at you and struts towards the door. A deep inhale, and the moment the door opens a whoosh of cool air clears out the fog from the past hour's festivities. "Make me look good out there Mr. Photographer," and in the span of an eye-blink, the façade she's made her identity, Kazuha's the innocent, sweet idol once again, her perverted desires and lustful yearning hidden under a veil of composure and modesty...

#kazuha smut #le serrafim kazuha smut

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 2 years

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in my hearts of hearts I so deeply believe in the importance of more women shopping in the men's clothing section. particularly gender conforming cis women. hear me out:

pockets. pockets pockets pockets. huge pockets. even in skinny jeans and short shorts. pockets are high priority in men's clothes, and designers are not willing to sacrifice them unless absolutely necessary. even the pajamas and swimsuits have pockets big enough to hold your phone. the audacity

better quality & value. men's clothing is consistently made to last longer. you will find better fabric quality, craftsmanship, and general durability in the men's section.

"men's" clothes might fit you better. clothing is way more gender neutral than you've been taught to think. for dresses and stuff you'll still need the women's section, but you'd be surprised at how well "men's" pants, shorts, shirts, and jackets can fit different bodies. in fact, I would go so far as to say that men's clothes are designed to fit a wider variety of body sizes and shapes than women's clothes. if you are one of the many many women who don't fit the ridiculous cookie cutter mold of modern women's fashion, you may very well have better luck in the men's section.

(this includes people with big chests! being designed for broader shoulders also translates into extra tiddy storage space.)

(plus, universal sizing systems based on your actual measurements.) (pro tip for shorter folks: cuffing or hemming pants is the easiest alteration in the world. you can literally just use safety pins.)

you can still find "feminine" things. it's becoming easier & easier to find "men's" clothes in the bright colors/patterns, tighter fits, and shorter hems traditionally associated with women's fashion. shorts are particularly great--you can find lots of mid-thigh versions that are almost identical to women's shorts, but with bigger pockets and a little more coverage.

(also, as most trans people are already aware, people are pretty eager to assume that everyone around them is cis. I guarantee that you'd be shocked at how many people won't realize you're wearing "men's" clothes. they'll just see a women wearing clothing that fits.)

bonus: it's easier to find stuff that's not see-through/doesn't show bra straps. the irony of this is deeply insulting.

in general clothing manufacturers feel able to pull way more bullshit on female customers. a great way to tell them to FUCK OFF is by spending your money elsewhere. your life will become much comfier in the process!

WARNING: consistently shopping in the men's section may accustom you to new levels of comfort and lack of body-conciousness, and make it difficult for you to return to shopping in the women's section. you may find yourself no longer able to put up with previously normalized levels of bullshit. you may find yourself sewing huge pockets into skirts & dresses, because that is the new baseline you demand of all your outfits. these symptoms may become even more pronounced if you start wearing supportive wide-toed walking shoes.

#I'm not saying women should stop dressing as women #I'm saying many women would be dressing like better dressed women if more of their clothes came from the men's section #because men's clothing isn't designed for men. it's designed for people #and women's clothing. generally is not.#I'm generalizing but: men's clothes is more likely designed for people to live in #while women's clothing is often designed for objects to exist in. except those objects are our bodies

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befemininenow · 1 year

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Are you a trans girl or non-conforming and would like to try out feminine clothing? You may want to check this out.

Say you found this dress online and you really love the overall style of it. Great! If you’re like me, you would say “F it! I’ll buy the dress and I’ll wear it how I like!” and move on with your life. That should the end of this guide, right? Except, there is one little problem: not everybody thinks this way. Those who look for the best matching outfits aren’t just searching to fit their style, color, or personality. It also has to do with their body type. If you’re in that situation, this guide may help you out.

Body shape

Believe it or not, there are many different types of body shape (up to 10). However, the most common tend to be the following (in no order):

Rectangle- Even distribution on shoulders, hips, and waistline

Pear/Triangle- Wide hips, well-defined waist, small shoulders

Hourglass- Near-exact hip and shoulder measurements, thinner waistline

Inverted Triangle- Broader shoulders, narrower hips, little waist definition

Apple/Round- Broad shoulders and big bust, thin legs and hips

Many transgender women have the inverted triangle body shape due to several factors such as genetics, bone structure, and age. However, your body shape may also change over time due to a rebalancing of hormones, body fat, and even lifestyle. While you can’t change your bone structure, you can change your body definition through exercises.

Body proportion

Here is something you may find useful if you’re looking to customize your look. Body proportions are unique to every individual and play a factor on clothing and to some extent, accessories such as jewelry. For instance, you may find the skirt you bought looks either too long or short. There are a few areas where to measure your body proportions such as wrist length or neck size. But the best way to improve your dress type is by following the “golden ratio rule” of dividing your body into three:

The way this is read is you’re either one-third top, two-thirds bottom, or you’re two-thirds top, one-third bottom. Once you get more knowledge, you can go upwards even eighths! But for now, the focus is on these two outcomes.

The two-thirds top, one-third bottom words well with long dresses:

while the one-third top, two-thirds bottom works well with more casual clothing:

Body measurements

Now that we got a few problems out of our way, it’s time to figure out what measurements you have. The best way to find out is by using a mirror and a soft measuring tape for body. Measure all the crucial parts of your body, which are the waist, hips, shoulders, and bust. This will determine the type of body you have and have a better idea on what length you will need to try out your clothing of choice.

Shoe size

One thing very important about an outfit is choosing footwear. Although you can use your old Converses with your flared jeans, you’re certainly not going to use them with a ruffled dress. You’re definitely going to want heels or flats! Unfortunately, women’s shoe size are not exactly the same as men. But don’t give up! Fortunately, there are women’s size conversion charts that help you choose what shoe size you need.

To find out your measurements on your own, grab at least two blank pieces of paper, a pencil or pen, and a measuring tape. Place your foot firmly forward and carefully trace around the outer area of your foot. Repeat this with your other foot. Once finished, grab your measuring tape and measure from your highest point to your lowest on both sheets. Measure the width as well. If both feet measure close to 10.5, your women’s size is a 12. However, due to a difference in manufacturing based on shoe brand, as well as shoe type like pumps, the average recommended size is at least 2 inches above your actual size. For those living in other countries that don’t use the US measuring size, I left a chart that shows all the possible measurements you may use to convert your shoe size into women’s size.

What to wear based on body type

Since not all clothing is made for everyone, it’s time to list what is considered the “ideal” clothing choices based on body type. Note that these are opinions from my source’s authors. IMO, the pictures below each suggestion are a better opinion. Your are free to choose your type of clothing.

Rounded or apple shapes fit best with monochrome colors and make the person look more “fit”.

Pear or triangle shapes look more balanced with decorative accessories on top while keeping the bottom more plain.

Rectangle shapes tend to have more volume with a waist belt while pleated pants give more volume on hips.

Hourglass shapes look best when wearing bodycon dresses and cardigans to emphasize volume in their waistline.

Inverted triangle shapes pull off the wide leg pants and fitted top combo the best.

For a much more comprehensive guide for each body type, I highly recommend reading The Concept Wardrobe’s guides. It gives more details on what to wear and how to choose the best combinations. Link is provided here: https://theconceptwardrobe.com/search?query=body+frame

Tips on what to wear

Now that you reached this point, I’m pretty sure you’re excited to try out what your heart desires. However, before you go out and buy that two-piece dress, I recommend researching and observing the type of clothing women wear today. Believe it or not, people will judge based on your way of dressing, from background to social status to age. A simple look like bodysuit and jeans may look perfect on you and blend you in with the girls, but something like a hot pink bodycon will make you stand out, and most likely not in a good way. So how would you choose something that blends you in with society, but also be comfortable at the same time? Here are some tips and pics:

Find clothing that “feels” feminine. In other words, buy clothing that “feminizes” your body, such as tops that make your shoulders look shorter, wrap dresses that make your waistline shorter, and skirts that make your hips look wider.

Find the best colors based on skin tone and hair color. For instance, try out warm colors such as orange if your skin tone is warm.

Dress sexy, but never go too revealing. Seriously, have some respect to yourself. But if you really want to go out wearing, for example, a two-piece outfit, wear one that looks stylish and flatters your body in a great way.

Use accessories that fit and blend well with your body. Large jewelry goes well with larger frame, small jewelry fits with smaller wrist, and so forth. Don’t forget the purse! It is absolutely necessary now that you’re wearing pocketless clothing. Choose one that fits your taste and needs.

Bras and undergarments are necessary to wear now. As you further into your transition, your breasts will start growing and it will become more difficult and uncomfortable going out braless. Start out with a brassiere, then move on to a fitted bra as they become bigger over time. As for down there, I would use boy briefs as they’re similar to boxers. Although HRT will cause it to shrink, it does not make it disappear. If you must hide it, use a gaff or a tuck, but do not use chastity belts (Seriously, stay away from that unless you’re really into that thing).

Optional: use waist shapers or corsets to slim down waist. Hip enlargement pads will also give your narrow hips and butt much needed volume. Breast forms can also give you an idea how big you want them in the future.

Fashion sense

But the most important part of choosing clothing as a trans girl is to wear whatever suits your taste.

For instance, are you more into the traditional and simple feminine aesthetic? Cottagecore may be for you:

But what if you’re the rebellious type that prefers to defy tradition? Well, maybe the alt-girl fashion is for you:

Maybe you’re the type that changes clothing based on season. So if you’re a summer-season type of girl, you’re definitely going for an outfit like this:

How about if you’re into the gym? Clearly your goal is to be like this:

Are you into business casual? There’s also a pic for that:

(The girl in the pic is also transgender! Her name is Suzi Hunter, better known as The Sphere Hunter.)

But we also can’t forget cosplay, either!:

(Cosplayer is Eden the Doll, a trans woman cosplayer! Picture belongs to Geo Leon.)

You’re probably the party type who loves some action:

Casual wear can also be tasteful and attractive too:

There’s so much to pic, but each style says a lot about what type of woman you are.

Where to buy clothing

If you’re interested in finding the right clothes for you, check out places that are especially gender-inclusive. As I’m based in the US, clothing stores such as Target are a good start while higher-end chains such as Nordstrom and Macy’s may have a better variety to choose from. If you’re a thrifty shopper, your local outlets, discount stores, and thrift shops have a surprising amount of great clothing for affordable prices. Although online sites like Amazon, Shein, and Zara have affordable and appealing clothing, many of these brands also have ethical concerns that overshadow their reputation. Dubbed “fast fashion”, they are a source of scrutiny among fashion fans and I would personally avoid them if possible. If you really need something affordable and new, I highly recommend purchasing through discount and thrift stores.

If you’re in need of safe undergarments, check out Urbody. They have clothing suitable for trans people, non-binary, and other identities, varying from binders to tucked leggings. They are founded by trans and non-binary people and use ethical practices and living wages for their workers. If you’re interested in checking their site out, here is the link to their page (I am not sponsored by them): https://urbody.co/

Conclusion

The whole point of this guide is to help you pick the proper clothing and accessories as a newly-out girl. I made this guide since there doesn’t seem to be many that are detailed. Keep in mind I’m still learning about female clothing as I am still in the first stages of transition myself. If anyone would like to add more info that is missing or provide any corrections, please reblog and add more helpful tips as it would help trans girls, trans women, non-binary, and anyone else that desires to wear affirming clothing. Please refrain from using any hurtful language if you’re doing so. Thank you and hugs!

Links to sources:

https://www.healthline.com/health/women-body-shapes#why-shape-fluctuates

https://www.thestylatude.com/post/the-most-common-body-shapes-for-women-and-how-to-find-out-yours

https://theconceptwardrobe.com/build-a-wardrobe/inverted-triangle-body-shape

https://www.thestylebouquet.com/2020/02/17/5-most-common-body-shapes-for-women/

https://dressedformyday.com/how-to-discover-your-body-proportions/

https://gabriellearruda.com/how-to-dress-better-female-body-shape/

https://m2fguide.com/how-to-pick-clothes-if-youre-transgender-or-crossdressing/

https://feminizationsecrets.com/mtf-clothing-tips/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CHBk9v0J_WO/

https://www.transgendermap.com/social/clothing-accessories/

https://apexfoot.com/shoe-sizing-chart/

https://www.glamourboutique.com/crossdresser-fashion/guide-male-female-shoe-sizes-33255#:~:text=Minimize%20the%20chance%20of%20having,11%20in%20a%20women's%20shoe

#transgender #mtf #fashion #how to #gender affirming #trans #clothing #feminine #genderfluid #quick #guide #helpful #tips #trans woman

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madlori · 16 days

Text

General PSA - Michelin stars

Because this came up in a conversation I had last week.

The context was someone talking about being excited to visit a restaurant with one Michelin star in Chicago (the closest city to my city to find a starred restaurant). Someone else said "One star? So it's terrible?"

Pause, rewind.

The Michelin star system is ascending, not descending (as a five-star rating system is). You can have either zero Michelin stars (99% of of the world' restaurants), ONE star (currently about 2900 restaurants worldwide), TWO stars (about 500) or THREE stars (currently 145).

There are 6 three-star restaurants in London. Four in New York. This is the highest distinction a restaurant can achieve.

This is why you hear about chefs "earning their star," when you go from the rank and file to having a star. And once you have one, you can earn more...or you can lose it. Restaurants are re-evaluated to ensure they're maintaining their standards.

The Michelin guide does not review only fancy restaurants. Many of the starred restaurants are very high-end, but lots aren't. I ate a one-starred restaurant in San Francisco called State Bird Provisions which you'd be fine to go to in jeans and a tee. It was great. There's a food truck that has a Michelin star.

Michelin also only covers certain cities. They're continually expanding, but right now in the US they cover New York, DC, Chicago, California, central Florida (Miami/Tampa/Orlando), Colorado, Atlanta, and just recently added the five major Texas cities (Dallas/San Antonio/Austin/Houston/Fort Worth) although those results haven't been released yet. They cover a lot more in Europe and Asia (the Michelin guide is French).

And yes, it's the same company as the tire manufacturer. Early in their history they wanted people to travel more by car, and use their tires, so they started writing and printing guidebooks for travel. This evolved into restaurant ratings, and somehow along the way it became the ne plus ultra of restaurant hierarchies.

This has been your infodump post for the evening, brought to you by MadLori, Inc.

#the michelin guide #michelin stars #restaurants #fine dining

149 notes · View notes

starlovesganyu · 8 days

Note

Love your writing style, its so comfy to read (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Can I humbly request [characters] perfect date for whoever you want to do.

From: 🦎

their perfect date!

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

what their perfect date is!

thanks for the ask!

various characters x gn!reader

characters: keqing, hu tao, clorinde, jean, ei, yae miko, furina, bronya, black swan, feixiao, march 7th, qingque, silver wolf

warnings: none

not proofread

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

keqing -`✮´-

• window shopping is her favorite way to spend time with you!

• she wouldn't be able to contain her excitement as you walk through the streets of liyue together, looking at all the different goods displayed in shop windows

• enjoys explaining the significance behind many of the artifacts, or how different types of clothing are manufactured

• but, if gently intertwine your fingers with hers, she'll shut up real quick

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

hu tao -`✮´-

• would definitely enjoy bringing you to a haunted house of some sort

• obviously she wouldn't get scared, but enjoys watching you jump at every little movement and sound

• would also scare you herself, then giggle at your reaction

• should you hide behind or grab hold of her out of fear or for protection, her heart will flutter a little <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

clorinde -`✮´-

• for her, playing through a tabletop troupe script with you would be her ideal date

• she loves to immerse herself in the story and characters, and whenever she roleplays with you, she finds it much more enjoyable!

• she'll secretly pick a script that has her saving you from monsters, or even one that ends with the two of you kissing (//ω//)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

jean -`✮´-

• a midday picnic away from the hustle and bustle of mondstat and the knights is perfect!

• you would bring your favorite dishes, she would bring hers, and you two would spend time sharing food and stories

• spending time away from her responsibilities and expectations also helps her relax and decompress

• her heart will melt if you lean on her shoulder or lay your head down in her lap

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ei -`✮´-

• in her mind, simply walking around inazuma with you is perfect

• having been stuck in the plane of euthymia for so long, many of the sights and goods are still novel to her, and she enjoys listening to you explain all the new things she’s seeing and experiencing

• but, you should be prepared to stop at every shop or stand that sells sweets

• wouldn’t try and feed her any sweets though, she’s still the archon and has an image to uphold

she’ll gladly do it in private

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

yae miko -`✮´-

• she would prefer to start the night off with a nice dinner

• wouldn't have to be anything extremely fancy, the only requirement being the establishment must serve fried tofu

• after the meal, simply lazing around at home with you would be a perfect way to end the night

• she would enjoy reading light novels with you in her lap, but her hands would be constantly roaming around your body, making it very difficult for you to focus on your book

"dear, is the novel not to your liking? you've been on the same page for ten minutes now..."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

furina -`✮´-

• would love to go watch some sort of stage play or musical with you

• she wouldn't care what genre the performance actually is, she just wants to spend time with you!

• unless it's horror-if it is, she'll have a death grip on your hand the entire way through

• the following days, or even weeks, she's not entering any dark rooms by herself, has you check in the closet and under the bed before sleep, summons all the salon members to keep watch, and clings to you like her life depends on it while she's trying to sleep

• if it's not horror, she would be constantly glancing over at you to "gauge your reactions at different scenes" (you're just too beautiful, and she couldn't resist the urge to look at you)

• would also enjoy acting out some of her favorite scenes to you in private!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

bronya -`✮´-

• similar to jean, anything that lets her take a break from her responsibilities and expectations would already be perfect

• that being said, she would really enjoy going clothes shopping with you!

• besides taking her mind off work, it's allows her to admire you under the pretense of making sure the clothes fit on you

• she'd blush every time you tell her she looks good in something

• would suck at helping you decide what to pick because you just look good in everything!

• wants to hold your hand, but sadly she's got an image to uphold-don't worry though, she'll make up for it by giving you a quick kiss in a changing room!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

black swan -`✮´-

• 100% a romantic candlelit dinner type of woman

• loves to listen to you talk about your most recent or favorite memories!

• she'd also want to show you some of her favorite memories of the two of you, or even maybe some of her favorites from her own life

• would definitely make you relive some of your embarrassing moments, for example, when she caught you red-handed trying on her clothes and posing in front of a mirror

• afterwards, taking a calm night stroll hand in hand would be a perfect way to close the night

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

feixiao -`✮´-

• would love to have you accompany her for a morning run and workout!

• when she runs, it usually allows her clear her mind and think over important issues with a fresh mind, but since you're present she can only think about you

• don't worry! if you get tired or don't want to run, she'd be more than happy to just take a morning stroll!

she'd also be willing to carry you

• would love if you'd join her lifting weights, but wouldn't ever make you do anything you don't want to do

• very obvious that she's trying harder than ever now that you're watching to try and impress you <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

march 7th -`✮´-

• shopping.

• spending a whole day going store to store looking for cute things with you would be a dream come true

• she'd have you try on many different outfits, and may even have you pose for her camera!

• would also suck at helping you choose an outfit, you just look too cute in everything!

• by the end of the day, her camera roll is filled with pictures of you and her, and she'll immortalize her favorites on her wall

• if you were to buy her a stuffed animal of any kind, she'd treasure it, naming it ruler over all her other stuffed animals, and would also hold it when she's missing you </3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

qingque -`✮´-

• she'd love to just slack off and play celestial jade with you!

• she wouldn't care if you brought along your friends, as long as they were fine losing to her

• but, if was were to be down to you and her, she'd discreetly make a bad play to let you win because your smile never fails to make her heart skip a beat!

• grabbing takeout and walking around aurum alley would be a cherry on top for her, but you should be prepared to have a lot of your food stolen by her

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

silver wolf -`✮´-

• would want to just laze around and play video games with you

• she's very skilled at basically every game, so she could help you beat bosses you were struggling on or boost you a couple matches in competitive

• could also spawn you in credits or other valuable in game resources if you wanted-just don't ask how

• if you decide you want to play against her, she'll promptly sit herself down in your lap just to distract you (not like she needs the advantage, she just likes to watch you slowly get flustered)

• also uses you as like a good luck charm for her gacha game pulls

a/n: thanks for reading!

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musings-of-a-rose · 3 months

Text

Marcus

Pairing: Marcus (Pike, Moreno, Acacius) x f!reader

Word Count: 6900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: I saw a post from @pimosworld innocently asking for a Marcus bachlorette style fic and, while this isn't exactly right, this is what my brain came up with. Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to me ramble and helping me, as well as @vanemando15 for being a cheerleader!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“Thanks for coming to Level Up Comics!” I smile at the customer as I hand them their bag, a quiet grunt all I get in return before they head out the door, the little bell jingling with their exit. I stretch, walking around from behind the counter and heading back towards the display case where several boxes sit in front, unopened figurines and collectibles pouring from them. My family and friends thought I was crazy for opening a physical media store in this age of digital products. They said no one would come in let alone want to actually buy “this crap.”

But here I am, a few years after opening, and I’m doing pretty good for myself. There are still collectors out there who want their favorites in case something happens to their files. They want the figurines from the original manufacturers, rather than printing them themselves. I can’t blame them. There’s something different, something magical about reading the printed word, having a figure of your favorite character that was made decades ago by something other than a 3D printer in someone’s basement.

The bell jingles and I yell out a greeting, shoving a few more figures in the back of the case before standing and turning, a pair of dark brown eyes meeting mine. I can already feel the smile on my face.

“Hi, Marcus!” Shit, was that too enthusiastic? If it is, he doesn’t let on, his own smile shyly spreading across his face. “How…how are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his large hand, his eyes darting away from mine. “I’m..I’m good. You?”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I’m good. Good. It’s all…good.” What the fuck?

He chuckles lightly, looking anywhere but at me. “Good.”

We’re both silent for several moments. He’s so hot. Way out of my league hot. And the weird thing is, I don’t even think he realizes just how attractive he is.

“Did my back issue of X-Men come in?”

“Oh!” I slap my forehead. “I almost forgot! Yes. Let me get that for you.” Trying desperately to hide the heat in my cheeks, I quickly walk around the counter, kneeling to sift through the special order pile.

“You got more figures in?”

“Yeah,” I yell from my crouched position. “There’s a few bins in the back I haven’t emptied yet. Feel free to have a look!”

“Thanks.” I hear him shuffle off towards the back of the shop just as I locate his order. The door bell dings again and I stand, smoothing down my jeans. A man stands at the counter, his bright blue eyes roaming up and down my body before her plasters on the most ingenuine smile I’ve ever seen.

“Hi. How can I help you?” I ask him as I place Marcus’s order on the counter.

“Hi beautiful. I’m looking for a comic.”

I internally sigh. I already know where this is going. It happens several times a week.

“Well you’ve come to the right shop. What are you looking for?”

He chuckles, intending to be endearing. It isn’t. “I’m looking for a very specific issue of Hawkeye. You know who that is?”

Seriously? “I am very familiar with Hawkeye. Are you?”

He scoffs. “Haha. You’re a funny, pretty thing. Anyway, I’m looking for a specific run of his. Do you know what that means?”

Anger surges through me and I grip the desk to ground myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Marcus at the back of the store, standing and turning towards us but not moving. He’s even hot in my peripheral.

“Which run are you looking for? Or are you wanting a recommendation?”

He laughs, the vile sound of it echoing off the walls. “A recommendation? From you? What would you know? You’re just a pretty little girl.”

A clunk from the back of the store and I see Marcus trip over one of the boxes. He doesn’t go down, but turns to fix the boxes that he’s kicked over. The man in front of me is unphased, his eyes still on me, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Well?” He spits out.

I look at him, giving him a smile. “Well, if you’re asking me personally, my favorite run is the Matt Fraction run. Not only because of his artistic style and great story, but the fact that they weaved in Clint’s deafness, drawing him wearing his hearing aids, and even doing an entire issue completely in American Sign Language. A great story and representation of a marginalized community from, in my opinion, one of the best and most relatable Avengers. Now, would you like the individual issues, an omnibus, or the digital version?”

The smug smile slowly fades from his face, his eyes hardening. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“I do when customers act like a bitch.”

He grabs the fliers on the counter and throws them at me, turning towards the door. “Fuck you and this place!” He tries to slam the door behind him but he fumbles with the handle, flipping me off one final time before disappearing around the corner.

I sigh, bending down to pick up the fliers. A hand reaches out, large and inviting, carefully helping me pick up the scattered papers. I look up at him, at Marcus, sweet Marcus. Who had heard all of that.

“I’m sorry Marcus. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”

He hands me the small stack he’s collected, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for standing up to a sexist asshole. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

I combine our stacks, both of us standing as I tap them on the counter to even them out. “Why should you apologize?”

“I should’ve come to help,” he rubs the back of his neck, his ear turning slightly pink.

I shake my head. “No, Marcus don’t worry about it. I get assholes like that all the time. Really, it’s ok.”

He shakes his head. “It’s really not-”

To my own surprise, I reach out and squeeze his arm. “Really, I’m ok. Thank you, Marcus.”

He smiles at me, opening his mouth to say something, but his phone rings from inside his pocket. “Sorry. Sorry.” He pulls it out, tapping on the clear screen only he can see. “Shit. I have to take this. Work. You sure you’re ok?”

I smile, trying not to show my sadness at his leaving. “I am. Hope everything’s ok at work.”

“Thanks. I’ll uh…see you around.” His eyebrows pull together as his phone rings again, his eyes moving down to the screen before he turns around and heads out the door, pausing to give me a wave through the window before he disappears into the crowd.

I’ll never meet a man owning this shop. They’re either assholes, taken, or hopelessly out of my league. My own phone beeps and I pull it out, scanning the clear screen with my reservation confirmation. I tap the confirm button, nerves flooding my system.

I can’t believe I signed up for a virtual version of the bachelorette.

—----

I closed the shop early and rushed home to get ready for that night. I arrive promptly at 7pm as they requested, the giant VIRTUAL LIFE logo on the side of the building bathing the sidewalk in bright blue light. I take a deep breath and walk inside, the door disappearing momentarily to let me in before reappearing behind me. The front desk assistant guides me to a row of elevators and instructs me to head to floor 28. I’m the only one in the elevator, the lights illuminating each floor as we pass it. The elevator stops and the doors open to a small waiting room, black leather couches and chairs surround a coffee table with several tablets, each loaded with some form of entertainment. While it looks like there are windows, if you look closely, you can tell they’re simulated, trying to grant us as much privacy as possible. Although, I think it may be more about guarding their own technology secrets.

“Ivy?” a woman calls my name from the only doorway in the room aside from the elevator. I nod, standing and smoothing down my dress.

“That’s me.”

“Right this way.” She leads me into another small office, a simple desk with a single chair for me to sit in. She sits opposite me at the desk, tapping in mid air at what I’m assuming is the computer screen in front of her.

“Ivy it says here you signed up for the bachelorette program to meet a compatible mate. Is that correct?”

Swallowing down my embarrassment, I nod. “Y-yeah.”

She taps a few more things. “Great. Do you know how this works?”

“You guys take a picture of my brain and show me a story?”

She chuckles, the first time her professional demeanor has broken. “Almost but not quite. After we’re done here, you will be taken to the simulation room. You’ve already done your physical-”

“Yeah. They had me put on this suit and they captured the way I moved. Motion capture, I think?”

She nods. “Yes that’s it exactly. This way, your avatar inside your world will move like you. It helps with immersion.” I nod. “They also completed your brain scan to find the most viable dates and look of mate that you are searching for. You indicated you’re looking for a male mate, is that correct?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yes.”

She nods. “Alright. If you’ll go through the door, someone in scanning will take you. Good luck!” She gestures to a door on the opposite wall from where we entered. I go through the door and another woman greats me, leading me to chair where she has me sit and get comfortable. It reminds me of what the dentist chairs used to look like except way more comfortable. She turns to me, holding a helmet with different little lights on it.

“Any questions?”

“Yeah. So what will he..I mean, how will I know who he is?”

“You will just know. Sort of like in a regular video game, where you can tell who is important to talk to.”

“Ok..but…will he look like him or?”

That’s reassuring. But then she interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t forget, he will be there too also looking for you.”

She shakes her head. “Your algorithm took in your scan and will give him the appearance of someone you find appealing or comforting. We’ve found it’s easier to accept someone if they have an outward appearance you’re already familiar with.”

“So you base connections on personality as opposed to looks?”

She nods. “Those relationships have the highest success rate, so yes.”

“And after, will you show me who he is?”

She nods. “In the simulation, you’ll go on 3 dates. They may be something as simple as communicating in an office to being a superhero or even traveling back in time. The algorithm takes both of your likes, dislikes, and desires and places you in situations. The more you play along and immerse yourself, or yourselves, into the simulation, the better the outcome, meaning a closer connection. And don’t worry - you cannot be physically harmed. And if it’s too much or you want to stop, you only need to say “End simulation”. Please be aware that time may pass differently in the simulation, but you will only be in for an hour. After, you will both meet here, in reality, and can determine whether you’d like to continue with a relationship or not. Any more questions?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not at the moment, anyway.”

She places the helmet on my head, the nodes all changing different colors as it comes in contact with me. She squeezes my shoulder and I look up at her. “Just relax and try to go with the theme. It’s more fun that way, ok?”

I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Good luck!” She taps a button on her clear screen and my vision fades to black so just a couple of seconds. But then I’m blinking awake, the tips of my fingers tingling and my toes feeling like they just woke up. My vision starts to clear and the room comes into focus. I’m sitting at a bar, a fancier bar, which explains the nice dress. As my hearing levels out, I realize that the blonde man to my right is talking to me, his body shifted in my direction. His grey eyes are slightly unsettling. This can’t be my mate, can it?

“...and so I had them fired! Can you imagine? I asked for my steak to be medium and they brought it out medium well. That will teach that guy to listen to the customer at his next job.” Grey Eyes chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He nods towards the glass in front of me. “Do you want another?”

“What? Oh, uh sure.”

He flags the bartender down and orders a rum and coke before making a show of leaning on his beefy arm against the bar. “I’m glad you finally saw reason and agreed to come out with me tonight.”

I give him a small smile. “Yeah. Same here.” This doesn’t feel right. Maybe they got it wrong? Someone bumps into me from behind and grey eyes catches me, glaring at the person who bumped me, who had moved on.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. It’ll take more than a drunk asshole to bring me down.” Grey Eyes laughs, picking up his glass and holding it up towards me. “I’ll drink to that.” I glance down to grab my drink, only to find it wasn’t there. I look back at Grey Eyes and see him frozen in place, the smirk on his face completely gone, his glass shaking as he continues to hold it in mid air. My glass appears next to his, lightly clicking against his glass.

“Now that’s not very nice.” That voice. I would know his voice anywhere. My entire body relaxes as I turn to look into the dark brown eyes that I love so much.

“Marcus!” I exclaim, ignoring the vein in grey eye’s neck that’s threatening to pop. Marcus on the other hand, looks good. I mean, he always looks good to me but he’s dressed in nice black pants and a light blue button up shirt with matching black jacket. I’m not sure how a blue shirt makes his brown eyes pop, but it does. Marcus pushes his black frames up his nose.

“Hey, Ivy. Sorry to interrupt your date, but this not so kind gentlemen put a little something in your drink.”

“He what?” I blink rapidly a few times, trying to pry my eyes away from him. Grey Eyes vein relaxes somewhat and he sputters out.

“Fuck you man! We’re on a date! What….what are you doing to me?”

Marcus shrugs. “Well, you wanted to make it so she can’t move. Only fair if I return the favor.”

Grey Eyes goes to say something else, but then seems to recognize the man standing next to me, his eyes going wide.

“Aren’t you the guy that can move metal?”

My eyes snap to Marcus, who is smiling. “I see I have a fan.”

Grey Eyes tries to backtrack. “Listen, man. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get her to loosen up a bit. Have some fun.”

Marcus looks at me, his brown eyes wide and smiling. “Ivy, do you wish to continue your date with this man?”

“Nope.” I pop the “p” sound at the end of the word. “Little hard to have fun when my date is trying to render me unconscious.”

Marcus waves the bartender over. “Call the police. This man is in possession of Freeze Me.”

A handful of what felt like seconds later, several officers show up and arrest Grey Eyes, who barely puts up a struggle. I turn towards Marcus, my smile stretching my face as I grab his arm. “My hero.”

His eyes dart around the room, his arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was nothing.”

Gosh he’s so cute when he does that neck rub thing. Wait. Gotta play along.

“Is Marcus the Metal Bender actually acting shy around me?”

He chuckles nervously and I think how perfect they coded him. Like he was picked out of my brain. Which I guess he was.

“Just trying to be respectful.”

I wish he wouldn’t. Wait, are we even allowed to have sex in here? Wow, getting ahead of yourself there, Ivy.

“Youwannagetoutofhere?” He speaks so fast it all comes out in a jumble and I cock my head to the side.

“What?”

He swallows hard and I can’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Hell yeah I do.”

—-

It’s a few weeks later, or at least it feels like some time has passed. That lady did say time passes differently here. Now I’m in an office building, a stack of files in my arms, walking down the hall. A quick glance around tells me I’m in the Heroics head quarters. Marcus appears from around the corner and looks up at me, smiling and walking towards me. But then a man in a much too tight blue suit with a glowing M on it joins him, Marcus’s shoulders sagging slightly as he gives me a sad little wave.

“When are you two going to go on a date already?” A woman with bright pink hair appears next to me.

“I uh, me?”

She slaps my shoulder. “Yes, you Ivy.” She leans in closer to my ear. “Aren’t you the one who confessed to having a crush on our heroic leader?”

I will the heat rising in my face to not show. “Oh, I uh..I-”

“You know he likes you too.” Her jaw drops when she sees the confused look on my face. “Oh don’t tell me you can’t tell! That man can hardly look at you and he’s taken down alien forces by just staring at them.”

She feels like a close friend so I go with it. “Yeah, ok I like him. Keep your voice down, will you?” She continues walking with me to the end of the hall where I deposit the stack of files into several slots, each one making a small whoosh sound as they’re whisked away to their destinations.

When I’m done, Pink Hair gently grabs my face and turns me to her. “I love you, Ivy. You know you’re like the sister I never had. So please listen to me when I say ask that man out before something happens and you regret not ever trying.”

Well fuck. That is…really spot on to reality isn’t it?

I never get a chance to answer her as the entire building suddenly shakes, alarms and lights screeching and illuminating the halls. One of the tall filing cabinets starts to topple in my direction and I can only look on in horror, frozen in place by the rumbling building. I throw my hands up, as if that’s going to stop it, but nothing happens. The cabinet is laid gently on its side, floating to the ground.

“Come on!” I look up into those dark eyes, Marcus extending his hand to me and helping me to my feet. “We have to get out of here!” He tightens his grip and somehow leads us out of the chaotic building out into the streets. Which is also nuts. People are running everywhere and…wait. Is that an alien spaceship coming towards us??

Marcus pulls me behind a wall, glancing around it and waving hand signals to a small group of heroes across the street behind another wall, Pink Hair amongst them. He turns back to me, his face full of worry as he starts to take his shirt off, exposing…not skin but a uniform? No. His hero costume, which is a black shirt,and arm bands. He sees me staring down and he shrugs. “I normally have a tach vest but we’re out of time.”

“Should you not go out there without one?”

Marcus shakes his head. “I have to support my team. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I mean, people safe.”

“You could just stay here with me? The others can handle-” my words are cut off by a giant laser beam cutting through the street, coming directly from the ship.

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Get yourself to safety. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I need you to be safe.” Another laser beam, the sound of some smaller buildings crumbling to the ground. “Go! Get to safety!” He releases my hand.

I get a glimpse of the deep craters that lasers had left in their wake through the cement of the street, the piles of rubble and dust, and this spurs me on.

“Marcus?” He leans against the wall, readying himself, but he looks at me.

“Yeah?”

Mustering up my courage, I lean towards his hunched body, softly planting a kiss on his lips. When I pull back, I see his chest heaving, his eyes moving between mine.

“Please make it back, Marcus.”

Before he can answer, the ship comes into view and his team moves out, following behind Miracle Guy, who had flown right up the ship and started punching it. Marcus’s head whips around, assessing the situation and I squeeze his arm once more before quickly moving out of the immediate area. I know I should move more, but I can’t get hurt so…

The fight that ensues between the ship, the aliens inside, and the Heroics team is nothing short of brilliant. They may argue in the halls, but in the field, they all take direction from Marcus, who is a brilliant leader, playing all of their strengths. Marcus bends metal like it’s made of playdough, a beautiful dance of destruction and strength. Then the ship comes crashing down, everyone moving out of the way except-

“Marcus!” I emerge from my hiding place at a full run as the smoke around the alien ship that’s currently scraping along the road as it crashes and envelops Marcus. The ship stops, groaning as it falls back and lays still, no other life forms moving or detected on board. For a few moments, no one moves. Then Marcus emerges from the smoke, his face soot stained and a small gash in his shirt and along his cheek, but otherwise unharmed.

“Marcus!” I run to him, his eyes finding mine, his entire body relaxing as he realizes I’m safe, just before I launch myself into his arms, our lips crashing together as my right hand fists in his shirt, my left tugging on his hair. Miracle Guy wolf whistles but I couldn’t care less. I feel his tongue gently lick out and I part my lips, letting him take whatever he wants. But before it can go any further, my vision starts to blacken, the last thing I see is Marcus’s eyes going out of focus as he succumbs to his own transition to the next simulation.

—----

I find myself blinking awake for the second time in what feels like weeks, but I know in reality it’s only been maybe 20 minutes that I was in there. The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling, my vision and hearing clearing and I find myself in…a breakroom. Am I back at the Heroics? The slight weight in my hand takes my focus and I realize I’m holding a cup of tea. I must be on my break. I walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking outside. I’m not back at Heroics - the cityscape is all wrong. I hear the door open behind me and I turn, the smile on my face widening as Marcus enters the room. His hair is shorter than the last simulation. And his face is clean shaven, which is a look I’ve never seen on him before. Not that it matters - he’s beautiful no matter what. I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s a little older. Probably hot as-

“Hey, Ivy.” Marcus smiles down at me, grabbing his own mug and pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe. I notice the FBI logo on the mug and figure that must be where we are.

“Hey, Marcus.” I take a sip of my tea as we both watch the other. But then the door opens again, another agent walking into the room. He claps his hands together, looking at us.

“Hey! Congrats on finally cracking that art case, you two! 8 months is a long time to do an operation like that. Great work!” He shakes both of our hands as we thank him. Marcus catches my eye and, with a small movement, jerks his head towards the door. I nod, thanking the other agent again and follow Marcus out of the tiny breakroom and down the hall, stopping in front of an office door labeled MARCUS PIKE. I wonder if that's his name back In reality. He extends his arm towards his office and I head inside, smiling at him as I do, noting how his eyes dart around, that hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he closes the door behind him.

“I uh…great work, Ivy.”

“You too.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and finally looks me in my eyes and he nods once.

“Listen. Do you..uh..I mean, would you like to…this is coming out all weird.”

I squeeze his arm and he looks down at my hand, taking a deep breath.

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

My stomach erupts in butterflies. “Like on a date?”

The redness in his eyes spreads down onto his cheeks as he stammers, gesturing around vaguely. “No! No, not uh. Not a date.”

I can feel my face falling. “Oh.”

“Uh, unless you…uh…unless you want to? Make it a…a date?” His eyes are wide and bright, like a damn puppy.

I smile, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I would love to go on a date with you, Marcus.”

His smile is bright, lighting up the room. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He let's out a sigh of relief. “Great! I found this great pancake place.”

Pancakes? I love this man already. “It's nearly dinner time!” I can't help the small giggle that I let out.

“Yeah, well you said your favorite food is pancakes. And they're open 24 hours.”

He remembered my favorite food? I'm so screwed. Damn this program is good. “You're right! I'd love to get pancakes with you. On a date. For a date. When will this date be, by the way?”

“Oh. I uh, would it be too weird if we went tonight? Is that too soo-”

“No! I mean, yes! No it's not too soon. I'd love to go!” If my heart could stop beating through my chest, that would be great. It's not that I'm some young girl getting asked on her first date. I just really like Marcus. Or whomever this is. My heart sinks at the thought of it not being the Marcus I know in reality.

“Great! I'll pick you up at 7? Unless you'd rather meet me there? I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Marcus, we just spent 8 months together on assignment. I think I'm comfortable around you.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.” His office phone rings and he apologizes to me, picking it up. I wave ro him and he mouths “See you at 7!”

—----

He picks me up with a flourish of flowers, all long legs and button up shirt that I'm really dying to unbutton. If that's even allowed here.

But what's more than that is the conversation. I thought I had learned everything about him over the last 8 months. I was very wrong.

“You were a bass player in a band?” I ask, choking on my drink.

He laughs, holding his hands up in front of him. “What can I say? I wanted to meet more people.”

“I bet you had all the girls hanging on you.”

Marcus shrugs. “Not really. They all want to date the drummer or the singer.”

“Really? Not the sexy bass player?”

Marcus takes too large of a sip of his drink and coughs, pounding his chest. “No, not the…you think I'm sexy?”

I set my fork down and meet his eyes. “If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here.”

We spend several moments, just looking at each other and then I remember that he's not a simulation but a real person on the other end of those eyes. My heart squeezes thinking about how it won't actually be Marcus. Despite that thought, we really get along well and the conversation flows freely between us. Sooner than I’d like, we’re leaving the small diner, heading back to my place. Marcus parks in my driveway and turns to me, his eyes bright and wide like a damn puppy. We had been talking about books, one of my favorite topics.

“..and I know everyone complains that Tolkien takes 20 pages to describe a flower, but I really love that attention to detail. It makes it more immersive for me. One of these days I’ll get you to read Lord of the Rings!” I tap my fingers on his bicep to emphasize my point.

Marcus rubs his neck. “I uh…I already have.”

My jaw drops. “What? When??”

“When you told me it was your favorite book. Or books, I should say.”

I think back. “Marcus, that was…months ago!”

His eyes meet mine, the light from the street lamp outside adding a sparkle to them. “You said they were your favorite so…I read them.”

My stomach does flips, my heart beating. “You read them all for me?”

He nods. “Even the Silmarillion.”

I can’t help it. This is so fucking hot. I reach out and grip his shirt, pulling him to me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the heat between us quickly rising. His large hand cradles the back of my head, holding me to him as his other hand settles on my hip, squeezing it lightly. We make out for several minutes, Marcus kissing and nipping a path down my neck.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask breathlessly.

He pulls back and looks at me. “I do but-” he whispers. “Are we allowed?”

“I…I’m not sure. We could try to-”

But then my vision starts to blacken around the edges, and before I pass out, I hear Marcus say “See you in the next one!” before we both black out.

—----

Now familiar with the way I wake in these simulations, I wiggle my fingers and toes, giving myself a moment to figure out where I am. The room looks…ok, this isn’t from my time. Roman decor and pillars line the grand bedroom, some food laying on a small table for, I’m assuming, me. A quick glance down shows me in a beautiful white garb and I marvel for a moment at how clean it is.

BOOM!

The ground shakes and I duck down, completely caught off guard. It’s only after the boom dies down that I hear it - the distant sound of clanking swords and men yelling. I walk to the small window set into the wall and look out, my brain taking a moment to process the scene in front of me.

I’m several floors up in a sort of round building, a castle I realize as I see the lower tiers, more square in their shape. I’m sure the grounds would have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the massive amounts of soldiers fighting in the streets. I can make out their bodies, the blood, sweat, and dirt spreading almost like a disease. Spear and swords burst from chests or stomachs, limbs separating from their bodies to be lost to the throngs of soldiers. The seem to be moving closer to the castle, which I’m not sure if I want to happen or not. Turning on my sandaled heel, I walk to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to listen. Hearing nothing, I try to open it. Nothing. The door doesn’t open or move, the handle locked into place.

Well, fuck.

Before I can try and figure out how far down the next ledge is out the window, or if I can even fit out the window, I hear a commotion outside my door. It’s not loud, but I hear a man gurgling and sputtering, a small bit of crimson blood pooling under the door. I grab an iron rod by the fire and hold it up, preparing to defend myself. I know they said I can’t be hurt but damn this feels real. The door opens and a man walks through, wide, muscular shoulders under his Roman armor, Medusa proudly engrained on the front. I lunge, the iron rod above my head but the man turns and grabs the rod and I would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught me.

“Ivy! Here you are!”

It’s him. Marcus. Only he’s older, probably closer to 50. Grey streaks in his curls and patchy facial hair only accentuate his beauty, a new scar forming across his nose, bleeding lightly down his face. He’s covered in dirt and blood and ash, but I throw my arms around him anyway.

“Marcus! Thank God, what’s going on?”

He cups my face, pushing my hair out of my face. “You are so beautiful, my love. I would bring every army from the entire world to rescue you from this horrid Emperor.” And then his lips are on mine, urgency behind them, but a desire to show me how l much I am loved. This man apparently started the battle outside, for me, and still wants to make sure that I know how important I am to him?

“We have to flee. Come!” But before we can leave, the door flies open and 5 guards file in, grabbing Marcus and holding his arms out to his sides. I pick the iron rod up from the floor and run towards them, unsure of what I would do but I know I’ll beat the shit out of them until they let him go. But another hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it hard so I drop the rod. I look up into the eyes of a man that I’m assuming is the Emperor, his golden robes flowing around him. He looks vaguely familiar, like that one asshole from the comic shop.

“Now, now my dear. What were you planning on doing with that?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then he smacks me across the face and I slam down onto the floor. Ok, that hurt. Didn’t she say I wouldn’t get hurt? Maybe she meant I wouldn’t die. Marcus swears, cursing the Emperor for hitting me.

“Are you alright, my love?” Marcus grunts as the men punch him in the stomach.

“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. You’re kind are dying out. I told you to just accept your fate and take your banishment, but instead, you stayed behind and fell in love with a woman. How…stupid.” Marcus tries to speak but he’s punched again, his body hunching over. I try to stand, but then I’m drug up by my hair, the Emperor’s fingers digging at my scalp as he pulls me to his side.

“This one?” His eyes rake over my body. “She is attractive, I’ll give you that. Even if she is attracted to a brute like you.” I jerk my body, trying to get out of his grip but it’s too tight, my hands gripping his arms to try and get some relief from the stinging at the back of my scalp.

“Let her go. You can kill me, I don’t care, but let her go.”

The Emperor looks from me to Marcus, a sick smile spreading on his face. “I didn’t go through the trouble of kidnapping her just to have you give up. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do instead. LOOK AT ME!” The Emperor bellows from beside me, Marcus’s eyes moving from mine to his.

He steps closer to Marcus, dragging me a little beside him. “Such a wild man. How about this: you watch as I take her. Then, I’ll drive my sword through her belly so she can slowly bleed out on the floor. Only after the light has left her eyes will I either kill you or lock you up to suffer the rest of your days. How does that sound?”

The darkness that settles over Marcus is unforgiving, his eyes hardening in resolution. He growls and screams, throwing the soldiers off him as he grabs his sword from the ground, swinging it and taking out all of the soldiers in only a handful of moves. He spins, aiming his sword at the Emperor, who has now moved me in front of him as a human shield, a knife to my throat.

“I’ll kill her, Marcus! You are too weak to save her!”

Marcus’s gaze moves briefly to mine and I release my weak grip on the Emperor’s arms, letting them fall to my side. Marcus shifts his body ever so slightly before he throws something from behind his back. The object whizzes past my cheek, scratching it slightly as the blade buries itself in the Emperor’s neck. He drops his knife and clutches at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. He crumbles to the floor and sputters for several moments before his body stops moving. I run to Marcus, throwing my arms around him again. He grunts and I remember the soldiers hitting him.

“Are you hurt?”

He clutches his side. “I’ve had worse.”

“You are so fucking hot right now,” I speak quietly to him and he smiles. “I’m covered in dirt and blood and sweat.”

“Stop trying to turn me on more I already said you’re hot.”

He laughs but then inhales sharply at the pain. “I’ll take it, I guess.”

“No, that’s my job.” I bring my lips to his, pushing him back towards the chaise lounge chair on the other side of the room. He sits, pulling me onto his lap as I straddle him, my dress getting dirty as I shift my hips. He groans, his large hands sliding up my bare thighs under my dress and fuck! My vision starts to blacken and I hear Marcus whine out some expletives as we both are brought out of the simulation.

—---------------------------

Hopefully for the last time, I blink awake, wiggling my fingers and toes as I look around the room. The helmet is gently lifted from my head and the woman that had put it on me moves into my eyesight.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Wait just a moment for your body to fully catch up. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah why did you stop us having sex?”

She studies me for a moment. “It is not allowed in the programming.”

“I cross my arms. “Well your programming is stupid.”

She chuckles so quietly I thought I’d imagined it. “The algorithm wants you and your mate to match based on personality and emotions, not just physical.”

“I can guarantee you it wasn’t just physical.”

She helps me stand and I shake my limbs out, full feeling returning to them. I smooth out my dress as she readjusts my hair. “Are you ready to meet him?”

Him. My reality man. “Y..yeah.”

“Right through that door. He’s already waiting for you.” I move towards the door but she stops me. “I just have to say, I’ve been doing this for years and I’ve never seen a situation like yours and his.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

So smiles softly. “So…rooted in reality.”

Yeah that’s not confusing. But she doesn’t explain further, turning back to the chair and helmet, starting to clean them. I take a deep breath to steady myself and open the door, walking through and closing it behind me. The man on the other side of the room, my mate, turns towards me and we both gasp.

“Marcus?”

“Ivy?”

We meet in the middle of the room and I cup his face, Marcus tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is it really you?”

He nods. “Yeah. You? Real?”

“Real.”

He pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply, but then pulling back a moment later.

“I’ve been dying to ask you out since forever. I never thought I’d be paired with you, here of all places.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“Have you seen yourself? You’re entirely out of my league.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s the other way around.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I put my finger on his lips. “I think we went through several first dates in there. Plus, we’re already friends. Can we…that is, can you take me back to your place first? Then we can eat?”

Marcus’s eyes darken, his hands finding a place on my hips as he pulls me against his body, letting me feel how into that idea he is.

We’re married a year later.

—----

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scoonsalicious · 4 months

Text

6.2 Lily

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, toxic plants being manipulative and toxic.

Word Count: Bucky done fucked up.

Previously On...: 2.5k

A/N: Please note: I will be taking a one week break from posting starting on Thursday, May 16th, to focus on writing. I will resume posting on Thursday, May 23rd.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He was on his way!

After disconnecting from her call with Bucky, Lily bent down to her front driver’s side tire and, using her car key, pried out the nail she’d run over to ensure it would go flat while she ran the trail. Walking to the edge of the parking lot, she hurled the nail into the woods, getting rid of any evidence that she’d manufactured the current predicament she “accidentally” found herself in.

It didn’t matter if Bucky hadn’t come home from his date last night. Hadn’t told her that he’d even been on a date to begin with. What mattered was that, when Lily had called, Bucky had left the bitch behind and had come running. To her.

And that meant something.

Right?

Bucky could go out with some slut if he wanted to, but when Lily had needed him, Bucky had dropped everything to be there for her, and that knowledge made Lily’s insides glow with warmth. She was still his number one girl; she shouldn’t have let herself get worked up over one date that probably didn’t mean anything. Bucky had dated before, and Lily had made sure none of them stuck around for very long. This time wouldn’t be any different.

So, Lily waited. She checked her email, she played some games on her phone, she listened to a podcast. Finally, a little over an hour after she’d hung up with Bucky, she saw one of Tony’s sportscars speed into the parking lot and make its way to the trailhead.

Her heart sank at the thought of Bucky sending Tony Stark to help her in his stead, so it was quite a shock to her system when the car pulled up next to hers, turned its engine off, and Bucky himself stepped out. He wasn’t wearing his usual tshirt and jeans, no– he was wearing a rumpled burgundy button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the first couple of buttons left undone at his neck, and a pair of fitted, black trousers.

Lily swallowed. His hair was a mess, but she could imagine how put together he must have looked the night before, and that made her stomach twist. He’d made an effort. He’d made a real, genuine effort to dress up for this date that he lied to her about.

“Hey, Lil,” he said, once she got out of her car to meet him. He smiled, but she’d known him long enough to be able to tell when his smiles weren’t genuine, and this one didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, Jamie,” she said, offering him a fake smile of her own to hide her distress. “Thank you so much for coming out. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m sure Steve or Sam or anyone from the Compound would have been more than willing to help you out, Lil,” Bucky said as he walked to the back of her car. “Could you pop the trunk for me so I can get your jack and the spare?”

Lily bent her head back inside to unlock the trunk, rolling her eyes as she did so. If she’d wanted someone else to change her tire, she’d have just done it herself. Or, you know, not popped her own tire to begin with. But that was beside the point.

She walked around to the back of the car so she could help Bucky move things around in her trunk to get to her spare. “You’re dressed awfully fancy for a Sunday morning,” she said, watching him out of the side of her eye. “You find God and suddenly decide to start going to church?”

Bucky chuckled. “Something like that,” he said. Lily stole a glance in his direction and caught him smiling softly to himself as he pulled her spare out from the trunk with his vibranium hand. Taking her car jack in the other, he moved around to the driver’s side and began loosening the lug nuts with his left hand. Lily shivered when she considered how strong he was, how much power that one hand contained.

Once all the nuts were loosened, he slid the jack under the frame of the car and began raising it. He was annoyingly efficient at this, Lily thought, and she realized her window of time with him wasn’t as big as she had originally anticipated.

“So, where were you when I called this morning, really?” she asked, leaning up against the side of Tony’s car as she watched him work. She just wanted him to be honest with her. She didn’t think she could take it if he continued to lie.

Bucky stilled in his motions. “I… I, uh, had a date,” he said after a moment.

Lily paused, playing confused. “A date on a Sunday morning?” she asked him. “That’s a really weird—oh.” Bucky left the car suspended on the jack and turned to face her, hands shoved into his pockets, and the guilt in his eyes nearly palpable.

Good, Lily thought. Let him be guilty, now that he realizes I know he lied to me. “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone, Jamie,” she said, voice deliberately meek and soft. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky sighed and leaned back against her car. “It’s new,” he said. “Like, really new.”

Good, she thought. This hasn’t been going on for a long time. There was still a good chance she could nip it in the bud before it grew into a real problem. “So, when you said you were out with Sam last night…” She left it hanging in the air. Let him be the one to say the word.

“I lied to you,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Why, Jamie?” she asked him. “I didn’t think we lied to one another.” She thought about the hole she’d punched in her own tire. Well, she didn’t think he lied to her.

“We don’t, Lil,” he said. “I just… It seems like whenever I start seeing someone new, you just…” he paused to consider his words, and Lily started to get nervous. Did he know… did he suspect the things she’d done in the past to keep other girls away from him? He couldn’t. She’d been so careful… “You just form a lot of opinions on them, really quickly,” he said, and she released a breath. He didn’t know anything. She was safe. “I wanted to get to know this girl on my own, without any outside influences, before I decided to find out what everyone else thought about her.”

“I only tell you what I think because I care about you, Jamie,” Lily protested in her gentlest voice. She was going to have to walk a very delicate line here, between stressing her point and sounding sympathetic. “I’m just trying to look out for you, that’s all.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know you are, and I do appreciate it, but… I want to be able to figure out how I feel about this one before I start soliciting opinions about her from everyone else. Does that make sense?”

It did. Fuck, it did. Usually, Bucky was so eager to talk about the new girls he was dating, to introduce him to his best friends and find out what they thought about her, to get their opinions. If he was reticent this time, it could only mean one, horrible thing:

“You really like this girl, don’t you, Jamie?” Lily asked, trying so hard to keep her voice light, when inside, she felt like she was dying.

Bucky looked up at her. “Yeah, Lil,” he said, his dazzling white smile beaming at her and making her heart stop. “I really do.”

“That’s great,” Lily choked out. She turned back to the trunk of her car, pretending to busy herself with its contents so she didn’t have to look at him. “That’s really great.”

She heard Bucky move around and start working on the tire again. “Not really,” he said, his voice sounding dejected. Lily moved her head around from the back of the trunk to look at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a spark of hope coming to life in her chest.

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I think I might have blown it with her,” he said as he worked to take the flat tire off of her car.

“Oh no,” Lily said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything, afterall. Maybe Bucky had managed to fuck it up on his own. “What happened?”

Bucky was silent for a moment as he replaced the tire with ease. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said eventually. “Let’s just say that we left things very… ambiguously. I asked her if I could call her later, she didn’t really give me an answer either way. Just kind of shrugged. If she wanted me to call her, she would have just said so, right?”

Lily felt her stomach do a happy flip, but she put on a fake pout. “Oh, Jamie,” she said, fake sympathy oozing over her words, “please don’t tell me she’s playing mind games like that with you already! If a girl wants you to call her, she’ll tell you to call her, not play hard to get.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Bucky said defensively as he began re-tightening the lugnuts on the tire. “I just… I did something she didn’t like, is all. And she’s probably rightly pissed about it.”

Lily walked around the car to stand next to him as he finished up. “I don’t think I like this, Jamie,” she said cautiously. “You’ve barely started dating this girl, and already she thinks she can dictate your actions? That doesn’t seem healthy to me, at all.”

Bucky stood, running a hand across his face. “Nah, Lil– you’re… you’re getting it twisted. I made a mistake. I know I did, and she’s got every right to be mad at me about it. I need to talk to her, to sort it out.” Lily was losing ground; thankfully, she’d come prepared.

“Listen, Jamie,” she said, abruptly changing the topic in the hopes of getting his mind off this mysterious skank, “I was planning on having lunch up here today, since it’s so gorgeous out. I probably overdid it when I packed my food. Do you want to join me?”

Bucky heaved a sigh and looked like he was about to decline.

“Consider it my way of saying ‘thank you’ for you coming all the way out here to rescue me,” she added, knowing that she was laying it on thick, but not wanting him to walk away. “Come on, we’ll make a picnic of it. It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky said, letting a smile cross his face. “I could eat.”

Bucky Barnes always did have a soft spot for a damsel in distress. With a grin, Lily opened the backseat of her car and pulled out the cooler she’d preemptively packed in the hope that just such an opportunity would arise. Lily was nothing if not prepared.

Bucky reached for it. “Here, let me,” he said, taking it from her. Lily smiled to herself as she reached back into the car to pull out the picnic blanket she’d packed.

“Such a gentleman,” she said as she closed the car door and led Bucky down one of the trails. It was a gorgeous late-summer day, and Lily could almost convince herself they were on a real date together. Almost. God, what she wouldn’t give for this to be the real thing.

After they’d walked for about fifteen minutes, Lily veered left off of the trail and into the woods. “You bringing me back here to kill me?” Bucky asked in a playful tone as he followed her with the cooler.

“Yup,” Lily teased right back. “I definitely have faith in my ability to take out a super soldier on my own.” Her heart swelled when she was rewarded with an amused chuckle from Bucky.

Soon, they reached her destination: a cozy clearing that sat along the bank of a creek that ran through the park, with a small waterfall that fed a crystal clear pool below.

“This is nice,” Bucky said, coming up behind Lily as she fanned out the blanket. “How’d you find this spot?”

Lily sat down and reached to take the cooler from Bucky, beckoning him to join her. “I was scouting some potential off-trail runs for the recruits and just kind of stumbled upon it,” she told him. She opened up the cooler and began taking out the food she’d brought– all of Bucky’s favorites.

Bucky nodded, then looked at the spread with wide eyes. “You packed all of this for yourself, Lil?”

Lily felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks– she had not, in fact, packed it all for herself, but specifically in the hope that he would end up joining her, though he could never know that. “I guess I just overestimated how hungry I’d be after my run,” she told him as she handed him a bottle of water. “Thanks for joining me so that all this food doesn’t go to waste.”

“No problem,” he said as he began to tear into the food she’d brought. “Thanks for getting a flat tire, I guess,” he added with a laugh.

They ate amicably, making small talk about their upcoming plans for the week, and how Lily’s latest batch of recruits looked. Lily was itching to ask Bucky more about his mystery date, to find out who she was, if she was someone Lily knew; but she didn’t want to bring it up– the less Bucky talked about her, the more likely he was to just forget about her all together, right? Especially if he’d done something to piss her off. Better to keep him distracted so that the window of opportunity for any reconciliation closed without him noticing it.

Soon, the food was gone, the sun high in the sky. Lily and Bucky both lay back on the picnic blanket, staring lazily up into the blue sky. “We should do something today,” Lily suggested, trying not to sound too eager.

Bucky chuckled. “Aren’t we doing something now, Lil?” he asked.

She playfully shoved his shoulder. “Later, I mean. Like, we’re having a good time; we should continue it. Go somewhere nice for dinner, do something after, like go to a club or see a show or something. Make a whole ‘friend-date’ night out of it!” Anything, she thought to herself. I’ll do anything, as long as I’m doing it with you. And who knew what could happen in the right romantic setting?

“Yeah, that sounds like it could be fun,” Bucky mused. “Sure.”

“Really?” Lily couldn’t believe her luck. “Leave all the planning to me, then!” She’d make sure she got a table at the most romantic restaurant she could find, and get them tickets to something steamy that would put Bucky in the right mood… She knew just what dress to wear, to show just enough skin to be tantalizing…

Yes, tonight, things were going to change. Lily could feel it.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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leiascully · 1 month

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A fic I’ve wondered about…Mulder and Scully actually going to a movie together. Mostly because one of them lost a bet and has to go with the other to a movie of their choice. This happens early on in the partnership…Mulder makes Scully go to Jurassic Park. She nit picks the hell out of the science. So he, in a show of attempting to even the balance - he makes out he’s doing her a favour when really he just likes going out anywhere with Scully - he lets her pick the next one. She picks Sleepless in Seattle. The conversation after that one could lead….anywhere 🥰

Hmm, yes, excellent. I hope you wanted 2000 words of silliness because that's what's under the cut.

There’s a tap on her motel door. Scully twitches the curtains aside. It’s Mulder, slouching in jeans and a white t-shirt, looking like someone posed him against the background of lush summer green. She unhitches the chain and lets him in. Sticky-hot air rolls in after him, a humid swirl of honeysuckle and cut grass.

“How’s the report?”

She sighs and takes off her glasses. “The report is finished.” There wasn’t much to report, in the end: small town secrets, black light ghosts. All the evidence was there from the start, but the sheriff’s nephew was never going to be charged unless someone else stepped in. The only surprise was the support he got from the valedictorian, concocting hallucinogens in the high school chemistry lab. Then again, as a former nerdy teen girl, Scully understands the allure of the quarterback. Social cohesion is a powerful force. Maybe even more than broad shoulders, the girl was attracted to the idea of revenge.

Mulder, naturally, was blithely wry about it all. He’ll probably publish some esoteric paper on it in one of those poorly credentialed paranormal journals: the monstrous manifestation of adolescence, or something about the American tendency to manufacture visible hauntings as a way to deal with the invisible buried history of colonized land.

There are worse ways he could spend a Saturday night. At least he’s less likely to end up in the hospital.

“Dinner and a show?” he asks. “Since our flight isn’t until tomorrow morning.”

“In this town?” She crosses her arms, skeptical.

He produces two movie tickets. “Jurassic Park. Have you seen it yet?”

“I was going to go with my friend Ellen this weekend, but….” She shrugs. They’re here instead, chasing ghosts. “I think she went with her new boyfriend.”

“Got a purse?”

She pats around for it and finds it in a chair. “Yes, why?”

His eyes twinkle. “I said dinner and a show, Scully. Do you know how many McDonald’s hamburgers I can fit in a purse?”

“Mulder, no. I like this purse.” She clutches it to her. “Surely chicken nuggets would be easier.”

“You don’t want to be reminded of this night by a waft of eau de pickle every time you reach for your wallet?” Mulder’s grinning at her. She can’t resist him when he’s like this. Maybe it’s the lonely teen girl in her, the echo of jockishness in the set of his shoulders. He chooses her, patting the seat next to him at the metaphorical lunch table. Besides, he’s already bought the tickets.

“You’re carrying the ketchup,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at him. His grin broadens.

The bored teen at the box office lets them in, despite the waft of fry oil from her purse, which bulges with its contraband cargo. Mulder buys two sodas and a box of Junior Mints while she waits. The college girls at the concession stand eye him with a familiar mix of anxiety and intrigue. Scully’s seen it in every small town, and some of the bigger ones. There’s something rarefied around Mulder, an air of old money, maybe, or a New England vowel. He interests people; they resent that. He’s too obviously overeducated, charming in a way people don’t trust. Still, they’re drawn to him.

She leans on the half-wall that separates the concessions area from a couple of arcade machines and the hall that leads to the three theaters. The college girls’ eyes flick to her and then back to Mulder. There’s hair twirling involved as they hand him his change. Scully smiles to herself. Mulder drops the coins into his overstuffed pocket and saunters over to her, oblivious to the glares of the college girls. Scully shows the tickets to the usher, who rips them and points out the door to the middle theater, as if they could get lost.

The theater is mostly full. They pick seats in the middle - harder for the usher to pick them out in the crowd - and wait until the lights go down. Scully wedges her purse between her hip and the armrest. The food is still warm. They take turns dipping in and retrieving a nugget or a few fries. Mulder carefully applies ketchup from the torn corner of a packet before stuffing the fries in his mouth. In the flickering light from the screen, his lips are glossy with grease. It’s odd, feeling the pressure of his hand against her thigh when he roots around inside her purse, but it isn’t unpleasant.

“You know all of this is nonsense,” Scully murmurs as the animated DNA explains how the park’s team re-created the dinosaurs. “Absolute junk science. Even if you could extract genetic material from a sample like that, there’s no reason to believe it would be viable, no matter how many amphibians you spliced into it.”

“I always find a reason to believe,” Mulder whispers to her. “Come on, Scully, give in to the movie magic. It’s called science fiction, not science plausible.”

“Shhh!” says someone behind them.

Scully subsides until she can no longer contain herself. Mulder, recognizing her mood without looking, tilts his ear closer so that she can whisper to him. They get shushed again, and then again, derailing her sotto voce tirades about parthenogenesis and the feasibility of a theme park based around dinosaur habitats.

“Your wife has a lot to say!” Mulder’s neighbor tells him. It’s clearly intended to be a reprimand. Mulder pretends it’s a compliment. Scully subsides, chastised and defensive. If she doesn’t think too hard about it, the movie is entertaining. And if her knee presses into Mulder’s as the T. rex stomps toward the Jeep, neither of them acknowledges it.

They wait through the credits after the movie, letting the locals trickle out. The glares Scully is fielding now are different from the ones she got at the concession stand. She lifts her chin, defiant. Mulder stuffs their McDonald’s trash into their empty soda cups, concealing the evidence.

“I can’t believe you didn’t enjoy that,” Mulder says as they walk back toward the motel. The evening air is dotted with fireflies. A breeze rustles the leaves and pushes her hair over her forehead.

“I didn’t not enjoy it,” Scully tells him. “It just didn’t seem feasible.”

“Doctor Sattler reminded me of you,” Mulder says. He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Woman inherits the earth.”

“If only we could reproduce so easily on our own.” Scully cuts her eyes at Mulder. “You know, you remind me of Doctor Malcolm.”

“Why, Doctor Scully, I didn’t know you had a thing for bad boys.” She shoves at his arm with her shoulder and he chuckles. “What about me reminds you of him? Because I’m tall, dark, and handsome?”

She rolls her eyes. “Mostly it’s your love of chaos.”

“Mostly?”

“Mostly.” She smiles at him.

“So there’s a chance you think I’m irresistibly suave.” His voice is as velvety as the humid air.

“There’s a chance of a lot of things, Mulder.” She looks up at the night sky and savors the bitter freshness of the last Junior Mint. “Even dinosaurs.”

A few weeks later, they’re on the Texas coast, drafted into an anti-smuggling operation. There’s nothing supernatural about it - more than anything, they’re warm bodies in Kevlar vests. Scully doesn’t mind. Sometimes it’s satisfying to work on these task forces. There’s a clear resolution to cases like these: so many guns seized, so many tons of cocaine destroyed, so much cash pulled out of hidden stashes. It’s clear-cut who the bad guys are, and she doesn’t have to write the reports.

“Dinner and a show?” she says to Mulder as the other agents eddy around them. They’re rarely invited along to drinks when they’re assigned to these things, but she doesn’t necessarily enjoy being the only woman in the group anyway.

“Anything with air conditioning,” he says.

They eat at a seafood restaurant that’s nearly a shack. The seafood boil comes in plastic bags they have to rip open. It’s some of the best shrimp Scully has ever had, and the corn on the cob is as sweet and blisteringly hot as the last days of summer. She licks butter off her fingers and watches Mulder crack crab claws.

The theater here is bigger: eight screens instead of three. Scully buys two tickets for Sleepless in Seattle and presents them to Mulder. He raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t know if I took you for the rom-com type, Scully.”

“I don’t want to get shushed again.” She gives him a sideways glance. “At least we all agree this is going to be unrealistic.”

Mulder sighs and shakes his head. “So beautiful. So cynical.” Before she can figure out how to respond to that, he’s off to the concession stand again, this time returning with Dots wedged into one back pocket and Sno-Caps in the other. He hands her a soda as they go in the theater. The sides of the cup are already faintly damp with condensation. The theater itself is like an icebox, air conditioning whistling.

They sit in the back row this time, near a bunch of teenagers who already have their arms slung against each other. Mulder rolls his eyes, but there’s a nostalgic smile on his face. Scully wonders how many girls he sat in dark theaters with, focused on something other than the movie. He cups her hand and shakes Sno-Caps into her palm. She eats them one by one. They aren’t shushed this time. She almost misses the excuse to lean against him. By the time the movie is over, her feet are tingling with cold. Pushing out the doors into the muggy air is almost a relief.

“Hit me with your best shot, Scully.” Mulder takes her cup to toss it into the trash. “I assume I don’t remind you of lovable widower Tom Hanks.”

“I don’t know why she left Walter,” Scully says. “It seemed cruel. All because her life wasn’t like a movie?”

Mulder scoffs. “You wouldn’t stay with a guy like that.”

“A guy with allergies?”

“A guy who didn’t excite you,” Mulder says. “You wouldn’t settle for safe.”

Scully tips her face to look up at him. “Wouldn’t I?”

Mulder spreads his hands. “Picket fence, 9 to 5, 2.5 kids and Sunday dinner with the family - you like the sound of it, but you’d get bored. Face it, Scully, you’re a creature of the night now. You’ve got that wild urge in your soul. You’d be baying at the moon if you were stuck in that kind of life.”

“And lovable widower Tom Hanks would provide that?”

“No,” he says. “Ian Malcolm might, though.”

She rolls her eyes. “And how much do you charge for this astute psychoanalysis, Doctor Mulder?”

He taps his lower lip with one finger and scans around them. “Two scoops of mint chocolate chip.” He points to the glowing sign down the street depicting an anthropomorphic ice cream creature. Locals are clustered in groups around a walk-up window like moths around a lamp, sipping at floats and licking drippy cones.

Scully feels a rush of nostalgia for the summers of her youth. The salt air, the long twilight: she can’t help remembering. It’s a sweet little ache under her sternum, and it gets sharper when she looks at Mulder. He’s clearly pleased with himself. “I think I can swing that, as long as you’re not angling for a banana split.”

“What about one malt with two straws?” He winks at her.

“Don’t push your luck,” she grumbles.

But she thinks about it as the moon hangs heavy overhead, and she’s glad she can blame her flushed cheeks on the heat.

#leiascully fic #my fic #xfiles fic #msr fic #i have seen jurassic park many times #and sleepless in seattle once

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brewed-pangolin · 8 months

Note

4Runner wingman

A scene inspired by the car sex scene in Say Anything. The scene isn't graphic whatsoever but it's their first time and it's very sweet.

Breathe

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes, Angst to start, fluffy smut to smooth it out (Tasteful smut. Not my usual filth)

Synopsis: Your first time being intimate with Soap is within the confines of his 4Runner and after a lengthy deployment. And he shows you exactly what kind of sessions you have to look forward to.

I decided to use this as a scene where Soap and reader become intimate for the first time. Because why the hell not. Nothing sexier than a good first romp in the back of a 4Runner to heal the wounds of heartache and yearning.

And this is another piece for @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up Challenge. I used prompts 16, 19, 25 and 26.. Let's steam up them windows a bit, shall we.

WC 1.6k (Oopsies)

You could feel it. Feel it in the marrow of your bones and in the ever growing ache bellowing out deep within your chest. An ache that grew with every shallow breath, desperately trying to cage the sob in your throat and put on that calm and stoic demeanor for him while your mind branded every ounce of his being into your memories.

You were falling for him. And you were falling hard.

Like a dense boulder listlessly plunging further into the depths of his soul. Unable to find purchase on any parcel of reality as the world around you disappeared and all your focus turned solely onto him.

John MacTavish. The man who pulled you out of your own manufactured hell just as you were about to be shackled in a realm of unending misery.

"Ts'alright, bonnie. Only gonnae be gone a few months, yeah?"

His soothing voice abruptly snatched you out of your downward spiral. Batting your eyes with a quick shake of your head to rid the sorrowful thoughts leaching themselves into your weakened mind.

"Only a few months. Yeah," you replied.

Body silently trembling beside him in the passenger seat, fingers clawing at the denim of your jeans to take your mind off the loneliness you were about to endure in his absence.

And that debilitating ache burrowed itself deeper into your chest. Squashing out all notions of confidence, defeaning the electric cadence of your heart, and turning you into a hollowed husk of your former self as you slowly began to wither right in front of him.

"Eh. Look at me." His call yet again pulled you out of your tormented descent.

Gently placing his hand on your thigh to cement you back into the realm of unbearable reality.

Your eyes lingered on the calloused skin of his hand. Grit embedded underneath his nails, streaks of oil, and delicate scratch marks peppering over his knuckles.

In that moment, you cursed yourself for deciding to take it slow. Not giving him the chance to use those talented hands and work you over and over into a frenzied mess.

And you find your voice once more as the emotional toll ultimately breaks down the levee of your weathered composure.

"We haven't even had sex yet."

"So."

"So, what? What if you don't come back? What if I never get to see you again? Feel you again? Kiss you again?"

Mentally, you try to stop.

Breathe.

But the floodgates have burst. And your verbal torrent knows no bounds as the words of admitted misjudgment cascade like rapids over your quivering lips.

"I want to know what it feels like to have you, Johnny. To lose myself. To give in, let go. To feel you..."

You choke. Words trailing off into a breathless whimper as the lump in your throat threatens to swallow you whole.

Wrapping your fingers around his hand to feel his touch one last time in fear of him being pulled out of your crumbling reality.

"Aye. An' ya will," he replies in a promise that both soothes and breaks you entirely.

"It's not over, bonnie. This ain't no deep covert mission. More like, gettin groceries. Stoppin' at th'store, yeah."

You can tell he’s bluffing. Hear it in his voice. That same low rumbling hymn he uses to lull you to sleep now cradling your psyche within the verbal palm of his hand.

And it works. Every time.

Eventually he forces you to pull your eyes from the aimless stare on your thigh to meet his gaze. Bringing your hand up to his mouth to gently caress your knuckles with his tender lips, muffling his words as they roll over your supple skin.

“Is now a bad time to tell ya I gotta go, lass?”

You're once again thrusted back into reality by the soft timbre of his voice. The world falling back into place, not realizing that within the walls of your own self pity you hadn't noticed that you had made it onto the base.

Your head moved on a swivel. Desperately focusing on any familiar piece of architecture while your mind raced to pick up with the pace of the sporadic beat of your heart.

“Johnny, I’m not ready-”

Your futile plea was quickly silenced by Soaps gaping maw as he swallows the whimperings of your despair. Cupping your cheeks within the palms of his hands, cradling your existence within his grasp as he breathes rejuvenating life into your lungs with a passionate kiss.

Time once again stops. Moments trickle by like slowly descending droplets off the rim of a rusted spigot.

You feel him steadily begin to pull away and greedily you lean forward for one last kiss. Searing the blazing fire of his soul on the tips of your lips to brand him into the deep recesses of your spiraling psyche.

“Stay n’th car til I get through th’door, yeah,” he mumbles quietly against your lips. “I cannae bare to see ya at the ‘elm of my Breagha.”

“You talk like you love her more than me, Johnny.”

“Shu’it, lass.”

With one final blissful connection, he pulls away and exits swiftly out the driver's side door. Your eyes watching his every move as he grabs at the duffel bag from the backseat.

“I’ll text as often as I can, yeah.”

It’s a statement more than a pull for more conversation as he shuts the door before giving you time to answer. Pushing the lump in your throat down into your chest to let in fester and seep through your veins over the coming months.

You do as he asks. As always.

Waiting. Watching him stride over the pavement and disappear from your existence beyond the doors that you are prohibited to enter.

And with all the strength he bestowed on you with his life giving kiss, you shift over into the driver seat and easily adjust it to your body’s specifications.

Pushing down the unfamiliarity of being behind the wheel of his precious ‘Breagha’ as you subconsciously begin counting the days to his return.

The next three months are tortuous. Calmed only by the sporadic texts from Soap when he has the briefest of moments on base. They're never more than a few words at length, generally referring to his mental status of him and his fellow squad mates than the actual status of their missions.

You’ve grown fond of Gaz. He sounds like a true lad, one you’d like to share a pint with. And Price permeates the notion of a father figure to the team. A born leader not afraid to get his hands dirty when the line of duty calls for it.

And Ghost is exactly that. A ghost. Hauntingly working his way into Johnny’s texts, barely perceivable yet you feel he lends himself to be a mentor in the field to your Scottish soldier.

All these intermittent communications ease and soothe your weary soul until that final text jolts you out of bed at 2:30 in the morning.

‘RTB, bonnie. Coming home.’

Soap Mactavish made a promise to you three months ago. A pact sealed with a kiss that gave you the strength to carry on in his extended absence. Finding meaning in solitude and letting your heart yearn for him in a way you had never imagined.

And as a true man of his word, he kept that promise.

By God, did he keep it.

The air within the confines of Soap’s 4Runner was heavy. Thick with the sweet scent of sweat and sex as it lifted and blanketed the tinted windows with a dense layer of condensation. Leaden and rounded droplets descended down the slick surface that mirrored the meandering motions of your hands down the curve of his sweat ridden back. Curling your fingers to claw at his flesh as he pulled yet another orgasm from deep within your pelvic core.

You had lost count at how many times he brought you to the peak of pleasured ecstasy. Time becoming a meaningless construct as you found solace in each others embrace and allowing the blazing bonds of intimacy to mold your souls into one conjoined entity.

Arching your back and tilting your hips to meet his stuttering thrusts as you gasped for air. The muscles of your abdomen spasming and denying the much needed life force in selfish desire of unending release.

“Breathe, bonnie. Jus’ breathe fer me,” Soap managed breathlessly through his own heavy panting. Holding himself up to hover and give your chest room for much needed expansion.

You take the moment in its entirety within your grasp. Lengthening your diaphragm to fill your lungs as the burn of multiple climaxes flows like flames through your trembling muscles.

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” you exhale on a low, breathy moan. “Is it always gonna be like this?”

“Aye. It can be.”

“Jesus Christ. Only you would make me have to build an exercise routine around how you fuck me.”

His icy blue gaze bores into your exhausted and blissful expression with a smile that could electrify an entire city block.

“Nah, bonnie. This ain’t fuckin’ ya,” he mutters against your lips, leaning in for a passionate embrace as his muscular frame envelopes over you once more.

“I’d break th’suspension if I did that. Rather break th’bed. Easier ta replace.”

Your arms instinctually wrap around him to keep him firmly flushed against you. Fingers splayed out over the back of his skull to knead through his drench thickened hair.

An all too familiar lump forms within flesh of your throat, not out of anguish or loneliness. Something deeper. More meaningful. More affectionate.

And without a thought to hold you back the words spill out of your lips by their own accord before your mind has a moment to register the immensity of their meaning.

“I love you, Johnny.”

Soap pulls back immediately. A sudden silence bridging a gap between you as his blank expression is intensified by his piercing blue stare.

You hesitate to breathe. To move. Fearing your unconscious admission has created a rift that will ultimately pull himself away from you.

“Say it again,” he demands. The air of authority around him sending a pulse of renewed arousal coursing through your veins as all fears disappear within his commanding presence.

“I love you.”

There’s a sudden an enigmatic shift that sets deep within him. Eyes blowing wide as he lunges with an almost animalistic growl against your lips.

“Ah love ya, bonnie. So fuckin’ much.”

You had uttered those three words twice while he spent the next thirty minutes declaring his love for you by showing you the true power held within his hips.

He’d eat the bill. Take out a loan rather than deny the love of his life what she truly wanted.

Auto repairs be damned.

All you had to do was hold on and enjoy the ride. And focus on one word that he so patiently repeated.

Breathe.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @luismickydees @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @haurasha @designateddeadend

#soapitup #breathe fic #super soap sunday™️#soap squad™️#soft!soap™️#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #soap x f reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x f reader #cod soap #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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doomhands-jr · 4 months

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter charged with overseeing community service. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds _______

“What’s up with you?” Madison asked, punctuating it with a nibble to Noah’s earlobe.

“Nothing,” said Noah.

Madison huffed and moved so she was straddling Noah’s lap. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts. By now, Noah was well aware that she enhanced her size with a generous array of push-up bras, but even without them, she was chesty.

Usually, he liked when she took control, but he couldn’t seem to get his head in the game.

“Put your mouth on them,” she commanded, and he did as he was told, enveloping one of her nipples in between his lips and sucking. She let her head fall back, exposing her neck, and Noah, to his credit, went through the motions. He clutched the front of her neck, digging his nails in the way he knew she liked and she let out a moan that he could tell was played up for any eavesdroppers in the hallway.

“Smack my ass,” she whispered, and he did, letting out a groan when she replied to his actions by grinding her hips down on his. The groan was for show. He felt nothing, which she soon discovered once she unzipped his fly with her grabby hands.

“Are you not into this?” she asked with a tone of accusation. As if she somehow couldn’t fathom a man not being immediately turned on by anything she did.

Noah shrugged. “Not really.”

She scoffed and clambered off of him, searching the room for wherever she had flung the top half of her outfit in her coked-up frenzy.

“I’m gonna go find Folio.”

“Be my guest,” he said and gestured to the door, which she promptly stormed out of.

Noah sighed and leaned back on the couch. He checked his phone. It was 11 PM. The party had only been going on for a little over an hour and he was already over it.

Fetching his shirt from the floor, he threw it back on, zipped up his jeans, and made his way back out into the crowd of people now gathered around his friend Ruffilo, who was performing a keg stand.

He held out for longer than Noah anticipated, but when the guys holding him finally let him down, he lost his balance and stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen counter.

The crowd that had gathered around him applauded, and when he finally regained his balance, he threw up his fist in celebration.

Noah couldn’t help but feel affection for his friend in that moment. Ruffilo and Noah had both had a rough upbringing coming from the same small drug-ridden town. They’d grown up in the same trailer park and had banded together early on. Frankly, it was a miracle that they escaped without addictions, considering how the odds had been stacked against them.

Not that he had very much going for him at the moment. They booked a few shows here and there, but aside from that he spent most of his time running a steel lathe at the local precision manufacturing plant. When he wasn’t doing that, he was blowing off steam at Jolly’s parties.

“Did you see that?!” his friend slurred, throwing an arm around Noah’s shoulders and resting most of his body weight on him.

“I did. That must have been a record for you,” Noah replied.

“Had to be over a minute, at least.” Nick laughed through his words and Noah couldn’t help but share in his friend’s joy, trying to push away the sneaking suspicion that partying and drunken hookups were no longer enough to keep him satisfied.

“Where’s Madison?”

“Probably with Nick,” said Noah. He looked around the room, and surely enough, he had her on his lap, sharing a joint with her.

“What happened, man? I thought you locked that down.”

Noah shrugged. “Listen, I think I’m gonna head out.”

“That’s two weeks in a row you’ve bailed early. What’s up with you?”

“Just not feeling it,” Noah replied.

“You’ll make it home okay?” he asked, hazy eyes clearing for a moment in his earnestness. Noah softened and offered a reassuring smile.

“Promise. Go have fun. I have an early morning tomorrow, anyway.”

“Damn, I forgot you were doing that.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to be hungover for it, so I should head out.”

“Take it easy, man.” His friend clapped him on the shoulder affectionately before making his way back into the crowd.

Noah quickly left the party, lighting up a joint for his walk home. It was cold, but after the humid fog of smoke and sweat that had built up in the house, the fresh air was welcome.

He was listless, he realized, and probably understimulated. The factory didn’t pay well and he had no other career prospects. There was no way he could afford college and his high school GPA wasn’t enough to get him accepted to any even if he found financial aid. If things didn’t work out with his band, he was looking at a lifetime of mediocrity.

His thoughts drifted to you.

You were probably busy studying. Surely you attended the university and probably majored in something like literature or early childhood education. He wouldn’t put it past you to get all your homework done on Friday so that you could spend the weekend relaxing.

Your parents were probably still married. And you called them at least once a week to catch up. They likely made enough money that you could afford school without a scholarship, and he was willing to bet you already knew what you wanted to do with your life. You were self-assured and decisive. And though you were sheltered, you probably still had a better chance at success than he ever would.

He took another drag and flicked the half-spent joint into the nearby bushes before breaking out into a jog. He was stressed, and he needed an outlet, and the only thing available to him at the moment was to physically expend as much energy as possible or else he’d wind up punching a mailbox.

_________

“Head’s up. Nick’s in a mood today.”

“Oh,” you said, noting their time of arrival. 8:09, but you marked them both as on time. “Any idea why?”

“He’s hungover. And he struck out with the girl he was trying to get with last night so his pride is damaged.”

“Dang. What about you?” you asked. “Any luck with the ladies?”

“I don’t need luck,” he said. He held a stern expression, maintaining eye contact with you and you were caught off-guard, until he cracked a smile and you relaxed. He had you going for a second, thinking you’d somehow offended him by questioning his prowess.

“Any hangover?” you asked.

“I didn’t drink last night.”

“Oh?” you said, both impressed and surprised.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said, smile still softening his features. “I’m not turning from my sinful ways. I just don’t want community service to be more miserable than it has to be.”

“Sounds like a step in the right direction to me.”

Noah rolled his eyes and headed to the supply closet to get started on the long list of chores that needed completed. Nick had gone to the bathroom when they first arrived and hadn’t returned yet.

“Windows first?” Noah called out from the back of the room.

“Yeah!”

He walked back in holding the bottle of window cleaner and casually flung the rag over his shoulder.

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood,” you observed.

Noah began spraying the nearest window down and wiping it with the rag. You studied him as he worked, noticing just how much of his skin was covered in ink. He moved casually and with confidence, each of the muscles working in perfect harmony with each other. He carried no tension anywhere in his body.

“I like grunt work,” he admitted.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who liked grunt work.”

“Didn’t your Christ like grunt work?” he asked, amused. “I think I remember something about him wanting to be a humble servant.”

“Huh,” you said, taken aback, “come to think if it, yeah.”

“You seem surprised.”

You continued to watch him as he moved to the next window, finding interest in the movement of his shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to be so Christ-like.”

He smiled to himself. You caught the reflection of it in the window he was working on.

“I don’t do it because some historical religious figure that may or may not have existed said to,” he said. “I do it because it feels good.”

“Still,” you said. “you’d make a better Christian than a lot of our congregation.”

He laughed. “I went to church until I was 14.”

So far, this was the most personal detail he’d revealed to you. While Nick was an open book, you’d always observed Noah to be guarded. He’d speak, but not about himself, and it was always hard to get a read on him. Perhaps that was on purpose, or perhaps it was just safest for him, but having this little bit of context felt like he was offering you a gift. A small bit of insight into who he was.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask,” he said, “but I probably won’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s private.”

“Anything terrible?” you pressed. It had to have been significant for him to have so much anger still.

“I’m not giving you anything else, so you may as well stop asking.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “But I still think you should give it another chance.” You followed him as he made his way over to the next set of windows.

“And why’s that?” he asked as he began spraying. Something about the way he stayed focused on his work and didn’t look at you made it easier for you to speak your mind.

“You like humble servitude.”

He chucked, low and soft. “People can be good people without being Christian.”

“But isn’t that like, the basis of Christianity?”

“I think you’re reading too deep into it. There are a lot of people who like humble work. It’s good for the body. It’s good for the mind. That’s reason enough to like it.”

You shrugged. “So, you’re saying it feels good to follow Christ’s teaching.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That’s a stretch. Trust me. Your church doesn’t want me, and I don’t want them.”

“Windows again?” came Nick’s whiny voice from across the room. “God, can’t we do something more exciting?”

You and Noah locked eyes. “Told you,” he said under his breath.

“Like what?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, plopping down in a pew. “What about raking leaves again? I liked that.”

“You can grab a rake if you want. I still think there are some leaves on the ground out there.”

“Pass,” he said, and you got the feeling he didn’t actually want solutions and just wanted to complain.

Across the room, the doors abruptly opened and a familiar white V-neck and beanie crossed the room, looking determined. He wore his usual relaxed jeans and Birkenstocks. The cut of his V-neck highlighted the cross necklace that dangled between his collar bones.

“Hey,” you said once he made a beeline over to you. “What brings you here?”

“I can’t find my pedal. Have you seen it?”

“No, but I can help you look.”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said and brushed past Nick and Noah without acknowledging them on his way to the stage. Which was a bit odd, in your opinion.

“Um,” you said, trying to diffuse the weirdness, “okay, so Noah, just keep doing what you’re doing, and Nick, try to find something productive to do if you can.” You could tell by their faces that they were both interested in who this standoffish newcomer was, but you decided that was best kept secret.

“It’s orange, right?” you asked Isaac, peering behind the keyboard and into the mess of wires connecting all the different instruments and auxiliary parts to the monitors.

“Yeah,” he said, scoping out the room. He didn’t seem to be searching all that hard. “So how’s community service going?”

“Good,” you said. “We’re making good progress.”

“They’re behaving for you?” he asked.

“Most of the time, yes.”

“The one looks like trouble,” he said, nodding over towards Noah. You knew what was going through his head. At first, Noah’s tattoos and cold disposition intimidated you, too. But for some reason, that same judgement bothered you more coming from Isaac.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Noah watching.

“You should be careful around them.” Isaac wasn’t bothering to monitor his volume, and you were sure both Noah and Nick could hear him. “They’re bad influences.”

“That seems pretty judgmental,” you said, crossing your arms, the search for his pedal all but forgotten.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Come on, they’re criminals. You saw what they did to the worship center.”

“How’s it going over here?” Noah’s voice broke through the conversation. You hadn’t noticed his approach and it caught you by surprise.

“Good,” you said.

“Awesome. I’m Noah,” he said, extending his hand toward Isaac, who took note of all the ink covering it. Your throat tightened, already knowing the interaction was about to go poorly.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing Noah’s hand and giving him a once-over. Noah had at least a good four inches of height over him and Isaac seemed to take his existence as a threat.

“Nice to meet you, Isaac.”

Noah’s face didn’t betray him, but you knew in your gut that he was putting two-and-two together based on the story you’d told him last week.

“Who is this?” said Nick, striding up to join the conversation. You bit the inside of your cheek. Your mediation skills were good, but you weren’t sure if you could fend off any potential conflict given how strong the three personalities before you were.

You bit the bullet and introduced them.

“Nick,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “this is Isaac. He plays guitar for the praise and worship band.”

You saw the slow realization dawn on him like a wave crossing over his features. His eyebrows lifted up towards his forehead, eyes widened, and mouth dropped open in that order before he composed himself.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Congrats, man. Wow, playing guitar for the worship band. That’s a great position. Really prestigious.” You could tell he was absolutely tickled by the opportunity to scope out the man he’d called a coward a week ago.

“Thanks,” said Isaac flatly, catching on to the fact that Nick was not actually impressed.

“Noah,” you said. “Why don’t you take Nick and get him started on raking? Once you’ve finished, you can dust.” Noah, to his credit, nodded and did his best to direct his friend towards the back of the facility.

“Anything for you, Mary,” Nick said softly, sly grin playing on the corner of his mouth.

“Mary?” asked Isaac.

“I’ll tell you later,” you said walking down the steps of the small stage. “Hey, I actually need to get back to overseeing this. I’ll catch up with you later? Hope you find your pedal.” You knew your words were coming out anxious and rushed, but you were desperate for this interaction to end.

“See you at church tomorrow?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“You know, I might join you guys,” called Nick as he was led away from the stage and into the hallway. “I’ve been thinking about giving my life to Christ!” he managed to spit out just before the door slammed shut.

You and Isaac fell into a tense silence. You focused on breathing in slowly through your nose, hoping to dispel some of the unease.

“So that’s who you’re spending your Saturdays with,” he said. It was an observation as well as a judgement, rather than a question.

“I know they’re not exactly the best company to keep,” you admitted. “But I think this is important for them.”

“I don’t like it,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna talk to your dad and see if he’ll let me take over.”

“No!” you said in a rush.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I just feel like you wouldn’t mesh well. They’d be too threatened by your,” you searched your brain to come up with a word that would suffice, “…masculinity.”

It felt gross coming out, but did the trick.

“Hm. Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem,” he said, immediately surrendering. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes.

“Listen, I think you better come back later for your pedal,” you said. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I have it under control. I need you to trust me.”

He looked at you warily. “You sure? You’re not going to be influenced?”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“No,” he said. “I just…care about you is all.”

There was that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach again. Two weeks ago, hearing those words would have thrilled you. Why was it that they came as soon as your interest in him had begun to wane?

“Thank you,” you said. “But I’ve got this.”

He gave you one final nod of agreement before heading out the side door. Once he was gone, you sighed and sunk down to sit on the steps leading up to the stage. A moment later, Noah padded back into the room. He sat down next to you wordlessly and joined you in staring at the ground.

“So that’s Isaac,” you said eventually.

“Well, he seems great,” said Noah with mock enthusiasm. You glanced over at him and caught the cheeky grin he flashed. The tension diffused and you smiled back at him, soft laughter escaping.

“Sorry about Nick,” he said. “He can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Sorry about Isaac,” you replied. “He can be closed-minded.”

He huffed in agreement. “I’m familiar with his type.”

“Did you run into that at your old church?” you asked. He leaned back so he could rest his upper body on the stage platform, long legs stretched out over the steps, tucking his palms underneath his head. On their own accord, your eyes scanned over his chest and triceps. If he caught you, he didn’t say anything.

“You could say that.”

“Noah,” you asked, watching him watch the ceiling above him. “Why did you leave the church?”

“You really want to know?” he asked, taking a break from staring at the light fixtures to meet your eyes. You nodded. He smirked to himself and went back to looking at the lights.

“They told me I couldn’t masturbate.”

You felt your jaw drop in real time.

“What?!” you said.

Soft laughter escaped from him. “I’m kidding. I mean, it was definitely one of the reasons, but that was the final straw for me.”

You said nothing, still in shock from his admission.

“This is why I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said. “I knew you’d be scandalized.”

“Just give me a second,” you said. “This is new territory for me.”

“They don’t talk much about that in Sunday School, I’m guessing?”

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. “Not really.”

He laughed again. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.” He turned to face you. “The church is full of shit, and they don’t know anything about what it means to live a good life. Especially when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He sat up again. “I mean that they fuck a lot of people up without even realizing it. They talk about sex like it’s a bad thing that you should be ashamed of for wanting and try to make you feel awful about exploring you own body. Do you know what kinds of complexes that gives to a person? No wonder there’s so much sexual abuse happening in the church.”

“I think you lost me,” you said.

Noah sighed and collected himself. “Nobody should be made to feel ashamed of their own humanity. Or their body’s natural sexual response. When I was fourteen, my grandma caught me masturbating and sent me to confessional. I told the priest about it, and he called me a sinner and said I should never do it again. My grandma gave me all this shit about it being unclean and how I should be ashamed of myself for how little self-control I had.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I was just a kid. I was going through puberty,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice. “I was discovering my body—something that’s normal and healthy for a kid of that age—and was made to feel like I was some kind of sick pervert for it. And I believed them at first, until it got to be too much.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“I met my friend Ruffilo. He hadn’t been raised in a church, and didn’t have any shame over his sexuality. And then I got tired of hating myself. Figured it was better for me to just hate the church instead. I moved out of my grandparents’ and in with Nick.”

“That Nick?” you gestured out the door to where the man in question was supposed to be raking leaves.

He shook his head. “Different Nick. Nick Ruffilo. That’s Nick Folio. Met him later.”

“Sounds confusing,” you said.

“It can be.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you said.

“I know it probably sounds silly to you, but it really fucked me up for a while.”

“It’s not silly.” You were unable to form a more sophisticated thought. Your brain was working on overdrive trying to process the information.

Unbeknownst to him, Noah’s story was eerily similar to your own, but you were still stuck in the guilt and shame, and it had never occurred to you that there might be something on the other side of that.

You’d masturbated before, but not much. And every time it had happened, you broke down in tears, asking God to forgive you because you were afraid you’d either be sent to hell, or God would punish you some other way for your lack of self-control, like not having a chance with Isaac.

The idea that you might not be a terrible and perverted person for having done it was new to you. And that it was something other people had trouble controlling as well. You just assumed you were uniquely bad.

“There was a lot more that went into me leaving the church, but that was the nail in the coffin. I’d been on my way out for a while before then.”

“I guess that explains some of your anger,” you said, wanting to ask him more about what happened, but not wanting to press him too much. He was still a private person, and you were lucky to have gotten that much out of him.

“What I can’t understand is how I seem to be the only one who’s angry.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one,” you said, suddenly noticing how you and Noah seemed to have grown closer in proximity.

“You’re not angry,” he observed.

“I,” you began, “I don’t know what I feel.”

“What’s your take on it?” he asked.

You swallowed heavy, a hard lump having formed in your throat. Your hands were clammier than they had been earlier.

“I don’t know,” you said, wishing the stage would open up and swallow you whole so you could escape the very intense look Noah gave you.

“If you want me to have these uncomfortable conversations about faith, I need you to meet me halfway.”

You groaned in protest, but he had you cornered and you both knew it.

Even still, it took you a few tense moments before you could finally speak.

“I have a lot of shame,” you eventually confessed. “And up until this conversation I assumed it was deserved. But now I’m starting to question it.”

“Have you ever—?”

You nodded before he could finish his question. “I have. But each time was difficult for me to accept.”

You paused to give him an opportunity to respond, but he stayed quietly attentive, waiting for you to continue.

“I…thought God would punish me.”

“Punish you how?”

“I don’t want to say,” you said, flushing.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m not going judge.”

“You will when I tell you,” you said. The energy around the both of you had at last shifted to playful again, which was a breath of fresh air after how charged the last few minutes had been.

“Is it really that bad?”

You nodded.

“Please?” he asked. “I told you my secret.”

“I already paid you back for that,” you said.

He groaned and threw his head back. “Come on!”

Something about seeing this heavily-tattooed grown man acting like an impatient little puppy had you softening, and though you knew he probably used this tactic often to get what he wanted, you couldn’t help but give in.

“Promise you won’t judge?”

He nodded, a tendril of hair slipping out from behind his ear to swoop over his face.

You sighed, locking eyes with him once more for confirmation that he was serious.

“I thought that if I was a good enough Christian, God would reward me by…directing a certain person towards me.”

His face lit up with slow realization.

“That dude?” he said.

You nodded.

He laughed a deep belly laugh.

“So you thought that if you didn’t masturbate, you’d be able to date Isaac?”

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” you whined.

“You were right, you definitely shouldn’t have told me.”

You hung your head, pressing your face into your palms to quell your embarrassment.

“I thought it was a good idea at the time,” you said, voice coming out muffled. “I guess it sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”

“Okay,” he prefaced, voice vibrating with the remnants of laughter. “Calm down. I’m not judging you for having thought that. It makes a lot of sense considering the messaging you received. But that guy? Really?”

You looked up finally to meet his eye. His mouth still held the hint of a smile, but there was more sincerity in his eyes than there had been before.

“In my defense, the pickings are slim in the church.”

“You can do better than him.”

Noah swished his hair out of his face and your eyes followed the motion, taking in his body language. He leaned casually forward, resting his elbows on his knees, body half-turned toward you. When the moment grew too heavy, he leaned back against the stage again and switched from looking at you to staring at the back of the room.

“You shouldn’t be so ruled by fear,” he said.

You released a large breath. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you want some advice?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Masturbate. Do it without the guilt. Do it as a gift to yourself for having tried so hard for so long to be perfect. Treat it like something you deserve. A way to show yourself love.”

You sighed and laid back on the steps, kicking your feet out in front of you. “I don’t know. It’s been so long I feel like I’ve lost touch with that part of myself.”

“So find it.”

You half-scoffed. “That sounds great and all, but I don’t think it’ll be that easy to undo years of guilt and shame. And I don’t even know if I trust what you’re saying. You could just be trying to corrupt me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to corrupt you,” he said. “But not for any hidden agenda. Just because I feel like you could use a little corrupting.”

You looked up at Noah. He half leaned over you, long hair tied back into a low knot that spilled over his shoulder. From where you lay, you could smell essential oil and some sort of incense that you couldn’t quite place.

He held eye contact with you until your eyes traveled down his face to his lips, which pressed together as he swallowed and then parted softly.

“Ehem.”

The sound came from the back of the room, where Nick was leaning on his rake and watching with unconcealed judgement.

“I’m done with raking.”

You and Noah jerked apart, both sitting up and avoiding looking at each other. Noah ran his hands over his thighs, straightening the legs of his jeans. You stood up and walked down the steps towards the back.

“Okay. It looks like it’s almost noon anyway, so why don’t we call it quits for today? Good job, guys. I’ll see you next week.”

Noah hesitated for a moment, but then bid you goodbye and walked out with Nick, who clapped him on the shoulder and muttered something to him that you didn’t catch.

____________

“You motherfucker,” said Nick. It came out friendly, but Noah caught a hidden bite in the hard consonants. “You said you weren’t going to try with her.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Noah said. “We were just talking.”

“About what?” said Nick.

“Church, if you must know.”

“Yeah, it looked like you were getting real deep into religion from where I was standing.” Nick crossed his arms and fixed Noah with a hard stare that Noah didn’t have the bravado to return.

“Dude. I called dibs. How can you not respect the sanctity of dibs?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t work for human beings.”

“It has in the past. Remember Steph?”

“You mean Stacy?” Noah said with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure. You called dibs on her and I respected it.”

Noah felt cornered. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite to his friend, because Nick was right. Noah had done that in the past, and it wasn’t even that long ago, but this felt different. It didn’t sit well with him to treat you like an object. His opinion had changed in a way his friends wouldn’t appreciate, and if he brought it up, they would just say he was only taking the moral high ground to get out of their deal.

“What will it take to get you to drop this?” Noah asked.

“Join in on the bet.”

“I’m not betting someone’s virginity.”

“I’m gonna try to get it regardless, so you can either join in, or you can respect the dibs.”

“Whatever man,” said Noah, having run out of legitimate responses or ways to end this conversation. He stalked off towards his room. “I’m taking that as a yes,” Nick said to the back of Noah’s head.

“It’s not a yes!” called Noah, already halfway down the hallway.

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

“Let me know when you’ve got your head out of your ass,” Noah replied before slamming the door shut.

Once in the privacy of his room, Noah sank down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was becoming a regular pastime of his at this point. His thoughts drifted to you and how innocent and doe-eyed you looked staring up at him, regretting that he didn’t kiss you.

He understood the appeal Nick saw. There was no denying how badly you needed it, and how much he wanted to be the one to give it to you.

But you weren’t ready, and he knew it. If he tried anything now, you’d probably have a panic attack about going to hell and he’d have to walk you through it. He didn’t know if he had the emotional capacity to do that, and Nick sure as hell didn’t.

Besides, he had other ways of getting his needs met. There was no shortage of women hitting him up throughout the week, and he could have his pick of any of them if he wanted.

So why hadn’t he returned their texts?

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow, and thought about his old church for the first time in ages.

There was a time when he truly believed. He was an active part of the youth group. Went to Sunday school every week. Participated in vacation bible school and church summer camp. Sung his heart out during hymns hoping God would hear him and be pleased. He’d felt so sure of his beliefs.

Now it was so different. He didn’t know what he believed. Wasn’t sure if he even believed in anything at all, except for the fact that man was inherently evil at heart, and if there was a god, he was an asshole for allowing all that evil to take place.

No. He didn’t even believe that. Because there was no way you were inherently evil. You were driven by a deep desire to do good and help the people around you.

So what did he believe, then? He had no idea, but he wished he did. He knew he didn’t believe in the Christian god he’d been taught to follow. There was so much wrong with it. At times he found himself wishing he could believe, but what was once blind faith had long since been replaced with blind rage he couldn’t seem to let go of, no matter what he did.

Growing tired of his room, he huffed and hoisted himself up off his bed. There was only one place where he could truly work through these feelings—his studio.

___________

The studio was very much a makeshift thing. It was set up in an old storage shed in the back yard of Jolly’s house. Noah had spent hours soundproofing and insulating the place. A small space heater in the corner was the only source of warmth, but he didn’t care. When he was inside the studio, nothing could touch him.

He sat in front of his keyboard and allowed his fingers to gloss over the keys. When they found where they wanted to go, he pressed them into the instrument, fingers striking a familiar chord. He moved them over to the next chord. Then the next. And the next. A somber chord progression broke out without him directing it. Noah let his mind relax as his hands took over and he was no longer a person, just a vessel through which music played itself.

He liked you.

His right hand began playing a soft melody while the left kept up with the chord progression.

It’s been a long time since he had liked someone in any significant way. He was used to people disappointing him.

The volume grew louder, soft notes giving way to an intense, heavy rhythm.

He wanted to protect you from Nick. From others who would see your goodness and try to bring you down to their level. Or use you for their own gain, but he knew it wasn’t his place to get involved. That you were your own person and could make decisions for yourself.

The tempo increased, melody full and moody, with an uncomfortable dissonance that longed to be resolved.

Throughout your life, other people had undoubtedly been making decisions for you. Telling you what to think. What to believe. Who you could spend your time with. The last thing he wanted was to join the ranks of people thinking they knew what was best for you.

His hands violently struck a suspended chord, allowing it to reverberate throughout the room for several beats, before his fingers went back to playing the somber melody from earlier. This time, slower paced and softer.

You were so vulnerable. Your willpower untested, and you had no experience to go on. It would have been so easy for him to take you, right then and there on the stage of the worship center. He could see it in your eyes how badly you wanted it.

His fingers slowed, allowing the melody to come to a close all on its own. He held out the final chord for as long as it would make sound, before switching off the power and leaning back into his chair.

Perhaps he wasn’t giving you enough credit. You had a good head on your shoulders, and seemed to know yourself. You weren’t afraid to question things when they didn’t feel right or genuine, and you saw through a lot of the bullshit that the church had tried to teach you (though your judgement was questionable when it came to taste in men and your own sexuality).

He heaved a sigh. Maybe he was being overprotective. There was nothing that he could say or do to stop Nick from pursuing you. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to encourage you to enforce boundaries and learn to recognize when people had ulterior motives. After that, he just had to trust you to make your own decisions.

He could live with that.

He switched the power on the keyboard back on, connecting it to his laptop and opened up the familiar program. He pressed the record button and began playing the chord progression again, hoping he could at least get a good song out of this.

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#Noah Sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfiction

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micamicster · 6 months

Text

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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yuzukult · 1 year

Text

crush 03 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 03 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 7.4k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: sorry i actually finished this weeks ago but forgot to post it.. embarrassinng frfr

This place looks… a bit shady.

The address Wonwoo sends you doesn’t show a brief description on Google Maps as it normally does, and it’s missing a preview picture of what the location is supposed to look like. When you pull up into the driveway, the asphalt fades into a dusted dirt road with cars of all ages, models, and manufacturers that line up against the fencing before you notice a building with an open garage on the opposite side.

That’s where you spot Wonwoo, crouched over in a white tank and torn up black jeans with a soiled rag over his shoulder. The driver’s window of an old Chevy is down, and Wonwoo has his forearms resting against the panel, casually conversing to the operator of the vehicle. He’s… got nice arms. But that’s besides the point.

He taps against the door. “Tell me when you need me to take another look at the ventilator. Should be workin’ this time around, but if not, Imma have to advise you to get ‘nother car.”

At first, you didn’t get to make out the facial features of who was inside. The reflection of the beaming sunlight hitting the front windshield made it arduous to identify the driver, but when she peeks her head out just barely, you could pinpoint the owner of those pearly white teeth anywhere. It’s the cute flag girl that Seokmin took home that one day.

“Why? When I could just keep coming back to you instead?”

But in lieu of reacting decrepitly to those pretty lashes that brush against her cherry tinted cheekbones like Seokmin does, Wonwoo is a major contrast when he slaps the top of the car with a charming smile. “Sweet, but it’s better to see your mechanic less and not more. Head home now, and only call if something happens to your car.”

With a failed sigh and pout, she waves goodbye to Wonwoo who watches as her car takes off.

Although when his eyes lands on you and your shitty ass Toyota, a show stopping grin tugs on the corners of his mouth. Wonwoo gestures for you to come to where the flag girl was earlier, and part of you feels a bit… special from the way he looks at her then at you. He seems happier, excited, even.

Why couldn’t Seokmin look at you in that way?

Hopping out of the car, you puff your cheeks. “When I said I’d let you take me on a date, I didn’t think it would be here at your shop.”

“I know girls like you,” he begins, crossing his arms before leaning against the doorframe of the garage. Raising a brow, you’re not sure where he’s going with that, but you remain silent to let him continue. “You probably get asked out often and have the most boring dates. What’s the last date you've been on?”

That required some thinking. Maybe it was that guy you met on Tinder and took you out for a candlelit steak dinner. Or even that one dude who took you to that art gallery.

You don’t respond though because Wonwoo seemed to have wanted to guess himself.

“Steak? Dim lighting, candles, maybe? Museums? How about even a walk by the river or waterfront, letting the cool breeze hit your face? Bet he tried to get into your pants after, which was why you didn’t call him back.”

That last one got you. You’ve been on that one before too, and had the same scenario happen. “What are you getting at here?”

He leans over to open your door wider, and you step aside. Reaching to pull the tab that pops the hood of your trunk, it only confuses you more on what he’s going to do next. “Well, I wanna be memorable, not some guy you went out with. Imma teach you how to change a flat.”

“I don’t have a flat.”

“Make believe, doll,” he chuckles, slamming your door shut. He walks to the back of your, pushing the trunk up, and his eyes skim the contents of the back. That term of endearment from Wonwoo is a new one, and for some reason, if it came from someone else, you’d be disgusted. But from him? It’s… kind of alluring? “Why you got so much junk in here?”

You flinch, immediately rushing to his side when the memory of what’s in your car comes to mind. “Oh shit, I—”

“Emergency one night stand kit?” He quirks a brow, lifting up a little tote back with the words woven into the canvas fabric. “You don’t look like the type.”

“It was a gift!” you exclaim, heat rushing to your cheeks as you snatch it back from him. “The contents inside don't match what the writing insists the purpose is for, I promise. I don’t do one night stands.”

“I know.” Wonwoo watches you in amusement, adoration swirling in his pools of chocolates he calls eyes. “You're one of those hopeless romantics. It’s taking a lot for you to even come on this date with me.”

You roll your lips in response, avoiding his loving gaze as you shuffle the stuff to make way for the lid of the compartment at the bottom of trunk. “How would you know that?”

“Because I see the way you look at Dokyeom, and it’s kind of the way that I look at you.” You choke on your saliva. Were you really that open of a book? Surely, it was true, but you didn’t think you were that obvious.

Dokyeom. It’s weird how Seokmin is your supposed best friend and yet there was so much about him you didn’t know. There was something underlying that he was hiding, and you want to dig deeper. Who was Dokyeom as this version of himself that he never once shared before?

You clear your throat, warmth rushing to your cheeks. Wonwoo is rather bold. “Um, so… are you gonna teach me how to change my tire or what?”

Wonwoo knows he caught you in that moment, but he doesn’t pry for more. “Aight, well roll up your sleeves and let’s get our hands dirty, love.”

He shows you the compartment to find the spare and tools, the latch that you’ve always looked over is the one he pulls to expose another layer of your car. Was that what it was for? You sort of just threw your shit on top of it and hoped for the best.

“Here, you’ll find your spare tire. I highly recommend that you don’t just ride it forever just cause you got it on. It’s a spare, it’s temporary. Don’t ever use it for long, it’s not meant for it.”

There’s a long, metal tool he brings out that resembles a cross. “This is a wrench,” then he grabs an unfamiliar mechanism in the shape of a diamond with a flat top, “the jack,” and finally, he points to the tire that peeks out just barely. “Lastly, the tire. Kinda heavy, but I can help you—”

“I got it,” you state daringly, shoving him to the side.

He chuckles at your boldness with that look of veneration on his face like you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. “Okay, well, grab that—” Wonwoo gestures at the tire, watching carefully to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, “and just… lay it on the ground. And we’re gonna put the jack under the car.”

Oddly enough, Seokmin never really wanted to teach you how to change a tire. You’ve mentioned it to him once before—you found yourself on the side of the road on a highway, phone up to your ear as you frantically called your best friend to be your knight in shining armor.

And when he arrived twenty minutes after your cry for help, he slammed the car door behind him with that smug look on his face as he said, “You rang?”

But that was when he was more reliable.

These days, your calls are missed and you rarely see him as often as you used to. He’s so caught up in his new life, his career, and all the girls that you’ve only become a sliver of importance to him.

Somehow, you end up with a smear mark on your cheek from moving all the equipment around. Wonwoo thinks you’re cute like this; admittingly, you were just a girl he found attractive with an amusing attitude. But that night. That night the two of you exchanged numbers—it was the first time he ever met someone that tugged on his heartstrings in this way. How’d he get looped into talking to a girl over text for hours?

“Like this?” You query, looking up at him from below. The tire lock is fastened onto the lug nut of your rims with a socket wrench in your hand. “So, I just…”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo leans over, hand on yours as he shoves the head of the tire iron to fasten against the lock. “Then you just…” he drifts off, and instead of pushing you aside to do it himself as Seokmin would’ve, he guides you with his movements. Thrusting his weight and yours against the wrench, he turns it multiple times before the first one releases and drops onto the floor with a clank. “The first one is always hard because it’s anti-theft, but the other ones are a bit easier. If you can’t get it out, just… put your hands on the hood of the car and jump on it. Wanna finish it off?”

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Getting the lug nuts off was easier than you thought (were they on tight enough to begin with?) The tire tilts over to you, and you’re quick to catch it and set it aside. Wonwoo rolls the spare in your direction, watching as you puff your cheeks with a layer of sweat on your skin. You don’t seem bothered, despite the droplets that stream down the side of your neck, and he sort of expected you to confront him about this being a first date. Who takes a girl to learn how to change a flat for a first date?

Not many guys, that’s for sure.

With Wonwoo, he doesn’t act like a savior. When you’re struggling with pulling the tire off, he doesn’t come in and take over—he asks if you’d want his help, and when you’d reply with ‘no,’ he stays put.

“Okay, next, you should put the spare where you took off the flat. Then secure it with the nuts, and put the car down with the jack. You should be good to go after you use the wrench to tighten it some more.”

“Hold this for me,” you drop the wrench in his palms and he’s fast in abiding. Aligning the spare tire to the bolts, you mount them by tightening the lug nuts into their initial spots by hand. Finally, stepping back, you lower the vehicle with the jack as he advises, snatching the tool back as he snickers at how focused you’ve become.

You use all your strength—practically the entirety of your weight impeling into the wrench to secure the bolts in place. With a puff of exhausted air, you shove it back into Wonwoo’s hold. “Okay, done. Check it.”

He eyes you impishly, making his way to the spare that you proudly installed yourself, casually popping the head of the wrench to fit the lugs without much difficulty. Wonwoo does it with ease; everything happens so fluidly, from the way he checks the tightening of the lugs to the kick of the tire to see if it would slip out in any way. Your breath gets caught in your throat, a bit anxious of the results, but when he turns to you with a soft smile, your chest releases the tension.

“Wow, impressive for the first try. You sure you’ve never changed a flat before?”

“Promise,” you cheekily grin back. He’s sort of… cute. He reminds you of those flakey croissant pastries, expectant on the outside that the dish you pair with a cup of coffee would be just buttery. But taking in a bite, the strawberry jam spews from the insides, the fruit preserves leaving a candied taste on the tip of your tongue.

This was just part of the date, you soon learn, because after Wonwoo helps you wash your hands in the sink in his garage, he leads you behind the building where a field of green lies.

His auto shop was located on the borderlines of the city and the suburbs—just a couple blocks over, if you took a step to the left, you would’ve been on the outskirts of the city lines but one move to the right, you’ll find yourself in the heart of the crowd of skyscrapers. Farther back of the property, the dusty road fades into a green field (well, sorta. It’s got patches, definitely needs some TLC, but you digress), and although it’s not the prettiest with scattered pieces of car junk across the lawn, his setup that he has displayed makes it… cute. He’s got this red and white checkered blanket that lays on the grass, boxes of screws on either corners and a hammer thrown at the other.

You glance over at Wonwoo.

He’s quick to shove it off the blanket, dropping the wicker basket where the hammer once was.

“Were you premeditating a murder?”

“If the night doesn’t go well, maybe,” he jokes. “I’m kidding, I had a feeling it was gonna get windy and I didn’t want the two of us spending half the day trying to get the thing to stay still. I did it myself before you came.”

He’s kinda cute.

“I couldn’t dress as nicely, I realized I don’t think I own any pairs of pants without a grease stain on it,” Wonwoo admits apologetically, plopping down on the blanket in his raw hemmed black jeans and the short sleeve button up that he doesn’t bother actually buttoning up. Part of you is tempted to ask him if he bought those jeans like that or if he cut it himself (you think it’s the latter).

Seokmin always had a thing about his appearance. The cleaner and slicker you seem, the more name brands that decorate your clothing, and the type of vehicle you drive says a lot about you.

But to Wonwoo, it’s clear that those things don’t matter.

He’s not rich in terms of the money stashed in his pockets or the digits in his bank account, but his wealth resides within his personality and knowledge. As you slice off a piece of cheese to pair with your cracker and prosciutto off a charcuterie board he attempted to make (you give him props for this as he humbly mentions he gives all the credit to those moms on forum websites posting their recipes), you learn more as to why Wonwoo never went to college—both willingly and unwillingly. And yet, he harbors so much wisdom in terms of cars and racing, earning all your respect that he chose a non-traditional route and remains successful.

You recall that night over the phone how he wished he could go to college, but he doesn’t have the means to. Wonwoo dropped out of high school during his senior year, just months before graduating, and although he didn’t fully explain why, the admiration in your gaze when he mentions he’d gotten his GED several months ago is evident.

Wonwoo isn’t what you’re used to; growing up, it was established that you were to meet a man with a bachelor’s degree, and the bonus is if he obtains a master’s. When your hands are stained, whether it be grease from the stove, oil from a car, flour from dough, or paint off a canvas, it’s recognized as a labor intensive job and the more physical work you do, the less intelligent you are.

This was not the case.

Admittingly, he doesn’t know anything about kinematics or conservation of energy, but he knows what to do when your carburetor is failing or if your water pump leaks. Analyzing the works of Shakespeare or reading a novel without dozing off wasn’t quite his forte, but he’s better in other fields and there’s so much admiration for that. “I like jobs that give back to society,” he said that night, and it gifts you the perspective that there is more to the world beyond being employed at a corporate company. Wonwoo sets a different standard for you, but even on a sweet date like this where he’s pouring a glass of moscato for you as you watch the sun setting in the horizon… you can’t help but let your thoughts flood with Seokmin once again.

When Wonwoo’s eyes curl into moon crescents with a laugh so buttery and deep, you discern a lot more clearly how much Seokmin has a hold on you. A great guy sits before you and you can’t get your head unwrapped from Lee Seokmin.

“When’d you get into racing?” You ask, deciding that maybe if you get to know him better, you’d stop thinking about the guy who’d rather be at a rooftop bar downtown with a girl he just met fifteen minutes ago. “I’ve never seen you at any of the tournaments.”

“Mmm,” he hums, brushing his hands off each other from the crumbs. “About a month before that cup. One of the sponsors of the stadium saw me racin’ on the streets a couple months ago. Once he found my name, he got me a competitor’s license and forced me on the track. Said somethin’ like he’d help me pay for everything, including two months of mortgage on my shop.” Wonwoo shrugs, reaching over to grab another cracker from the bag. “Two months is a lot. Plus, if he’s paying for everything else and all I needed was a crew, not a big deal. It’s really just a money game.”

You purse your lips. “Any reason for him to want you to race?”

“It’s probably gettin’ boring watching Dokyeom win all the time.”

Oh. You never really thought of it like that. “But he won the circuit,” you clarify. “I don’t get it.”

He grabs a handful of the crackers and lays it across the wooden board for you, adjusting himself on the picnic blanket as he tilts his head to the side. “Yea, but I also came in second with milliseconds on the clock. Not to mention that this is the first of the series–I think they just want somethin’ new to the competition ‘cause there hasn’t been any fresh meat lately. Or, if there are any, they ‘un really last.”

You quirk a brow. “You’re not fresh meat–you raced on the streets.”

Wonwoo winks playfully. “You know that, but they don’t.”

There’s a lot to unpack–the recruiting of Wonwoo into an industry that he didn’t really see himself in, only to be lured to race with a bribe because it was getting boring to watch Seokmin win so frequently? You have a never ending list of questions, ones that Wonwoo couldn’t necessarily answer, but one you were suspicious enough to keep digging. But when Wonwoo lifts the honey dipper made of turned wood to collect the honey from the jar and onto your chunk of cheese, he says one last thing that erases all your curiosity.

“Dokyeom almost got a monopoly on stock car racing. No new consistent racers in the past two years entering this category, instead they’re headin’ off to Formula 1 or drag. They’re losing all potential new money ‘cause there’s nobody that can match his potential. Thinkin’ that the guy just wanted me there to get the ball rollin, let people know that it’s not impossible to beat the Lee Seokmin.”

Popping the piece of parmesan into your mouth, you roll your lips. “Well, you didn’t beat him either,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes with a smile tugging on the edges of his lips. He’s got the same sense of humor as you do, and he makes it a little hard not to get enticed by his charms. “So what of it?”

“I didn’t have to beat him, I just had to get close enough,” he grins. “Why? Are you not impressed that I didn’t beat him?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Mm,” he nods slowly while feigning a frown. “Damn. Should’ve told me earlier, maybe I would’ve actually tried beating him then.”

How did this conversation end up looping right back into Seokmin when you asked to distract yourself from him?

“Do… Do you even like racing, Wonwoo?”

“Honestly?” he glances over at you before looking back at the sunset. The hues of warmth that radiate the ordinary star is a pretty sight as it shines on his face, and it’s evident why he’s enamored by many. “No. I like cars, and I love the speed, but I prefer being under the hood than behind the wheel. Knowing how the gears turn and what’s the reason for the black smoke and why your car stutters is more appealing to me than burning rubber on asphalt.”

“Hm,” you hum, remaining silent to bask in the fresh air. You say it often, but Wonwoo is…different. He indulges in the present moments in life; he doesn’t dwell on the past, in fact, he embraces it and learns from it. The type of person that travels with a loose agenda, a couple locations and hot spots in mind to touch, but never abiding by what’s written as if it’s set in stone.

He’s carefree. Flowing like linens hanging dry on the clothesline on a warm, breezy day.

“And what about you?” he asks, those chocolate swirling orbs just full of adoration and interest. Wonwoo looks at you in a way that you could only dream for Seokmin to do the same, but he’s slowly easing you into the idea of it being someone else. “Do you like cars? Racing?”

“Have you seen my car?” you laugh, quirking a brow. “To me, a car is just something that takes you from point A to point B. Otherwise, it means nothing to me.”

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Tilting your head to the side, it’s your turn to gaze at him with intrigue.

“You just… see cars differently than I do,” he says with a soft smile. “It’s not bad, but it holds so many meanings for me, left core memories, and for you, you blatantly say that it’s a means of transportation.”

You feel bad for saying it like that but… it is just a car.

“It may seem like just a car,” he begins, and you think for a second that he reads your mind. “But every meaningful moment in my life had a car involved in it.”

Maybe Wonwoo has a point—it’s like how some people just view a croissant as just a flaky pastry you could have with coffee in the mornings or tea in the afternoons. But others, the aroma of freshly baked croissants imbues the kitchen, creating a wave of nostalgia sweeping over them. The residual butter left on their fingertips when they tear into the crisp, crescent shaped pastry is a sign that it’s been made with the utmost love, just as their elder relatives baked it.

“Do you have something like that?” It’s… a good question. Truthfully, you’ve never thought about that before, and maybe it’s from the way you live your life, but you’ve hardly stopped and just immersed yourself within a moment. “I… I don’t think I do. I’ve been so caught up in preparing for what’s next that it’s never crossed my mind.”

“Well,” he begins, taking a bite from a cracker. “Let that be something you figure out before the next time we meet.”

You quirk a brow in amusement. “You’re already thinking about another date?”

“Aren’t you?” He mimics your expression. “I thought you’re always thinking one step again. Unless, you don’t view me in that way and decide that there wouldn’t be a next time?”

There is definitely a next time.

Actually, there ends up being a lot of “next times.”

In fact, meeting with Wonwoo has become a routine.

There’s excitement that runs through your veins, similar to the adrenaline rush that Seokmin raves on about when he races, except this is simply because of your eagerness to see Wonwoo after work. Once the clock strikes five, your bag is already slung over your shoulder with the door shut behind you.

Some nights, you find yourself drowning in projects with deadlines, stuck in the four walls of your office that feel like they’re closing in. It’s suffocating—spending more than the required eight hours in what feels like an enclosed space, wishing that you could be anywhere else but there.

That is, until you and Wonwoo grew closer.

You never thought of yourself as someone who would find comfort in the sound of tools clanging against each other or on the concrete ground. Wonwoo likes to blast a mixtape he made back in high school—which basically was just a list of songs that you’d know the lyrics to because you used to have it on full volume with your whole emo getup back in your rebellious and angsty teenage years.

When you started to spend more time in his shop, he made a note to build a make-shift desk for you–yes, it was basically a tool cart with a long piece of a wood plank, but with the wheels locked, a swivel chair he used to run reports at his shitty computer (that was also on another tool cart) and a lamp he bought from Walmart (it has a pink base, he thought you’d like that), it felt welcoming. After a long day at the office with work still not done, this change of scenery is nice, especially since Wonwoo makes it crystal clear that he wants your company.

Some days are more uneventful than others, but nonetheless, they’re nice. You liked the calmness–there was something soothing about that roar of the engine when Wonwoo would lean into the open window to turn the key in the ignition for a test run.

Today, though, falls a bit outside of that placid routine.

You drop by, mostly because you’re bored and you don’t want to be alone in your apartment, plus it’s almost guaranteed that Wonwoo would be at the car shop (well, also because his place is literally… connected to it. You opened the wrong door trying to find the bathroom once, only to see this huge backroom that looked like a loft. Wonwoo loves work so much that he lives in it).

As you enter the garage, eyes glued to the screen of your phone, your car keys dangle from your fingers as you’re tapping away. “Do you wanna order dinner? I heard there’s this Chinese place a couple blocks down–they deliver so we can just call–”

“Ehem,” Wonwoo clears his throat, arms crossed over his chest. Attention now on him, that’s when you notice the other four men in the shop, casually sitting on the couch, leaning on a car, and standing beside Wonwoo. “Um, so these are my friends.”

Friends. Wonwoo introduces you to them; Mingyu, Minghao, Seungcheol and Vernon are their names, and from what you recall, they seem to have been the same guys that were on his crew back at the track. They’re all car guys, you learn, knowing Wonwoo from way back and it makes you wonder if they knew Seokmin–or well, Dokyeom–at the time but you don’t probe for more. If Seokmin wants to remain mysterious, then he can stay that way.

“So,” Mingyu, who is definitely over 6-feet tall, begins cheekily, pushing himself off the car. “Are you the reason why Wonwoo won’t come out with us to drink? We’ve been asking him for the past month to come out and he keeps giving us bullshit excuses.”

You blink blankly. Was… Wonwoo turning them down to see you?

“I’m sorry,” you turn to stare at Wonwoo for a brief moment before turning back to Mingyu. “Was… Was he doing that? I didn’t even know.”

“He must like you,” Seungcheol chimes in, snickering as Wonwoo smacks Seungcheol’s chest with the back of his hand. “What! I’m just sayin’. You never reject us. Except for that one time your mom came into town, but other than that, you’re basically always comin’ with us. Did a surprise drop by… lo’ and behold. Jeon here's got a girlie.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he twists around to snatch a carton of cigarettes off the shelf of his supplies. “You came for the cigs, bro. Stop saying shit. You’re gon’ scare her.”

“Ohhhh,” Minghao chimes in teasingly. “So you care about what she thinks of you–thinks of us. That’s cute,” he hops up from the couch before coming over to you. “If Jeon gives you a hard time…” with a wink, he then gestures to the other boys to follow. “Just lemme know. Or any of them. We’ll be back around, so we’ll catch you later. Nice to meet you, cutie.”

When they leave, you’re left alone with Wonwoo once again.

“Am I holding you back?”

Wonwoo stares at you blankly with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the red tool cart roller. “Holding me back from what?”

You shrug, putting down your phone onto the make-shift coffee table (it’s just a creeper parked on a cardboard box). “I don’t know. They made it seem that way—I mean, we’re not really dating, so I feel bad if I’m… holding you back from anything. You should see your friends—whether or not we are together.”

“I can make that decision for myself,” Wonwoo shoots back, pushing himself up as he makes his way to the car in the garage. “They’ll see me around, not a big deal. And yeah, I’m down for Chinese. You tryna get me the vegetable lo mein?”

You eye him carefully. The thing with Wonwoo versus Seokmin is that he says it straight up—no hesitation, no crazy maze where you need to probe for clues to reach the end, and he doesn’t expect you to figure him out in a heartbeat. Wonwoo inspects your actions, and if you give it away that you don’t understand, he’s transparent with how he answers.

Wonwoo doesn’t feel like the game of cat and mouse.

“Do you want to share sweet and sour chicken and maybe some wings?”

“Of course. And make sure they have Coca Cola—not Pepsi.”

When you’re both sitting on his secondhand couch of the garage, utilizing one of the ULINE tool cabinets as a more sturdy table, there’s boxes of Chinese food that’s sprinkled all across. His carton of lo mein is now empty, remnants of the grease left on the sides with bits of bean sprouts too small to grab with his chopsticks and the bones of the chicken wings are left on those crappy napkins that you’d find in fast food joints and coffee shops, saturated in the oils and probably leaving marks on the cart. Wonwoo eats fast but he always stays seated until you finish your meal despite being done his.

He used to keep his garage cold, the overhead rolling door made of metal and not including much insulation from the weather outside, but ever since you’ve kept him company more frequently, he’s installed some ceiling mounted unit heater to keep the area warm. The humming of the machine is what breaks the silence between the two of you, but Wonwoo doesn’t fail to bring it up, nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “You usually are babbling about your day right about now. Didn’t you and Sunny go shopping yesterday? She didn’t spill any gossip?”

You roll your lips. Are you normally that talkative around him? And if so, are you really that comfortable?

“Um, yeah, we did,” you begin, placing down your carton of rice. “And sorta. Not really. Mostly complained about work.”

He makes a sound by sucking in his teeth before sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees. “Alright, what’s up? Tell me.”

Normally, you’d just… tell the other person to let it go. Even with Seokmin, when he pries, you’re quick on your feet to tell him to ‘not worry about it’ and that ‘this unreasonable feeling will pass eventually.’

But Wonwoo is great at breaking barriers that you never thought you’d do.

Placing down your chopsticks, you let out a sigh along with the drop of your shoulders. “Okay, okay. I just feel bad. We’re not official—and that’s entirely on me, and I really do enjoy spending time with you—whatever this may be—but I also don’t want to be the one to hold you back on things like going out with your friends, meeting other girls, or just… I don’t know. Seeing those guys just made me think of that. I know that you might like me and—”

“Mm, hush.”

You blink blankly.

“Listen,” Wonwoo begins, hands together stiffly in semblance to this situation. “That’s on me too, right? I don’t think you’re leading me on, in fact, I think you’re establishing boundaries—like you are now. I went on a date with you, and it didn’t work. So be it. But—let’s make this clear, we are friends. I’m good with you coming over here whenever you want. And yea, I do like you. You gimme a lot of reasons to, but that don’t mean we can’t be friends. And if it makes you feel any better, I do hang with ‘em, they’re just bein’ dramatic because I spend my weekdays with you the most.”

“Oh,” you reply doltishly. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“Well, start,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Look, I know that you and Seokmin have these unspoken feelings and I’d rather you resolve them if you decide to take anything further. I’m cool with just chillin’ as friends, and we’re not doing anything wrong by it. I just may be a lil’ sweeter for you is all, only cause I got a crush. But my feelings aren’t hurt by it.”

This is… different.

Although you constantly say that Seokmin and Wonwoo are opposites (well, duh, they’re not the same person), it’s almost become repetitive and annoying how frequent you come to these “realizations.” Wonwoo has evidently seen a lot in his life, endured a lot, and due to that, he’s… emotionally mature.

As for Seokmin—well, need you say more?

Somehow, the end of the evening isn’t awkward. He makes you laugh with a story about how a client came over, exclaiming on the top of their lungs how the backseat wouldn’t prop itself up, only for Wonwoo to find the seat belt covering the opening that holds it up. Although it was very tempting to smack a $300 invoice to his customer, he chose the better route of just telling them upfront what the issue was.

Although he’s understanding, prioritizing the friendship he’s created with you, he doesn’t make it hard to consider him as more than a friend.

“Well, you look giddy.”

“Hmm?” You respond dumbly, looking up from your phone full of texts. Wonwoo ended up feeling bad that his friends thought he’d been neglecting them, so he agreed to go to a bar tonight with them and maybe hit a club afterwards–but that doesn’t stop him from constantly messaging you. “Me? Or Sunny?”

P flicks your hand. “You, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

Sunny snorts in amusement, placing another strip of meat onto the grill. It sizzles from the impact of heat and the fat content of the beef, steam filling the air for a brief second before the ventilator sucks it up. “You didn’t tell us about that date with Wonwoo. You dodged all the texts in our group chat.”

You shrug, grabbing the spare tongs to help Sunny add more meat onto the grate. “Um, because it’s kind of weird.”

P raises a brow. “And how is it weird? Was he strange?”

Sunny’s attention is off of cooking now, diverting toward you. “OMG. Did we make you go on a date with a weirdo?”

You glance over at the two. “Wait-what?” Pretending to resume to the grill, you poke a couple of the raw pieces that lay across with another set of tongs. “No, no. He… He’s honestly great. I haven’t felt that connection with someone in a while–he taught me how to install a spare tire–”

P blinks blankly. “He taught you how to change your spare? What kind of date is that?”

And for a moment, a wash of judgment appears across Sunny’s face but it softens when she finally realizes. “... Because you told him that Seokmin promised to come and “save the day,” didn’t you? Then Wonwoo probably thought for a first date idea… teaching you how to change a spare…”

Then it clicks for P; her shoulders loosen and fall when she’s aware of the meaning behind the date. “He… didn’t want you to depend on Seokmin anymore.”

Sunny frowns, flipping over the meat on the grill. “If that’s the reason… Why’s that weird? Sounds sweet. If anything, I kinda give him props for that. Did he at least take you out to dinner?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “Well, he made a whole picnic basket.”

Both Sunny and P glare at you. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“He’s… not Seokmin.”

Gross. It sounds pathetic leaving from your mouth.

The looks that Sunny and P give you are full of pity. How could you be so weak for a guy that doesn’t even respect you enough to hide when he has flings? Someone who claims that they’re yours, but they spent most of their time pursuing anyone but you. It’s a constant recurring thought, and the reminders are always smacking you in the face and yet, you’re here, sitting in front of your two best friends after going on a date with someone who could potentially give you the world and more yet Seokmin still remains on your mind.

“Listen,” P begins, placing down her chopsticks by the side of her plate. Sunny clears off the grill and lowers the fire, mimicking P’s actions with her tongs. “Sunny and I talked about this, and we realized that yes, although we really don’t support this unrequited love between you and Seokmin, it’s still your life and your choices to make. We want you to know that we’re by your side, and behind you through it all, even if you end up with Seokmin, but we’ll say this one last time.”

“We think you should move on, love.”

Your phone lights up beside you, Wonwoo’s name on display with the preview of his text. He asks if you like mint chocolate, a debate that he and his friends have had since God knows when, and it may determine if he wants to keep chasing you. When you unlock the phone, Seokmin’s chat is pinned to the top with your message being the most recent and sent two days ago. He just… disregarded the picture you shared of the two of you in college, his arm over your shoulders with smiles stretched across your faces.

“It’s… It’s hard,” you admit, and this time, it feels like the weight on your chest releases. “I think… I’d already had this idea that he and I would end up together engraved in my brain that I can’t seem to let go.”

“Well, how about this? You at least keep giving Wonwoo a shot if he does make you happy or if you’re even remotely interested. He seems sweet, and he also seems to know where you stand with Seokmin, which makes it easier to not have to explain to him the situation.”

You roll your lips. “I–Okay.”

Just then, your screen lights up again. Speaking of the Devil.

Wonwoo [11:54PM]: You can hold off on that political question for later. Since you’re still awake… my other friends wanna meet you. Wanna come out and grab a bite w us?

Quickly, you show your phone to the girls.

“Fuck yeah, tell them to come here,” P nearly shouts, and you hush her. “Forreal, give Wonwoo the address. We’ll get more chairs–switch tables if we gotta. I’m tryna see him in person.”

Sunny starts touching up on her makeup in her compatible mirror. “Get them to come! It shouldn’t be too far from where they are, right?”

It wasn’t.

In fact, Wonwoo and his friends were a couple blocks down–when you sent him the text of where you and your friends are, he eagerly sent a screenshot of Google Maps to show how close he was.

When they walk into the BBQ joint, it’s very hard to miss them. For one, you spot familiar faces—Mingyu, Minghao, Seungcheol and Vernon from the shop, followed by three other guys you never met personally before, but you remember them from Wonwoo’s pit before the tournament. It makes you wonder—did he just hire all his friends to be his pit crew members? And if he did, that’s… impressive. You don’t think you could name any of Seokmin’s friends that would spend their Saturday rushing to change his tires—not to mention that they probably aren’t even trained to do it.

Then, you spot Wonwoo. He pushes through the group, shuffling to see where you are, and when your eyes meet, his smile doesn’t fail to stretch across from ear to ear.

“Hey,” he says breathily, probably from all the shoving. “It’s… Good to see you. Kinda thought you were avoiding me after the mint chocolate question. It can be a touchy subject for some people.”

You let out a laugh; it’s so genuine and warm when it releases from your chest that it causes both P and Sunny to raise a brow at you before glancing at each other.

You’re different around him.

It’s so clear to both your best friends why Wonwoo is the choice you should make, and you’re displaying it right now. The comfortable body language, the laugh, and how you introduce them to him without any nerves. He’s so sweet when he offers to cook (only for one of his other friends to snatch the tongs from him with a hiss to take over, it’s still the thought and attempt that counts).

Wonwoo takes the seat next to you. Of course he does, he likes you, but there’s something inside of you that has trouble with swallowing that information. And truthfully? It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his company or want to reject his feelings—if anything, you’ve caught yourself imagining the what-ifs.

Then, Seokmin’s face shows up in those fantasies.

It’s a reminder of why you need a remedy for your lovesick symptoms, mostly because if a guy like Wonwoo is here with his rowdy friends, unable to keep his eyes that are full of adoration for you, then why would you waste your time with someone else right here?

You could… You could see yourself falling for Wonwoo. It’ll take time, that’s for sure, but you don’t think it’s impossible.

“How do you like your steak?” He asks, tongs in hand as he turns his head away from the grill to look at you. “Medium? Fully cooked?”

“Medium rare,” you answer, and Wonwoo serves you first before kindly asking the same question to your friends. P and Sunny are impressed, rolling their lips to suppress their giggles and teasing, wiggling their brows in your direction.

“So,” P begins, putting down her chopsticks. “We heard you’re a racecar driver.”

He chuckles, rubbing his nape awkwardly. “I–I wouldn’t necessarily say that. Was a temp thing.”

Seungcheol nudges Wonwoo. “Don’t act all humble. It’s aight to say it, you’re a racecar driver now. You got to compete with Kyeomie, I’d say you deserve the title.” He winks teasingly, but you know he says it to give Wonwoo the push he needs. Seungcheol naturally leads their group of friends; you’ve seen him gesture to Mingyu to grab the tongs and start cooking when he sees plates empty, tell Minghao to ask the server for more drinks when the liquid in the glasses get low, and even just now, when he encourages Wonwoo to be a little bolder. Wonwoo’s pit crew wasn’t just his “pit crew”... they’re his friends. You admire that.

The night runs smoothly. P and Sunny are so impressed and smitten with Wonwoo, constantly encouraging you to make moves on him. Quite frankly, you even… forgot about Seokmin for a moment.

That is, until your eye catches him entering the restaurant.

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#seventeen #seventeen fics #dk x reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fanfic #dk fanfic

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