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katsu28 · 2 months ago

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summer's golden haze - chapter one

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a small town somewhere in beautiful greece, early morning coffee runs, and the cute boy that you keep running into. (4.8k)

warnings: sort of shy!reader, a bit of swearing, lando being both smooth and a little awkward

a/n: series masterlist coming soon :)

“That guy is totally checking you out.”

You reluctantly drag your attention away from the truly addicting pasta you’d ordered to meet your friend’s gaze across the table, slightly suspicious, but also a little curious as to what she’s talking about.

Samira is grinning knowingly at you already, mischievously, like she’s got a tasty bit of information you don’t know about. Probably not tastier than the food in front of you, but your interest is piqued nonetheless.

“What guy?” You sigh, giving into your curiosity quite easily. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you, then tilts her head to the side discreetly, and you follow her gaze towards—

Oh. That guy.

You saw him on your way to your seat at first, a group of four guys sitting a few tables away in the same patio area of the restaurant, drawing your attention even before you’d sat down. Artfully messy brown curls swept up out of his face, thick dark brows framing bright eyes crinkled with laughter at something his friend had said, you’d felt yourself growing conscious of the man’s existence with just one glance.

And then his gaze had flicked to your friends passing his table, but more importantly, your own gaze, and you’d nearly stumbled on your own feet.

Your cheeks had grown hot at the intensity of his stare following your path to your seat, not to mention the embarrassment that had flooded your veins at the thought of nearly eating shit in front of this very attractive stranger.

Had you grown the nerve to look back at him at the time, you would’ve seen his lips quirk into a goofy grin, as well as all the shoving he’d gotten from his friends as they’d caught wind of his unabashed staring.

Now you’re almost done with your meal, and you could swear you’ve felt him looking at you plenty more times. Not that it mattered at all, because your eyes have been firmly glued to your food and your friends only.

Okay, so you might’ve hastened a few covert glances over in his direction too, but he’s been chatting away to his friends every time, so maybe you’re just making nothing into something.

“Don’t even try to hide it, you’ve been making eyes at him too, girl,” Your other friend, Maren, pipes up, elbowing you in the arm playfully. The last of your girls, Camille, nods her agreement, smiling gleefully. “He’s hot.”

Right, so perhaps not as covert as you’d thought.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” You reply, spearing another piece of pasta through your fork. You’re kicked under the table at that moment, hard enough to warrant the whine that escapes your mouth. “What?” Now you're met with three pointed glares your way. “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Go talk to him!”

“Go flirt with him!”

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim. Your voice comes out louder than you intend and you duck your head quickly, worried you’d disturbed the peace of the quiet area. “He’s probably got a girlfriend already or something.”

“If he does, she better dump his ass because he's been giving you fuck me eyes all damn night.”

“No, he has not,” You hiss, which only gets you yet another look from them. You’re starting to get tired of all these looks, actually. “Has he? I mean—are they? Fuck me eyes?”

“Oh yeah, he—”

Camille clears her throat, cutting Samira off. “No, they’re not,” She assures you, placing a hand over yours. “He’s been smiling every time he looks over.”

“Maybe he’s looking at one of you guys?”

“He’s definitely been looking at you.”

You bite your lip, nose scrunching skeptically. You haven’t really been the subject of any guy’s attention before, let alone one as handsome as this one. You’ve learned it’s better not to get your hopes up when it comes to certain situations. This seems like one of them. “Are you sure?”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your share of the villa rental.”

“Can I get that in writing, or…?”

Before any of them can come up with a smart remark, a plate is placed into the center of the table, on which is a large square of baklava, light and flaky with that sweet, sugary filling spilling out the sides of the piece that almost makes your mouth water. You’d seen it in the dessert section of the menu earlier, but had decided against ordering it in favor of trying an appetizer instead.

“Oh, excuse me? We didn’t order this,” Maren speaks up, looking up at the waiter.

He does a half turn, sweeping an arm in a vague direction. “It is from the gentleman in the blue shirt.”

You follow his gaze, and fuck, your heart skips a beat in your chest, because it’s him. It’s the same guy you’ve been drawn to all night, and he’s actually looking right back at you this time. His hand comes up in a wave, then back down to his side almost immediately, like he’s worried about it seeming too eager, before settling with a reserved nod. All the while, he’s still got that smile gracing his face that makes your stomach flip flop.

“He sent over a dessert?!?! I am so keeping that money, girl,” Camille hums, picking up her fork to dig in while Samira and Maren voice their agreement.

You, on the other hand, well…you’re not sure what to think. You appreciate the gesture, but you're also confused. Why did he send something over? What did he want?

It doesn't occur to you that he’s truly taken an interest in you until you're huddled outside with your friends talking next steps of the night. Whether you want to keep exploring this new place, or call it a day and go home. You’re firmly on the latter’s side because you're tired. But you’ll go along with whatever is decided.

The guy and his friends have coincidentally left the restaurant at the same time as you did, judging by the sudden commotion that erupts behind you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your gaze lands on him yet again, only this time, you actually lock eyes with him. Something jolts through you, something electric up your spine like a tiny shock. Something you’ve never felt before. You shove the foreign feeling deep down, no matter how much you’d like to explore it.

He looks away, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to quell the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you avert your wandering eyes too, before anyone else notices. Evidently you’re a little too slow, because all three of your friends catch on instantly.

“Go talk to him already.” Camille says matter-of-factly.

“No, I—what do I even say?”

“Maybe hello would be a good start?”

You press your lips together, unimpressed, and you get a snicker in return, something about how you're not asking for his hand in marriage, you’re just trying to make conversation. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s that you’re not exactly sure how to approach it. You’ve already convinced yourself of the worst, but to possibly have it play out in real life is a tangible fear of yours, and always has been.

One of your girls (you’re willing to bet more money it’s Maren) gives you a not so gentle shove towards him, as does one of his friends over in his group. Now you’ve got no choice. You meet each other in the middle, just looking at each other for a few moments. It��s awkward and you have half a mind to turn and go, but then he speaks.

“Hey,” He says.

“Hi,” You reply shyly, shifting on your feet nervously. He shoves both hands into his pockets. He looks a bit nervous too, which does a significant wonder to calm you. “Thank you for the baklava. It was delicious.”

“Yeah, of course. Glad you guys liked it. Figured you can’t go wrong with a classic.” He bobs his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears in a shrug before dropping back down. “I’m Lando, by the way.”

Lando. It’s not a name you’re expecting, but it suits him well.

He sticks his hand out almost instinctively, like he’s been conditioned to do so. Maybe he has, considering the aura of professionality it gives off when you do shake his hand.

His palm is smooth and warm against yours, long fingers curling around your hand like the sincere smile that curls his lips as you tell him your name in return. Dimples bracket his mouth on both sides.

The handshake almost lasts a little too long for two people who’ve just met literally a few moments ago, as does the way his eyes linger upon yours.

Even in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamps above you, you can see him much better up close. His sunkissed skin does little to hide the flushed pink on his cheeks that travels down to his chest, disappearing under the generously unbuttoned blue linen. You feel exposed under his intense gaze, looking back at those mesmerizing eyes. Blue, green, gray—maybe a mix of all three, you’re not sure, but you can’t help but want to figure it out.

Then you remember that you don’t know this guy at all, and it brings you back to reality.

“Lando, like…the guy from Star Wars?” You ask. It breaks the invisible tether between the two of you and he smiles, laughs a little bit too.

He shrugs casually. “Not according to my mum and dad, but I do get that a lot.”

“You must get tired of hearing it from people then.”

His head tilts to one side, smile going endearingly lopsided. “Depends on the person. Like, I didn’t mind when you said it just now.” You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just smile, and he takes your reaction in stride, moving on. “Are you guys from around here, or…”

“No, actually, we’re—um, we’re just here on holiday.”

“Oh, same! Yeah, we’ve been here a few days now, it’s been great. Is this your first time in Greece?” He asks, smile turning warm. You nod. “Have you checked out the local market yet?”

“Can’t say we have yet, no. We just got in the day before last, so…still figuring out our footing first. But I’ll keep it in mind, thank you!”

Lando inhales sharply, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, y’know, if you want, maybe we could—”

“Oi, Lando! Let’s go, mate!”

He glances back over at his friends, one of whom is waving for him to return to his group rather wildly, before turning back to you. Whatever he was about to say is lost now, because he shrugs loosely. “Guess that’s my cue,” He sighs. Then his gaze softens, smile turning a little hopeful. “Will I see you around again? Small town and all.”

“Uh…I dunno. Maybe, if it’s meant to be.” You have to try with all your might not to take the statement back, even though you really, really want to.

If it’s meant to be—who the fuck says that? Like fate has anything to do with this miraculous interest Lando seems to have taken in you. If you were him, you’d find your words quite off putting. Instead, he smirks, crooked and cute.

“Meant to be,” He repeats, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah alright, I’ll take my chances. Have a good night.”

You bid him a soft goodnight, barely able to stifle the giggle that spills from your mouth when he nearly trips over the cobblestones on his way back to his friends. He’s awkward, you think, but still confident. It’s cute.

Lando stays rooted in your mind the rest of the night, all the way up until you’re lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take hold of you. It’s weird to think this much about a guy you’ve just met, a guy who you’ve only had one conversation with and have left things up to chance in terms of seeing him again.

-------

You’re the first one awake this morning, roused from your sleep by bright sunlight pouring through the window, even through the curtains. Contemplation of going back to sleep crosses your mind, but it’s no use. You’re up now, so you might as well make the most of your early morning.

You love your friends dearly, but some alone time sounds like heaven right about now. There’s a coffee spot not far from where you’re staying that you remember seeing on your way in that seems like a perfect match to your solo walk, so you head there. You’ll be a nice friend and bring coffee home for when they eventually wake up too.

After dropping them a text letting them know you’ve gone out, you set off. The walk back into town is short but serene, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives, and a reminder of why you’d all decided to vacation in this particular region of Greece in the first place.

Someone calls out something that sounds like your name before you can step into the shop and you pause, casting a glance around to see if your ears might be playing tricks on you. You’ve only been here a few days, and the only other person who knows you other than your friends is…Lando.

You squint a little harder to see through the glare of the sun, and lo and behold, there he is, hands linked behind his head. The grin that lifts your face is almost embarrassing, or would’ve been had Lando not been so eager upon seeing you wave at him.

He’s clad in athletic shorts and a cutoff tee that shows off muscles you’re trying your very hardest not to stare at as he makes his way closer, curls tucked away in a baseball cap pulled low on his head. Headphones dangle from around his neck, and he’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily very clearly once he’s stopped in front of you.

“Hey, good morning! I thought that was you,” He breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “Early riser too, I take it?”

“Honestly, not usually! The sun decided I would be today, though, so…here I am.”

“Here you are. Guess it was meant to be then, huh?” He chuckles, reaching up to flip his cap backwards. If you thought he was tan the night you met, he’s even tanner in the sun, bronze skin stretching over sinewy muscle that flexes as he sweeps a hand through his hair before tugging it back down in one smooth motion. “Doing a coffee run?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one of us awake at this hour so I figured I’d bring them back a little something.”

“You’re a saint. I’d let my mates suffer if it were me,” Lando snorts.

You shrug. “Guess that’s the difference between the two of us.”

“Yeah?” He hums, looking amused. “What else is different between you and me?”

“Well, first of all, I would never be on a run at eight in the morning. Is someone punishing you, or is this a self-inflicted torture type thing?”

That gets another laugh out of him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Gotta keep in shape or my trainer might try to kill me with workouts instead.”

“You’re an athlete?” You pry, intrigued. He looks the part, you think. Lean but not skinny, strong but not massively built. A runner, maybe?

Lando freezes a split second, rocks from foot to foot, scratching at his nose. “Kind of, yeah.”

“What’s your sport?”

“Uh…golf. It’s more like a hobby than anything else.”

“Golf,” You repeat, an amused smile poking at the edges of your mouth. “Can’t say I know a thing about it.”

“Oh, it’s definitely something else, for sure. Super intense stuff, really grueling.” His words say one thing, but he’s grinning like he’s pulling your leg, lip pulled between his teeth in that same way as last night, nose scrunching adorably as he bobs his head quickly to further sell it.

“Sure, if you say so. But d’you think your trainer would get mad if you cut your super intense training short to grab a cup of coffee with a friend?”

You’re almost expecting him to say no, but Lando perks up instead, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Not at all. Shall we?”

Over coffee, you find that Lando is an excellent conversationalist—funny and a good listener, an even better storyteller. He asks about you without seeming pushy or prying, and because of that you feel yourself relaxing a bit in his presence. Opening yourself up to the possibility of a good thing with him, no matter how short or fleeting it may be, whether it’s friendship or something more.

A few weeks of summer in a place you've never been with a boy you don’t know is the time to be a little bolder. Chances are you’ll never see Lando again after this trip, so why not loosen up just a little bit?

It’s only when more people start to trickle into the shop and you start to notice Lando’s eyes shifting over your shoulder more that you realize you’ve been here with him for a while now. And judging by the dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of your friends on your phone when you go to check it for the first time since you’d left, you’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you’d be.

You know them well enough to know that they’re not above calling the local police to send out a search party for you if you don’t find your way back soon.

“Friends wondering where you are?”

You nod, sending a quick message that you are indeed alive and not kidnapped like they feared, before tucking your phone away again. “Guess I better get them their coffees for sure now, or else they might not let me back in the house.”

“Lemme buy it for them,” He offers sincerely, offering you a lopsided grin. You shake your head rapidly at the suggestion, but he continues, “I’m the reason you’ve been gone so long, the least I can do is buy them drinks. Call it an apology for making them worry, yeah?”

“You really don’t have to, Lando.”

“I know. I want to,” He insists, looking truly genuine. First dessert last night, now coffee today. You have half a mind to push back a little more, but you get the feeling Lando is as persistent as he is handsome, so you taking a firm stance on something like this seems like a moot point. Giving in, you nod, and he mirrors it, looking proud.

He lets you take the lead in reciting your friends’ orders once you’ve made your way back over to the front counter, stepping forward with a hand to the small of your back to pay for the drinks before you have any bright ideas to pull one over on him and pay for them yourself.

The barista smiles politely, pen hovering above a cardboard cup. “And a name for that?”

Lando casts a furtive glance around the area before leaning in and saying his name quietly, as if he’s worried he’ll run into someone who he doesn’t want to see. You notice, but don’t really pay it any mind. You understand far too well not wanting to talk to someone you're unprepared for.

Soon enough Lando’s got the drinks in hand and you’re back outside, and he’s smiling again. You’ve noticed he does that a lot when he looks at you. You’re sure you’re the same way with him.

“My mates and I, we’re planning on having a little barbeque at our villa tomorrow night. You should come,” Lando says encouragingly, tilting his head to the side. When your brows raise in surprise, he hastily adds, “And your friends too, obviously. We’d love the company.”

“Ah! Um, I dunno. Wouldn’t wanna crash your thing.”

“You wouldn't be. Seriously, come hang out. We’re fun, I promise!”

“I just—I forget if we’ve got plans, that’s all.” You’re not lying when you say it, you truly forget if you’re free tomorrow night. Most of it stems from your awful memory, but a small part of it attributes to how your brain kind of stops working properly around Lando.

“Right, well, you figure that out, and if you find you’ve got a free evening,” He balances the drinks deftly in one hand, the other fishing his phone out of his shorts pocket and swiping at the screen briefly before holding it out to you, “text me, let me know.”

You’re not sure where you find the boldness to tap your phone number into his contacts, but you do it with confidence, saving it under your name and a smiley face.

“Cute.” Lando smirks, chuckling as he sends a simple hi so you've got his number too. “Now, I believe these are yours, and…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? If it’s meant to be.”

You smile at the mirroring of last night’s words from him as you situate the cardboard tray in your own arms. “Maybe.”

The smile hasn’t left your face even by the time you arrive back home, because you’ve been thinking about Lando the whole way. For a stranger you’ve met only yesterday, he’s sure been occupying a lot of space in your mind. You aren’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

You’re already prepared for the berating you’re about to get as you close the front door behind you carefully, making your way to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You look up to see all three of your friends sitting around the kitchen table, and none of them look particularly happy. You smile innocently, holding up the cardboard tray of drinks up as a peace offering. “Coffee?”

“It better come with an explanation.”

Nodding vigorously, you dole out each drink to your friends. “It does, I swear. I didn’t just disappear, I ran into—”

“Hold the fuck on. Why does this say Lando? Why is that man’s name on my cup—”

“Oh my god, you did not get coffee with him without telling us!”

“You bitch!”

That’s how you end up telling them the whole story—running into him in town, talking for ages, and that brings you to your next point.

“We don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, do we?”

“There’s the vineyard tour in the afternoon, but that should end around five. Why?”

“Lando invited us to a barbecue at his villa,” You say quickly. That gets their attention immediately, all of their eyes widening in the same shocked looks. None of them answer your question though. “Is that…something we’d be interested in?”

Samira is the first to snap out of it, mouth curving into a playful smirk. “Invited us, or invited you?”

“Definitely just her.”

“Whatever! Do we wanna go or not?” You grumble, doing your best to fight the grin threatening to overtake your face. The thought of him wanting to spend time with you brings you a teensy bit of satisfaction.

“Of course we’re going!”

After they’re done poking fun at you, you’re able to take a moment to top out a quick message to Lando. That barbecue invite still up for grabs?

You're not expecting an immediate answer, but your phone dings with a text back before you even set it down.

Lando: Of course. Plans fell through?

You: seems like you’ve really made an impression on my friends

Lando: Not sure whether to be scared or flattered…

You: your guess is as good as mine! we’ll find out tomorrow :)

Lando: Brb gotta go call my lawyer and update my will

“You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?”

You look up from your phone to see Camille leaning in the doorway to your room, a soft, knowing smile on her face. “Yeah, he—uh, he says he’s looking forward to meeting you guys again.” She comes to sit beside you, looking like she wants to talk about something. You set it aside, head tilting in a silent question.

“Do you think you’ll stay in contact with Lando after we leave?”

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest.”

If you do think about it, you haven’t even known Lando for more than a day. You’ve only just met him yesterday, seen him twice, one of which was completely spur of the moment. So what if that spur of the moment encounter was the most connected you’ve felt to someone in a long time?

You don’t know him, and chances are, he’s not looking for anything serious. You don’t even know if you’re looking for anything serious.

“It’s okay if you want to.”

“I shouldn’t want to,” You say. It feels like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. You look to Camille for an answer, but she just pats your hand. “Right? I’m never gonna see him again, so I shouldn’t get attached.”

“You don’t know that for sure, do you?”

“I guess not. It feels scary, though. Opening yourself up to something when you don't know what’ll happen.”

Camille hums, a placating, even comforting sound to soothe your worries. She’s always been pretty good at getting you to see the brighter side in things. “There’s fun in that too. Being spontaneous, surprising yourself. You never know, Lando could be just the thing you need, the one you didn’t know you were looking for. And if not, you don’t have to see him again. A win-win, I’d say.”

She leaves you alone to your thoughts after that, left to ponder what exactly it is you want. It might be stupid and entirely over-optimistic of you, but Lando has already pulled you in. You’re not sure what it is about him. He makes you want more, want to know more.

Whatever happens will happen, and if things don’t work out…well, Camille is right. You never have to see Lando again.

His name flashes across your screen later in the night, right before you’re about to go to sleep. You’ve been texting back and forth all day, but this one is different. He’s video calling you right now.

You stare at his name for longer than you should, finger hovering over the answer button a few beats before pressing it. His face pops into view once the call connects. Like you, he’s sitting in bed, leaned up against the headboard, cozied up in a soft looking jumper. He looks like he’s moments away from drifting off, but he called you, so he must want to talk.

“Hi,” You say softly.

“Hey, you.” He smiles, warm and sleepy and all squinty in a way that makes you want to crawl through the screen and tuck him into bed with a kiss to his forehead. “You must be tired.”

“Eh, I’m alright. Why?”

“‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

You let out a wildly unappealing snort of laughter at his poor attempt at a pick up line. “That’s terrible! Oh my god, that was awful, Lando, seriously.”

“No?” His smile grows giddy, shoulders shaking with his chuckles. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it? Got you laughing though.”

Conversation falls into the same easy nature as this morning, like you’ve known him for ages. He makes you laugh until your ribs hurt, smile until your cheeks feel the same. It still amazes you just how comfortable you feel around him, as someone who usually takes a while to warm up to people.

Maybe you should take it as a sign.

A jumble of muffle voices offscreen some time later makes Lando squint. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t hang up. ” He lets the phone drop onto the bed, checking once to make sure you’re still there before disappearing from sight.

You hear his footsteps fade, then more voices you can’t quite make out. Someone laughs off in the distance, and then he’s back, resituating himself with the remnants of an amused grin on his lips.

“Everything okay?”

“My mates are yelling at me to turn off the light, so I’d better go,” He sighs goodnaturedly, lips turning down into a frown. Then he yawns widely, and you realize how late it’s gotten since you’ve picked up his call. Losing track of time when you’re talking to Lando seems to be a recurring theme. “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow.”

Your breath catches a little in your chest, both at his words and the way he’s looking at you through the screen as he says it, nothing but genuine. “Me too.”

You’re starting to think this whole try not to get attached thing is going to be much harder than you thought.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new chapters :)

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #ln4 #ln4 x fem!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris imagine

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keepthedelta · 5 months ago

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scenes that should be included in the brad pitt f1 film

(for legal purposes this is a joke, no one should support this film)

60 year old brad pitt has to do the mandatory driver fitness test and almost collapses at the cardio. 28 year old carlos sainz does it next to him without hesitation or struggle two weeks after an appendectomy whilst wearing a mesh shirt

alex albon’s radio message calling brad pitt an ancient fuck after cutting the corner to smash the williams out of the way

leo leclerc and/or roscoe shitting next to brad pitt’s feet

damson idris’s character saying fernando’s “I knew he would brake because he has a wife and two children at home” quote. the wife and children will never be mentioned again or seen on screen. the romance will be exclusively between 60 year old brad pitt and the engineer woman half his age

damson idris’s character tweeting ocon’s my teammate tried to kill me but I survived tweet before getting drunk with a billionaire’s son

brad pitt attends a team principal’s meeting that goes oddly silent the moment that he walks in and three of the other team bosses immediately begin speaking to each other in italian. zak brown gives a sympathetic look but turns away, andreas seidl sniggers in german

four drivers call out brad and damson idris for their bullshit driving during the drivers’ briefing romain grosjean head of the gpda style. george russell ends the meeting with a powerpoint explaining to them why they are assholes

brad and damson idris have an emotional bonding moment where 60 year old brad reminds 32 year old damson idris that he is still young, still a rookie, and he has plenty of time to develop as, I assume, the lewis hamilton character insert despite lewis actually being in the film??? in the background kimi antonelli scooters past on his way to get a bath and bottle because it’s nearly his bedtime

k-mag hands over his stewards room loyalty card to brad pitt who gets a race ban

triumphant moment where the team finally scores a podium but the post-race inspection reveals that their car is wildly illegal and they are disqualified

stefano domenicali enthusiastically welcomes the american audience that brad pitt’s team brings, ross brawn is sat next to him listing off the many ways that their car does not comply with the fia’s safety standards

brad pitt and damson idris are battling for their lives at the back of the grid, max verstappen laps them

the engineer woman describes speed in kilometres. brad pitt tells her to explain it in “english”

a hilariously corrupt Italian businessman who bears absolutely no resemblance to flavio briatore none at all says something hilariously corrupt at a sponsor meeting. brad pitt nobly rises above it

fernando alonso sniffing plants in the background of every other scene

a blonde reporter/presenter has sexual tension with damson idris. when brad pitt asks who she is, he simply says “a girl I used to know” and looks longingly in the distance

michael and/or mario andretti with an axe demanding to know why it’s okay for brad pitt to have an 11th f1 team but not him, even though the andretti name is incredibly well respected in the motorsports world

#formula 1 #formula one #brad pitt f1 film #abuser pitt's horrible f1 film

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kamiversee · 6 months ago

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˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

1 | Something about you

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | flirting, language, suggestiveness, fluff, & faint sexual tension.

❧ Word Count | 7.1k (we're starting off strong it seems...)

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Congratulations, you’ve nearly escaped hell— not-so-happily entering your final year of university as time stands currently. And y’know what, you think you’ve coasted through most of your college years drama-free. Well, aside from freshman year you suppose, everyone fucks up around that time…

But that’s a tale for another day, right now, you’re finding yourself waltzing into an entirely different plotline— with your head held high as you waltz toward a newfound cafe that you haven’t had the pleasure of finding for the past four years. Up until today, you’ve just barely been stomaching dining hall caffeine. Which, to say the least, isn’t nearly as savory or energizing as coffee from your local cafe.

Four years you’ve been going to this school and yet here you were walking right into an establishment you swear simply spawned out of nowhere because you pass this street all the damn time and you don’t remember this place being here a week ago. Yet, when you enter the cafe and spot a sign that says they’ve been there for the past three years, you begin to realize that maybe you should start going out a bit more…

Nonetheless, you mentally claimed that if the coffee here was bad, you’d walk right out and return to never acknowledging the place. But hey, when you do push past those double doors, fingers wrapped around a warm metal handle, a waft of smoky coffee aromas simmering into your nose, and spot a rather attractive cashier first thing, you’re quick to tell yourself that maybe shitty coffee might be worth a few things.

Especially seeing as six staggering feet of height, fluffy bright white locks of hair, and the most dazzling set of blue eyes take notice of your entering seconds after you’ve stepped inside— how could you not tell yourself that terrible coffee may be worth digesting so long as you get to drink in this tall, fine man whose name you note as Gojo as you near him and read the tag on his apron.

“Suguru, it seems the gods have finally answered my prayers,” Gojo yells back to someone you can’t quite see yet. His eyes were all over you, drinking you in just as you were him. The tall man receives a laugh from somewhere further behind him before he redirects his words to you, “To what do I have the pleasure of serving you today, sweetheart?”

Your lips parted as you approached the counter fully, your eyes lingering on his far longer than they should’ve. “Uh,” And you were making a fool out of yourself already, great, “It’s my first time here, so I’m not too sure…” Okay, that’s a decent enough save considering how your words earn a half smile from the man in front of you who tilts his head and eyes you down.

And fuck if he wasn’t every bit of intimidating looking down at you like that. He places a single hand onto the counter space in front of him, leaning forward just a bit before turning his head back to take a glance at the menu hanging up, as if he didn’t have it memorized already, “Well, for first-timers I usually recommend anything but our coffee.”

You bat your lashes at the man for a moment as he returns his attention to you, “Seriously? That’s the one thing I came in here for…”

“Ah, well,” Gojo clicks his tongue and shrugs a bit, leaning toward you just to whisper, “Y’gotta come here when I’m in the back.”

You lean forward, intrigued by his words, “…Why?”

“Cause’ Suguru doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Gojo chuckles a bit and you reciprocate before pushing your brows together questioningly. “Suguru, my best fr-, my coworker.” He clarifies quickly.

“Ohh,” You nod, “So should I come back another time, or…?”

“Nono, you caught me a few minutes before rush hour,” Gojo says rather cheerfully before he leans away from you and flashes a smile, “I can run back there ‘nd make ya’ somethin’ since we’re not too busy?”

At that, you take a moment to glance around the cafe interior, spotting one, maybe two people sitting on their laptops and languidly sipping or munching away at their breakfast. You’re glad you came in when you did.

Not only did you get the chance to talk to Gojo, who you turn back to seconds later with a nod, but you also got the chance to get not-so-shitty coffee according to the man. “Yeah, actually. That’d be nice,” You hum to him.

Gojo dramatically moves to stretch his arms, clasping his hands together before extending them out with a heavy sigh, as if he were preparing to do such a difficult task. “Alrighty then, is there any specific kinda coffee you’re lookin’ for?”

“Still my first time here, Gojo. So, no…” The way you say his name so suddenly has him wondering if you knew him from somewhere. But, you quickly smile a little and nod your chin to his name tag, to which he looks down and laughs at himself. “Surprise me,” You then say moments later.

“Surprise you?” Gojo echoes.

You shrug sheepishly, “If that’s not too much work for you-“

“No, I don’t mind. I can surprise ya’,” His smile at you deepens and you catch the slightest dip in his cheeks as the most enamoring set of dimples pops out to your gaze. “Buuut, before I do… Do you have any allergies or dislikes I should be wary of?”

You hum, “Uh, no I don’t think so? I’m feeling rather open-minded today so, just bring me something good enough to have me returning for more.”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m sure you’ll come back for somethin’ else aside from jus’ coffee,” Gojo laughs to himself at his own comment and your eyes simply widen, a cute lil’ tilt of your head catching his attention.

You chuckle nervously, “What else would I come back for if not coffee?”

He shrugs before slowly turning away, “Oh, I dunno… Perhaps a certain handsome cashier that’s caught your eye?”

Oh, you see where he’s going with this. It may have been a while but, you know what flirting looks like. “Is this handsome cashier in the room with us, or…?” You tease with a smile on your face, watching the way Gojo freezes and he sends you this look that you have to try your hardest not to laugh at.

He nearly pouts, “W-Well, yeah, obviously. You’re lookin’ at him.”

Your brows lift, “Am I?”

Gojo narrows those pretty blue eyes of his at you, “Do you not find me handsome?”

“Say I didn’t,” You murmur tauntingly, “Wouldn’t you be really embarrassed?”

The corner of his lips twitch before he scoffs playfully, “What are you, some kinda masochist?”

You giggle, “No, but seein’ that pout on your face was kinda cute.”

“Pout?” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Hah, what pout?” He scoffs again before straightening his face and attempting to be serious with you, “I didn’t pout-“

“You totally did,” You cut off, peering right into those mesmerizing eyes of his— damn, it was almost like you couldn’t get yourself to look away.

“I did not,” Gojo corrects your statement, lower lip poking out once more into a pout.

You shrug and finally get yourself to glance off to the side, “It was cute.”

He instantly tilts his head at that, ears perking up, “Y’think I’m cute?”

“I do.” You hum simply with your eyes wandering right back over to his face.

There’s this little moment between the two of you, a spark if you will, where you both just meet one another’s eyes and admire each other. Is this what mutual attraction feels like?

Perhaps if you squinted, you would’ve noticed the faintest shade of pink decorating his cheeks, “I-,” Gojo swallows suddenly, “Why thank you, sweetheart,” He utters suavely, as if to save himself from embarrassment. After which, he clears his throat, “That aside, we’ve got about six minutes before people start rushin’ in here ‘nd it’ll take two for me to prepare that coffee of yours so, do you mind givin’ me a name?”

You blink, “A name…?”

“Your name,” Gojo clarifies.

“Oh! Sorry,” You’re quick to apologize for your moment of daze, giving him your name seconds later to make up for it.

He starts to smile again, “That’s your name?”

“Yes?” You utter almost confusedly. Was there something wrong-

“It’s pretty,” Gojo interrupts your thoughts completely and your eyes go all wide all over again, a small feature in which he finds absolutely adorable.

“T-Thank you,” You stammer out, turning away to now avoid the eye contact you once couldn’t tear yourself away from.

“Uhuh,” His eyes scan you up and down once more before he sighs, “I’ll be back in a sec’, sweets,” Gojo says finally.

God, you think the nickname he threw out has your heart racing because it made your face so utterly hot. Almost as if you don’t hear nicknames like that on a daily basis…

Aside from that, you gave Gojo one last nod before looking back over your shoulder to see if anyone was coming yet. He’d told you that there was only a few minutes until rush hour so you were a bit wary that people would appear out of nowhere in the next-

“So you’re the girl that’s got Satoru all giggly, huh?” A voice purrs from somewhere in front of you.

Quickly, you return your gaze forward and spot a man, equally as tall as Gojo, with long dark hair, slim eyes, and a really pretty face— holy shit, how many hot guys work here??

“Uh,” You’re stuttering again, tipping your head to the side, “…Satoru?” You repeat, confused by the person he’s referring to.

The man chuckles, “Gojo,” He tells you, “Satoru Gojo,” You nod at the clarification and he grins warmly.

“Oh, then yeah I guess so,” You shrug sheepishly before flashing a smile, “So then that means you must be Suguru-“

“Geto,” He’s so quick to correct you that you almost immediately shut up, swallowing down your words as if you’d said something wrong. “Sorry, I assume Satoru told you my first name?”

You steadily nod, avoiding eye contact with him out of embarrassment, “He did…”

“As expected,” Geto hums before letting out a long sigh, “Just call me by me last, I don’t know you too well so I’m sure you understand.”

You hum, “Right, sorry.”

It’s a tad bit awkward for the next few seconds after that mild conversation but when you hear Gojo yelling from somewhere in the back, the awkwardness quickly subsides.

You even spot Gojo popping his head out from around the corner just to speak to his coworker, “Suguru don’t scare her off jus’ cause you have a girlfriend-“

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Geto interrupts, sharp with his correction as he glances back over his shoulder.

Gojo snorts, “Fine then, girl who’s a friend that you like-“

“I don't-,” A sigh leaves Geto’s lips before he’s moving to pinch the bridge of his nose, groaning afterward, “Just hurry up with the damn coffee before people start comin’ in.”

Your eyes somehow find Gojo’s and you watch him mouth out something to you, “He’s grouchy because his girlfriend’s ignorin’ him-“

“Satoru,” Geto says scoldingly, causing Gojo to flinch dramatically.

Then you see the white-haired man laugh before winking at you and dipping back around the corner. After which, you don’t even realize you’re smiling until you meet Geto’s gaze and feel your expression drop at the glare he’s giving you.

“What?” You murmur warrily, raising a brow at his plain look.

Geto tilts his head and studies your face for a mere moment, “You new around here or somethin’?”

“New to this cafe, yeah,” You explain, “Why?”

He shrugs, “I’ve learned most of our customer’s faces and majority of them live around the area but I’ve never seen you before.”

“I live not too far from campus but I wasn’t aware this cafe was here until today…” You explain steadily, earning somewhat of an intrigued expression from the man.

“Damn, really?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

“So, wait,” Geto scoffs a little at the thought, “Don’t tell me you’ve been stomaching dining hall caffeine all this time.”

You chuckle and glance off to the side, “Well…”

“If you live near campus, how the hell are you just now finding us??” Geto questions, he seems genuinely confused by your cluelessness.

Your shoulders lift into a shrug, “I don’t go out much.”

“Maybe you should,” He tells you.

A thin lipped smile tugs at your lips, “Starting to realize that now, thanks.”

The man opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off by Gojo returning from the back and placing a hand on his shoulder, to which Geto glances down at.

“Alrighty Suguru, thanks for not scaring the pretty lady away!” Gojo says cheerfully as he pushes past his friend and makes eye contact with you.

Geto’s brows push together, “You’re welcome? I don’t know how I would’ve scared her, I-“

Gojo unintentionally cuts him off with a laugh, “You’ve been kinda grouchy towards women ever since you met-“

“Fuck off,” He grumbles, brushing off Gojo’s hand on his shoulder and turning to make his way to the back once more.

“See what I mean?” Gojo hums to himself.

Then Geto laughs, “You’re not a woman are you?”

“Suguruuu,” Gojo whines, turning his head back to his friend who’s already disappeared from his line of vision. Then, Gojo sighs and looks to you again, “Ah whatever, ignore him, he sucks sometimes.”

You grin, “You guys are best friends, aren’t you?”

The way Gojo tilts his head almost innocently is kinda cute, “How can you tell?”

“Mine acts similarly,” You explain, thinking of your best friend who’s not the nicest person in the world.

“Yeah?” Gojo hums, “An asshole once they get into a relationship?”

“I’m not in a relationship, Satoru!” Geto calls out from the back.

You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes at his friend's refutation of his claims. Looking somewhat off to the side, your thoughts wander more so toward your best friend, “Well, no, he’s kinda just an asshole all around.”

“Really? Why’re you his best friend then?” You’ve always found this question funny considering most people are confused about how you and your best friend are even friends when most times you two don’t get along.

Instead of really answering Gojo’s question, you look up at him and smile, “I could ask you the same thing, no?”

His brows furrow and he scoffs, “What? No, Suguru’s just grouchy today, I promise he’s usually better than that.”

You nod, “I see…”

“Anyway,” Gojo extends his hand out to you, “Here, give this a try,” He offers, handing a decently sized cold drink to you.

You receive the item and look down at it, “You’re not trying to poison me right?”

Gojo laughs, “Aaand why ever would I do that?”

The cup is steadily lifted to your lips as you lift your eyes to him once more, “I dunno, men are weird.”

“That they are,” He chuckles, “But no, that’d be illegal and I have no intentions of harming you.”

Again, you just nod at that and then take that first sip of the surprise drink he’d given you. A strong taste of vanilla and a nearly overwhelming amount of coffee creamer hits your tastebuds. You smile but you’re a bit taken back by how sweet it is. One, it’s way better than any cup of coffee you’ve ever had from the dining hall and two, it’s a lot sweeter than you were expecting.

“Holy fuck, how much sugar did you put in this thing?” You utter in surprise as you move the cup away from your mouth and glance at it as if that’ll give you the answer to your question.

Gojo lets out a laugh, “You said to surprise you.”

“Yeah but this is sweet as hell,” You tell him, your eyes raking over the cup in your hand.

“Sweet drink for a sweet girl, I don’t see a problem,” He responds with a little lean toward you.

“Right and-,” You scoff, eyes narrowing at the very lousy print of your name on the cup, “Who’s…” You almost laugh, “Christ, your handwriting is shit.”

Gojo lets out a huff, “Okay, first off, my handwriting is not that bad. And secondly-”

You’re quick to turn the cup to him and lift it, “Look at it!”

“Oh.” He squints his eyes at it, “Shit, that is kinda bad…” Gojo mumbles with an amused little smile on his face.

“Yeah, I can’t even read this…” You laugh, returning the cup to yourself, “But that’s okay, I appreciate the effort,” His smile grows at your comforting words as you then look up at him once more, “How much?”

“Since my handwriting’s so shit,” He starts, tilting his head at you and shrugging, “Consider it on the house.”

Your eyes seem to light up, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Gojo hums.

“Aw, thank you,” Who would you be to ever pass up something free? Especially given by this cheeky cashier before you.

“Anytime-”

Geto’s voice intrudes from the back, “Satoru I thought I told you to change these filters? And why’d you leave such a big mess, holy shit.”

Gojo yells back to his coworker, slightly looking over his shoulder, “The mess isn’t that bad is it?”

You snort, “If it’s anything like your handwriting then uh…”

“Alright,” Gojo’s quick to look at you once more, “You just got a free drink out of me so I don’t wanna hear anything from you.”

“Satoru, these filters aren’t gonna change themselves,” Geto nags further.

You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes and yells back to his friend yet again, “You’re literally back there already, change them yourself.”

“Nope, it’s your turn,” Geto argues.

Gojo frowns, “But-”

“The girl’s not goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” At that, you blink in surprise. How does he know you’re not ready to leave just yet? “Get your ass back here,” Geto orders.

Gojo turns his head and looks at you almost pleadingly.

You giggle, “What? Sounds like you’ve got some filters to change, Gojo…”

“Y’know what,” He scoffs and nods his chin to the cup in your hand, “$5.45.”

Your head cocks back a little and your brows go up, “I’m sorry?”

“The drink,” Gojo hums simply, looking back to make sure Geto wasn’t on his way out to scold him some more just yet, “Since you wanna take his side over mine…”

The way you frown misses Gojo’s eyes up until he turns to look at you one last time, his eyes going wide as you try to defend yourself, “I wasn’t-”

“S’fine, I got it,” An entirely different voice grumbles from your right, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. So close to you, an arm slips right past your face and you watch as an all too familiar man extends a card out to Gojo.

Your lashes bat a few times as an annoyingly familiar scent of cologne rushes into your nose. You’d literally just escaped said smell a few hours ago after leaving your apartment and yet here it was all over again, directly in your nose and you met the side profile of your best friend, “Choso?” You utter.

Whatever light and fluffy banter that was in the air seconds ago seems to die at the mere presence of Choso standing so closely beside you. Ignoring you, he urges Gojo to take his card and Gojo soon does so with a scoff— he was going to keep flirting and teasing you but here comes this all-too-serious-looking man taking your vacant side as if it were second nature.

The smile Gojo once had on his face simmered down and his expression became a lot more neutral as he quietly moved to charge Choso’s card.

After which, your best friend finally looks down at you, his eyes pointed in a glare that would make anyone feel unloved despite you knowing he feels quite the opposite (to some extent at least), “Don’t you have class in an hour?” Choso asks you in a dull monotone.

Your face scrunches up slightly before you shrug, “I was thirsty…”

Choso stares at you for a long moment, glances at Gojo, then back to you with a scoff, “Yeah, clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-,” You’re cut off by Choso taking his eyes off of you and receiving his card back from Gojo, the two men making eye contact once more and both looking as if the other had done something to offend them. Your best friend openly scoffs in Gojo’s face before pocketing his card and turning away, quickly walking out of the establishment.

Your eyes go wide, “Choso, wait!” You call out as your eyes followed him walking away from you. Only to be ignored again, you let out a huff and start to walk after him but turn back to Gojo one last time, “Sorry about him.”

Gojo’s expression seems to light back up a bit and he shrugs, “You’re fine.”

You nod and start turning away before remembering something and looking at Gojo yet again, slightly pointing at him, “You owe me a free drink by the way,” You remind him playfully.

His face is twisting right back up into that intrigued expression from earlier, “Do I now? And what for?”

“Your shitty handwriting of course,” You hum.

"Hm," He takes a second to think before letting out a slight huff. You then feel and watch the way his eyes glide up and down your body before he responds to you, "Alright."

And with that, both of you smile at one another one last time before you go running off to catch up with Choso. Gojo watches you almost in some kinda trance as you leave, spotting more customers approaching but ignoring them for the most part as his gaze remains glued to you until you’re completely out of his line of vision.

Then, he lets out this breathy little sigh, “Fuck…” Moving to wipe his face off as if that’ll rid himself of whatever the hell he’s feeling after talking to you.

He didn’t even get to ask you for your number like he wanted to…

With perfect timing, “Satoru, the-”

“Filters, yeah yeah, I got it,” Gojo cuts Geto off completely, turning around to see his friend emerging from the back as they both swap places due to the approaching rush hour.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Outside, you were met with a slap of heat as soon as you exited the cafe, your eyes searching the area for Choso. A slight breeze of refreshing wind brushes over your skin as you finally spot the man having not gotten too far away.

Barely managing to catch up to him, you nudge Choso on his arm as soon as you meet his side, “Why’d you pay for my drink? I could’ve done that myself.”

Just as he did earlier inside the cafe, he acts as though you’re not even there, keeping his gaze forward and pretending he didn’t hear a single thing you just said.

“Choso? Hello??” You huff out, nudging him on his arm again.

His lip twitches into a scowl and he just barely side-eyes you, “What?”

You ignore all of his attitude, as you typically do, “Why’d you pay?”

“You’re a walking charity case,” Choso hums all too casually.

Your head goes back and you scoff, “I-, what? No, I’m not!” Then the back of your hand is landing on his arm as you hit him and he almost smiles.

Finding amusement in your reaction, he shrugs, “Yeah you are,” And before you can even try to get a response out, the cup of coffee in your hand is stripped from your grasp faster than you could blink. Choso removes the top and takes a sip, “Ew, you like this shit?” He scowls, placing the top right back on and handing you your drink back.

You blink, struggling to process a logical reasoning behind his action, “First off, no one told your ass to take a sip. And secondly-”

“I wanted to know what you got,” Choso cuts off, glancing at you to watch how quickly you get annoyed by him.

You groan, “You could’ve asked if that was the case.” He shrugs your words off and you roll your eyes at him, “And how the hell did you know I was in there anyway?”

“I didn’t,” Choso tells you, “I always go in there but today I happened to see your short ass at the counter when I walked in.”

You’re quick to shoot him a glare, “Stop that, I’m not short.”

He’s got this arrogant little grin on his face, “Look short t’me.”

“That’s because you’re taller than me, which doesn’t make you tall in general nor does it make me short.” You explain to the man simply with your eyes shooting daggers into the side of his face.

Choso continues to act as though you’re not even looking at him, “Being shorter than me makes you short-”

“And y’know what,” You cut off, tearing your eyes off of your overly bothersome friend, “You’re annoying.”

He cocks his head back, “Annoying? I’m annoying?” Finally, he looks at you, now searching the side of your face for answers.

“Yeah, very.” You hum.

Choso scoffs and then sizes you up and down, “Says the one who was gawkin’ over Gojo Satoru of all people.”

You nearly laugh, “Fucks’ that supposed to mean? How would that make me annoying?”

“He’s a weirdo,” Choso shrugs, pocketing his hands as he faces forward once more, “I can’t understand what you could possibly find attractive about him.”

You blink and both of you slow down in the pace of your steps, “I talked to him for less than ten minutes, how was I supposed to know he’s weird. And wait-, how does me finding him attractive even annoy you?”

Your best friend sighs and his words come out all too casually for them to be so offensive, “Cause when he breaks your heart,” Choso looks at you, “You’ll come bitchin’ to me about it.”

At that, you freeze, quickly turning to meet his gaze, “Who says he’ll break my heart? And bitching? Is that what you call me talking to you about my relationship issues?? Bitching? Seriously?” With your eyes narrowed and brows tightly knit together, Choso should’ve sensed that he struck a nerve there.

Yet, he seems to not care in the slightest, blinking as if he’d said nothing wrong, “Fuck else am I supposed to call it? I warn you about every guy you date but you don’t ever listen to me.”

Your face twists up, “That doesn’t make my complaints ‘bitching’…”

“Well, it makes it fucking annoying,” He hums before pulling his lips into a thin smile— mocking you through facial expressions.

Your brows go up, “Really? Okay then, sorry for ever confiding in you,” You set your eyes straight once more, “I’ll just go find someone else to-”

“You know no one else is gonna put up with your shit the same way I do,” He’s so quick to dismiss your little statement, almost as if the implication of you ever leaving him, in a sense, bothered him.

You scoff matter-of-factly, “That’s not true.”

“It literally is though,” Choso deadpans, “You have one friend and that’s me. Who the hell else are you gonna go rant to, hm?”

“Someone that doesn’t call my rants bitching.” You huff, crossing your arms over one another.

Choso scales his eyes down to your arms and he smiles, “Are you seriously mad about that?”

“Maybe,” You shrug.

His feet come to a stop and you follow suit, turning to avoid his eyes as much as possible. Choso stares at you for a moment before leaning toward you, tilting his head and angling his lips toward your ear.

All of which done so he could whisper to you, “M’sorry, princess,” Choso murmurs to you affectionately, “Y’know I didn’t mean that seriously, I’m jus’ fuckin’ with you.”

You remain unphased for a mere moment more before the constant brush of his breath against your skin makes you shudder, your hands moving to his chest to push him away, “Yeah, whatever… And stop calling me that.”

Choso blinks, feeling confused since you act as if he hadn’t been calling you such a thing for years, “Why?”

“Cause I don’t like it…” You so clearly lie— not that you enjoyed the nickname but more so that you’ve always felt indifferent to it. Or, almost always.

He smirks, “Your face is telling me an entirely different story.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle, moving to shoot your middle finger at him, “And what story does this tell you?’

Choso stares into your eyes for a long period of time before looking to your finger, smiling fully and tilting his head again, “…You wanna fuck me?”

Immediately putting your finger down, your brows tense, “What? No!” You exclaim, groaning as you return to your walking, “God, I cannot stand you.”

He laughs and follows right alongside you, “You’re so easy to annoy, holy shit.”

“And you’re insufferable,” You huff.

Choso shrugs simply, “You love me though.”

You glance at him, “Debatable.”

He pouts and pretends to clutch his heart, “Ouch-”

“Anyway,” Returning your attention to someone much less annoying than the man beside you, you nod your head back toward the cafe, “Do you know if he’s single?”

Choso nearly trips over his steps at the sound of that, letting out a cough, “Who-, Gojo??”

You nod, “Mhm.”

“Why?” Choso’s lips twitch, “You lookin’ to get rejected?”

Pausing, you look to him with a quirked brow, “Excuse me? What makes you think I’ll get rejected?”

“You’re uh…” He trails off a little, eyes lingering down your frame before he smiles and speaks to you in this faux gentle whisper, “Not his type, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll at that, “Okay, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, how do you know?”

“Uh, I’ve seen the kinda girls he’s into so trust me when I say…” Choso’s eyes shift to peer directly into yours, “It ain’t you.”

You stare back for a moment before shaking your head and looking off, “Whatever, you’re just saying that.”

“Yeah because I’m gonna lie to you about something like that,” He snickers to himself before rolling his eyes. Within seconds, he goes to look at you again only to see you heading in a different direction, “Hey! Where’re you goin’?”

“Away from you!” You call back.

He laughs yet again, “What, you can’t handle the truth now?”

Glancing back to him, “I’m gonna prove you wrong asshole.”

Choso flashes you a shit-eating grin as if he’s already begun praying on your downfall, “Sure you will.”

He then watches as you further away from him, his smile steadily fading as he catches himself a bit too happy at the sight of you so determined. Choso shrugs off whatever feeling the topic of Gojo Satoru had brought up within him, dismissing the entire thing as he truly believed you’d never really get yourself too involved with that guy.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t see the way you were taking to Gojo before he walked in so, Choso had no idea of how things were about to play out within the next few hours.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

As such, after that morning class of yours that extended decently into the afternoon, you found yourself rushing back to the cafe as soon as you could.

You knew not of Gojo’s working hours so you had no clue whether or not he’d still be there but you sure as hell hoped so. Choso had really ticked you off with his claims.

You not being Gojo’s type? Yeah right, he didn’t see the way that cashier was looking at you, nor did he hear all the banter that took place. Given that, you were determined to prove your dear friend wrong and yourself right. You know flirting when you see it and that’s exactly what Gojo was doing.

So to say he wasn’t at least intrigued by you would be a blatant lie you had every hope on exposing to Choso.

When you finally find yourself entering that lovely little cafe, it’s a lot more busy in comparison to earlier�� something you take note of for your possible future visits. The line wasn’t exactly too long but quite a few people were hanging out or studying throughout the establishment.

That aside, your eyes were quick to search for a certain white-haired barista, gaze lighting up the very second it meets the man it questions.

Gojo had a weary smile on his face as he handed some girl a coffee and you could tell based on his eyes alone that he was tired of the chick rambling to him. He nodded and nodded, trying to keep himself appearing entertained by whatever she was saying but when he glances over and spots you, all his attention is diverted.

Those pretty blue eyes of his fixate on you and you watch as he finally dismisses the girl, nodding toward you as if to say he had another customer to tend to. She shrugs and finally leaves, to which you take place in standing where she’d been seconds ago, sending a smile to Gojo.

“Long day?” You suggest with a slight tilt of your head, to which he nods.

“You have no idea,” Gojo sighs out to you, “You’re back sooner than I expected though.”

He didn’t know what it was about you, perhaps the way you gaze at him, but there was something that kept his eyes lingering on yours far longer than normal— something that genuinely lulled him in. Perhaps it was the natural flow of conversation and how even from earlier, you didn’t really feel like a mere customer but instead just a person, a woman at that-, a very pretty woman, might he add.

“You owe me a free drink, remember?” You remind him, earning a different reaction than expected.

Gojo pauses, “Ohh… About that…” He hums, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “Yeah see, that offer no longer stands…”

You blink, “I’m not sure I understand…”

He lets out a sigh, then moves to lean forward against the counter, bending down and crossing his arms as he rests on his elbows and comes much closer to your eye level, “Another cute girl came in ‘nd got it before you,” Gojo whispers.

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not and your brows pinch together, “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” He hums tauntingly with this smug look on his face as if to say giving away your promised drink was to get back at you for something.

“Well,” You click your tongue, “I think you owe me a free drink now more than before, maybe two.”

Gojo smiles, feeling amused, “Yeah? I mean, my number’s free. Y’want that instead?”

Your voice gets caught in your throat at how ridiculously smooth that was, trying your hardest not to give in and return a smile. “I… What am I supposed to do with that?” You end up asking.

He snickers, “Perhaps text me? Or call? Y’know, the thing you do with phones-“

“Alright smart ass,” You scoff playfully, grinning as you move to pull out your phone, “What’s your number then?”

Gojo smiles triumphantly and extends his hand out, “Here, lemme put it in for ya’.”

You glance at him, eyes meeting and yet another moment passing before you hand him your phone, to which he takes a second to look down at the device in his hands. Then, he enters his number and a contact name for himself.

After which, your cell is quickly returned to you and you look to see what he’s put in. Studying the name closely, you tilt your head, “Satoru?”

“Mhm, tha’s me, sweetheart,” He purrs, moving to rest his cheek against his knuckles.

You look up from your phone, “You want me to call you Satoru?”

Gojo shrugs, “If you don’t mind, yeah.”

“We’re on a first-name basis already?” You tease, eyes narrowing at the man.

“It seems we are,” He utters. His voice was a bit lower with you now, much more casual and playful. “That alright with you, pretty girl?”

Unknowingly, your face flushes, “Yeah, that’s uh, that’s fine.”

Gojo lets out a hum, “Good.” Then, the two of you do that thing yet again, peering into one another's eyes, unmoving, nearly frozen and dazed for a moment longer than intended before Gojo snaps out of it by almost awkwardly clearing his throat, “So uh, you still want that free drink or…?”

You blink out of your own stupor and shake your head, “No, I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”

“Oh?” His brows shoot up in surprise, “You’re coming back tomorrow?”

“It seems I am, yes,” A smile graces your face and he can’t help but stare.

Gojo mirrors your expression, “Just for coffee?”

Your eyes wander off to the side cheekily, “Perhaps for a certain handsome cashier too…”

He thinks his heart is fluttering. Is this normal? To experience such a genuine infatuation with a woman’s words within less than twenty-four hours? It was unusual for Gojo, that’s for damn sure. Hence why his head is tipping to the side, “Really? Have my charms worked so soon?” He teases.

You return your gaze to him, “Just a little, yeah.”

Mesmerized by you, Gojo nods, “Good to know.”

“Mhm,” After a slight hum, you glance down at your phone and check the time, “Well uh, I actually have another class so I should probably go.”

“Yes… Yes, you should,” He voices out slowly, again entangled into that daze of his until you lift your head once more, “But uh, make sure you text me later, yeah?” Gojo reminds you.

To which you chuckle and start turning away toward the exit, “No promises.”

He’s left in a mere awe of you, not even knowing what to say, and left utterly speechless from such an intriguing yet simple conversation with you. As you wave bye, Gojo had to feel for his heart the very second you leave just to see if it was working correctly because he’s not sure what the hell that was just now.

Whatever it may have been, he knows it was much more genuine and raw than what he’s typically used to. And it came so naturally too, the banter, the gazes, the flirting… Gojo was longing for more already and he’d only just met you a few hours ago.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

All the while you’re just as cheerful at the interaction you just had, beyond ready to brag to your doubtful best friend of your most recent accomplishments.

Which is exactly why you’re facetiming said friend as soon as you leave the cafe. The call rings for less than a second before it’s answered and you’re met with a visibly displayed and… shirtless Choso.

Before you get the chance to even try and take in his naked torso, he’s already scowling at you, “The fuck are you facetiming me for?” He grumbles, taking the smile right off of your lips, “I’ve seen your face enough for one day. Why don’t you ever call like a normal person??”

You bat your eyelashes at the man, “Cho, we just got on the phone and you’re already souring the mood…”

He ignores your complaint, “What do you want?”

Steadily, your smile returns, “Guess who got a certain someone’s number,” You utter cheerfully, voice light in a little sing-song tone.

Choso gives his phone a blank stare, not saying a single word in response to that.

Which confused you, “Well? Are you gonna guess-“

“You could’ve texted me this shit,” He cuts off before you watch as your screen is soon met with the ceiling as he places his phone down.

You pout, “Well, yeah but then I wouldn’t have been able to see your reaction…”

He scoffs and pops his face into the camera for a second, eyes dull, smile nonexistent, eye bags heavy, and tattoo running across his nose the only thing giving some form of expression despite it being nothing more than a dark black line. “Does it look like I give two shits about you gettin’ some asshole’s number?”

You let out a long sigh, “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

And that’s when Choso seems to smirk, “Cause’ you won’t leave me alone.”

“I’m hanging up,” You groan.

His laughter, albeit somewhat of a rare sound, fills your ears, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

You send him a look, “Are you?”

“Mhm, good job on gettin’ his number, princess,” Choso coos, making your eyes widen, “I’m proud of you.”

Your mouth opens to say something to that but your throat runs oddly dry. Instead, you gulp down his sudden praise and ignore how warm his words make you feel. “…Thank you.” You eventually say.

“Uhuh,” Choso nods before removing himself from the camera again, “Pretty sure he’s just trying to fuck though.” He says bluntly.

Instead of choking like he expected you to, you only scoff, “Fine by me.”

Your best friend is quiet for a moment, feeling almost silenced before he sighs, “Oh… But you told me no-“

“That was entirely different, Choso.” You cut off.

He shuts up again.

“You were drunk, and…” Your voice dies out.

To which he raises a brow at his phone, “And what?”

“And things were different back then,” You sigh, trying not to recall the entirety of your past with Choso at the present moment, “…You were an even bigger asshole, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Choso sighs, moving to dismiss the topic, “Anyway, let me know how things go with your new albino boyfriend.”

You scoff, smiling at the suggestion itself, “He’s not even my-“

The call disconnects. Oh how you just love your best friend and his antics. You wouldn’t trade your friendship with him for anything.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself anyway. What exactly does a new man in your life bring if not drama? This right here was but the beginning of a very interesting journey toward such a fickle emotion we know as; love.

mlist | next chapter |

Tags 1/2; @siriusblackswankourtzeyy @eternaltpaoe @moonsgravee @sooshisweet @looking4hina

@blognicole @designerpvssy @andyfasia @shytragedybluefox @papigotwap

@senseifupa @gojoslefttoenail @juliiizh @gojos-cumslutt @lovergirl65

@sydlunamoon-blog @gojstrulxvezx @gigiipeaches @kivrumi @urunclesbottomlip

@iseeyouuu @annieleonhardtsbitch @lwkykiyo @itsbellablue-blog @gorouenjoyer

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@sxnkuna @chocolatecheer @unibrow-yzz @lovely-lady-tits @woofzz2

@pineapplepan7 @janrcrosssing @hauntedchoso @linksylove @lemonninq

@littlemug00 @namjoonie17717 @notjustagirlinthisworld @moonneversleeps @k4rma1sntd3ad

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formulawolff · 6 months ago

Text

sunbathing - t.w.

pairing: reader x dbf!toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: age gap, highly inappropriate flirting and banter, fingering (f! receiving), alcohol use, some light smut for this fine sunday evening, fyi, the reader is in her early/mid 20s in this!,

a/n: the premise of this one came to me as a request! i just want to clarify that this is a slight au, as toto is not a married man in this! i hope y’all enjoy! <3 (also that gif?? omf. i need him.)

bundles of light cast a shine on the waves, the surrounding air tinged with the salty scent of the sea. the only color in your field of vision is blue, the hues ranging from a vivid cerulean to a rich sapphire. above, seagulls glide, dotting the skyline with tiny white specks.

you bask in the warmth of the sun, your heated skin glowing from your tanning oil. situated on the sun deck, you were in the perfect spot to catch some rays, reapplying tanning oil routinely throughout the afternoon.

"everything going okay up there honey?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the voice was none other than your father's.

your father happened to be peter bonnington, one of the top engineers for the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team. he just so happened to be close to lewis hamilton, eight time world champion.

yet, to your disappointment, lewis was not present today. so much for shooting your shot with the devilishly handsome driver.

when you were offered the chance to spend the day on toto wolff's yacht with your family, how could you have refused?

who else gets to spend the afternoon sunbathing on desk of a yacht as it floats along the mediterranean sea?

springing to your feet, you lean over the rail, picking out your father as he mingles with the group, "i may come down and get some water soon!"

"sounds good love!" your father responds, a wide grin plastered across his face. stifling a giggle, you notice the crimson hue tinging his cheeks, flourishing into his neck.

oh god, he was drunk.

well, you all were. at least, those old enough to drink.

for the start of the summer break in the season, mr. wolff had suggested the mercedes families gather together for a day of relaxation and celebration. to your disappointment, there were not a lot of suitors present.

of course, there were quite a few children, some teenagers.

you had met with a few girls around your age, but they were still significantly younger, approximately three or fours your junior. so, to escape from the small talk and chitchat, you had waltzed up to the sun deck, settling in one of the chairs.

luckily, you had brought a book with you, so it kept you somewhat busy.

and to your satisfaction, no one bothered you. no one at all.

an afternoon alone on the deck of a yacht, where no one would bother you but to bring you a few drinks and some snacks?

it was perfect. absolutely perfect.

you couldn't have envisioned a more perfect afternoon.

a flurry of voices catches your attention, but you ignore them. it almost sounded as if there was playful argument. of course, recognized your father's voice, as it was the loudest.

your mom was one patient woman, that was for sure.

with the sun beating down, and the buzz of the alcohol, you couldn't help but feel your lashes flutter, drowsiness beginning to take ahold.

"ms. bonnington," a voice startles you, thick with a heavy accent, "i figured i would run some water up for you."

sitting up in your chair, you clutch your chest as you make out who is standing beside you, one bottle of water in each hand.

it was none other than toto wolff.

with his significant stature and broad shoulders, he nearly towers over you, donned in a thin linen button up and khaki shorts.

with his fluffy brunette hair, and sharp, chiseled features framed by thick lashes, there was no denying that the team principal was devastatingly handsome. toned muscles rippled underneath his button-up, the wind catching the fabric every so often, exposing a trail hair leading up to his navel.

sure, you may have had a teenage crush on one of your father's best friends and coworkers, but surely you outgrew that long ago.

surely.

you felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you, prompting you to respond.

"oh my god," you nearly stumble over your words, "i am so sorry if i didn't hear you the first time, mr. wolff. i was falling asleep and i-"

"no need for those formalities around here," a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat, "you can call me toto, you know."

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, accepting the water bottles from his hands, "i've probably been in the sun a little too long. i'm a little scatterbrained right now."

"have you been having fun, at least?" to your surprise, the team principal sits in a chair beside you, "i apologize if you haven't been able to meet some people your age. i thought there would be more girls for you to get along with."

"i've been fine," you shrug, "i'm a big girl, i know how to occupy myself."

as you lay back down in the chair, toto can't help but drink in the sight of you.

fuck, were you absolutely gorgeous.

he relished the way your hair was pulled into a tight bun, emphasizing the bridge of your nose and the fullness of your lashes. your skin glistens under the sun, toto swallowing thickly as his mind wanders.

it was so wrong to look at you this way. absolutely sinful.

yet, he couldn't. he couldn't look away.

"everything okay, toto?" oh god, the way his name sounded so sweet from those plush lips.

"i'm fine," he waves a hand, "i'm just admiring the view. that's all."

you arch a brow, pursing your lips, "the mountains or my ass?"

ever so slightly, you wiggle your wips, cheeks jiggling in response.

"you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?"

"hmmm," you hum, "i prefer honesty, mr. wolff."

mr. wolff.

in his shorts, he felt his cock throb. instinctively, he shifts in the seat, praying that you wouldn't notice.

however, it's hard to miss.

especially in those khaki shorts.

"see something you like?" you bat your lashes, the corners of your lips curling into a devious grin.

"yes," he leans over, face merely centimeters from yours, "you."

"not like you can do anything about it," you counter, the tough exterior crumbling as you feel a hand gliding along the back of your thigh, squeezing the curve of your ass.

perhaps you did not outgrow that teenage crush all those years ago.

"i can," he smirks ever so slightly, "no one can see up here. if i would have known you were wearing this little number, i would have ran up with that water hours ago."

"what if someone comes up here?"

"they won't," he shakes his head, "they're all eating right now."

"you don't think my father will come looking for me?"

"do you know how intoxicated your father is right now? he wouldn't even make it up the stairs," fingers hook the strap of your bikini bottoms, snapping it against your skin, "so, schatzi, what shall we do?"

"what's on your mind?"

toto cocks his head, the fingers delving between your thighs. nimbly, they lightly trace along your folds, teasing, "oh, if we were completely alone, it would be a far different story. however, i have limited time, and there's a large gathering down below."

"oh fuck," you clamp down on your tongue as a finger circles your clit, juices beginning to trickle down your soft skin.

"you like that?" toto coos, applying more pressure, "you like how wet i make you? you're a good girl, letting me touch you like this."

"toto!" a voice calls from below, "we need your assistance with the radio!"

"jesus fucking christ," the team principal rolls his eyes.

rising to his feet, fingers grasp you chin, tilting your head upwards.

"you should accompany your father to a grand prix sometime. i would love to see your beautiful face one day in the paddock."

"maybe i will," you murmur, flashing toto with a radiant grin, "would you fuck me in the paddock too?"

"oh schatzi, i would do more than fuck you in the paddock. i would make that little pussy of yours weep."

and just like that, you watch as the team principal strolls over to the stairs, shooting you one final wink before disappearing.

biting your lip, you reach for the water, twisting it open.

perhaps you would lean over that rail one more time.

after all, you were starting to get an appetite.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff smut #formula one #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #formula one fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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st4rbwrry · 6 months ago

Text

𝒞𝑅𝒜𝒵𝒴 𝐼𝒩 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸.

⸝⸝ ౨ৎ :: sukuna can’t accept that you’ve moved on. thinks you just need some dick to remind you where home is. ;)

warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.3k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, black coded. dilf!sukuna, fluff + smut duh, jealousy, sukuna's a cheater n we're dumb, daddy kink, body worship, choking, body worship, dry humping if you squint, consensual coercion, cum play, toxic relationship, sneaky sex, minors aren't welcomed!

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱; this is very old, originally a self ship but i just wanted to post it bc i have a lot of old fics sitting in the drafts etc.

sukuna clenches his jaw whenever he notices the new love interest in your life, nearly causing a fight one day you threw a cookout for your family and the man you're currently 'dating' is playing football with your daughter, seeing the stranger pick her up and spin her around when she scores a touchdown. it boils his blood to see your daughter smile at someone who isn't her father. sukuna awaits at the doorstep of his home, or 'ours' as he likes to call it, still delusional about your separation, claiming it's a break when it wasn't . . hands tucked into his dark gray sweatpants pockets with a smile on his usually stern face as he watches your tiny daughter run to him with giggles and bratz dolls in her hands. sukuna crouches low to grab her with a purposely exaggerated grunt, commenting on how big she's getting with a laugh.

you slam the door to your car, retrieving your daughter's duffel bag filled with things she needed for the weekend at daddy's. sukuna holds his child at his hip. you smile at her as she constantly pokes at his cheek to grab his lost attention. he couldn't keep his eyes off you. looking you up down with that all too familiar glint in his eyes. you raise your brow, glaring down at yourself dressed in a black maxi skirt that touches your ankles and a white lace top, feet in black sandals.

"what?"

"going somewhere?" he questions with authority.

"my house and back. i can't look nice?"

"you look good," you ignore the way he licks his pink lips, your daughter tapping his shoulder for the millionth time, the four-year-old always wanting to be the star of the show.

"daddy, can we watch bratz fashion ‘ixies with mommy?!" the little girl screeches excitedly.

"mommy has to go, baby," you drain the light from her face, the child frowning. sukuna eyes you.

"why?" they say periodically. you stare him down with annoyance. now she's gonna question me. before you can even speak, she's at it again.

"but we haven't watched it in months," she whines. "we watch it every day with all three of us."

sukuna sighs, rubbing her back. "it's okay, honey. me and you can just—"

"i'll stay," you cut him off immediately, not fond of seeing your daughter cry. his puppy dog act was irritating. he grins mischievously.

your daughter cheers and you lean forward to pinch her chubby cheeks, speed walking to your car to pull into the driveway before entering the familiar home, feeling somewhat vacant. the vibe is off, but a little nostalgic. you haven't stepped foot into this place in months, unable to, the idea bringing back too many unwanted memories. your divorce wasn't pretty; finding sukuna messing with another woman when you searched through his phone one day to find the messages, his excuses replaying in your head, all bullshit.

she was just one night. one night over six years? they were high-school sweethearts, and he tore that apart for a one-time fling. didn't make sense, never will. it's awkward when you stand in the kitchen you used to cook your happy family meals every day to see him make your daughter lunch for her movie, combing at her curly hair with your fingers as she went on about how she ate dyed eggs for green eggs and ham day at school. the movie was the same as usual, both of you sitting adjacent to her as she ate her lunch and enjoyed the film, falling asleep on sukuna's shoulder thirty minutes in.

school must've taken it out of her. sukuna stretches his arms, breathing out a 'finally' which makes you laugh, standing along with him as he carries her and you shut off the tv, checking a text from the man you're currently fooling around with, nothing serious. just experimenting the dating life again.

you home today? i wanna see you.

you sigh, dropping your shoulders tiredly. you weren't in the mood to see him. he was a funny guy, enjoyable to be around, and made your daughter laugh . . .but he's obscenely clingy. you liked your space, and he didn't know the meaning of it. on top of that, the sex was mediocre. nothing compared to how sukuna fucked me. you dissociated with the world momentarily, chewing on your lip as flashbacks hit, zoning out the sound of sukuna's heavy steps approaching.

"she's tucked in."

your eyes lock onto the veins bulging out of his arms, the white tee he wore hugging his muscles, and the platinum chain swinging around his neck making your face hot. dammit, stop. your stare lingers longer than you expect, sukuna lowering his face to catch your attention with a smirk.

"hello? you good?"

"yeah, sorry," you clear your throat.

"check me out all you want baby, it's still yours."

"sukuna," you roll your eyes, locking your phone and finding your car keys, needing to be as far away from him as possible before you do something you regret.

"what? i'm joking," he furrows his brows when you begin strutting towards the front door, mumbling about how your daughter's ballet recitals on sunday and not to forget to monitor her junk food intake. his hand clasps around your wrist to stop you.

"stay. i wanna talk to you."

"there's nothing to talk about."

"are you dating him?" he's straightforward, watching the muscle in his jaw clench.

"that's none of your business."

"i have a right to know who's around my daughter. yes or no? or are you just fuckin' him?"

"why?" you yank your arm away, getting in his face, barely with your height. "does it hurt your feelings? well, guess karmas a bitch."

sukuna chuckles darkly, raising his arm to tug at his bi-colored hair with frustration. "man, you're still on that shit."

you raise your brow with fury. he's shitting me. "on that . . . are you fucking serious? you tellin' me i don't have a reason to say fuck you for cheating on me?"

"all she did was suck my dick, you're acting like i was in her shit," he rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulder with zero care in the world. "i've apologized a million times. it was one stupid night where we were at each other's throats and she just so happened to be around . . so."

"you know what." you scoff, not having time for this stupid shit. men always have bullshit excuses when trying to justify cheating. you didn't care if he kissed the bitch, cheating is cheating. you managed to bypass him, walking around the couch until he was back in your face fast once again.

you clenched your keys in your fists, ready to claw at his face with them. "what do you want?"

it's silent for a moment, the hard stare he has on you makes you feel small, folding your arms over your midsection, waiting for his response.

"i need some pussy," he whispers gravelly, slowly licking his lips and grabbing at your waist. you swallow, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing at your clit. chill out.

"text your other bitch. i'm sure she'll give it to you."

"only your sweet fuckin' pussy," now his hands are smoothing to your backside, smacking his heavy, veiny palm on your ass to draw you closer, squeezing the flesh between his long fingers. you gasp, eyes wide as you feel the outline of his dick against your stomach. his fingers are dangerously close to your pussy. "daddy misses it so much."

you inhale, shifting to try your best and break from his barricade, shoving him away which barely makes him stumble. "i'm leaving."

thinking this is your final attempt at actually leaving, that relief gets knocked down the instant his hand grabs the back of your neck and brings you back to him, his mouth pressed to the side of your neck where he breathes and kisses wetly. you freeze, the ache below never subsiding in his hold. sukuna's lifting your skirt before another word falls from your pretty little mouth, shoving his hand into your matching white lace, smirking from the ocean flowing on his thick fingers.

"you need some dick, don't you?" he whispers hotly behind your earlobe, rushing his tongue there at the same time he circles your clit, falling back into his warm chest, dropping your keys altogether. "he not hitting it right? doesn't do it like me, does he?"

shamelessly, you nod your head in agreement, giving up because you know he's right and this is what you need. you know he can give you things no other man could. it hasn't been the same ever since. any man you've been with aside from him hasn't met up to those standards. sukuna raised your pussy to only come back to him. trained to accommodate him. cum from him. fuck him. for any other man to take possession of what he crafted would be fucking fowl.

"you miss me?" sukuna hums, walking you both towards the black couch in the living room you moved too far away from your previous escape. your knees are dented into the seat, arms thrown over the back as sukuna groans low in his throat, pupils blown with lust as he tugs your panties to sit at the middle of your thighs. he presses his clothed cock to you, grinding slowly to make you feel it, let you know how much he misses you more. "you miss daddy, baby?"

you keen, face buried into your forearms shyly, rocking back onto him, feeling yourself soak his pants. sukuna hisses and smacks your ass again, pussy clenching from the attack. you whine. "yes. miss you."

"daddy misses you too," he's swift with his actions, already tugging at his dick leaking absurd amounts of precum, circling the angry red tip on your entrance before sinking in only halfway, wanting you to remember how to take him. you moan quietly, biting at your arm and taking lead by pushing back onto him, only to have sukuna retract his hips.

"don't be greedy, you'll hurt yourself." it echoes in your head when he says this, smiling cutely, loving that he cared, unlike other men. and he's kind of right. he's perfectly thick, long to the point where it surpasses his belly button. it was always hard for you to fully wrap your hand around it, towering your face whenever he stood over you, veins decorating up the underside. he draws his hips back, carefully driving into you, rolling his waist effortlessly to make you savor every ridge of his cock.

"doesn't it feel so fuckin' good?" he asks with his lip tucked between his teeth, rolling his eyes back once he starts it up, hooking you by your handles and yanking you back as he fucks you, fascinated by the jelly-like bounce your ass makes as you throw it back.

his wife was always one to never hold back her sounds, whimpering and moaning to your hearts delight. sukuna has your back arched with his other palm, reaching behind yourself to clutch at his veiny forearm, the two of you locking eyes as you glare up at him to see him slowly losing it. so much pent-up sexual frustration from not having you for months. not being able to touch another woman since so it pisses him off to know you could easily fuck another man without feeling the same. he's getting mad just thinking about it, clenching his jaw tight as he fucked you harder, deeper. you're clawing at his arm and crying his name, sukuna coming to his senses momentarily, forgetting they had a daughter who's asleep upstairs.

he moves your hand away, entwining both his large palms over your mouth and pulling you back to his chest where your head rests, sukuna standing straight as your back dips even more, cursing as your eyes switch white and you sing into his hands shielding the sweet symphonic tones.

"you forgive me?" he breathes shakily on your forehead, ruts becoming sloppy when that familiar heat twitches in his gut. this he could excuse; cumming too fast just to brush off the burning arousal for you. he'd savor you later on when it truly mattered. he'd make love to you to prove that he still loves you, that he's different now, that he'd never fuck up a good thing again. right now, he just wanted to fuck you so you know he's not letting you leave anytime soon.

your brown eyes are slanted softly, whines and delicate nods of your head are what takes him there, dropping his hands from your mouth, choking you lightly as he mashed his mouth onto yours, moaning with you as you tremble and orgasm. he stays inside you a little longer, fearing that warmth would dissipate if he stayed out too long. sukuna swallows, catching his breath and darting his attention to the way his cum flows out of you after you fall forward, taking his index and middle finger to collect it and shove it back inside. you laugh at him with a silent 'fuck off' and smack his hand away. he grins happily, massaging your backside adoringly. this isn't a pass that you're going back to him. but having you in his presence as of now was a start he could be satisfied with.

#𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.#jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x black reader #ryomen sukuna

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harryspet · 2 months ago

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well kept [epilogue] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, kidnapping, NONCON/DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: a little wrapup of the story!

word count: 3.7k

In which you begin to question whether submission is the only escape.

well kept masterlist

8 months later …

Monotonously, you brought a wet rag across the large, rough-hewn wooden dining table that dominates the space of the dining room. It took you nearly thirty minutes to clean it thoroughly, wiping away every speck of dust before meticulously arranging the plates, napkins, and glassware with care, making sure everything was just as it should be.

It’s perfect when you get done. With a soft sigh, you flick off the chandelier of large glass lanterns, letting the natural light filter in through the tall windows, casting a gentle, golden glow across the room. You turn toward the kitchen, pulling off your cleaning gloves, ready to move on with your routine.

Then the doorbell rang.

You make your way through the downstairs of the expansive cabin, towards the front entrance. Glancing through the floor-to-ceiling windows as you make your way to the front door, you spot the culprit: a gray van parked down by the lake road. The sight feels out of place, a reminder of the outside world you rarely encounter.

Unlocking the front door, you huff as you pull the large piece of solid wood open. It always feels like it weighs a thousand pounds though you can’t recall Rafe ever having any difficulty with it. Still catching your breath, you greet the grocery delivery man, Connor, with a small smile. Before you, four-hundred dollars worth of groceries sits in plastic bags and you place a hand on your hips as you examine the challenge before you.

“Let me help you carry them inside,” Connor offers kindly but you’re already shaking your head, “Mr. Cameron always tips so well, really, it’s the least I could do.”

“N-No worries, this is mmm-my workout for the day,” You reply, momentarily, taking in the fact that this was one of the few contacts you had with the outside world. Truthfully, Rafe had never explicitly said that Connor wasn’t allowed to carry the grocering inside but everytime you imagined Rafe coming down the stairs and spotting the two of you together. If the young man wanted to keep receiving handsome tips from Mr. Cameron, he’d keep his interactions with you brief.

“Okay,” He seemed to shrug, confused, “I never see you in town … you work from home too?”

“Yeah,” You lie without hesitation, voice steady, “We’re just … homebodies.”

“What do you do for work? … Sorry if that’s intrusive. It’s just … this house is insane. You guys must be loaded.”

You laugh, and Connor shifts on his feet, smiling shyly back at you. To anyone else, the house in all it’s grandeur and isolation, must seem like a dream come true, “I help manage some stuff for Mr. Cameron’s business. I just help out where I can.” You hope it’s enough to end the conversation.

He still looks impressed, gaze wandering back to the cabin’s towering windows. As the silence stretches, you grab a few bags from the ground. He doesn’t immediately notice your discomfort, “I get it,” He adds, “Ya’ll are living the dream up here. Away from all the craziness.”

“Something like that,” You keep your face neutral until it falters. The slightest creak of floorboards from upstairs. Your heart skips a beat and you force yourself to grab a few more bags of groceries, “Well, I should get the ice cream inside before it melts. Thanks again, Connor.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, Mrs. Cameron,” He replied, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, “See in you two weeks. Take care, alright?”

You nod silently, turning on your heels, determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic thud of footsteps descending the stairs grows louder, but you force yourself to keep moving, your eyes locked on the kitchen ahead. With a small grunt, you heave the bags onto the kitchen island, the plastic crinkling as you place them down.

Just as you spin around to grab the rest of the groceries, you collide hard with a solid wall of muscle, Rafe’s chest, unyielding like a brick wall. The sudden impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you stagger slightly, instinctively looking up to meet his piercing gaze.

“Everything okay?” He asks, most likely taking in your wild eyes.

Wearing a button-up checkered shirt that tucked into well-fitted trousers, you assumed he’d been taking some video calls and wanted to look presentable.

“Yeah … groceries,” You said, gesturing to the kitchen island, “Uhm, C-Connor just dropped them off.”

“That kid knows how to linger, huh?” Rafe placed his hands in his pocket, tongue poking at his gums as he thought something over.

Kid. Rafe was probably only a handful of years older than him. “He’s just doing his job,” you said quietly, your heart racing as you busied yourself with the grocery bags, hoping to avoid further scrutiny. Rafe followed closely behind, a silent reminder of his constant presence, his need to control even the smallest interactions.

It wasn’t like Rafe was resistant to helping around the house. He cleaned after himself for the most part. Honestly, you’d expected just being a house wife to be easier than being a personal assistant, especially easier than being a barista. However, Rafe’s mountain estate was enormous, and Rafe decided against keeping the full staff he had at his Charlotte mansion. It was like he wanted you to handle all of it, to be completely busy, and maybe you wouldn’t get any ideas about wanting more for your life.

He hadn’t realized that you stopped wanting more for your life when you woke up, drugged from whatever he had slipped you, and found him tucked between your legs, mouth wet from tasting you. The memory hit you as you leaned down to grab the next load of grocery bags.

Not able to separate you dreams from reality, you weren’t immediately sure whether Rafe was really in between your thighs. Eyelids heavy, only your mouth opened, a strangled moan left your lips. Lifting your head, you looked down with blurry, hooded vision. You never slept in anything silk yet underneath your fingertips you could feel the fabric covering your chest. Your right thigh was hooked high over your hip, Rafe’s hand firm in the crook of your knee, holding your leg in place as he kept you open.

Even in your weakest state, his touch was commanding, and controlling. You were barely awake and the pressure he was creating didn’t fully register until you were close, the orgasm fully bringing you to consciousness.

Reality came crashing donw like it always did when you woke in the morning. Your life wasn’t your own anymore. Usually, you’d at least have a moment alone, a moment that was still yours before you were back on his routine. But now, even sleep seemed like a choice you no longer controlled, another thing he had taken from you.

You started to register your own breathing, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, just as he crawled on top of you. Shirtless, his eyes still sleepy but focused enough on the task at hand. He easily pushed inside of you, and as your breathing calmed and you came down from your orgasm, he pressed his chest into yours. Your noses touched together as he sheathed himself inside you further, “You’re getting so good,” He murmured, voice smooth and full of praise, “Taking all of me. Squeezing me so tight.”

You had no choice but to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his, accepting the intimacy forced upon you.You wouldn’t cry this time, you’d remain stoic, and numb. Mentally, you could try to feel nothing, no matter that you felt him across every nerve on your skin. His praise hung in the air, and his presence consume you.

It occurred to you then that you had no idea how you’d gotten here. Sure, you knew the mistakes you’d made that led up to this point. You knew the lengths Rafe was willing to go to, the power he was willing to yield, lives he was willing to ruin.

You turned your head to look around the room just as Rafe settled into the side of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin. Your lips parted to yelp at each deep stroke, each time he pushed against your cervix, but your eyes darted around the space. You’d been here before, your crotch pressed against a pillow, when Rafe forced you for the first time to make yourself orgasm.

Usually, Rafe was relentless. But as soon as you could put together that you were in his house with no idea how you’d gotten there, his thrusts became sloppier, rushed, and he nestled against the side of your face. His lips brushed your ear, his breath uneven as he spilled inside of you. The intimacy of the moment felt strange, almost out of place, as if he was in a hurry to finish before you fully pieced together what was happening. His weight sagged against you, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating.

He collapsed beside you, though he kept an arm draped over your stomach. Slowly, you lowered your leg until you were laying straight.

You didn’t dare move.

Rafe’s hand brushed against yours and you turned your head quickly to see a concerned look on his face, “Here, let me do it,” You felt that numbness that had been clouding you ever since you realized you controlled nothing. He easily procured the bag from your grip and you watched as he easily took the rest of the bags into his arms.

When you both retreated back inside, you heaved the massive front door shut again, locking yourself back into your gilded cage. Surprisingly, he helped you unpack the groceries. It would’ve been faster to do on your own, you had to direct him a few times about whether certain items belonged in the fridge or pantry but you tried to be thankful for the help.

You were putting up the canned goods in the grocery, neatly stacking them on the shelves of the bedroom-sized pantry, when you felt his eyes still watching you, “He sure does talk a lot though, doesn’t he?”

Better not to use his name, “The grocery guy?” You swallowed, speaking slowly in order to keep your voice steady.

“Connor,” He said, voice dripping in malice.

“He’s j-j-just being friendly,” You said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Friendly,” He repeated, his tone mocking, “... You know, I don’t like him talking to you.”

“I-I didn’t encourage it,” You said softly, knowing whatever words you had would be a mistake, “If you don’t like him …I-I c-c-could g-g-go to the store from now on.”

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t respond, and you found yourself just trying to maintain your composure, canned goods forgotten in your hands, as you waited for his verdict.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

You were forcing his hand, asking for too much when you knew he couldn’t give it to you, “Thh-Thhh-That you’ll think about it?”

Lately, you’d been testing his boundaries. Not answering everytime he called. And when you did answer, your tone was flat and indifferent. Wearing clothes from your wardrobe you knew he’d deem unflattering. Yoga pants or shorts were okay, never sweatpants. He wanted to see your every curve. Every inch of what he believed belonged to him. You were his wife after all, he’d paid a handsome price to get you here.

Your obedience occurred in waves. A few weeks on and a few weeks off. It was the best way your brain could cope with the control. He’d grow happy, content with your behavior and that’s when you decided to flip a switch. Sometimes, Rafe was almost reluctant to punish you.

A thought crossed your mind. A way to gain a small ounce of control. Though it came at the high cost of satisfying his urges. You decided to beg. He loved to hear you grovel and degrade yourself. It’s one of the only ways he gets himself off.

“Please,” You whispered, your voice trembling. In your baggy flannel and sweatpants, braids tied back in a messy bun, you stepped forward. You wanted to sound weak. Even weaker than your stammer usually made you sound, “I’ll go with a bodyguard. I-I’ll wear my ring. I won’t t-t-talk to anyone.”

It surprised him. You saw it in the way he shifted on his feet and his head tilted to the side curiously. It was in the way he watched you carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The words were poison on your tongue but it didn’t stop them from filling out.

“Is that right?” His voice was low and dangerous, how it usually was when he was calculating a devious plan in his mind.

When the silence decided to stretch again, you filled it, “I’ll be better. I-I know I–I-I’ve been dissapointing you,” You closed the distance until you were inches from him, letting him look down at you, as you turned your eyes downcast.

“Hmm,” You felt his hand raise and press into the side of your neck, large thumb caressing your jaw, “Then you know that’s the kind of privilege like that you’ll have to work towards?”

Being trapped here with him felt like you’d fallen to the bottom of the totem pole. Somehow being his assistant, hanging on his arm like arm candy, and keeping his cock warm underneath his desk was better than what you were now. At least then you could see your friends. You could interact with people other than Rafe, Topper and Eleanor. Then you had a job. You were a real human.

“Yes,” You began, “I’ll d-do anything.”

Rafe’s eyes turned down as you reached one of your hands into the waistband of your sweatpants and then beneath the fabric of your underwear.

“Y/N…” His voice deepened and you looked up at him with big, wanting eyes.

“Can I please touch myself, Sir?” You asked, “I-I want to shhh-shhhow you how good I can be.”

He kept as still as he could. His eyes were answering your question. He didn’t need to verbally give you permission.Maybe he stayed silent because if he spoke, the desperation in his voice might betray him. Rafe didn’t need his own release in that moment—what he craved more was the sight of you undone, vulnerable, completely under his control. Watching you touch yourself, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure, was enough to satisfy him.

You bit down on your lip, moving your fingers over your soft folds. Gently, you rubbed yourself, teasing yourself. His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw the the way his nose flared, as he tried to keep his composure.

“Please,” A soft moan escaped your lips as you worked yourself up, the motions becoming smoother as you grew wetter, “P-Please, Sir?”

Rafe inhaled sharply and watched as you reached further, towards your aching hole. He couldn’t see it exactly but you showed him with your eyes, with your parted lips and soft expression, that you dipped a finger inside of your aching hole.

Despite how you feared him, how he’d ruined your life, you couldn’t help but enjoy the twisted way that you could control him. The tension in the room was thick and you saw the way he was fighting against exerting his control over you, over taking over. Even in a small way, you could make him bend to your will, you saw it in the way his fist clenched at his side.

Your pace quickened in a way that brought you closer to the edge, the friction sending waves of pleasure over your skin.

He reached out suddenly, grabbing ahold of your arm, his grip strong but not painful. He pulled your fingers away from underneath your waistband, “You don’t get to finish until I say so,” he murmured, his voice low and authoritative. You kept your expression neutral, though every muscle in your face tensed with the effort to hide your frustration, resisting the urge to press your lips into a thin line, “Take off your clothes for me, sweetheart.”

Your body frustrated, you hurriedly pulled down your sweatpants, exposing your lacy black underwear. Next, you removed the flannel, Rafe’s eyes fixed on your newly exposed skin. You would never admit it, but deep down, you always felt comforted by the fact that never seemed to bore of seeing you. Though you’d never had a traditional honeymoon period, now that you’d lived together for so long, you thought he might lose interest at some point. Everytime he saw you it was like he was seeing you for the first time.

Every glance he gave you was filled with that same insatiable desire, as though you were still something to unravel. The thought made something flicker inside you, a mixture of fear, and something far more complicated.

You hesitated when it came to your bra and underwear, suddenly hyperaware that Rafe was fully clothed. There he stood in his work attire and part of you wanted to hold onto those inches of fabric, “All of your clothes,” Rafe added, sensing your hesitance, and he didn’t let you stall any longer. You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, swinging your body onto the cold, marble countertop of the kitchen island. Determined, his fingers pried your underwear down your thighs and you watched them fall to the floor. Your thin bralette was next, and you raised your arms obediently, letting him tug it over your head.

As soon as you were bare and freezing, Rafe’s lips curled into a devious smirk, “Finish,” He said, “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

His eyes were dark and hungry, watching every movement, every breath you took. Your instinct was to resist, to deny him, but you were too far gone. This is what you wanted in the first place. A trade. Your submission for a chance at freedom. You didn’t test his patience, knowing this was a better option than being bent of the counter. You complied, your hand slowly sliding down your stomach, until they were back between your legs.

Slow, deliberate circles.

You were so used to the feeling of shame, the heat you’d feel in your cheeks, the tears that would sting your eyes. Freezing, like a puppy out in the rain, you trembled. The shame was almost ritualistic, something to expect everytime you were intimate. Your body always seemed to respond, anyways. Maybe it was time for you to fully accept your part in this. Maybe you were beginning to crave that feeling.

Your pace quickened, your fingers moving in urgent circles, and you felt your release building.

“That’s it,” He said, “You’re already close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, fully aware of the smugness in his tone. Your fingers worked and your moans became louder, “Please,” You begged, that pressure between your legs growing unbearable.

“Please,” You heard yourself say over and over, feeling yourself come undone. His hands slowly move to rest on either side of you, trapping you between the cold marble and his towering figure, “Please, Rafe.”

“Come, sweetheart,” He finally said, “Let me see you fall apart.”

A whimper escaped your lips as your orgasm hit you almost painfully. Your release was inevitable, you’d practically perfected getting yourself off, and your body responded to his commands like a pupper on a string. Your body tensed, your back arching, as you gasped over and over. Your fingers faltered, slowly, but soon there were fingers brushing against that sensitive area again.

You tried to scoot your body away but Rafe pressed your thigh with his large palm, keeping you pinned. Slowly, he moved his fingers, prolonging that sensation, drawing out your orgasm, “There it is,” He whispered, “Such a good girl when you want something from me, huh?”

You nodded weakly, agreeable.

As you realized he was trying to work you up again, you panicked, “P-Please.”

“Hmm,” His fingers pressed harder, “Look at you. You know what? If you give me one more, I’ll let you go shopping next week. How’s that sound?”

“I-It hurts,” You whispered, voice braking. A tempting offer that you were now too overwhelmed to even consider. His fingers didn’t relent, rubbing against you harder now, dragging you toward another release whether you wanted it or not.

“That’s not an answer,” Rafe teased, his tone almost playful. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, “Come on, one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your body betrayed you again. The buildup was slower than your first orgasm, so torturous that tears began to fall down your cheeks. When your body was convulsing again, it was not as sweet as the first, but just as powerful. You came for him again despite how much it hurt, how raw and exposed you felt.

His grip on your thigh relaxed and you body went limp against the counter. You throbbed between your legs, so much so you weren’t sure if you would be able to walk without a limp. You felt his thumb brush over your cheek, wiping your tears, “Good girl. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Too tired to do anything but lay there, Rafe finally stepped back, leaving you shivering on the cold countertop. A coldness returned to his expression. You’d asked for this. Wanted something from him. Somehow, it felt like you hadn’t won anything at all. Now you were realizing this was a punishment, most likely for your behavior over the past weeks.

Rafe turned his back on you, as if he hadn’t just pushed your body and mind to the brink, “Maybe I’ll take you shopping after all.”

The promise of being let out of the house felt hollow. A reminder that your independence was something he could grant, or take away, on a whim.

You lay there, motionless and speechless, trapped in the swirl of shame, regret, and anger. Then, without warning, a dangerous thought crept in, slipping through the cracks in your resolve: Maybe if I’m good enough, if I do everything he asks, I’ll get more freedom. More moments of escape.But before you could push that thought away, another surfaced, darker and heavier: Maybe I deserve this.

i hope you enjoyed this series!!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #dark fic #black!reader #well kept #outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe smut

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inkdrinkerworld · 5 months ago

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part two of talk too much?🫣

i’m a whore for hot unbothered remus x shy!reader🤭🤭🤭

Same babe!!! Enjoy 747 of them, a little suggestive so mdni

“Where’s your bird, Lupin?”

Sirius’ voice carries through the living room as he pushes the front door open. Remus is in the kitchen, a piece of toast hanging from his lips as he butters another and sets some fruit on the side.

“I didn’t see her car out front.”

Sirius’ words are cut short when you come out of Remus’ room wearing his flannel and a pair of shorts.

“I went for her after work, Siri.”

Sirius’ smirk is immediate and wicked. Your hair is all messed up, the claw clip not able to hide the evidence of your good time.

“Oh,” you nearly jump out of your skin. “Hi Sirius.”

Remus turns, biting his piece of toast before opening his arms to you. “Hi, doll. Had a good time?” you scurry to Remus’ arms, hiding your face under his arm as Sirius sets his work back down and pulls his shirt from his pants.

Remus can feel the heat radiating off you at Sirius’ question, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah,” it’s soft and shy and Sirius chuckles, shaking his head.

“Dunno what our Moony has done to you. You’ve never been this bloody shy, doll.”

You grumble, Remus chuckling when you reach a hand onto the plate to steal a grape and a peach wedge.

“I’m tired Sirius,” you say, Remus kissing your forehead as you make your way to the sofa to sit with Sirius whose feet are already on the coffee table and whose shirt is tossed haphazardly over his work bag.

“I bet you are,” Remus lets you hide in him at Sirius’ teasing. “Are you two coming out with Jamie and I tonight?”

You shake your head, Remus nudges the toast to your lips. You take a bite with a frown, Remus frowns back.

“I have to write an essay and grade papers.” You say around your chewing, Sirius boos and Remus leans against the cushions.

“I have a couple chapters to crank out too. Three or four to send to the editors.”

Sirius boos even more.

“When did you both get so boring?”

You chuckle, offering Sirius a piece of peach “Since we both got jobs that bleed into our nights.”

Sirius groans, long and low and both you and Remus know it’s him trying to get you to change your mind.

“Next time Siri, swears.” You tug on a hit of his hair, giggling when he howls and bats your hand away, sprinting off the sofa and heading towards Remus’ room.

“Oh fine! But you’re paying for your lack of appearance by letting me raid your clothes here.”

You nod, waving him off as Remus turns all his attention on you.

“You okay, pretty girl?” His fingers fiddle with your claw clip until your hair is tumbling down your shoulders.

“Yeah Rem,” all of a sudden, all your energy and playfulness is sapped. Remus likes you all ways, but he’s more keen to the quiet, shy you that only he gets.

Remus holds your chin, eyes boring into yours. “You’re telling me the truth? No soreness? Not lying to me?”

Your ears go hot, not unfamiliar with his severity or his attention but still overwhelmed by it.

“No m’not lying,” he gives you the last of the fruit. “A little soreness, but I’m okay.”

Remus kisses you, fingers curling in your hair and you can’t deny the need to deepen the kiss. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and your mouth opens. It’s intense, and Remus’ kiss addles your brain. All you can think about is him, his hands in your hair, his mouth sloping over yours.

“Stop,” you push against Remus’ chest, inhaling harshly and turning away from him when he leans in again. “Remmy.”

He nips under your jaw, lips cruising back up to your mouth.

“One more.” He mutters, turning your face back to his and joining your lips again.

“You dog, Remus!” Sirius screeches, throwing a black sparkly top at the back of his head and his lips trail the shell of your ear.

“Why are you still here?” Remus grunts, goosebumps bursting across your skin as Remus continues nipping your earlobe. You pull away and lay back on the arm of the sofa, willing your breathing to even out.

“I’m leaving!” Sirius yells. “Don’t let him maul you doll, I’ll bring your top back in a couple days. Have fun and use protection!”

All you register is the door slamming and then Remus pouncing in you.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin x black reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x loud but shy!reader

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nothomegal · 10 months ago

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HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

#nothomegal ask reply #nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head fic #pyramid head x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #dbd fanfic #dark romance #dbd x reader

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starryhyuck · 2 months ago

Text

can’t get you out of my mind. (m) — PREVIEW

pairing: alpha!jaehyun x afab!omega!reader

words: 16.2k+

summary: the ceremony to choose your alpha mate has arrived.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: outdated gender roles/stereotypes, some women hating women dynamics (that resolves in the end), mentions of war, mentions of loss during childbirth, disapproval of in-laws, possessive!jaehyun, pregnancy, breeding kink, tiny bit of face riding, bigdick!jaehyun, squirting, knotting, nonstop fucking between jaehyun and reader, public sex, mating

release date: october 24, 2024

this fic is already released for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

“You silly omegas.”

You jump nearly three feet in the air, gasping and holding your hand to your chest. You swivel around to see Jaehyun standing behind you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in amusement.

“A-Alpha Jeong,” you stutter, bowing your head. “I apologize, I wasn’t aware-“

“You omegas are always starving yourselves in front of us. When are you going to realize alphas are never settled when our omegas aren’t taken care of?” He questions, stepping beside you and taking out the leftover steak in the fridge.

You keep your eyes planted to the ground as he moves around you, heating up the meal on the stove.

“Alpha Jeong, you don’t have to-“

“Just call me Jaehyun,” he interrupts gruffly. “Alpha Jeong this, Alpha Kim that- all the rules get so tedious.”

You flush in embarrassment. “We shouldn’t be alone together without an elder present.”

“Another rule,” he sighs, using two fingers to lift your chin up. You meet his gaze head on. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You swallow, blinking slowly at him. Being this close to an alpha while unmated is against all commands of the elders and betrays every ounce of your omega training, but you nod and say, “Okay.”

“Besides, the elders sleep like they’re dead anyways,” he says with familiarity, which makes you realize that Jaehyun’s grown up around all the elders who have accompanied you to the ceremony because he’s next in line to become head alpha. He steps back from you and resumes cooking at the stove. “So,” he starts, humming. “The Handbook for Dressmaking is a riveting thriller, isn’t it?” He asks you with a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“Oh,” you mumble, wringing your hands nervously. “Yes, I believe it was the top book for the omegas in our district.”

He chuckles. “What’s your actual favorite book? Be honest.” He takes out a cutting board and slowly starts peeling the skin of one of the apples on the counter.

“Um- t-that is my favorite book, Alpha-“ you stop and clear your throat, correcting yourself. “Jaehyun.”

“You omegas,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Always lying, trying to say what you think is the right thing. I don’t want to hear the dictation from your mother’s handbook. I want to hear your real opinion.”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. You’ve never told another being about straying away from the traditional omega values. Jaehyun looks at you with an impatient expression, however, and you can’t bring yourself to lie to the next head alpha.

“History retellings about the war are my favorite,” you confess in a gentle voice. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “They provide me with a picture of what we needed to do to succeed as the dominant species.”

It’s not ladylike in the slightest to assimilate oneself to such acts of violence, and you’re certain this would be the final nail in the coffin to ward Jaehyun far from you. Instead, he smiles.

“That’s a new one,” he laughs. “And the children? As many as the moon grants you?”

It’s no secret that after the war, many omegas don’t find it as easy to give birth as they used to. The lingering chemicals and difficult winters led to harsher environments for omegas to successfully carry a pup to term. Nowadays, omegas who strive for more than four children sign their own death sentence. Regardless of the staggering data, the elders teach all omegas that they must give birth to as many pups as the moon will grant them.

“Two,” you whisper, shifting your stare from him and towards the wall. “Just two would satisfy me.”

He hums again, but makes no effort to scold you for your admission. You expect the son of the head alpha to be more strict on the nation’s laws surrounding omega submission, but Jaehyun breaks out of the mold you initially assumed of him.

He slides a warm plate on the counter, filled with the delicious food you resisted eating hours ago.

“Eat well, omega. I thank you for your honesty.”

When he exits the kitchen, your mind reels over the thought that not all alphas are as bad as you believed them to be.

want to read the rest of this fic now? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

#nct smut #nct x reader #jaehyun #jaehyun smut

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months ago

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four times eddie gets carried and one time he does the carrying

one

Eddie opens his eyes to chaos: a heartbeat under his ear that’s furious, a voice echoing just above him yelling profanities and directions, hands digging into his legs and side that should probably hurt.

But nothing hurts.

He can’t feel anything, actually.

Which is probably a good thing considering the last time his eyes were open, he was dying.

Maybe he is dead. Maybe this is Hell.

But he catches a somewhat familiar scent, and he turns his head towards the solid but soft wall holding him.

He must make a noise because the voice vibrating against his face stops, the movement under him stops, and a different panic ensues. He’s not sure what’s being said now, too focused on the comfort he’s feeling.

Maybe it’s not Hell. Maybe he’s found his way to Heaven.

But that’s Steve’s smell and Steve isn’t dead. Is he?

Eddie’s eyes open and he finds just enough energy to make a small noise, one that wouldn’t have been heard in the chaos, but definitely gets heard in the silence surrounding him now. He hates silence. He hopes if he’s dead, he can at least hear some music sometimes.

“Eddie?”

It’s definitely Steve’s voice, and Steve’s smell, and probably Steve’s strength holding him up.

“You don’t have to talk if it hurts, but can you tap my chest if you can hear me?”

Eddie could do that. He could.

His hand was already brushing against Steve’s chest as they walked, so he lifted a few fingers and brushed them against the material of Steve’s shirt.

“That’s good!” Steve sounded pretty thrilled about such a simple touch.

Eddie was familiar with being touch starved, but he didn’t think Steve could be this bad off with all the times he’s been practically glued to Robin.

“St-“ he tried to say his name, maybe get some answers for why he was being carried, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“It’s okay. I’m getting you safe. We can fix it,” Steve was walking still, but no other voices could be heard anymore. It was like the world had narrowed down to only them. “I promise I’m gonna fix it.”

“Mkay.”

Blackness clouded Eddie’s vision again as he lost consciousness.

two

Eddie’s physical therapy sessions in the hospital sucked, but the ones at home sucked worse.

At least at the hospital, no one was around to watch him struggle and fail except the physical therapist. At home, Steve was watching and making sure he did everything right, never more than a few feet away in case he needed help.

Eddie could walk with support, but he refused to use the stupid walker the hospital gave him. Wayne found a cane in his room from when he hurt his back a few years ago and told Eddie he could decorate it however he wanted if it meant he’d use it.

And he sure did.

He covered it in black paint, stickers, and had all the kids paint their names on it.

But he still hated using it.

So he was focusing on the walking movements the PT gave him, and Steve was constantly hovering beside him, waiting for any sign that he needed to stop.

“Your legs are shaking, Eds. We should stop for today,” Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, careful not to put any weight on him. “You can do more tomorrow.”

“No, I’m almost to the couch.”

The silence was loud as he looked ahead at where the couch actually was. He wasn’t almost there. He wouldn’t make it.

But he was stubborn, dangerously so, and he was gonna make it.

He took another two shuffling steps, then felt a shooting pain in his side and nearly collapsed.

Steve’s arms were under him immediately, lifting under his legs and supporting his back in a fucking bridal carry.

“Put me down!” Eddie squirmed, but Steve was strong. “I was almost there!”

“No you weren’t and you were gonna push yourself too hard. You would’ve fallen and got hurt and if you get hurt again, it’ll be my fault.”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut before his argument could be said.

Did Steve think he was actually responsible for Eddie?

“Stevie, it’s carpet. I would’ve been fine,” Eddie said quietly as Steve walked them over to the couch. He didn’t set Eddie down though, just held him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not letting anything happen to you again.” Steve set him down gently on the couch, making sure his legs were stretched out so he could do some of his sitting movements. “I’m not letting you down again.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t let me down,” Eddie stayed frozen where Steve had set him down, unable to even breathe properly.

“I should’ve been there so you didn’t run back to distract the bats. You never should’ve almost died.”

“Steve…” Eddie reached a hand out, tugging on Steve’s hand until he was sitting on the coffee table across from him. “None of this is your fault. I’m an adult. I made my choices. I would’ve made them even if you were there.”

“But-“

“No buts!” Eddie smiled at him, ignoring another sharp pain in his hip. “You know how stubborn I am. Do you really think you had a shot in hell of stopping me once I decided to be a distraction?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then stop blaming yourself. You saved my fuckin’ life, man. You stayed by my side nearly every day since then. You couldn’t let me down if you tried, okay?”

“Okay.”

three

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, he knew he had.

But he was currently in Steve’s bed. Which is upstairs. He hasn’t mastered walking up stairs yet.

How the fuck did he get here?

It was dark except for a hint of moonlight streaming between the curtains and a glow under the door from the hall light that was always on.

He turned on his side and nearly screamed when he saw a black outline of someone else in the bed.

The body moved and Eddie could just make out the hair.

Steve.

He was in Steve’s bed with Steve.

“You okay?” Steve’s raspy sleep voice startled him, his heart rate climbing to probably dangerous levels.

A hand reached out and touched Eddie’s chest, right over his racing heart. Steve’s hand was warm and wasn’t moving away.

“Mhm. How’d I get here?”

“Carried you.”

He couldn’t see if Steve’s eyes were open, or if he was even properly facing Eddie, but he was grateful for the dark hiding his blush.

“I could’ve stayed on the couch.”

“Wanted you here,” Steve mumbled against his pillow, his hand bunching up Eddie’s shirt as he pulled him closer. “Sleep.”

Eddie could think about it tomorrow. Or maybe never.

Maybe this was a dream, or maybe Steve was still asleep and had no idea what he was doing or saying. Maybe he’d wake up and Steve would be gone and he’d never know for sure if he dreamt it or it was real.

But for now, Eddie fell asleep with Steve’s hand against his chest and his body heat keeping him warm.

four

“I don’t know why you picked a spot so far into the woods. Are you trying to murder me? You were just being nice for the last three months because it would be easier to trick me?” Eddie paused to catch his breath. He was admittedly very out of shape, but this trek seemed particularly difficult.

“Are you in actual pain or are you just tired?” Steve asked, not slowing down at all.

“Can’t it be both?”

Steve finally stopped and turned to Eddie, the worried set of his brow almost making Eddie feel guilty.

“We can go back, Eddie,” Steve offered quietly.

Eddie saw the disappointment on his face, though. And he was a little sore, but mostly from being tired, not from actually overexerting his muscles.

“No, I can make it. How much longer?”

Steve looked around for a moment. “Less than half a mile, but most of it is uphill.”

“I’ll just take it slow. Sorry,” Eddie apologized.

“Hey,” Steve was suddenly back in front of him, hands on his arms to stop him, to comfort him. “We can go as slow as you need. We’ve got all day. Need any help?”

Eddie didn’t. He knew he didn’t. He was doing a lot better than he expected, truthfully.

But if it kept Steve’s hands on him, he was obviously going to say yes.

Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him over a particularly large log.

They continued in silence, but Steve’s arm never left his waist, and Eddie’s breath never quite went back to normal.

When they were almost at Steve’s destination, Eddie lost his footing and nearly face planted into the wet soil. But Steve tugged him back just in time, until his back was flush against Steve’s front.

“Let me help,” Steve said against his ear.

His hands went under him, lifting him up in the familiar bridal carry that seemed like second nature for them at this point.

Steve held him close, made sure he had a good grip, then started walking forward.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie barely whispered. He felt a bit ashamed, that he couldn’t do something so simple, that Steve felt like he had to help, that he was a nuisance.

“I want to.”

Neither of them spoke again until they reached their destination.

Steve didn’t put him down at first, walking over to a clearing that looked out over the lake.

Eddie had no idea this was even accessible to people, had only ever noticed the cliff from the edges of the lake and assumed it was just untouched wooded area.

“This is a nice view,” Eddie said as he looked around. He could see a lot of the outskirts of town, even some of the surrounding areas that were mostly untouched by the events of spring break. “Can already see some stars.”

The sun was still up, but it was near dusk. The walk back would be dark if they didn’t leave soon.

“Yeah,” Steve finally set him down on his feet, but didn’t put any space between them. “Wanted you to see it.”

Eddie watched as Steve’s hands fiddled with his sweater, a nervous habit that he noticed back when he was still in the hospital. He’d never mentioned it, wasn’t even sure Steve knew he was doing it, but he always offered his ring-covered hand as a replacement.

Maybe it was a little selfish, but Steve never seemed to mind.

As soon as Eddie slipped his hand closer to Steve, he started toying with his mood ring, a gift from Dustin when he got out of the hospital so they could tell how he was before asking. It didn’t actually work, but they all thought it was fun.

“You come out here often?”

Steve shrugged. “Not as much since Vecna. Don’t really like being alone anymore.”

“Yeah. I know what ya mean.”

They stood there in silence again, looking up at the stars and out at the vastness of rural Indiana. Steve moved on to fidgeting with another ring, spinning it and twisting it every way possible.

“Wayne asked when you’d wanna move back in with him. Said he’s settled in the new trailer and can get your room set up whenever you’re ready,” Steve finally said.

Eddie turned to look at him, noting the shakiness in his voice. He was biting his lip so much, it was a miracle he wasn’t bleeding.

Something was off.

He’d been staying with Steve because it was easy, it was best for everyone to have easy access to a bedroom and bathroom while he healed, and Steve was the only one with parents who weren’t around. Wayne was stuck in the second floor of a motel, which wasn’t ideal for Eddie at all. But now he had a new place, and Eddie could handle stairs now, and it just made sense to go home.

So why did it feel like he’d be leaving his home if he went back to Wayne?

“Do you want me to go?” Eddie asked, bracing for the ‘yes’ he was certain was coming.

“No.”

Eddie pulled back in shock.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean no, I don’t want you to go,” Steve grabbed his hand again, tracing along the outside of his rings, making goosebumps pop up on Eddie’s arms. “I want you to stay. But I know you love Wayne and probably miss him. You should go if you want to.”

Eddie fishmouthed for a moment, unsure how to respond. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew he should probably think about this without Steve in front of him.

“And if I don’t wanna go?”

Steve searched his face for any hint of a lie, but Eddie knew he wouldn’t find one. He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay with Steve.

“Then you should stay,” Steve choked out, almost in as much shock as Eddie had been only a moment ago. “Stay. Please.”

“In the guest room?” Eddie pushed. He shouldn’t push, but he had to know if this was Steve acting out of fear of being alone or if Steve was feeling the same about Eddie as Eddie was about Steve.

“I was thinking you could stay in my room. My bed.”

Eddie smirked. Steve was a charmer, no doubt about that, but he was clearly nervous, in uncharted territory.

He leaned in, watched Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at the shift in control of the conversation.

“And if I get sharing bed privileges, does that mean I also get kissing privileges?”

Steve nodded, eyes still wide, still shocked speechless.

“Could I start that privilege now?”

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Eddie had never enjoyed a privilege quite as much as this one.

+ one

“You said the front step was fixed!” Eddie screeched as they stood outside their new home. “Look at it. It’s depressed.”

Steve snorted. “It’s just a little…crooked.”

“It’s barely even attached anymore.”

Steve nudged his shoulder and held out the key. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, no. We had an agreement, didn’t we?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I’ve been training for this moment for over a year!”

“Throwing me around on the bed is not ‘training’, baby,” Steve smiled. “But if you really wanna do this, I’ll unlock the door.”

Eddie grinned and leaned over to pick Steve up into a bridal carry.

Steve yelped when he almost immediately dropped him, his hand fisting in Eddie’s shirt to try to keep from falling.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Eddie said, tightening his hold on his legs and shifting him up so that his face was level with Eddie’s. “You know what’s nice about living in the middle of nowhere?”

“What?” Steve breathed out, eyes darting down to Eddie’s lips.

“I can kiss you right here in the open and no one’s around to see it.”

“Then do it,” Steve challenged.

Eddie was always up for the challenge.

He kissed him, smiling into it as he realized this was their whole future. This house, this life, it was theirs.

Eddie carefully stepped up onto the porch, avoiding the worst of the step, and walked up to the front door.

Steve leaned over to unlock it, pushed it open, and waited.

He looked up at Eddie as Eddie stepped through the door.

“Maybe someday we can do this married,” Steve’s voice was quiet, nervous.

“You wanna marry me?” Eddie half-teased. He still couldn’t quite believe how much Steve wanted him, how much he loved him.

“I’d do it today if we could.”

“We could pretend anyway,” Eddie kissed his forehead before setting him down. “We’ve got a lot of rooms to christen.”

“Where do you wanna start?”

“The living room has a fireplace and I’ve had fantasies-“

“Fantasies? Seriously?”

Eddie tugged Steve to him by his waist, captured his lips in a heated kiss. “So many fantasies.”

Steve started walking them backwards towards the fireplace. “Show me what these fantasies looked like then.”

“You got it, big boy.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #4 + 1 #I couldn’t manage a 5 + 1 #touch starved Eddie Munson #touch starved Steve Harrington #getting together

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rememberwren · 6 months ago

Text

/•Harmless Fun•\

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #harmless fun

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clockwayswrites · 6 months ago

Text

(Now) Tired Dads- John meets Danny

John stared, betrayed, at the armchair that he had just stubbed his toe on. Yes, it was only nine in the morning and yes he had only gone to bed at four in the morning after being up for nearly thirty-seven… nine, what-the-fuck-ever hours, but that was fine. That was normal. The armchair being in his way was not.

He’d wandered the House of Mystery plenty of times when half asleep or with his face in a book or bleeding out… whichever of those. Point was, he never stubbed his toe on any of the furniture in any of those states. Him and the House got along pretty well these days. Sure it was a little rough in the start, but now the House looked out for him just like he looked out for it.

That meant that if he stubbed his toe— if the House let him stub his toe— then the House was trying to get his attention about something.

And that was never good.

John rubbed at his face as he spent a moment considering just going back to bed. He was trapped, drained, spent, out of everything. He’d be no good if it was something actually dangerous. But if it was actually something dangerous, the House would have (or should have) done more than just stub a toe. Maybe it was just a clogged pipe or some shit like that and the house was feeling bitchy.

“Right then House, lead the way, show me what you're having a mare about ” John said with a sigh and headed for the closest doorway. He trusted the House to put him in the rooms that it wanted him in.

It was concerning, then, when John had moved through a few rooms without anything of note. If it got to several rooms he was backing out until he had more sleep. Anything that could confuse the House like this was dangerous.

“Fucking— really?” John asked towards the ceiling as he was looped through the kitchen after having just left the kitchen.

A cabinet slammed into the back of his knee, right into the bend. Clutching at the spot, John hobbled out of reach with a string of curses and a glare at the door.

It hung open with a pointed little creak.

“Right, fine, kitchen it is. Gonna be any help with that, mate? Any hints?” John asked as he started opening cabinets. “Clogged sink? Burner out? Something rank in the back of the fridge? Small child hiding in one of your cabinets?”

The small child’s face scrunched up in a scowl. “I’m not small.”

“You’re in cabinet, bruv.”

“I just squish well!”

“… yeah, that isn’t better than being small, Tiny,” John said.

“Tiny?! I’m, like, fifteen!”

John thought the tiny kid might be actually offended, not that John cared. He backed up a step and crossed his arms. “And yet still inside a cabinet. Get the fuck out of there.”

The child— seriously fucking what— glared at John before they finally moved to get out of the cabinet. The stacked saucers and tea cups rattled as they pulled out of the fucking kid’s body as the kid moved to sit on the counter in a huff.

John would so be washing everything in that cabinet before next tea time.

If he remembered.

Maybe.

“Okay Tiny, what the fuck—”

“You can’t kick me out!”

John paused, just for a moment, but quickly got his feet under him and asked, “Yeah? Why not?”

“Because the House let me in! It says I can stay so I can stay and you can’t kick me out,” Tiny said in a rush.

John was pretty sure if the kid was breathing, they would be hyperventilating.

Wait.

What?

---

AN: This used to be possibly black smoke custody, but I went back to it (only had the first few paragraphs) and this is much, much more Tired Dads energy. Poor Danny, stuck being called Tiny.

#dp x dc #tired dads au #dadentine #Danny Fenton & John Constantine

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chocosvt · 4 months ago

Text

HER | part two.

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

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

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

“Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

“Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically.

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

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

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munariplans · 7 months ago

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forty, love | natasha romanoff

part 2 | part 3

synopsis: winning was everything, and losing was a sin. unfortunately, you were on a losing streak, and natasha loved winning.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 4.9k words

a/n: inspired by that one scene from challengers.

masterlist

“slice forehand.”

thwock.

“inside-out forehand.”

another thwock.

“move to the volley. hurry. your feet aren’t keeping up.”

despite the insult, the thwock lands. the ball bounces and hits right where you want it to hit. the singular drop of sweat that dripped onto the ground between your feet is not wasted, as you look up to your performance coach across the net, unamused sneer hidden behind his thick moustache.

“not fast enough?” you quipped.

he sighed, shaking his head. “don’t get ahead of yourself. you’re still number 2 in the state. if you want a shot at beating the princeton team, you’re still going to have to move much faster than that.”

you wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead, fixing the slightly loose hair tie, before nodding understandingly. still, you weren’t too happy at his latest onslaught of insults this past session. “you could have at least given me credit for the dropshot earlier when you came in. it was perfect.”

“perfect shots don’t get you the win. defeating your opponent does.”

he signalled that practice was over for the day, and you walked off court at the same time as he did to gather your things. the woman watching from the stands stood at that moment, and began her descent down to meet you in the locker room.

natasha romanoff walked up behind you as you changed, the sudden feeling of her hands on your bare skin a welcomed intrusion, as you sighed into her touch. she let herself have her hands full for a minute, roaming over your muscles until she was satisfied, before settling them on the edge of your shoulders, massaging the tight knots out of them. you were still so tense.

she pressed her lips lovingly on a scar, waiting for you to finish panting at the feeling of where her hands had been. “you were great out there today.”

“coach said otherwise.”

“mm,” she let you put on your shirt, turning you around to kiss you after, “you were fighting him back just as hard. are you okay?”

you zipped up your bag then, taking a moment to avoid her question, before, “do you think i’m like what he says? what they all say…?”

natasha motioned for you to continue. “that i’m all bark, no bite, now? that i’ve lost my mojo?”

“baby–”

“–because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.” the room had suddenly gotten tense, a stark drop to your composure that you had managed to hide so well on the court. in the locker rooms, you were angry again. you had been angry for a while now.

“losing a few matches isn’t going to hurt your record, baby. you’re this college’s star player, you know this.”

“but losing four matches in a row is going to shatter my ego. my confidence. you of all people should know this!”

you had backed away from natasha, eyebrows raised, posture standoffish. she hated this. she hated seeing you like this. as bad as it was to say, she hated seeing you lose. it was the worst part of yourself that you let her see, when you lost. but what was she, as a partner, if not to stand by you through your career, your ups and down? she should be sharing your pain, taking some burden off of your shoulders, at the very least.

“just last week, i let it go to break point, and i still fucking lost!” you had raised your fist at this point, nearly punching it at the steel frames of the lockers, when you reminded yourself of just the complications that could arise from shattered knuckles. your coach would never let this go. but still, the gesture was there, and the fire in your eyes remained all too dangerous.

suddenly, you were pressed against the lockers, the weight of natasha’s body engulfing yours, as her arms came to hold you tight against herself. you were forced to embrace her back, despite your slight protests and pleas, but she was having none of it. she had wrapped you up in her tight, strong embrace, and her hands were finding themselves to bring your face towards hers, eyes boring into your own.

“nat–”

“–last week, last week, you were against a professional, baby. a nearly retired one at that, but she was fighting for wins at the australian open not too long ago. she’s been doing this longer than you have even started learning how to hit the ball. don’t be so hard on yourself, will you? nobody, nobody else, could have gotten to where you were with her. break point is a feat in itself.”

you didn’t look convinced. but she didn’t need you to look convinced; she needed you to listen. “do you understand? you need to look at things from a different perspective, from my perspective. not your coach’s, not your teammates, certainly not that player’s fucking groupies, who were gloating about your loss all the way out of the stadium. you need to believe in yourself, as i have always believed in you. and you can’t keep going on like this. do you understand me?”

natasha’s eyes never departed from yours, her gaze firm. her hands were shaking, a little unsure of your reaction, because as far as she knew, you didn’t look like you were going to back down from a fight. either with yourself or her, she didn’t know. she certainly hoped it was at least the latter.

but then, your gaze cast downwards, you nodded ashamedly. sighing into the air, you pressed your face into the crook of her neck for a moment, the height advantage letting you lift her up, and she cooed as she let you gather yourself.

“i understand.”

she patted the back of your head. like a mother would a petulant, but repenting child. “good. now let’s go get dinner, then a massage for your shoulders. then back to the gym first thing tomorrow morning.”

–

natasha watched you push around your vegetables for nearly half of dinner. she knew the campus meal tickets didn’t exactly provide for five-star dishes, but she had never seen you so down like this before. it was almost as if you had become a ghost of yourself.

“steve’s birthday is coming up soon.” she decided to change the topic, and hopefully, get your mind off of tennis for a minute.

you gave a nonchalant grunt, finally stabbing the piece of broccoli. she steadied herself. “should we get him the pair of boots he’s always wanted? i figured we could pull in wanda and clint too, if we want to get him a bigger gift.”

your eyes were still unfocused. it was as if she wasn’t there at all. “baby.”

you looked up, half-expecting natasha to be pissed. but she only gave you a small smile. “steve’s birthday?”

“we can get him the boots. i don’t mind paying for them. but i don’t think i’m going to his party.”

“why not? your match on that day ends in the afternoon.”

“yeah, but i think i’m going to be pretty tired.” not to mention if i lose.

natasha decided not to argue with you on it. she knew enough how touchy the subject of your career already was. instead, she jabbed the last piece of corn with her fork, and gestured for your mouth to open.

the both of you left shortly after.

–

in a friendly match the next weekend with the neighbouring college, you were faced up against the top ranking player once more. being a finals round, you had imagined that the crowd would be roaring with applause for how far you’d come, but when the sets began to balance after your first few strong starts and the heat of the afternoon sun began beating on everyone’s backs, the crowd dwindled out one by one from boredom and, to you at least, the possible disappointment of you losing.

it was only expected, from a disenchanted champion. the college’s once pride and joy, the one who was once regarded as a candidate with potential to win grand slams. unfortunately, people only really like you when you win.

but natasha stayed. and so did her friends, and your friends that she had managed to force to stay. you had gestured that they could leave if they wanted to, during the breaks, but they were afraid to even nod, or make a move, lest they wanted to be subjected to natasha’s ferocity, sitting behind them. it was almost humiliating that they stayed only because your girlfriend was forcing them to, you thought.

thwock. a missed shot from your end.

another thwock. “out!”

by your last mistake, the crowd had only left natasha, steve, and some die-hard groupies of yours that were slowly losing hope too. so when the final set was determined by your failure to execute a passing shot, and subsequently touching the net, the roars from the other side seemed almost mocking. you had lost.

natasha rushed down to the locker rooms again, only this time, your friends followed, and the absolute mortification that you felt, along with the pure anger and frustration of losing, overpowered any remaining sense of decency you had left.

the moment you spotted her coming in, then the company behind her, you almost felt like the first time the instinct to shatter your racket came to you.

“out! all of you, out!” you had screamed, not caring to be decent even to your teammates.

“come on, we just wanted–”

“–i don’t care, out! you’ve just come in here to humiliate me, haven’t you? gloating how i could lose, even in a friendly! how shit of a player i am, now!”

the people behind natasha grumbled, but one by one shuffled out. it was better to tell you about how unfair you were being another day, not when emotions were running so high. natasha was thankful they understood. but it didn’t make what you did any less unfair.

she sat beside you as you kept your head down. “that wasn’t very nice.”

“losing isn’t very nice.”

“they meant well, baby.”

“no, they don’t.”

“how many times do i have–”

“–a ton, okay, natasha?” you looked up, slamming your drink between the both of you. “a ton of times, you have to remind me. that my friends love me, that they’re here to support me. but how the fuck am i supposed to believe that when i don’t even have anything for them to support me for?”

“your friends don’t just love you because you’re good at tennis, my love. i don’t love you just because you’re good at tennis. this is ridiculous! i can’t believe we are arguing over this, i can’t believe you think of yourself so lowly like this.”

natasha was met with a deafening silence the moment she finished her last words, her chest heaving up and down from her own disappointment. the rest of the players had filtered out, upon hearing your argument, leaving only you and her there. like always.

your hand rubbed over your face resignedly, hands covering the beautiful eyes natasha loved loves staring into. she wanted to reach out, to pull your hands away from yourself, to even get you to answer her, to let her know that you at least believed you were better than this. but she was afraid of the answer she was going to get.

then, she heard a sniffle, and a small, choked sob afterwards. and that was it.

you were up standing the next second, and slinging your racket bag over your shoulder. “i’m going to the gym. i know you have class after this. don’t wait up.”

she was left there alone, the dismay and disappointment of it all weighing down on her, the moment the doors to the locker room were slammed.

–

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that, i apologised to my friends, now i want to apologise to you. i love you, i’m sorry. the words didn’t seem enough. the guilt that accumulated and eventually avalanched into your heart was almost insurmountable, after the incident with natasha. you weren’t even sure you were worthy of being forgiven, you thought as you sat in your car later that night, still angry at her, but making sure that she was safe in the short walk home from her class to her dorm.

which was why you found yourself in the florist off campus a few days later, asking the employee what flowers best represented i’m sorry for being such a terrible girlfriend, and which flowers were most likely going to help you be forgiven. the white and blue carnations reminded you of the colours in natasha’s room.

“how much is it?” you asked, to which the cashier then showed you the till. you cursed internally, not even knowing flowers were so expensive nowadays.

checking the contents of your wallet for a minute, you cursed even louder at yourself at the emptiness that greeted you. losing matches meant losing money, that was for sure, and it wasn’t a secret that you were mostly funding your life with prize money won from big matches in the state, with college at least funded with the athlete’s scholarship. yet another reason why i can’t keep doing this, you thought.

it was between dinner for the next few days and gas for your car, and the flowers. fuck it, skipping dinners once in a while wouldn’t hurt, and you could walk from place to place.

you handed over your card, and began the walk to natasha’s dorm.

when she received you, natasha noticed you looked almost like a kicked puppy, none of the anger or smugness you carried with you on and off the court. no, with her, you were soft, and vulnerable, and all-too pitiful for her love. she knows the power she has over you. she never had to worry.

so she brought you in, allowed you to apologise, to beg at her feet, and for her mercy and forgiveness. she allowed you to worship her, taking her to her bed and whispering how much you messed up to her skin, how much you loved her when you were making her see stars, how much you thought you would hurt yourself if she ever left you when she was chanting your name over and over again, begging you to let her come undone.

–

steve’s birthday rolled around, and natasha was once again seated in the front row for you. she never missed your matches.

you thought she should have missed this one, when the match reached a break point and you lost again. when you had gotten so frustrated, so furious, over a careless choke that you had, that you received a punishment for smashing your racket into bits as the opponent screamed in celebration.

she came down to sit with you in the locker room after, but it was in silence. there was nothing to say, and nothing to be said. there were tears streaming down your face, dripping onto the floor. your vision was obscured by the tears, and you would have lost yourself if not for the hand that was holding your own, firm, steadfast. somewhere along the line, she was kissing you, then slowly pushing for you to get up, and bringing you to her dorm. you didn’t really remember anything more after that, busy curling into a ball and crying yourself to sleep afterwards.

when she woke you again to accompany her to steve’s party, you felt almost bad that the ringing in your ears hadn’t gone away, and so had your misery from the match earlier. but natasha needed a ride, and you weren’t going to let her drive back later if she had been drinking for the night.

–

you encouraged natasha to mingle around at the party, and to not worry about you, as you stuck around your few friends for a bit. she was unsure, but you were firm, and soon enough, she too had disappeared into the crowd.

your eyes never left her after you found her again, though, leaning back into a pillar as your friend sam went on and on about his own matches so far. you didn’t have the heart, or energy, to tell him that tennis was the last thing you wanted to talk about right then.

she was by the birthday boy, his arm slung around her waist as the both of them guzzled down cups and cups of spiked punch. their circle was closely-knit, you had always known this, but somehow, the lingering touches, and his hand slowly travelling up and down her back, was ticking you off this time. you had almost half a mind to ask steve what he thought he was doing, but you knew natasha would get embarrassed, and upset. you knew you already made her upset enough today.

but then, sam quipped, “they’ve been awfully close lately, haven’t they?”

he must have forgotten he was talking to natasha’s girlfriend, of all people, as he continued, “steve’s on a winning streak recently. on track to become valedictorian, potentially getting drafted by the top teams next season, it’s only a matter of time before he wants someone by his side to share it with too, huh?”

“...right.”

“you know how natasha likes winners,” he hit your elbow playfully, breath reeking of alcohol and other illegal substances, “she just loves the game. i bet that’s how you got her to fall for you too.”

“not my good looks, or horrible attitude to anything outside of tennis?” you tore your eyes away from natasha for a moment to glare at sam. he chuckled.

“i’m just saying, better to keep your girl by your side, future federer.” he disappeared shortly after, and when you found natasha again, she was laughing and putting her head on steve’s shoulder.

instead of feeling angry this time, you were dejected, and a little bit ashamed. of course. natasha liked winners. and you certainly weren’t one anymore.

you bit back a harsh breath, and went outside to get some fresh air when steve stole a glance at her that was far too intimate to be one of merely friends. you should have known. if she wasn’t winning with you, she was winning with someone else, somewhere else.

that night, for the first time in your career, and relationship, you thought about retiring.

–

but when the competition season rolled around, and the WTAs approaching, you had managed to pull yourself up in the rankings enough to secure a spot at a challengers’ round to hopefully beat princeton and start a domino effect that could lead you to participating in a grand slam.

natasha was walking beside you, struggling to keep up as she checked your schedule haphazardly. “the princeton girl, she’s on the other side of the roster. i doubt the two of you would be playing each other unless she reaches the finals too. which…at this point…”

you didn’t want to know if she meant that you wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the finals, or that the princeton champion would be knocked out early. you were afraid you knew the answer.

steve had dropped her off at the stadium when you went outside to pick her up, his smug smile as he waved her goodbye, and his eyes following yours, making you want to reach over inside the car and beating him with your racket. you had to arrive earlier to discuss strategy with your coaches, and while you were more than willing to pay for natasha’s ride in, she had mentioned that steve would be dropping her off. she sounded almost excited, so you dropped the topic and went back to your practice. like you have been doing for the past few months.

turns out it wasn’t so hard to succeed, and win matches, when you were more or less resigned to your fate that nobody was ever going to expect anything more of you from your streak of losses all those matches ago, and you had effectively lost the love of your life to some football player who kept winning, and winning.

you were at a challenger’s round this time, so you didn't need to worry. you won, and won, and won a little bit more.

–

thwock. right over the net. the opponent misses and falls to her knees.

a serve that would have made williams roar in awe. thwock.

last one. the set was done if you landed this one. thwock.

the ball landed inside the court, right by the opponent’s feet. and you advanced to the finals.

you remembered natasha rushing down, not even waiting until you entered the locker room. she was running, running, and jumping into your arms, kissing you like her life depended on it. you spun her around, giving her a smug smile, trying to hide a bleeding heart that knew she too, was surprised that you ever stood a chance of winning.

the crowd roared behind you. people were liking you again. but you had never felt worse.

–

it turned out that the princeton champion had advanced to the finals, and would be playing against you, after all. there was no surprise for her, but certainly a surprise for you, as the newscasters and fans had aptly put, a grand shocker. they had all thought you had seen your glory days over.

natasha caught you watching the latest telecast from the hotel’s television, gaze zeroed in on the anchor who was comparing your statistics over the last few games. almost perfect scores. leaving opponents with loves in sets. behind her, were the students of your college, decked out in the colour of the university and your face and initials printed on their shirts, caps, flags. all of it. they had never looked more proud. the college had even rolled out a banner in your name, in lieu of the upcoming finals. you knew natasha enjoyed all of it more than you did.

when it came to the broadcast from princeton, the college’s president had come to give a special interview. he mentioned that he never doubted his champion from the start, unlike what your college had to go through with you. you found yourself wanting to spit at the television.

but from behind, the sound of running water from the shower had stopped, and she had come out, in a robe and her wet hair in a towel. she saw the glazed look in your eyes, and promptly picked up the remote to shut the programme off.

she settled into the spot beside you, nuzzling into your comfort. she had to pull your own arms off of the couch to wrap around her. you thought she must have known. she couldn’t be so stupid. she knew that you knew about her, and what she had always liked.

but then you remembered, beyond the resentment, and grief, of the past few months, of just what she had been through with you. when you lost your very first match in college, natasha had been your friend, still. she was dating the captain of the basketball team, you remembered, but she had gone with you afterwards to walk the long way home, encouraging you and telling you that it would get better. it always would. you only half-believed her.

but then, you won. and won, and won, and won. by the tenth streak of winning, natasha had broken up with said boyfriend, and began hanging around your dorm, the tennis courts, even the cafeterias more often. she went where you went, showed up to most of your games, was the loudest one in the crowd when you secured sets. she would wait for you after your mini celebratory sessions with your teammates, and fans, and friends, all for a moment alone with you. then, she would bring you out for drinks, for dinners, sometimes the occasional walk down memory lane to her dorm. she was kind, she made you laugh, and you were on a streak. so what was there stopping you?

you fell for her just as easily as you fell in love with winning.

to your surprise, she stuck around when you lost a few matches along the way, never letting it phase her, or you. to everyone else’s surprise, she stuck around when you twisted your ankle in your second year of playing. she had left a pattern in her wake, you see, of leaving all of her past lovers when the going got tough, or when they had simply stopped winning. it was inevitable, you thought. but no, not this time. when you fell to your knees during that tournament, screaming in agony as your ankle felt like it was folding in on itself, she was there. she was right beside the medical officer, holding you up as he inspected the injury, face looking even more panicked than yours as they wheeled you off to the hospital.

she was there, as they wheeled you in for surgery, and wheeled you out to recover. she never left, even when the doctors told you it would take months to recover, let alone get back to playing on your level. she helped you recover, was the driving force in your physical therapy success, even became the sole reason that you returned to playing so quickly after your injury. you hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, much less lose her at all. you were too afraid of the possibility of her becoming someone else’s because of your failure in your sport.

natasha stayed through your losing streak. she never got mad, or lost her patience, with you. it had been three years now, with her. she had never lasted in a relationship so long, so had you. she had talked about getting married before, right after college, to which you had entertained, but still never gotten the full grasp of. how could she talk about marrying you, with such a reputation that preceded her? what if you had lost, would she have run off before the altar?

what if you lost tomorrow? you looked at her again, this time, and she was on her phone. she was texting your friends to make sure they came for your match tomorrow. you felt horrible.

“nat.”

she looked up. “yes?”

“tell me it doesn’t matter.”

natasha sat up this time, her hand holding yours. she looked confused. “what doesn’t matter?” “whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

her face remained unchanged for a moment, but at the quiver of your lip, and the coldness in your hands, she broke her composure. she shook her head slowly, gaze steely. “no.”

“why not?” it was your turn to harden the look on your face. “why won’t you tell me at least that?”

“because,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “you’re the professional. you’ll tell me whether it matters or not.”

you sat up as well. “i just want to know that you’ll love me…no matter what…whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

natasha’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet yours. she looked down, at your shirt, then away, but never back at you. you pleaded, “natasha, please.”

“no,” she remained firm, “no. i won’t tell you that, because i know you’ll beat her. you’ll win tomorrow. and you’ll go to the grand slams, you’ll be the best tennis player that’s ever played in them, and you’re going to win. every. single. one. of. them.”

“and what if i don’t? not even the grand slams, not even tomorrow? what if i come in second again, after all this time?”

you were growing desperate, and she was growing distant. you suddenly thought that you would have done anything, absolutely anything then, for her to tell you what you wanted to hear. to tell you that she would love you no matter if you won or lost.

natasha watched as you dropped to your knees in front of her, eyes already teary. your hands scrambled to hold her shirt, her waist, any part of her. she held them back, but to stop you from reaching further. then, she held your face again, but this time, it was you that was begging for her. you looked downright pitiful.

she wiped the stray tear off your cheek. she knew what she was going to say would either make or destroy you. “i’ll tell you this instead.”

“please.”

“baby, if you lose the match tomorrow, i’m leaving you. for good.”

–

thwock. thwock. thwock.

princeton parried, the ball is sent to the line. you return it with ease. princeton flicks back, you work twice as hard to send it over.

your moves were clean, cleaner than ever before, aided by a brain filled with rage and a heart filled with fear.

princeton served, out. you served, in. the advantage stood, and the crowd stood to cheer. princeton hit back, you hit harder. it was a game both colleges hadn’t seen in decades. there were talks of both of you dominating the grand slams, even possibly working together, even being the next best duo to ever hit the sport.

break point. the ball whizzes. and finally…after all the pain, the fear, the lost matches and the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was over.

you weren’t quick enough. princeton won.

a/n: i just love pathetic, pitiful characters who are down so bad for natasha romanoff, is that so wrong?

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel cinematic universe #tennis player! reader #challengers #natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

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