#i love him so much i wanna pull for him when he comes back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cameronsprincess · 1 day ago

Note

omg pls write about frat!rafe and reader and she wants to make a sex tape with rafe as revenge porn for her ex

PLEASE!!!!! i love this so much omfg!!!! i hope you love it baby!

CW: smut! 18+ only! frat!rafe, slight violence, drinking, multiple positions, fingering, male receiving oral, rafe ‘n reader make a sex tape and send it to her shit ass ex bf!

a/n: i’ve never been in college so bare with me, bc idk if i’m getting some terms or things correct, but i did some googling for this😂 also.. i lowkey gave this a lil more storyline.. oops.

masterlists.

you had your sights set on the frat president for a couple of weeks now. ever since you and spencer broke up, you had wanted to figure out a way to get back at him for cheating on you… and what better way to do that than to hook up with his frat brother, the most sought after man on campus, rafe cameron.

it’d been two weeks of you subtly flirting with rafe, giving him fuck me eyes any time you saw him, running into him in the courtyard or dining hall, finding an excuse to talk with him after the fact. it didn’t take much, honestly, after day one rafe was already reeled in.

you’re currently sitting in the library, books open and scattered around the table, studying for a final exam when you hear a voice you’ve grown accustomed to hearing as of late.

“hey, pretty girl. whatcha studying for?”

you glance up from your textbook, setting your pen down on the tabletop and crossing one leg over the other before smiling brightly at rafe. “my final for forensic psychology. worth twenty percent of my grade,” you pause, biting at your bottom lip and batting your lashes at him. “what’re you doing in here?” you ask, a slight tease in your tone.

rafe chuckles, the sound deep and smooth. it sends a jolt of arousal straight between your legs.

“just came for some quiet between classes, didn’t expect to find you here though,” he shifts closer to you, his large, ringed hand falling on your thigh. “i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t happy i ran into you though.”

your eyes flit down to where his hand is resting on your bare thigh, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second. you give him a small smile, “well i’m glad you ran into me too, it’s always nice being around you.”

rafe grins, his hand tightening on your thigh before he pulls back. you frown at the loss of his touch, but you quickly mask it, not wanting to seem desperate for his attention. this is all a plan, you and rafe will never be anything more than a one night stand.

rafe clears his throat after a beat of awkward silence, “so i’ve been meaning to text you, but i’ve just been busy… this is better though, asking you in person i mean.”

your brow furrows, tilting your head to the side. ask you what?

“okay..” you say hesitantly. “what’d you wanna ask me?”

rafe pulls his backpack off his shoulder, setting it on the floor in front of him before unzipping it and pulling out a wrinkled flyer, passing it to you. “we’re having an end-of-the semester party is this weekend, i was wondering if you’d come?”

you study the paper in your hand, trying your best to stifle the smile wanting to break free. this is perfect. you can attach yourself to rafe’s side all night long, spencer would definitely see the two of you together, and then you can make sure he sees when you disappear upstairs together, because let’s be real… you weren’t planning on ending the night not sleeping with rafe.

your eyes finally lift, finding rafe’s sparkling blue ones. you nod your head slowly, “yeah, absolutely i’ll be there. can i bring a friend?”

a big smile takes over rafe’s face. “yeah, ‘course. bring whoever,” he zips his bag back up, standing from the chair he’s in and slinging one of the straps back over his shoulder, gripping it with his right hand. “see you saturday night, pretty girl.”

he winks at you before turning and disappearing out the library doors. you wait until you’re sure he’s gone before letting out a quiet squeal, grabbing your phone and snapping a picture of the flyer, opening your messages with your best friend before sending her a text.

you: *attachment: 1 image* oh my god, lex! rafe fucking cameron just invited me to the end-of-the semester party at his frat this weekend.. he said i could bring whoever, you in?

her reply comes in almost instantly.

lex: *lex hearted an image* ummmm. of course i’m fucking in, holy shit, babe! see i told you that you could pull this off. hurry back home, we need to start planning what to wear now!

—

three days later, saturday night.

“y/n, c’mon babe, we’re gonna be late.” lex groans, her knuckles tapping against your bathroom door again.

you laugh silently, checking your hair and makeup one final time before opening the door. lex’s hand hangs mid-air, her probably ready to knock again. you roll your eyes at her, “i’m coming i’m coming. isn’t that the point of these parties though? no one’s ever early or on time..”

lexi laughs, letting out a slow whistle after. “you’re right, but damn girl. rafe is not going to be able to keep his hands off you, you look sexy!”

you give her a small twirl, running your hands down the front of your tight black dress. you make your way past her, grabbing your heels before plopping onto your mattress and slipping them on your feet. you stand, grabbing your purse before slipping your phone and wallet inside.

turning to face lexi, you smile. “ready?”

“ready.” she repeats with a smile.

the two of you make your way down the stairs of your two-bedroom townhome, walking out the front door and to the sidewalk, waiting on the uber lexi ordered to arrive.

“so what’s the plan, ma? just gonna show up and attach yourself to rafe?”

you shake away the nerves you’re suddenly feeling, trying to clear your mind. this was going to be fine. a little alcohol, some flirting and touching, rafe would be putty in your hands.

“yeah.. i guess? i mean, what else can i do? if i’m just upfront about what i want he’d respect it more, right?”

lexi smiles. “right,” she pauses, looking down at her phone to check where the uber is. “almost here. but, back on the rafe subject, you’re hot, and you’re single, and from word around campus, rafe isn’t one to deny a pretty girl on his arm for the night. it’ll be fine! and bonus points, that jackass spencer will be there and he’ll be furious seeing you two together. plan ‘get back at spencer for being a cheating prick’ is going to be a success!”

you smile, opening your mouth to respond when a black nissan altima pulls up to the curb. the window rolls down. “for lexi adams?”

lexi smiles, grabbing your hand and opening the back door, pulling you inside the car. the driver pulls away from the curb, asking for the address.

—

the drive is only about fifteen minutes, the uber pulling up to the front of the frat house and letting the two of you out. you grip lexi’s hand in yours, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly before the two of you begin walking toward the front door.

two brothers stand outside the door, “names?” one of them asks.

you look over at lexi, your eyes slightly narrowed in a ‘is he serious’ type of way. you shake your head, looking back at the man who’d asked your names before responding, “y/n y/l/n… and this is my best friend, lexi adams…”

the two look at each other, almost like they’re contemplating letting you in. this is fucking ridiculous, it’s a frat party for christs sake, not a fucking vip section at a high dollar club.

you open your mouth to say that rafe cameron had invited you, but before you can even speak, rafe’s voice fills yours ears.

“you made it!” he says excitedly, squeezing between the two men outside the door, his hand gripping your free one. he turns to walk through the doors, but before he does he stops and whispers something to both of the men standing there. they both look up at you and lexi before putting their focus back on rafe, nodding their heads at whatever he said.

rafe drags you inside, lexi following closely behind as her hand is still holding one of yours. the music inside beats loudly throughout the house, vibrating off the walls and floors and rafe pulls you into the open living space.

he pulls you toward a table lined with various liquor bottles and beer, stopping and releasing your hand. you and lexi stand side by side, staring at rafe as he smiles. “whatcha drinkin’ tonight?” he shouts over the music.

you eye the various bottles of liquor, mixers and beers. you finally settle on a malibu and coke, lexi settling for a vodka cran. rafe quickly makes both drinks, passing them to you and lexi before slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side with a smile.

the three of you walk around the house, squeezing through crowds of people and watching as partygoers dance or partake in intense games of beer pong and flip cup at the various tables spread throughout the house. rafe finally reaches a small group sitting on a few couches, his hand gripping yours as he plops onto the couch, pulling you with him and into his lap. butterflies erupt in your stomach when his free hand snakes its way around your waist, resting flat on your lower stomach.

you rest your back against his chest, leisurely sipping on your mixed drink. rafe leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “you look fucking sexy tonight.”

your cheeks heat up, biting softly at the rim of your cup before bringing it down. you lean forward to set it on the table in front of you, leaning back and turning your neck toward him to thank him. you barely finish your sentence before a familiar and unwelcome voice fills your ears.

“well isn’t this fucking cozy,” spencer says, anger and jealousy lacing his tone. “y/n… what the fuck are you doing?” he scoffs, letting out a dark laugh before he speaks again. “better yet, what the fuck are you doing, cameron? that’s my ex girlfriend. why the fuck is she here and in your lap no less?”

rafe breathes out an annoyed sigh. his thumb rubs gently at your stomach through your dress, his large hands gripping your hips and lifting you off his lap, setting you on the couch and standing. he steps into spencer’s chest, his voice low and demanding as he speaks. “last i checked, i’m the fucking president of this frat house, and i can have whoever the fuck i want here…” he gives spencer a one up, laughing before tapping his cheek and stepping back. “also… didn’t you cheat on her? with vanessa walsh? a shame, really, spence. vanessa is a major downgrade compared to y/n here.” he says, his right hand gesturing back at you.

spencer’s lips part, an annoyed and irritated expression on his face. he rolls his eyes, letting a slow smile take over his lips. “okay. have fun, she’s a fucking prude bitch anyways.”

you gasp and lexi moves to stand but you grip her wrist, pulling her back down. your eyes flit around, taking in the expressions of everyone sitting around you. there’s a lot of shock, a lot of excitement, and some people just blankly watch the interaction. lexi scoots closer to you, gluing herself to your side, resting her head on your shoulder. “fuck him, babe. you’re not a prude, he’s just a prick.”

rafe presses his tongue into his cheek, nodding his head slowly. he turns to face you, his eyes softening when they meet yours. “i’m sorry.” he says softly.

but before you can even respond, he’s turning back to face spencer, his hand clenched in a fist by his side rising and connecting with spencer’s jaw. the party grows silent, people gasping, some shouting praises at rafe, and others concerned for spencer.

“what the fuck, man?” spencer shouts, his jaw moving side to side as he moves to cup it in his hand.

rafe steps into him again, gripping him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into him, “don’t you ever. fucking talk about her that way again. understand?”

spencer tries to speak but rafe shoves him back, the force knocking spencer onto his ass. rafe turns to face you, holding his hand out for you to take. you do, placing your hand in his and letting him lift you up from the couch. his eyes go to lexi, “i’m gonna just borrow her for a moment, yeah? i’ll have my best friend topper come sit with you, keep you company. i promise he’s a good guy.”

lexi smiles, waving her hand through the air. “don’t worry about me, cameron. you take all the time you need with my girl,” she pauses, her smile dropping off her face. “but if you hurt her, i’ll be forced to hunt you down…”

rafe smiles, letting his head fall as he laughs. “got it, boss. she’ll be taken care of.”

lexi gives him a nod, and rafe drags you away. spencer’s eyes are burning into the two of you, but you couldn’t care less. you know what your next move is now, that is, if rafe’s okay with it. rafe stops near a staircase, talking to a blonde boy who you’re assuming is topper. topper glances at you, then over to the area you just were before nodding and pushing his body off the stairs, he stops to give you a gentle smile, “don’t worry, i’ll make sure your friend is good.” you thank him, and then rafe continues to pull you up the stairs once topper disappears into the crowd of bodies.

he pulls you down a long hallway, making it to a door at the very end of the hall. he digs into his back pocket, pulling out a set of keys and sifting through them before landing on the one he needs. he quickly unlocks the door, pushing it open and pulling you inside before he’s shutting it and locking it back. you take in the room you’re in, a queen sized mattress on a metal frame sits against one wall, a long dresser against the other. he has a desk pushed against one wall, his laptop, business textbooks, and a small lamp sat on top of it. he has a small closet in the room, the doors slightly open and revealing the rack that’s stuffed full with clothes. you grin, taking in the rather bare walls, give for a few pictures of him and friends and some sports posters.

“cute.” you say softly, running your fingers along the length of his dresser. you gasp when rafe’s hands snake around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks, the feel of his breath on your skin sending goosebumps up your arms. you turn to face him, your ass pressed into the dresser as rafe steps further into you.

your eyes find his, dropping down to his lips and back up again. “yeah.. i’m perfectly fine.”

the tension in the room thickens, buzzing through your body like electricity. rafe’s eyes drop to your lips and continue their descent down your body before slowly dragging back up and stopping on your lips again.

“rafe i-” you begin, but his lips crashing against yours has the words dying on your tongue, a moan escaping you instead.

rafe slips his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours as his hands run up and down the sides of your body. he drags his hands up your sides, all the way up to your face. he firmly cups your cheeks, kissing you like he’s trying to steal your air for himself.

he backs the two of you toward the desk that sits against a far wall in his room, his lips never leaving yours, hands gliding down your sides. he reaches your thighs, gripping at them tightly and lifting you up onto the desk. your hands find his face, pulling him further into you, tongues tangling and teeth clashing before he pulls away breathless. his blue eyes search yours, your heart tugging in your chest at the deep pools of blue burning into your face.

rafe’s lips tilt up in a slight smile, his fingers lazily running along your thigh. “tell me what you want.” he rasped, his eyes never leaving yours.

your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath, and your voice comes out slightly shaky as you say, “you.”

the one word was all rafe needed to hear, his fingers gripping the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head. he tosses it to the floor before he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming every inch of your body through your dress. his hands run up your thighs, disappearing under your dress. he runs his fingers along the crease of your thigh, toying with your thong, a small groan escaping him.

you push him off you, his lips detaching from yours, strings of spit pulling and attached to both of your lips. he eyes you curiously. “you okay?” he says slowly.

you smile. “yeah. perfect. i just.. i have one request.”

the corner of his lips tip slightly, head cocked to the side. “yeah, yeah what’s up?”

“can we,” you pause, laughing and shaking your head because you’re afraid he might find you ridiculous for even asking. he barely knows you. you shake away the nerves, continuing with your thoughts anyways. “can we record us? i just.. i want to get back at spencer… i know it’s stupid and i have nothing to prove but-”

rafe cuts you off with his lips on yours, kissing you softly and slowly. he finally breaks away, gripping your face in his hands. “shut up. it’s not stupid, i get it and i’m down. i’ve grown sick of spencer’s shit, so this’ll be fun.”

you smile, a wide genuine smile as you softly push him back. hopping off his desk, you kick your heels off your feet before gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head. you stand in front of rafe, in nothing but a black lace thong and bra. his eyes widen as he takes in your body, his bottom lip brought between his teeth. “goddamn… he cheated on you? fucking idiot…”

you laugh, looking for your phone and frowning when you realize you’d left it downstairs with lexi. “shit.. i left my phone downstairs with lex.”

rafe chuckles, moving past you and toward his nightstand. he grabs his phone off the top, opening his camera app and switching it to video mode. he starts the video, setting the phone up on his desk, a perfect view of his bed on the screen. “done.” rafe breathes, stepping back, turning and gripping your hips again.

he lifts you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kisses you harshly again. you moan against his lips, grinding yourself against him. rafe groans, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before he releases it with a messy pop. he drops you onto his mattress, watching as your hair fans out around you. “you’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

a blush heats your cheeks and you eyes watch him intently as he begins stripping himself of his khakis and boxers. he stands before you, completely naked, his long and thick cock bobbing in the air. you begin salivating at the sight of him. your hand reaches out, hesitantly wrapping it around his thick length. rafe groans, his head thrown back as your name leaves his lips on a breathless whisper.

you begin stroking him slowly, running your hand from the base to the tip, squeezing at his smooth, pink head. precum drips from the slit of his dick, and you quickly dart your tongue out, running it along the slit to catch it, the taste of him exploding on your tastebuds has you moaning. you drop him from your hand and rafe steps back, grabbing his phone and switching it to the back camera. he fists your hair tightly, wrapping your loose strands around his hand once, twice before tugging your head up. your eyes stare into the camera lense, his next words coming out harsh and breathless.

“suck my cock, pretty girl. go on, show me how good you are at swallowing dick.”

you bite your bottom lip, smiling up at him. your eyes never leave the camera lense as your tongue darts out, licking up the bottom of his shaft. your tongue continues its teasing motions, tracing the vein that runs up the bottom of his thick cock, all the way up to his swollen and leaking tip. you wrap your lips around him, sucking at him softly before pushing him completely down your throat.

“oh shit… that’s it pretty girl… just like that.” rafe groans, his hand holding the camera lowering, capturing every second of your mouth working at his dick. the hand that fists your hair tightens, holding you in place as he begins thrusting his hips, brutally fucking himself down your throat. the room is filled with your slurps and gags, rafe’s groans also bouncing off the walls. your clit pulses in sync with his dick, throbbing and twitching inside your mouth before he’s roughly pulling himself back.

he breathes heavily, letting out a breathless laugh. “jesus, i almost came too soon.”

rafe moves and sets his phone back up on the desk, making sure it’s perfectly positioned on his bed before he’s walking toward you. he flips you onto your back again, crawling on top of you and kissing your lips hard. he pulls his lips from yours, pushing up with his hands and pulling at the cups of your bra, letting your tits spill out. he groans at the sight of them. his lips wrap around a nipple, sucking and biting at it before he switches to the other, giving it the same attention. he finally pulls back, blowing on your nipples, the cool air making them tighten more.

his fingers run down the length of your stomach, stopping once he reaches the waistband of your panties. he slowly pushes them down, your ass lifting to help him get them off. his eyes find your glistening pussy, a slow exhale escaping his lips. “fuck… you’re so wet…”

he leans over, opening the top drawer of his nightstand and pulling out a condom. he rips the packet open with his teeth, pulling out the lubricated condom before he’s slowly dragging it down his length. your chest heaves, eyes watching him as he grips himself in his hand, slowly lining himself up with your soaked entrance. “gonna feel so fuckin’ good… you ready?”

you give him a small nod, breathing out an “mhmm” before rafe slowly pushes his tip inside you. your hands wrap around his neck, nails digging into the skin of his back and dragging down as he slowly pushes more of himself inside you.

the two of you moan in unison when he bottoms out inside you, “fuck you feel so good..” rafe groans, his body unmoving as he lets you adjust to his size. you play with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head down and kissing him, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

“rafe… please? please fuck me.” you beg him, and he groans.

“yes ma’am.” is all he says before he’s slowly dragging out and slamming back inside. his hips start a quick pace, moving in and out of you harshly, his tip hitting a spot inside you that had your toes curling and bright white light blinding your vision.

you moan his name, loudly crying out and your fingers tug at his hair, scratch at his back, gripping onto any part of him you can as he brutally fucks himself inside you.

“mmmm you’re so fuckin’ wet and tight, i feel that sweet pussy gripping ‘round me, pretty girl… you gonna cum f’me? want you to make a fuckin’ mess on my cock.”

your pussy flutters around him, a moan of his name spilling past your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. the first orgasm hits you hard, your body tensing, legs shaking as you come undone around him. rafe smiles, quickly pulling himself out of you and flipping you onto your stomach. he lifts your ass into the air, giving it a harsh smack before he’s climbing off the bed, grabbing his phone and making his way back to you.

he points the camera in your face, groaning as he says “look at that pretty face… look so damn beautiful after you’ve cum around my cock baby.”

you give the camera a lazy smile, your eyes fluttering shut when he pushes himself back inside you from behind this time. he pulls the camera away from your face, focusing it on where his dick disappears inside your soaked cunt. he lowers the camera, capturing every detail of your pussy gripping his cock. “goddamn.. look how good she squeezes my dick. never seen anything more fuckin’ sexy.”

he pulls the camera back up, holding it up with one hand as his free hand grabs onto your hip. he begins pounding inside you again, reveling in the sweet noises he pulled from you with each thrust of his hips. your pussy clenches down around him again, squeezing him tightly and he lets out a strangled moan. “fuck baby, you gonna cum again?” he teases, his hand that’s holding your hip releasing it, landing a harsh smack to your ass again.

a loud cry is pulled from you as your second orgasm washes over you, this one dragging out and lasting longer than the first. rafe never lets up, his pace never faltering. he fucks himself into you, helping you ride out your high. once you come down, he’s pulling out again, setting the phone back up and lifting you into his arms. his hands hold the underside of your ass and he backs you into a wall, kissing you hard, his tongue tangling with yours as he grips his dick again, shoving himself inside you again. the new position coupled with the ways he’s holding you, his hands moving your hips up and down his length and the sensitivity from your previous two orgasms already has you seeing stars.

“that’s it baby, taking my cock so fucking well.”

your vision blurs, nothing but white light blinding you as your pussy clenches around him again. rafe’s dick twitches inside you, a strangled “fuck” and call of your name falling from him as he slams you down one final time. he holds you in place, your body shaking in his hold as you cum around him and he empties himself inside the condom.

once the two of you come down from your highs, rafe kisses your lips softly, “did so fucking good, so good baby. you’re such a good girl.”

you smile at him softly, your body fucked out and exhausted but your mind still floating on cloud nine from the three orgasms he’s drawn out of you. rafe slips himself from inside you, laying you in his bed and covering you up before grabbing his phone and stopping the video. he discards the condom in the trash, climbing into his bed with you and wrapping his arms around your body, pulling your sleeping figure into him and kissing the top of your head.

quickly opening his texts, he finds spencer’s contact and sends a quick text.

rafe: *attachment 1 video* don’t worry bro, she’s taken care of now. you’re stupid as fuck for letting this one go.

once he sends the video he smiles to himself, moving the video to a private folder for himself before locking his phone and laying down with you. he nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving soft kisses as he whispers, “don’t worry pretty girl. you’re mine now, and i’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

tagging some moots: @quinnsbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @nemesyaaa @maybejj @sarahsangelicdoll @rafesheaven @rafescvntyclubgf @dementedkittenribbon @hauntedfawnn @memoirofasparklemuff1n @rafesbabygirlx @cherrygirlfriend @maybanksangel @jjsbaby @jjslaybank @littlelamy

#*ೃ༄ my works #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #frat!rafe #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic

892 notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 3 days ago

Note

okay I know how everything is always about reader but I need you to write something about giving lando the pleasure he deserves.. like a nasty bj. I’ve seen so many edits of him with the song “dangerous woman” and it screeeeaaams smut. hope you’re seeing this vision and I love your work, i’d be so happy if you could bring it to life bc you’re my fav blog on here <3

Wanna bet? | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── A bit shorter than usual, but I haven’t posted anything in almost 2 weeks, and this request was the perfect excuse. Thank you so much for your support!! Hope you like it 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧₊⁺ summary ──── After a particular tiring day at work, Lando comes back home to his girlfriend, happy to fall asleep next to her. Unfortunately, he has a habit of not thinking before he speaks so, next thing she knows, she’s determined to prove him wrong. As many times as possible.

✧₊⁺ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

✧₊⁺ rating ──── explicit

✧₊⁺ category ──── F/M

✧₊⁺ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, descriptive language, oral sex ─ (m)receiving, somnophilia (consensual, implied), teasing and a bit of edging, swearing, mild dominance.

✧₊⁺ word count ──── 2.9k

✧₊⁺ date ──── Feb. 10, 2025

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THEY DIDN’T TEXT much throughout the day, because she knows how busy he’s been at work lately. Instead, she follows the same routine she recently fell into: she wakes up next to him, they have a quick breakfast together, then watches the door Lando rushes out every morning for a good half hour, contemplating. After that, she occupies the rest of the day with her own work, or curled up with a book on the couch, waiting for the same damn door to open.

The moment she hears the familiar jingle of keys, she looks up with the same excitement as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before…

Lando steps inside, looking exhausted. His curls are a mess from the cap he’s been wearing all day, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and there are faint shadows beneath his eyes, evidence of a long day at the MTC.

He barely manages a tired smile when he sees her, “Hey, pretty,” says Lando, dropping his bag by the door before trudging towards her.

She gets up, arms already outstretched in anticipation. He’s almost melting into her embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her scent in. For some reason, his deep sigh gives away more than words ever could, and she catches it instantly.

“Rough day?” the girl asks, rubbing soothing circles into his back. His muscles are tensed, yet soft under her palm.

Lando groans in response, tightening his hold on her. “You have no idea,” he exhales, relieved that he’s finally home.

“Oh, baby. I think I do,” she teases, pulling back to look at him, “You smell like grease and exhaustion.”

He chuckles, eyes twinkling despite his fatigue. “That bad?”

She scrunches her nose dramatically, “Mhm. Go shower, stinky. I’ll wait for you in bed.”

Lando doesn’t argue. He presses a quick kiss to her temple before shuffling toward the bathroom, stripping his hoodie off along the way. She watches him disappear behind the door, then heads to the bedroom, where she starts fluffing his pillows and making sure his side of the bed is just the way he likes it: neat sheets, a warm blanket, and her, not-so-patiently waiting for him on her side.

By the time Lando steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips, he looks slightly more alive. His damp curls cling to his forehead, and he’s rubbing a hand through them as he walks toward the bed.

“You’re an angel, you know that?” he asks with a wide smile on his face, noticing her efforts to make his night a bit easier.

Lando grabs the towel from around his waist, using it to dry his curls, completely unbothered by his own nakedness. She follows his big frame as he crosses the room, mesmerized, while the muscles in his back shift with each movement; in moments like this, she percieves Lando as a man that’s so effortlessly graceful. There’s something almost god-like about him, she thinks, like a sculpture carved by the hands of an artist obsessed with perfection: the sharp lines of his shoulders, the defined curve of his spine and, most distracting of all, the firm shape of his ass.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as he reaches for a fresh pair of boxers, blissfully unaware of the effect he has on her, pulling them up over his hips in one smooth motion.

Then, he simply slips beneath the blanket with a sigh. “Got the weekend for ourselves, but at what cost?” he chuckles, “I’m so tired, I swear I could sleep through an earthquake,” Lando yawns, stretching out before shooting her a lazy grin. “You could even blow me in the morning, I won’t be moved, baby! Dead asleep for the next couple of days.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Wanna bet?

“Oh, nice,” she ends up saying, trying her best not to sound offended.

“Just saying,” he smiles mischievously, already halfway to dreamland.

The girl shakes her head, humming at his words, but doesn’t contradict him. Instead, she shifts closer once he flips on his stomach, and starts running her nails lightly up and down his back, the way she knows he loves. At that, Lando’s body relaxes almost immediately, a soft sigh of contentment slipping past his lips.

Patiently, she starts drawing lazy patterns over his skin, listening intently as his breathing slows. And suddenly, seeing him falling asleep while she gently scratches his back, she realizes that all the waiting during the day is worth it, as long as Lando will always return to their bed at the end of it.

With a small smile on her face, she watches as his long fingers loosen their grip around the pillow, and the crease between his eyebrows fades.

And, despite his earlier comment, she makes a tiny mental note to prove him wrong in the morning.

THE FIRST THING she notices when she wakes up is how hot she is.

Lando’s entire weight presses against her body, his arm draped over her waist, and his face buried in the crook of her neck. He always sleeps like this, clinging to her even in unconsciousness, as if he can’t stand the thought of being deprived of her touch for one second. His breath is steady against the skin of her neck, while his curls are tickling her shoulder.

She sighs softly, shifting just enough to glance at the clock on the nightstand — it’s almost noon, and as much as she wants to stay like this and let Lando sleep in, cocooned in his arms, her bladder has other plans. So, carefully, she attempts to get out of his embrace, prying his arm from around her waist inch by inch.

Lando grumbles in protest, fingers flexing against her hip, but he doesn’t wake up that easily.

When she finally manages to slip out of bed, she tiptoes toward the bathroom, casting one last glance at him over her shoulder: still dead asleep, sprawled out now, his curls a mess against the pillow. That’s when she remembers his words from the night before, and her lips curl into a knowing smirk.

After she returns, she finds Lando on his back, the sheets tangled between his legs, one arm resting above his head to block the only ray of light that, ironically, landed on his face. She crosses the bedroom to pull the curtains all the way, and the room immediately floods in a semi-dark filter.

Then silently, she slides back into bed, her hands ghosting over his skin as she untangles the sheets. He looks painfully beautiful in the morning, the warmth radiating from his body seeping into her fingertips. She takes her time, letting her touch linger as she traces absentminded patterns over his stomach.

Lando shifts slightly, but his breathing remains even, somehow encouraging her hand to move lower.

The fabric of his boxers is soft beneath her fingers, but what catches her attention is the heat beneath it, and the hardening shape of his cock as she palms him gently. At that, a slow exhale leaves Lando’s lips, his hips tilting just slightly, but he gets sucked back into his sleep like it never happened.

She continues her cautious movements, fingertips pressing more firmly, drawing lazy strokes through the fabric. His body is responding instinctively, his cock hardening beneath her touch with each passing second. The faintest hitch in his breath makes something curl low in her stomach, and her pulse quickens as she slips her hand beneath the waistband, feeling the smooth, hot skin against her palm.

Lando stirs, a muted noise escaping through his lips, but his body is still heavy next to her.

She bites her lip to stop a whimper coming out, watching him closely as she runs her thumb along the tip, feeling the slick warmth there. A shiver rolls through him, Lando’s hips shifting again, just a little bit, as if seeking more of her touch.

Without even realizing, her mouth goes dry, her own breath unsteady now. Her cheeks burn as she looks at him, laid out beneath her. He’s thick and heavy in her hand, the heat of him searing against her palm. She strokes him slowly, teasingly, scanning the way his body reacts even without full consciousness.

The memory of his taste lingers on her tongue before she’s even taken him in — warm, heady, Lando. The anticipation is making her head spin as she pumps him once, twice, three times, feeling the way he throbs while wrapped around her hand.

With one goal in mind, she leans in, letting her lips brush against his hip, just barely, teasing herself as much as him. And then, with intent, she replaces her hand with her mouth — inviting and wet and ready to take him in without hesitation. Her lips are parting around his length, and the first thing that strikes her is the way he pulses against her tongue, the skin velvet-smooth over the rigid firmness beneath. The faint taste of salt lingers, a mix of him and the remnants of her teasing, making her stomach tighten with want.

She moves meticulously at first, savoring the weight of him, and the stretch of her lips as she takes him deeper. Then, without meaning to, a soft moan escapes her, vibrating around him; the sound surprises her, but not as much as the way Lando reacts at the sensation, a deep, unconscious whine slipping from his parted lips. It makes her smirk against his skin, but she doesn’t rush the process. This is about proving a point, about making him regret the words he so carelessly tossed at her the night before.

Her tongue moves with purpose now, swirling over the sensitive skin as she works him up with rhythmic strokes of her hand. She can’t take him all the way in her mouth, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try to ruin him in every other way.

When he throbs against her tongue again, that’s her sign to start sucking, her lips sealing around his cock as her tongue swirls over the sensitive ridge beneath his tip. The slick sounds that follow, a mix of her spit and his pre-cum, are animated by her breath that’s both shallow and eager.

She pulls him out with a wet pop, licking around the head, teasing the slit before dragging her tongue from base to tip, savoring every inch of him. Then she takes him in again, deeper this time, her pace steady, determined to draw out every last reaction from him.

And luckily, a soft sound escapes Lando’s lips — a barely-there whimper, the kind that makes her thighs press together instinctively. He stirs, his hand moving as if to find her, but when his fingers meet the empty pillow on her side instead of her warm body, he shifts, confused. His lashes flutter, brows furrowing just as he blinks himself into consciousness.

Then it hits him.

The wet heat of her mouth.

The torturous rhythm of her tongue.

The way her fingers work in tandem, stroking him with just enough pressure to have his breath catching in his throat.

She should stop now that she managed to wake him up. Nothing would be more satisfying then hearing him begging for release, first thing in the morning. But then, Lando inhales sharply, and exhales deeply with a throaty sound, as his head falls back against his pillow. Seeing what she does to him is better then hear him beg at the moment, so she continues with her movements, as dedicated as ever.

“Fuck,” Lando’s voice is hoarse, sleep-rough and so wrecked already.

She peeks up at him, making sure he’s watching when she takes him deeper, then she makes sure to keep eye contact as she presses her tongue insistently against the sensitive slit at his tip.

Lando’s reaction is instant: a sharp moan, hips twitching involuntarily while his hand finds her hair. His fingers tighten, not pushing, just holding, desperately needing to anchor himself to reality since she’s pulling him under so effortlessly.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he looks down at her.

She smirks with his cock in her mouth, the curve of her lips sinful as she bats her lashes, feigning innocence. Lando lets out a strangled laugh, but it quickly dissolves into another moan when she presses her tongue more firmly against his swollen tip, sucking just a little harder.

He is panting now, his grip in her hair tightening just as his hips lift slightly, torn between wanting to let her have her way and the desperate urge to fuck her mouth.

“You’re—fuck, you’re divine,” he praises, “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

She hums as his thighs twitch beneath her, his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. She can feel how close he is, his muscles tensing, his grip on her hair turning almost desperate. But just when he’s teetering on the edge, she pulls away with yet another obscene little pop.

Lando whines, his head snapping to glare at her, but she only grins, sliding up to lie beside him. Her hand never stops, though, her fingers still wrapped around his cock, stroking at an infuriatingly agonizing pace.

“Still think you’d sleep through it?” she teases, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lando groans, hips shifting restlessly beneath her touch. “You’re evil.”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to his jaw as her hand picks up speed. “And?”

“I love it.”

A couple more strokes, a slight twist of her wrist, and Lando comes with a shuddering moan, his release spilling hot all over his lower stomach. His entire body tenses beneath her before melting back into the mattress, so sweetly spent. He’s beautiful like this — flushed and panting, his curls falling against his forehead.

Lando lets out another shaky breath, chest still heaving, before cracking an exhausted, blissed-out smile. “I never questioned your ability to blow me, you know. I talk trash when I’m tied, but this is the first time I’m glad I did.”

She smiles, leaning in to kiss him, the gesture so natural. By the time she pulls away, he looks utterly wrecked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says against his lips, smug and entirely pleased with herself.

Lando huffs out a breathless laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She tries to move, but before she can so much as shift, Lando’s arms tighten around her. With effortless strength, he pulls her back into his embrace, rolling her until she’s straddling his waist.

“Not so fast,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing against her jaw.

The sudden change in positions makes her gasp, her thighs pressing instinctively around him. His hands settle at her waist, warm and firm, holding her like she belongs nowhere else but on top of him. She can feel him beneath her, so warm and solid, the remnants of his pleasure sticky against the soft fabric of her panties.

The realization makes heat raising up her neck and cheeks.

Lando notices, and his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet hers, dark amusement glinting in his tired yet satisfied eyes. “Yeah?” he hums, tilting his head back against the pillow. He guides her hips just slightly, his grip lazy but intentional, watching the way she shivers at the sensation. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, but the way she bites her lower lip gives it away.

One of his hands slides beneath her shirt, fingers tracing the soft skin of her thigh before hooking around the edge of her panties. He tugs them aside so easily, and the moment the cool air meets her sensitive skin, she lets out a sharp breath.

“Well,” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a sleepy mumble now, raspy and dripping with satisfaction. “Let’s see what can I do for you, baby.”

His fingers tease over her clit, featherlight at first, enough to make her body jolt at the sensitivity. Then, with slow precision, he brings his hand to his stomach and gathers the remnants of his release on his fingertips, using it to spread it over her as he traces slow, torturous circles against her entrance. The sensation makes her body melt, a soft whimper slipping past her lips as her hips rock instinctively into his touch.

Lando groans at the reaction, his own breath stuttering slightly. “So eager, aren’t you?” he asks, letting his fingers slip further, dipping between her folds, feeling just how ready she already is to take whatever he has to offer.

The girl gasps, nails digging into his shoulders as her body clenches around nothing when he pulls his finger out, craving much more. Lando grins lazily beneath her, rubbing agonizing circles over her most sensitive spot before pressing two fingers inside this time, the stretch both delicious and teasing.

She shudders, her thighs twitching as she tries to close them, but he doesn’t let her. Lando’s free hand grips her hip, keeping her open just enough for him to keep teasing.

“Bet I can make you come just from this, hm? What do you say?”

He’s not even trying, and she knows he can do it. He’s done it before, and they both remember exactly how wrecked she was when he did. So, she doesn’t hate the thought and, as she tilts her head slightly, her lips are curling into a smug little smirk.

“Bet?” she asks, knowing she’ll win, no matter the outcome.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

639 notes · View notes

solardrop · 1 day ago

Text

tyrant.

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case. tags: smut. 18+ mdni, oral F recieving, face sitting, handcuffs, hate sex?, maybe more so annoyed sex idk bro, not proofread word count: ~0.9k a/n: i have once again tried practicing smut. This is probably gonna happen a lot sorry. I feel like the header makes it seem like this is much more intense than it really is i promise you its not. I hope you like it! you can also read it on ao3!

Aaron lets out a tired sigh as he stretches his arms out across the bed of your shared hotel room. He shakes his hand petulantly, the sliver chain of his handcuffs jingling as he does so.

"Throwing a fit right now doesn't change you breaking the chain of command" he mutters

"I was doing my fucking job" you sneer "And you try to punish me for it?"

You secure his other hand with your own pair of cuffs. He was flat against the sheets now, arms locked to handles of nightstands to either side of the bed. "You embarrassed me Aaron, in front of the whole team—the whole fucking precinct!"

"Your idea was reckless. You were stubbornly determined to give local law enforcement tasks that would end up exploding in your face."

You blink slowly, heat rolling out from your ears at the nonsense you were hearing. Not a single apology.

"You're out of line and subverting authority," you mock," you're not in the position to give demands," Mimicking the earlier bite of the man who loved you oh-so-deeply as you climb up by his shoulders and hover your center above his face. A metallic clank sounds as he reaches to grab your thighs on instinct. A wicked smirk stretches across your lips.

"Careful sweetie," you pout, "wouldn't want you to have to go up the chain of command to report to Strauss the expense you raked up destroying hotel property."

You drag the length of your folds across his face, shivering as your clit nudges against the tip of his nose. Aaron's tongue laves out to taste you. He cranes his neck as much as he can without hurting himself, searching out more of your taste. He groans out in bliss when you finally put your full weight against him, finally able to slide his tongue into the warmth of your cunt.

When Hotch eats you out, you always feel stripped. He holds you open. He sets the pace. He decides exactly how and when you're gonna melt for his tongue. You were docile, malleable.

But like this? Your knees pressed into the mattress beside his head? The yellow hotel lights glinting off the steel wrapped around his wrists? The sight of his dark lashes fluttering below the curve of your stomach?

You brace a hand on the wall as you raise yourself up for a moment. Willing the dark vignette of your impending orgasm from the corners of your vision. If you cum now you'll fold. He'll tell you to let him go and your fuzzy brain will comply. You'd be under him in milliseconds. Right now you are in control, you wanna keep it that way. You close your eyes, One….Two….

"Fuck… Honey come on"

Your eyes flash open to glare at the man below you. "I'm sorry I didn't think I gave you permission to make any demands right now?"

He winces and licks his lips. The muscle in his bicep contracts as he pushes against his restraints. The corner of his cheeks shine with your wetness, the defiant look in his eyes making your pussy clench through your frustration.

"I'm sorry. But you can't undermine—"

You slam a hand down onto his forehead, lacing your fingers through his inky strands as you press his head back into the soft sheets. "God, shut up," you grit.

You grind your wetness along his face. You fight against his attempts to open his mouth, rutting your clit against his closed lips. You get a firmer grip of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to your center. Goosebumps prickle your back as your moan out into the sweet silence.

"You're such a —fuck— fucking bully," you wheeze, "I've trained. I'm— I'm capable and you know that." He hums, the vibrations tickling you all over.

"But you always steamroll every. fucking. thing i say."

You raise a leg and plant your foot into the mattress, the new angle giving you leverage to thrust into his mouth with new fervor. Breathless laughs escape your lips at every roll of your hips. The only sound the tyrant between your legs could make were a series of honeyed moans. The clinking sound of the metal around his wrists slows as he relaxes in your hands. Finally submitting to your power. His lips kiss and suck at wherever he can contact —your puffy lips, your hardened bud. Hotch was finally silent, finally pliant. Letting you—No fuck that, succumbing to you fucking his face. You bite out a remark with every buck of your hips.

"I don't have to respect shit"

"Who the f-fuck do you think you are?"

"if this is all it takes to get you quiet I would've done it — ages ago"

A powerful suck on your clit causes your voice to break. Your leg slams back down to the mattress as your thighs clamp around his head. The heat in your stomach builds as you hump against him frantically. Snarky comments and sharp curses replaced with heady pants. The ice cold rush of your orgasm surges through your spine, halting the circular motions of your hips. Your nails press into his scalp as you hold him to you; his tongue lapping at your inner folds while you shake against him. Your body relaxes as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. You use the last of your energy to toss yourself to the side of the mattress, careful not to kick him in the face on the way down.

Your eyes blur against the blinding lights, a pair of heavy breaths filling in the empty space around you. Aaron's still-hard dick strains through his slacks, making you giggle when you twist around to catch a glimpse of it.

"Sweetheart," he breathes, "I'm sorry, get the keys…let me touch you"

You really should follow the chain of command.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch #mine #OH MY GOD ALL SHE POSTS IS SMUT #im sorry #send me fluff requests so i can also be mediocre at that too man idk #i like the last one a lot more than this but hey i spent time to write it so i will post it #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic

256 notes · View notes

xoxo-lixie · 2 days ago

Text

Tough Guy ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring- Changbin x Reader

Summary- Y/N brags about Changbin on the phone, making him shy. He tries to act tough, snatches the phone, and silences her with a kiss—only for her to tease him even more.

Y/N lay sprawled out on the couch, phone pressed against her ear, a smug smile stretching across her lips. The apartment was peaceful except for the faint clatter coming from the kitchen—where her boyfriend, Changbin, was pretending not to listen.

She knew better.

“So, I’m just saying,” Y/N continued, kicking her legs up onto the armrest, “if there was an award for best boyfriend, Changbin would win. No competition. He’s just that perfect.”

From the kitchen, a utensil clattered onto the counter. Y/N smirked.

Her friend on the other end laughed. “Oh? And what makes him so perfect?”

“Oh, where do I even start?” Y/N drawled dramatically, making sure her voice carried. “First of all, have you seen him? Like, I get to wake up every day and see the most gorgeous man ever. It’s honestly unfair to everyone else.”

A muffled cough came from the kitchen. Changbin had his back turned, but she could see the tips of his ears glowing red.

She grinned. Time to turn it up a notch.

“And don’t even get me started on how strong he is. He picks me up like I weigh nothing.” Y/N sighed dreamily. “He could probably carry me with one arm while rapping flawlessly. Actually, scratch that—he has done that before.”

Changbin finally turned, narrowing his eyes at her. “Y/N.”

She waved him off, still talking into the phone. “Oh, and you should hear how deep his voice gets when he’s serious. Like, wow. It’s honestly illegal how attractive he is.”

Changbin groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks was unmistakable. “Baby…” he muttered.

“Oh, oh! And you should see how soft he is when he thinks no one’s looking,” Y/N continued, biting back a laugh. “He acts all tough, but last night? He cuddled me so tight in his sleep and mumbled, ‘I love you’.”

Changbin’s head snapped up. “Y/N—”

She gasped dramatically. “Oh, no! He’s getting embarrassed!”

“I am not,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m just—you’re lying.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you didn’t say you love me in your sleep?”

Changbin opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw tensed as if he were searching for a counterargument. Finally, he grumbled, “…That’s not the point.”

Y/N beamed in victory. “See? He’s so cute.”

Changbin, unable to take any more of her teasing, strode toward the couch and plucked the phone straight from her hand.

“Hey!” Y/N protested.

Changbin held the phone up to his ear, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. “She has to go. She’s too busy embarrassing me.” Without another word, he hung up and tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

Y/N pouted. “Rude.”

Changbin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You really like talking about me that much?”

She grinned, reaching up to poke his cheek. “I mean, you are my favorite topic.”

He groaned, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it,” she teased, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together.

He exhaled slowly, his tough-guy act crumbling under her playful gaze. Then, without another word, he leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss.

Y/N blinked when he pulled away, slightly breathless. “W-Whoa.”

Changbin smirked, finally regaining the upper hand. “That should keep you quiet for a bit.”

She stared at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh. “Oh, now you wanna act all cool?”

“Always been cool,baby,” he said smugly, though his pink ears betrayed him.

Y/N rolled her eyes and pulled him back down for another kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, tough guy.”

166 notes · View notes

moni-logues · 19 hours ago

Text

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: (childhood best) friends with benefits-to-lovers

Summary: When you had to return home to care for your terminally-ill arsehole of a father, your lifelong best friend was there for you. He wanted more and, when all the dust had settled, you realised you did, too, but were you already too late?

Word count: 19.8k

Content: wooyoung is bi (and in love with reader), terminal illness and death (reader's dad), a scene where they joke about suicide, a scene where they briefly touch on child abuse (vague, nothing specific, no actual abuse happens), difficult relationship with reader's father (he is rude in one scene but it's said outright that he was a bad dad and reader and her sister (and their mum) have difficult feelings after his death, including gladness and relief), multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), piv sex (protection unspecified), cameo roles for hwa and joong, yunho is a stand-up guy, some emotional constipation,

A/N: this is for @eoieopda; there is no one with whom i would rather share a wife (wooyoung is our wife 🔪) i feel like i must surely have missed some content warnings but i can't think what so pls lmk if you spot something. unbeta'd

Like That

You walked, head down, hands in pockets, less because the weather was cold (though it was) and more because you wanted to disappear into yourself, make yourself small and compact, as if it could keep your jangling collection of nerves and memories from pulling you apart. You wanted to squish everything down, compress it, make it solid and tangible, so maybe then you could pick it apart at your own pace; right now, it felt like everything was simultaneously running towards and away from you.

“Hey! HEY!”

He, though, he was definitely running towards you. Wooyoung jogged across the road and didn’t give you time to release your hands before he was enveloping you, crushing you, in a tight hug. Then he was pushing you backwards, a stern look on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back!”

You shrugged. You had actually, very deliberately, not told anyone. Denial, perhaps. Stupidity, you realised now.

“Surprise!”

“What brought you back? Miss me too much?”

You looked down, bit your lip, braced yourself like just before a piercing—knowing the pain would be so brief, dreading it anyway.

“Well... my dad... Y’know.”

His face softened, hands squeezing your shoulders before dropping, catching your hands and squeezing there, too.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I’m sorry, princess.”

You shrugged again, not really capable of more.

“We’re on our way for drinks; wanna come?”

The very last thing you wanted was a welcome committee plied with booze. You shook your head.

“Not really in the mood.”

“Ok, do you want to come over later?”

You weren’t a hundred percent sure that you hadn’t been heading to Wooyoung’s specifically for his and your tried and tested brand of casual sex, but having the option presented to you made you think twice. The release might have been nice but all the stripping and intimacy that came before it made you shrink further into your coat.

“Can I come over if I just want to cuddle?”

Wooyoung feigned offence.

“Are you trying to call me some kind of slut? Who only lets his friends over if they agree to fuck him? How very dare you, darling.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close again, pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Of course, you can come over,” he continued, voice softer now. “You can let yourself in whenever and I’ll let you know when I'm on my way home?”

You withdrew from his embrace and nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Wooyoung offered. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

“Oi! WOOYOUNG! HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

Wooyoung flicked the Vs behind him and grinned at you.

“That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, ok?”

He hugged you a third time, kissed the corner of your mouth and jogged back the way he came, throwing a ‘love you!’ over his shoulder.

Casual sex with Wooyoung was—well, to call it expected felt wrong somehow, but it was just what you did. Whenever you made it back to your hometown, there he was. He had been your best friend, light of your life, for decades and though he was far from your only hometown friend, he was the only one you did this with.

It had begun, as these things often do, with a break-up and a lot of alcohol, some years ago now. You didn’t remember whose idea it was, who kissed whom first; none of those things mattered because you were, as you always had been, on the same page. You knew him like the back of your hand; knew every secret, every embarrassing tale, every dream, every nightmare, every food preference, every favourite everything and he knew you the same. There was no one on earth you trusted more than him; there was no one else whose bad moods and bad smells and annoying noises and fidgety sleeping you would tolerate. It was easy and familiar and comforting. It was also good.

You had never thought to ask him but, for you, it was the best you’d ever had. You assumed that was because Wooyoung was inside you long before he was ever inside you. You had grown up together. Your roots were twisted together. Your souls made of the same stuff, that kind of thing. He could read you better than any boyfriend because he had the advantage of experience, years and years of it stretching back to before you could even remember. He was around before you could form memories, before you could string a proper sentence together, before you could walk.

You hoped it was the same for him. Tried to decide if you wanted to pull at that thread, ask him about it. Wondered how upset you’d be if he answered differently—perhaps not at all because it was Wooyoung and he could just tell you how to be better and it wouldn’t be embarrassing because it was Wooyoung. In fact, even if you weren’t the best, you knew you did a decent job because he would certainly have told you otherwise. The man was not backwards about coming forwards. That was a comfort.

You did not think about the ways in which it just so happened that every time you came back here, you were single. It wasn’t deliberate. Genuinely. You didn’t buy a plane ticket home and then cancel all your dates. Didn’t end a burgeoning relationship because there was some other guy, 12-hour plane ride away, whom you got to see maybe once year, that you wanted to sleep with instead. It wasn’t like that. You just happened to be unattached when you came home.

The same was true of Wooyoung. In fact, to your knowledge, he had only ever brought one girlfriend home. When you were at separate universities, but home for the summer, he had brought her to stay; a drama student from Busan who was nice enough if a little uninspiring. The change to your dynamic set things off-kilter at first. You and Wooyoung were peas in a pod, attached at the hip, Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum (as you were not-so-affectionately known); throwing a third person into the mix made things awkward. You tried not to reference every shared childhood memory, every private joke, not wanting to leave her out; you were physically distant, knowing that if you stood within two feet of Wooyoung, you’d be touching each other in some kind of way; you were slightly disturbed watching him walk home with her, prioritise her, search for her face first when he laughed.

He stayed with her throughout the rest of his degree and they broke up upon graduation with her returning to Busan and Wooyoung, home. That was the last you’d ever seen of any of Wooyoung’s partners or even dates because they didn’t often make it past that designation.

You, after graduation, moved a little farther than Busan: London. A graduate scheme that you’d applied to on the off-chance, that you never expected to get. You had worried, not so much about missing Wooyoung while you were away, but that it would change things when you were together. That the distance and the time-zones and the distinct lack of shared experiences between you would ruin what had taken twenty years to build. Your worries were unfounded and coming home to Wooyoung felt like slipping into the most perfectly worn-in shoes that had moulded to the exact size and shape of your feet, that you could wear for hours and not even notice, that only got more comfortable the more you wore them.

Sex hadn’t changed that, either. It could have. You had certainly seen it take down lesser friendships but you and Wooyoung weren’t like that. Physical intimacy didn’t feel weird or awkward, not even the first time. It was the last boundary between you and passing it was as easy and effortless as slipping into sleep.

You let yourself into his apartment and breathed your first sigh of relief. It was as familiar to you as your own home—even more so now that your parents’ living room housed a hospital bed and machines that would soon beep around the clock, had strangers coming in and out of it all day, would soon have another living it: your dad whom you could not believe was really your dad, the same man who had always towered over you, larger than life, now small and frail and yellowed. You had visited him in the hospital earlier and tomorrow he would be coming home, would receive all his care from the comfort of his own house. You didn’t read into that. Tried not to anyway.

You sank into the sofa and turned on the TV, content to let your brain rot for the rest of the evening, needing nothingness and emptiness and quiet.

When your eyelids drooped, you took a spare toothbrush from the bathroom cupboard and brushed your teeth, took a T-shirt from a drawer and climbed into bed. It smelt like Wooyoung—his shampoo across the pillows, laundry detergent and perfume on the sheets. You conjured up the warmth of his body, too, remembered the weight of his limbs across yours, his breath washing across your chest, hair tickling your chin. You checked your phone, wondering when he would be coming home. Not soon enough.

You stared up at the ceiling. The room was no longer dark because your eyes had adjusted and you could see it all: the clothes he had left draped over the chair at the dressing table; the wardrobe door slightly ajar; the jewellery chosen and then abandoned at the last minute, glinting in the sliver of moonlight that came through the curtains. It made you ache with missing him, missing life here. The nights out you weren’t on, the nights in without you, the new clothes and donated old ones, the arguments trying to convince him to pick just one thing with some colour to go in his bedroom. Your bones felt hollow.

You checked your phone.

[01:18] wee🚨woo🚨: omw 😘😘😘

So he would be home soon. You rose from the bed, turned on a lamp and squinted against its brightness. Walked out into the living room and turned on a lamp there, too. Decided to take an interest in his bookshelves—not full of books, never: thingamabobs, tchotchkes, albums, a candle you sniffed at and regretted (it had never been lit and you wondered why he even had it). More signs of life. Signs of him. Things he’d moved from his parents’ house way back when, things you hadn’t seen before that nevertheless seamlessly slotted into your picture of him.

When he came in, he slipped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, smelt faintly of booze and second-hand smoke.

“Admiring all my books?” he asked and you could see his grin without having to actually see it.

“I’m stunned, truly. I had no idea you’d learnt to read.”

He laughed, swayed you to one side and back again.

“I am extremely smart and well-read, you know.”

“Neither of those things is remotely true.”

He bit down on your shoulder with a growl.

“My princess is so mean to me even when I love her soooooo much.”

“That’s right, donkey.”

A nickname you hadn’t used for a long time, but the lingering scent of his night out wasn’t not reminiscent of a barn animal. He whined.

“You know, if I’m donkey, doesn’t that actually make you the dragon?”

You shrugged, jostling his head and earning another whine.

“I mean, I guess, but I think I’m pretty cool with being the dragon... And you know, if I’m the princess, doesn’t that make you an ogre?”

His teeth closed against your ear with another growl.

“Always so mean to me. Why did you come back here again?”

“No real reason, just my dad is kind of dying.”

His teeth turned to lips, pressed into your hair, down your neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. God, no- not, no I don’t. I don’t even want to think about it.”

He held you a while longer, his weight heavy against your back but warm and welcome. Then he kissed you once more and removed himself.

“Ok, I’m going to wash up.”

You returned to his bed, happier this time, knowing he was just minutes from joining you. They passed quickly and he was hurriedly pulling you closer, refusing to sleep in clothes no matter how cold it was, leaching the heat from your body. He would turn over soon, preferring his right side, and you would have your space back, but, for now, this was nice. This was familiar. This was the sort of feeling you should have felt when returning home but which was pointedly absent in your own house.

“Good night kiss, please,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

You kissed him and he turned, his back to you.

“Night, princess. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

But you still couldn’t sleep. You could feel Wooyoung beside you, his warmth, his weight on the mattress, and you still missed him. You prodded a finger into his back and he groaned.

“Woo... Wooyoung... Hey!”

You shook his shoulder and he rolled onto his back with another groan.

“What?” he asked, barely more than a grunt.

“Do you want to make out a little?"

His chuckle was dark as he turned towards you, placed his lips against yours.

“Knew it,” he said. “I’m irresistible.”

You pushed him away.

“Not irresistible, actually. I still don’t want to have sex.”

He kissed you again and you could feel him fighting his grin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

The problem was that he may have had a point. With his tongue in your mouth, you still missed him. Your bodies pressed together, heat warming from the inside, it wasn’t quite enough. Wooyoung was hard, trapped between you, and it made you want it, him, made you crave the stretch of him inside you, made your walls flutter, and your stomach swoop.

“Woo,” you began, pulling back a little, shifting your hips slightly, unconsciously fidgeting.

His hips shot backwards in a flash.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly breathless, reaching down between you to adjust himself. “I know we’re not having sex, but y’know, sometimes the body doesn’t get the message-”

You laughed.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

You pulled his hips forward again, hooked your leg over him. Kissed him, because you couldn’t resist, before speaking again.

“I actually do want to have sex, please.”

He pulled you closer, slotted his lips against yours, slid his hand into your underwear to grasp at your backside, rutting his hips into you.

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbled, mouth moving on yours. “Told you I’m irresistible.”

You sighed, performative.

“If you tell me you’re irresistible one more time, I’m going to change my mind.”

“Well, if you tell me I’m not one more time, maybe I’ll change my mind.”

You didn’t think he would, because he was always bluffing and you always called him on it, but this time, it wasn’t worth the risk. You were impatient now, had flown too close to the sun.

“How about we just change the subject?” you suggested.

He laughed again, low and wicked, then pushed you onto your back, hands already pulling at your underwear, shuffling down the bed to take it all the way off, to discard it on somewhere on the floor with his own. Then his body covered yours again and his fingers were dipping in at your entrance, tracing through your folds. You stopped him.

“Don’t waste time,” you told him. “Just fuck me, please.”

He closed his eyes, folded his lips into his mouth, and you knew he wanted to say it, could feel it on the tip of his tongue—almost irresistible—but he nodded and swallowed it down, pressing his forehead against yours for a second, to recover from the effort of not being a little shit for one whole second.

The jokes were all forgotten when he slid inside you, home for the first time in a long time. You couldn’t believe you had considered not doing this. That you had thought you would be content to lie beside him and forego the opportunity to feel him move inside you, to taste him, to touch him, this man who was the cool side of the pillow, and the warm patch of sunlight on the ground, your other half.

Now more than ever, you needed this. The certainty and security of it. The way it never changed, not even though you did or he did, not even when you moved thousands of miles away, not even when you returned.

You left early the next morning, amidst sleepy protestations. You hadn’t even unpacked and that was the least of your tasks. You shouldn’t have stayed out all night. Regretted having done so as you braved the bright, brisk morning, leaving a body-warmed bed behind, a body-warmed bed which still housed your favourite person in the world, your favourite person whining that he didn’t want you leave. It made it all the harder to go home, to contend with sights and smells and sounds that didn’t belong there.

You oscillated between hope and despair. One moment, you were sure your dad would die, would go before you’d hung up your clothes, and make this all a waste of time. Flying thousands of miles, abandoning the life you had set up elsewhere, to care for someone to whom the care would mean nothing, do nothing, stop nothing. The next moment, you felt confident, sure that you were in the right place, that everything was going to work out just fine and you’d be able to go back to London soon (ignoring the practicalities of doing it, the bureaucratic rigmarole that almost took you out the first time). He would get better. Everything would go back to normal.

Your sister had come, too. Only as far away as Seoul, she had nevertheless returned with you. You wondered what you would do for money if this dragged on—if your dad’s life dragged on. Ugly thoughts. You couldn’t shake them.

“Enjoy your sleepover?” Jia asked as you shut the door behind you.

Snippy, annoyed already.

“Yes, thank you,” you answered mildly, tired already.

Months of this stretching out before you.

“Where’s Mum?”

“Making porridge in the kitchen. Asking where the hell you are.”

“Sorry.”

Your mother was fretting over the rice cooker. There was a pile of paper next to her—instructions, guidance, warnings, information, more than any average person could be expected to understand and digest.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Has Jia shown you how the bed works? Where everything’s being kept? I’m so sorry, love, I know you’ve barely touched down but your father will be back soon and we need to make sure everything is ready.”

You nodded and touched a hand to her arm. This would be worse for her than anyone; she was already running herself into the ground. Truthfully, you came back to help her more than your dad. This had been her life for over a year, watching her husband get sicker and weaker and less like the man she knew. It hurt your heart to think about.

It was a rough day. Really rough. Finally over. You sat heavily on your childhood bed, your suitcases open and rifled through before you. Of all the ways you imagined returning to Ilsan, this was not one. It was horrible to have to care for your father. It felt unnatural for him to be so weak, to require so much help. He was still stubborn and you were grateful for his attitude, his impatience, for so many of the things that had made your relationship tricky until now. Now, they were welcome signs that he was in there somewhere, still. That not everything had changed. The days began to stretch out in front of you: this, this house, these people, all day, every day, until your dad got better or died.

You scrubbed at your face and fell onto your side, not bothering to change, not bothering to brush your teeth. You felt tired all the way through your bones.

It had been another long day. They were all long. It didn’t get easier—not even after you got used to the routine, got better and faster at every new thing you had to do, not even with your sister’s help and your mother’s. It got harder. The personality you had initially been relieved to see still alive and well in your father made it harder; his impatience and anger had cause now and you couldn’t snap, couldn’t shout, couldn’t slam your bedroom door, couldn’t storm out of the house. It didn’t matter how hard it was for you, not really, because he was the one in pain, in discomfort, battling the shame and embarrassment of his weak body and his inability to care for it himself.

All of your days, you felt irrelevant and small, all the while feeling the immense pressure and burden of just how important you supposedly were. Needed but not wanted. Until you crawled onto Wooyoung’s sofa or into his bed. The relief and comfort you felt in his company was palpable. It was the only thing that got you through the day.

You stood at the sink, rinsed the final dish, and handed it to Jia, who was drying. You dried your hands and picked up your phone, your mind already at Wooyoung’s and your body soon to be, too.

“You’re not seriously leaving again, are you?” Jia asked, in a hissed whisper as your father slept in the next room.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not seriously leaving again? When was the last time you actually slept here, in your house?”

“It’s not my hou-”

“You know what I mean. You can’t keep going to Wooyoung’s.”

“Why not? He doesn’t mind-”

“I mind!” her voice too loud, mouth snapping shut before she opened it again, back to a whisper. “You’re not the only one who gave up your life to come back here, you know, but we don’t all have a Wooyoung to run off to. What if something happened overnight? It would be all on me. Have you considered that for even a second?”

Your face burnt with shame. No, you hadn’t considered that. You had been so desperate to get out, that you hadn’t considered anyone else. You had thought your duty done: dad asleep for the night, monitors beeping, everything stable, safe.

“Well, nothing has happened, has it?”

You were in the wrong, aware of it, but desperate not to have to give Wooyoung up when he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

“As if that’s the point!”

Jia huffed and flicked her hand at you in dismissal.

“Do whatever you want.”

She walked past you and up the stairs, leaving you in the dark kitchen alone.

[21:57] You: can you come here instead tonight?

[22:01] wee🚨woo🚨: is that ok?

[22:01] You: you don’t have to if you’d rather not

[22:02] wee🚨woo🚨: that’s not what i mean. with your dad and everything

[22:02] You: he’s already sleeping. you won’t disturb him

You could feel his reluctance through the phone, wanted to let him off the hook, couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

[22:04] wee🚨woo🚨: i can come. i'll be there soon

You sat on the stairs, looking at the door, like a pathetic dog waiting for its owner. When he arrived, you ushered him quickly upstairs to your bedroom.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room,” he said, looking around at the decor, entirely unchanged from when you were a teen. “Still got the hots for Lee Minho?”

“Duh.”

“How come the change of venue?” he asked, sitting on your bed.

“Sorry,” you replied, joining him. “I’m sorry I’ve been coming over all the time and-”

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I told you: mi casa es su casa, mi principesa. And I don’t mind coming here, either. Just wondered if something had happened.”

“Jia made the point that I’m absconding from my responsibilities by always being out overnight, but I... I was already expecting to see you and I couldn’t just... not see you. I’m cheating the system.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Well, I can come over more if you want, if that works better. Jia is also welcome to stay at mine if she wants, too.”

You did not like the sound of that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to start fucking my sister.”

Unable to verbalise his outrage at the volume he desired, he expressed it physically, rising from the bed with his arms outstretched, his mouth wide.

“Why would I do that?!”

“I’m saying you’re not allowed to offer her the same deal I get.”

He snorted, tried not to laugh, rolled his eyes.

“No one gets the deal you get. You’re special.”

“Good.”

It was a tight fit in your childhood bed and, even pressed up against the wall, Wooyoung was on top of you.

“I can’t help but feel like you’re going to hate this,” he whispered to you in the dark, his limbs lying across your body.

Ordinarily, you would; ordinarily, you wanted space when you slept. You liked to be able to sleep as if there was no one else in the bed with you. Recently, however, you’d been craving closeness. Found that you preferred lying with Wooyoung’s weight against you, the warmth of his body, even the moments of wakefulness when he fidgeted, when he found a different position from which he could still touch you.

You shook your head.

“No, I like it,” you replied, clutching his arm with your hands, turning your head not to kiss his hair exactly, just press your mouth against it, smell his shampoo.

“Remember that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of friendship law.”

“Noted.”

You woke late, silently cursed yourself for forgetting to set the alarm, and snuck out of the room without waking Wooyoung.

Downstairs, your mum and sister were already up; your dad had already eaten breakfast and had his first round of medication. You took a deep breath before you entered the room—you were already not pulling your weight and this felt particularly egregious.

“Morning!” you greeted, trying to seem positive, normal.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” your dad asked immediately and you stopped short, not sure how he knew he was here.

“Uh, still sleeping.”

Your dad rolled his eyes and tutted.

“You fucking young people are so lazy. Sleeps in my house and he’s not even going to get up and greet me?”

“I’ll go and get him.”

Your feet were leaden as you went back up the stairs. Your father was not in a good mood and that was bad enough under normal circumstances. You dreaded what he would say to Wooyoung’s face. You wondered if there was any way you could sneak him out, save him from whatever accusations your dad would throw his way. He wasn’t usually as bad with men, but Wooyoung had always been the exception to that rule; you had sometimes wondered if his friendship with you had tainted him somehow, made him less than other men because he was important to you. You paused outside your bedroom door and whispered up a quick prayer in case anyone was listening.

Wooyoung was stirring as you entered and he twisted to look at you with hair askew and squinted eyes.

“Morning,” you greeted, soft this time, kneeling beside the bed and brushing the hair from his face. “I have bad news.”

He groaned, let his face fall back on the pillow.

“Already? I've only just woken up!”

“My dad wants to see you.”

You felt his pause, the tension settling in his body, then he pushed himself upright and rubbed his face.

“Ok, can I wash up first?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll put coffee on?”

“Yes, please.”

Time slowed as you returned to the kitchen, flicked on the coffee machine, found a mug, all the while listening carefully to hear the creak of the stairs. You were used to your dad—even now, with the strangeness of once again living under his roof—but you weren’t sure if Wooyoung remembered. If he knew what to expect. If he was dreading this as much as you were.

As soon as you heard his feet on the stairs, you abandoned the coffee brewing on the counter and joined the group in the living room as Wooyoung dipped into a bow.

“-nice to see you again, sir.”

Unfailingly polite.

“Nice to see me like this, is it? Nice to see a dying man?”

Wooyoung had more poise and grace than you had ever managed. You had asked him before how he did it but he’d never been able to give you an answer that helped.

“No, of course not; that’s not what I meant. I was very sorry when I heard.”

Still polite, deferential; you wondered if this was how he sounded at work, trying to convince children to behave, to deal with strops and tantrums and disgruntled parents.

“And are you two still messing about with each other?”

Everyone in the room froze momentarily as if time had stopped. Everyone knew to what your dad was referring and no one could believe it. Wooyoung’s mouth opened and nothing came out. Jia had her face turned away—even money that she was horrified that her sister’s sex life was being discussed or that she was trying not to laugh. Your mum was pretending to be busy, looking through care sheets and double-checking medication.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to buy time to think of an actual response.

“I’m talking about you throwing yourself at the closest man who’ll take advantage of your lack of self-respect,” he answered. “In my day, you got married first and women were still worth respecting; you just slut yourself around. He’ll never marry you if you keep giving it away-”

“Dad.”

Your skin was crawling, an embarrassed heat burning through your blood, making it rise to the surface, making sweat prick in your scalp. No one ever discussed you and Wooyoung. At least not with either of you around. No one. Not even the two of you. It became and then it just was and that was that. No questions asked. No investigations opened. No prodding, no poking. You hadn’t really ever thought about that, and now was so not the time. Not for so many reasons, not least of which was just how much you needed him—needed him in exactly the capacity you had him: your best friend and the best sex you’d ever had.

If your dad brought this house tumbling down, it would be another thing to never forgive him for and it was too early for those sorts of thoughts.

“Not that you want to marry him anyway. A schoolteacher is a woman’s job, son. How do you expect to provide for a family with a job like that? No self-respect, either of you-”

“Ok, Dad, that’s enough.”

And you were momentarily grateful for his ill health; relieved that you could walk out and he couldn’t follow. You took Wooyoung’s hand and led him out of the room, face aflame with shame, embarrassment, guilt. You went back into your bedroom and stood facing away, head in your hands.

“Sorry,” you said, muffled. “Sorry, sorry, I did not know he was going to start shit like that.”

And it was so much worse than you’d expected: the embarrassment digging into you, eating through your flesh, burrowing into your bones. You’d forgotten this. It was one thing in front of your mum and sister, who were also on the receiving end of it, who were used to it, who knew who your dad was and the things he said. It was different in front of someone else, even someone as much like family to you as Wooyoung. You’d forgotten the deep, heavy cringe of shame that was doubling you over.

“It’s ok,” he replied and you could feel the pause drawing out of him, the words trailing it. “Uh, he was...” Wooyoung’s pause was lengthy and you dreaded the end of his sentence. “A lot like I remember.”

You nodded.

“Yeah, he really...”

You were at a loss for words because you didn’t know how you could describe your dying dad as an ‘arsehole’ (or worse). You didn’t know how you could criticise him when you’d probably be angry, too, if your life was being cut short, if you were wasting away in front of your family. You didn’t know, now, anymore, how to hate him as much as you used to.

“He’s lost a lot of stuff and one of those things was his inhibitions—which I actually did not realise he had in the first place. Never hesitates to say what before he would’ve saved for an argument.”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you—tight and long enough for you to start to relax again.

“I’m sorry for what he said,” you began and then continued, even though you could feel Wooyoung shake his head. “I didn’t know-... I didn’t even know he knew we slept together? And I certainly would never have expected him to give a shit about it. I don’t-. I’m not-... I don’t think we should get married.”

Wooyoung’s laughter took you by surprise—and him, too, judging by the force and volume of it.

“My god, princess, you break my heart. Here I was, about to get on one knee.”

“I just me-”

“I know, I know. Your dad talks shit—I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s like this.” His voice was soft and calm and licked carefully at your wounds. “I know what we are and we’re both happy, right?”

“Right.”

“Then it’s ok.”

You twisted so you could hug him back, once again desperate for proximity, for the pressure and weight and heat of your favourite person, your security blanket.

“You don’t have to come over again,” you said quietly after a minute.

“That’s up to you. I’ll be wherever you need me.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy recently.”

“You know you’re my friend, right? I’m here to be needed. I quite like to be needed by you, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you said, peeling back a little to look at him, never happier than when an opportunity to tease arose, “you are the needy one.”

His eyes flattened and he playfully shoved you away. Equilibrium returned and you prayed you would not have to be confronted by your father about Wooyoung again.

In the afternoon, you walked to the bakery nearby and bought your sister a coffee and a croissant. You presented these to her in the kitchen.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I... I don’t really have an excuse; this has just been so shit that I kind of forgot that you also gave up your whole life to be here, too. By the time we get to the end of the day, I’d honestly rather pull my own skin off than stay here, but you’re right. I shouldn’t go all the time; it’s not fair to you.”

Jia shrugged and pulled at the pastry, picking a piece off to pop in her mouth.

“I get it. It’s not as if London is on the subway; I can at least go and visit for a day or something if I want.”

She ate more croissant, took a sip of coffee. You waited, knowing there was a more. She sighed.

“To be honest, I don’t care if you go and stay at Woo’s; I just... like you said, this is shit and I don’t have somewhere I can escape to like that. All of my friends moved to Seoul. It’s been... it’s been fucking lonely, actually. I missed you.”

A lump formed in your throat. She had been barely 18 when you left the country, left your baby sister behind. Guilt grabbed you by the neck.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice a mere whisper. “I’ve missed you, too. We... We should be in this together and I’m not holding up my end of the bargain. I’ll do better.”

“I get it... But thank you.”

“Woo did say you are welcome to stay at his, if you want.”

“And risk overhearing my sister have sex? I don’t fucking think so, thank you.”

You laughed, shocked by the relief, and snatched the croissant from her hand. You took a messy bite and spoke through it.

“Don’t think for even a second that that would ever happen. I solemnly promise that we would never, ever do that if you were also in the apartment.”

Jia leant across and took the croissant back.

“Well, tell him thanks. I might take him up on it.”

“And I swear, I won’t go over there so much,” you promised though it was only partly for Jia. You felt it too much: your reliance on him, the way his absence held you throughout the day, exploiting cracks, hollowing you out. He had said he liked to be needed; he had said his house was your house; he had done and said all the right things but you knew what it was like to have your whole life taken over by someone else; you didn’t want to do that to him, to set up a minor chain reaction that felt fragile, volatile, that might change things between you.

“Fuck!”

Your hips bucked, lifted from the bed, as your toes curled, Wooyoung sending you hurtling into another orgasm with his face between your thighs. When he didn’t stop, because it was always a personal challenge to him to see how far he could push you, how many times he could make you come before you pleaded with him not to, you clamped your legs around his head, twisted until he toppled over sideways, laughing with a wet, sticky mouth. He pressed this against your hip, leaving shining kisses over your torso, crawling back up to your mouth.

“Turn over, princess.”

You did your best—limbs lead-heavy, breathing still gasped, bones feeling weak—to roll onto your front, hips high and head low. Wooyoung bit down on your ample flesh, teeth sinking in hard, sure to leave a mark, which he almost always did, as if signing his artwork, a rough circle of jagged indentations to say ‘Wooyoung was here’, though no one else would ever see it.

With the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, your stomach swooped, suspended over the lip of a lift hill, waiting for the drop. You remembered, as he pushed his hips forward, slowly, a wordless moan humming in his throat, that he was the best you ever got it. That no one could make your legs shake as quickly as he could; no one else had ever made you come from penetration alone (a thing you hadn’t thought possible); no one else’s body had ever felt as in sync with yours as his. He responded to your body as if it were his own, with no delay, no mistakes, with an intuition harvested from years of knowing you, years now of doing this, honing it into an artform.

You had to know. Was it the same for him?

“Woo, I have a question...” you called weakly, head swimming as he reached underneath you, fingers pressing against your clit until you mewled.

You clutched the bedsheets with tight fists and your cunt clutched at him, too, fluttering, spasming, until he was holding his breath, fucking you through another high with gritted teeth. Your brain scrambled for a moment but when it returned, it settled back on the same question.

“I have a question,” you repeated, throwing a hand behind you, searching for him, pulling him closer.

“Are you ok?”

He slipped out of you, let you drop your hips to the mattress. Leaning on his elbows, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, held you gently at the waist.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just... What’s the best sex you’ve ever had? I mean, who? Who is the best?”

Buying time, he kissed your temple and your cheek.

“Is this a test?” he asked.

“No. It’s just a question.”

He sat back on his heels and you twisted to look at him: his eyes were narrowed, looking at you with playful but, you thought, unwarranted suspicion.

“It’s just because,” you explained, still panting, heart still hammering in your chest, “for me, it’s you. You’re the best I’ve ever had and... I don’t know. I just wondered.”

You registered the surprise on his face and then he was flipping you over, onto your back, pushing apart your thighs before pushing into you. Then he was leaning close, kissing you, and in the milliseconds your brain snatched to think something coherent, you took this as his answer: it’s not you but I don’t want to tell you.

“It’s you,” he said, as you were nose-to-nose, before kissing you again. “For me, too, it’s you.”

An unexpected relief flooded you. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he continued to fuck you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other. It was as you had hoped but did not expect—though you could have, really, because it was Wooyoung and if you felt it, he felt it. If you knew something, he knew it, too.

“I love you,” he gasped, hips moving faster now, body strained with effort as you squeezed, tightening yourself around him until his rhythm faltered, until he came with his teeth deep in the flesh of your neck, stifling his groan.

“Love you, too.”

You had just barely sunk beneath the surface of consciousness, could still just about see the sun breaking on the water above you, when Wooyoung called your name. You answered with a sound, somewhere between a moan and a hum. He called again.

You were breaking the surface of wakefulness yourself now, awake in mind but your body not quite able to lift the muscles required to speak. You hummed again.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Wooyoung asked.

You blinked, head above the water, body below.

“What?”

“Did you mean what you said? About me being the best you’ve had?”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I have meant it?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, in the moment, people say things they don’t necessarily mean.”

“Is this you trying to admit that you didn’t mean it?”

“No.” His answer coming so quickly, you had barely finished the question. “I meant it.”

“I meant it, too.”

His sigh of relief brushed over your shoulder.

“Ok, good.”

“Congrats to us,” you said, hunting for his hand in the dark to give it a congratulatory pat, “on the great sex.”

“On the best sex,” he corrected.

“On the best sex and the best friendship.”

You could have asked for nothing more.

Wooyoung did not reply and you thought nothing of it.

You let yourself into Wooyoung’s apartment; he was carrying a plate to the kitchen counter when you appeared in his hallway.

“Hey, can we have sex?” you asked as you shrugged out of your coat, shoes already kicked off.

“Uh, hello to you, too. Do you want dinner? There’s plenty left.”

“No, I want to have sex. Like, right now.”

“Right right now?”

“Right now!”

And you continued undressing, coat hung up on a peg, cardigan discarded on the sideboard, fingers at your jeans, unbuttoning, moving all the while towards his bedroom.

“I guess I won’t be having seconds, then.”

It had been almost a week since you had seen him for reasons you did not want to discuss. What you wanted was the all-consuming physical experience of being railed to within an inch of your life. Over and over and over again. You wanted Wooyoung’s cock to stuff you full, so full that you couldn’t feel things like sadness, or anger, or grief; you wanted to be taken over, taken outside of yourself, outside of life, just for a little while.

You were naked and waiting by the time he entered the room and you leant forward to pull him to you, undressing him because he wasn’t doing it quickly enough himself. When he was finally naked, too, halfway to kneeling on the bed with you, he grabbed your wrists, held them still and looked at you. He was searching your face for answers to questions he wouldn’t ask—because he knew you wouldn’t tell him—and you didn’t know what he saw or what he felt about what he saw but he dropped your arms and cupped your face, kissing you softly.

“Not like that,” you reprimanded. “I need you to fuck me like crazy, ok?”

Wooyoung was good at following instructions. He liked to push you to the edge, but liked to be pushed, too, and you needed that tonight. You weren’t interested in the pleasure of it; you just wanted the distraction, so you didn’t let him make you come, didn’t let him fawn over you, didn’t let him stop. You just needed him as fast and hard as he could go, as many times as he could manage. The first time you had asked him about his refractory period, he had asked ‘what refractory period?’ and you’d thought it was a genuine question until he grinned, pinned you down on his bed, and shown you just how rhetorical it was. His stamina was leagues beyond anyone else you’d ever been with and you were counting on it to show up tonight.

It was, however, after only the second that he collapsed onto the bed beside you and didn’t let you push him onto his back for more.

“Hey,” he said, on a puffed exhale. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Well, right now we are not having sex if that’s what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. This isn’t doing anything for you and it’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

“Not fun at all?”

He grinned, still breathing heavily.

“Ok, it’s a little fun, but seriously. You’re not letting me touch you.”

As if to illustrate his point, he slid his hand across your stomach, squeezed at your waist.

“Come on,” he continued, “let me make you feel better.”

You considered it for a second, until you felt the swell of everything you were trying to keep at bay.

“No.”

And he let you turn him then, let him seat yourself on his cock, let you fuck yourself on it as he whined beneath you. When he was this sensitive, it went one of two ways: he came quickly, shaking, trembling, and was out for the count; or he pushed past it—the hypersensitivity, the overstimulation—he rallied and he wouldn’t need you bouncing on top of him; he would flip you over and bend you in half, hold you up as your own body flailed with pleasure. He would go for multiple rounds more, until he could barely walk the next morning, until you couldn’t either. You needed that kind of obliteration.

But luck was not on your side. His thighs shook. His face screwed up tight, teeth deep in his bottom lip. He was gasping for breath, tiny mewling noises sounding in his throat as you rested your palms heavily on his chest, dug your nails into his soft skin, slammed your hips down onto his, the effort burning in your thighs, sweat dripping from your brow. You could see it, Wooyoung’s effort, that he was trying to fight it; could see it in the strain of every muscle, feel it in his chest and abs, in his thighs, in the pressure of his hands as they grabbed at your legs. You wanted to tell him it was ok, to just let go, but you needed this. You needed more. You needed this to last forever.

It didn’t.

He came with a hoarse groan, a low, deep rumble that left him spent. His hands released you, shaking as he pushed his hair from his face. You fell sideways, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you were going to do now, how you were going to stop the feelings that were already bubbling to the surface again.

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to your shoulder, turned into your side, an arm wrapping around you.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what?”

“Please let me give you what you need.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You need it.”

You looked at him, his eyes sparkling in the dim twilight. He always knew what you needed. He always took care of you. You didn’t want it; didn’t want the release of everything that was bottled up inside you, didn’t want relief. You just wanted it all to disappear. Wooyoung could do that. He could do that for you, even if it lasted only a second.

You nodded, whispered an almost silent ‘ok’.

He kissed you, softer even than his first kiss that evening, and drew that softness all over your skin. His fingers, too, were gentle at first, tracing over you, featherlight, dipping into the mess he’d made inside you before retreating, returning, retreating. This was part of his stamina, too: that he was spent but still had the patience to work you over slowly, to keep you from burning up or boiling over. He made you hot, blood shimmering under your skin until it shivered with goosebumps. He made your guts churn with, first, anticipation and, then, pleasure, the soft, wet pressure of his mouth against you. He made your body twitch, little tremors shaking from head to toe. He brought it all to the surface—all the things you didn’t want. Everything you had choked down, had stuffed down inside you, had tried in vain to fuck out of yourself, it was rising like steam: the air was wet with it, so wet you struggled to breathe. Your heart kicked in your chest, your orgasm close but panic closer, tears threatening on your waterline. He was right, it was what you needed, but you wanted to run from it. Wanted to kick your legs and outrun it all but, instead, they were held wide, Wooyoung’s arms tight around them. You couldn’t run from it, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hide from the white-hot rush of your climax as it crashed over you, knocking you out of your brain for a moment.

For just a moment.

Then you were crying, sobbing really, gasping in the air that still felt too thick, too wet to breathe. Wooyoung held you, hushing gently, cooing reassurances or platitudes that you couldn’t hear but it didn’t help. You couldn’t stop.

You cried for so long that night had fallen by the time your breathing evened out. Your bodies cooled, Wooyoung had pulled the bed covers up around your shoulders but you still shivered.

“Can you tell me what’s happened?” he asked, for the first time requesting some explanation.

“My dad is dead,” you croaked.

You felt his kiss in your hair, his arms tighten around you, the tension in his following breath.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not.”

And you took a deep breath in that shuddered, your stability wavering already. You lay on your back and covered your face, realising again that Wooyoung was right. You needed to release this.

“I just don’t see the point,” you confessed, your voice tight with more tears. “I came all this fucking way; me and Jia dropping our whole lives and- and this whole time I thought-... I really thought like, he was fucking dying, right? He was dying! Who’s going to be a cunt when they’re dying? But he is! Of course he fucking is! And why did I bother? Why did I do all of this if he was just going to fucking die anyway! And why did I bother when I don't even care? I’m not sad; I’m fucking angry! And I can’t take any of it back! I can’t do anything now because he’s fucking dead and it’s too fucking late to tell him he’s a piece of shit.”

And more. Every unpleasant thought you’d had over the past two months, every feeling that made you evil and unkind came tumbling out. The things you wished you had said to him, the things you wanted to scream at him now, the things you wanted to scream at yourself. All the anger that you had stored away while you lived in London hadn’t shrunk—it had grown; it towered over you now and you lay, helpless, at its feet. Anger and so much guilt.

Wooyoung let you talk—rant, vent, ramble, and cry—until you, too, were spent. Your chest heaving, eyes wet, mouth dry. He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“Want to know something stupid?” he asked.

Another distraction technique. You nodded. He turned onto his side and looked at you as he spoke.

“Ok, so there’s this guy. He’s had this best friend for-, well, for his whole life, actually. They met before they could even form memories; been friends forever. That kind of deal. You know what I mean.”

A quiet, ominous note sounded in the back of your head.

“The last few years,” Wooyoung continued, “they’ve been sleeping together. Very casual, nothing serious, on and off, no big deal... Except for the fact that he’s totally, completely, out of his depth in love with her.”

Your insides turned cold. You knew you should say something but couldn’t find a word to say. Wooyoung looked at you, a sweet, apologetic smile on his face. But he couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him.

“You-,” you started but couldn’t finish.

He nodded.

“I-,” you tried again.

Floundering because it was like dancing on a knife edge. Because your head was already a mess and this had knocked you sideways.

“It’s ok,” he said. “I know it’s not like that for you. I’m fine with how things are. I’m happy with it; I don’t want anything to change between us. I’m just... telling you.”

“I-”

“I mean it.”

You shook your head. Took your hand from out of his and scrubbed both across your face. It would have been easy to freak out. Part of you wanted to. The problem would’ve been that the person you went to when you freaked out was Wooyoung and he was already there, saying all the right things. Sure, dropping a bombshell like ‘I’m in love with you’ but also, ‘I’m happy with this; I don’t want things to change’. You didn’t want things to change. You could not cope with more change. Especially not when it came to him. He was your still point in the ever-turning world.

“Woo,” you breathed, voice shaking. “I do love you...”

“I know. I know you do. And I know it’s not like that. It’s ok.”

“Is it?”

He placed a hand against your cheek, brushed his thumb across it. You closed your eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” he continued, “but I also just love you. I love being your friend. I love getting to be with you.”

“I love you, too,” you answered, truthfully, in the way you always had.

“I know.”

“You really don’t want things to change?”

And your hand was over his, holding it there, terrified that all of this would be taken away from you.

“I really don’t.”

“Ok.”

You lapsed into silence and you knew that you were both dirty, in need of a shower, in need of a little space, but you didn’t dare move. Your feet still felt the sharp, thin blade of the knife-edge they were dancing on.

“Why did you tell me?” you asked a few minutes later.

Wooyoung shrugged gently.

“Felt like the right moment. Wanted to steal your dad’s thunder, y’know?”

And it was a blessed relief that he could still make you laugh, that you could still laugh, that he could laugh at this, too.

“You’re living back here now and I figured the cat would get out of the bag somehow, so I should probably be the one to tell you but, with everything that’s been going on, I didn’t want to burden you with it.”

“So you chose now, the worst possible time?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “But you’re not crying anymore.”

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound firm but your voice still wavered, “don’t think I don’t have more in me. I can cry if I want to.”

He erased the space between you, once again taking you in his arms, holding you tight.

“Of course you can,” he whispered with his mouth pressed into your hair. “You can cry all you want; I’m not going anywhere.”

He took you home the next morning and you held his hand the entire way, unable to let go.

“Do you need me to come inside?” he asked when you stood outside your front door, though you both knew that he couldn’t, that he had to go to work.

Knew, also, that this was something you had to do with your mum and your sister, the three of you. You shook your head.

“No, go to work. It’s fine.”

He watched you carefully and you averted your eyes, didn’t want to see him seeing through you. He gave your hands a squeeze.

“Ok. Let me know if you need anything?”

You nodded and he opened his arms to pull you into a hug. You held him tight for a few seconds too long and, without being able to say why, kissed him on the mouth as you drew back. Ordinarily, anything that went beyond the platonic was kept to the bedroom, neatly contained within sex. It wasn’t something you had ever explicitly discussed; it just happened that way and it made sense to you, made it cleaner, easier. But that morning you couldn’t stop yourself; you needed a little more of him to get you through the day—you knew there was nothing clean or easy waiting for you on the other side of the door. It was just a reflex, you told yourself. Comfort-seeking. Totally normal.

Wooyoung did not react as if you’d done anything out of the ordinary. He told you he loved you before he left as he always did, waving a hand behind him in acknowledgement when you returned it. He turned back as he was about to disappear around the corner. He waved again and you waved, too, waiting for him to leave. He stood, waiting for you to go inside. You shooed at each other. Neither moved. He held up three fingers and gestured between the two of you. He counted down and when his fingers made a fist, you opened the door. The corner swallowed him up.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was still early but usually there would be activity, noise—the beeping of your dad’s monitors a sound you hadn’t realised you’d got so used to, but the silence they left now was suffocating. Jia was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, still steaming. She was staring into space.

“Where’s Mum?” you asked as you sat down opposite her. Then you immediately stood again to make yourself a drink, to keep moving, to make some noise in this mausoleum of a house.

“Upstairs.”

“Asleep?”

“I assume so.”

You finished making tea, took your seat opposite her again, and you looked past each other—her at the wall, you at the sky out the kitchen window. You didn’t know what you were supposed to be doing. How you were supposed to be feeling. You had never done this before.

You assumed that your mum would wake up and take charge. That she would know what to do, since her parents and your dad’s parents had all died already—she'd done this sort of thing before. There was guilt needling you for this assumption, for being so ready and willing to let her take the burden when it was her husband who had died, the partner she’d had for more than thirty years. Even if he was a dick, she had loved him, hadn’t she? You thought about how you might feel in her shoes. Thought about how you would feel if Wooyoung died. You decided you would let your mum stay in her bedroom as long as she wanted and you would ask nothing of her.

It didn’t matter either way because your mother did not appear. Not into late morning and not after lunch. Jia checked on her, offered her food (which she rejected) and a drink (which she drank). She did not say anything, Jia reported. You checked on her later in the afternoon and found the same.

“What are we supposed to do?” you asked as you re-entered the kitchen, your mum’s empty glass in your hand. “I thought... I thought she would know what to do.”

“So did I. How are we supposed to know? It’s not like we’ve done this before.”

You fell into your chair opposite her and pulled out your phone. You typed ‘what to do when someone dies’ into the search bar and asked Jia to find a pen and paper. The resulting to do list was long and overwhelming and full of question marks. But you had no choice. No one else would do this if you didn’t.

There was a knock at the door sometime shortly before the sky had darkened completely. You frowned at Jia who frowned back at you and shrugged. A wellwisher? Had news got out already? You braced yourself behind the front door and the deep breath you’d taken in came whooshing out in relief when you saw who stood on the other side.

Wooyoung.

“I brought food,” he said, stepping in and kicking off his shoes, heavy bags drooping in his hands. “I didn’t think it would be high on the priority list.”

It hadn’t been and, hearing it mentioned, you realised that you were, in fact, hungry.

“Thanks.”

You followed him into the kitchen, got out plates and cutlery.

“Wooyoung, how many people did you think were here?”

With four plates heaving, there were still bags untouched. He smiled.

“It’ll keep; I wanted to make sure you had enough for tomorrow, too.”

You flushed, suddenly hot, tears pricking in your eyes.

“Thanks,” you said again, but whispered this time, caught in your throat.

Jia left her plate on the table and took one upstairs for your mother. You looked at Wooyoung, feeling suddenly helpless. He opened his arms to you and you went to him gratefully.

“Bad day?” he asked, knowing the answer but knowing also that you needed prompting.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“I can help.”

“Please.”

Your mother didn’t eat but the rest of you did. With business hours over, there was nothing else you could achieve, nothing that could be crossed off your to do list (still full, no check marks). You sat at the kitchen table, hand in Wooyoung’s, plates stacked by the sink. Wooyoung rose first.

“I’ll do the washing up; you guys go and sit down.”

You and Jia were both halfway out of your seats, mouths open to protest his doing the chore but you both halted, looking at each other. Wooyoung had meant go and sit in the living room, where the chairs were comfortable, where you could relax. You hadn’t been into the room since your dad had been taken to hospital four days prior. Neither of you had so much as opened the door to it. He hadn’t died in there but it still felt haunted. You had left a message with someone, somewhere in some hospital department, about getting all the equipment taken away but, for now, it was all still there. The bed with sheets still on it, crumpled and probably stained. The monitors, black and silent now, when they had for so long been constantly bright and beeping. The little things, too: charts, paperwork, pads, pill dispensers. The entire room was littered with your father, filled with him, keeping you out.

Wooyoung turned, already at the sink, elbows-deep in suds, and looked between the two of you.

“Ok, you guys make the tea,” he suggested. “And one of you come and dry.”

When it was finished, you and Jia took your places at the table, hands instinctively seeking heat, cupping your mugs of tea.

“Is it ok if I go in there?” Wooyoung asked and you didn’t have to ask for clarification.

You both nodded and he left the room.

He came back with sofa cushions, all of them. He placed them on the floor next to the kitchen radiator and sat down, gesturing to you both to join him.

“Not ideal, but it’s a little softer and warmer down here, right?”

You sat as close to him as you could without placing yourself directly in his lap, curled yourself into him, closed your eyes for a brief moment of comfort when his arm came around your shoulders and held you tightly there.

It had been quiet all evening – quiet all day, actually – but, on the floor of the kitchen, Wooyoung talked. He was never out of things to say and he worked with small children so he was an endless font of silliness, of sweetness, of funny stories about infuriating parents and their monstrous/angelic children. The three of you managed to laugh and then Jia talked and you talked and it was all almost normal. By the time Jia rose to go and get ready for bed, you felt light.

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting your head on Wooyoung’s shoulder and closing your eyes, savouring this feeling, bright and warm but with darkness at the edges, encroaching.

“Of course,” he replied, kissing your forehead, rubbing your back. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes, obviously, you wanted him to stay but, at that very moment, you remembered that he was in love with you. Thought that maybe he shouldn’t stay. Maybe you should try to do this part—the sleeping, the unconsciousness at least—on your own. You shook your head.

“No, it’s ok. I’m going to stay but you don’t have to. Get a good night’s sleep; you must be tired.”

He grinned.

“You kicking me out?”

You grinned back.

“Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

And he moved to stand, offered you a hand to help you up, moved around the kitchen to tidy as if it were his own, familiar, comfortable. You tugged on his shirt to stop him.

“You’re fussing,” you accused. “I can do that.”

He hesitated with a tea cup in his hand, then he placed it back on the side he’d picked it up from, admitting defeat with two hands lightly raised. You walked him to the door and hugged him for minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, sound muffled with your face buried in his neck.

“Ok, well I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

And you did it again, kissed him goodbye. Hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t expected to. Again, he reacted as if it were normal.

“Love you,” he whispered with his hand on the door handle.

“Love you, too.”

As you climbed the silent stairs in your silent house, you replayed the scene a thousand times and, every single time, you changed your mind and asked him to stay. He had said he didn’t want anything to change, hadn’t he? So you should have just asked, just taken whatever he was willing to give. Especially if he was going to let you kiss him like that. That was new; sleepovers were not.

You slipped into your empty bed with tears in your eyes.

Tomorrow, you would ask him to stay.

Jia was on the phone to the bank, trying to explain that your father was dead and the accounts needed to be—well, neither of you knew, that was the point of the call. Your dad was dead and that certainly should have meant something to the bank but no one was willing to help. They wouldn’t even confirm they had accounts in your dad’s name, because Jia wasn’t the account holder. She tried to explain that the account holder was dead but they were stuck in a loop. They’d release no information and take no action based on the information Jia gave them because they weren’t allowed to. She was in tears, desperately asking for guidance, asking not to be transferred to someone else, to have to go through the entire conversation again. You took the phone from her and hung up when she could no longer speak.

“I just-” she began, some minutes later, still crying.

She looked at you, her eyes red, wide, and watery.

“Would he have bothered doing this for us?” she asked.

“What?”

“If we had died, would he have fucking bothered? Or would he have just made Mum deal with it all? The fucki-”

Her voice broke and you let her recompose herself.

“The fucking shit that we have to deal with. Our whole f-fucking lives. Sometimes...”

She crumbled again and shook her head, ducking it between her arms on the table.

“Sometimes, what?”

But she shook her head.

“I can’t say it.”

“You can say anything to me... Or, look at this way, if you can’t say it to me, who can you say it to?”

She raised her head and looked at you again; you saw your own desperation reflected back.

“Sometimes I wish... sometimes I wish he was actually abusive,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

You crumpled, dissolving into tears yourself, nodding, reaching for her.

“Me, too,” you admitted with a rush of relief. “Like-”

“He was such a dick, but yo-”

“-whenever you say that to people, they ask why-”

“-and you try to think of examples! You try to show th-”

“-em but it all seems so stupid an-”

“-d trivial! And people don’t get it. They-”

“-act like you’re being unreasonable. Maybe we are unreasonable-”

“-but if he had hit us, like, even one time-”

“-no one would say anything! They would understand then!”

“And I don’t- obviously I don’t wish that-”

“I’m grateful he wasn’t, obviously-”

“And I feel so guilty-”

“My god, guilty for fucking everything!”

“Maybe it was easier for you, because you were far away, but I... Mum used to ask me to come for dinner so often and I just made excuses and didn’t go because I didn’t want to see him-”

“Every time I came home, I thought it might be better. I had this stupid belief that he would be better-”

“And now, especially? Not now, I mean this time. This time we gave up our whole lives to come back here for him and he was-”

“WORSE. He was so horrible-”

“-Such a fucking bastard-”

“-and now we have to do all of this and I’m so... I’m so-”

“Angry.”

“Angry. And then I feel guilty for being so angry with him because-”

“-because maybe it wasn’t really that bad-”

“-but it was bad, right?”

You rose from the table and hugged her tight. Never had you been more grateful to have a sister. Someone who got it. You wished she didn’t, wished that she could be the confident, care-free 18-year-old that you left behind but-... But she probably hadn’t been that even then.

You had never really talked about your dad. You’d bitched a little together. Occasionally waded in in defence when one was arguing with him. But you’d never really talked about what it was like to have him for a father and what you felt about it and him and your childhood and the ways it had affected your lives afterward. More guilt crept in: guilt for leaving, abandoning her when she was just starting out in adulthood. Maybe if you’d stayed, you would have had these conversations already. Maybe if you’d talked, this would be easier.

Maybe now it could be.

“Woo?”

He wasn’t asleep, was still tracing his fingers in light patterns on your side.

“What?”

“When we die, I want to go first, ok?”

“What?”

“When we die, I want to die first.”

He lifted his head then shifted to lean on his elbow, looking down at you.

“So I have to be the one to go through all the pain and suffering of losing you?”

“Yes.”

“No deal.”

“Well, I’ve already decided. You’re not allowed to die first.”

“There’s only one thing for it then: double suicide.”

“It’s not double if one of us dies and then the other one kills themselves.”

“Yes, but then that’s someone dying first, isn’t it? If we have to go at the same time, there is only one solution.”

“Double suicide.”

“Shit. How do we pull that off?”

“It’s going to be tricky because we want to live very long, happy lives first.”

“So we’re going to be infirm is what you’re saying?”

“Yes, but if we’re really old and ailing, maybe we’ll have all sorts of pills we can take.”

“Just all down the hatch at once?”

“And then cross our fingers.”

“Deal.”

At the weekend, almost a week since your father had died, you and Jia were discussing what to do about your mother. She ate minimally—only when either of you insisted, forcefully, that she at least take a bite—and still hadn’t left her bedroom. Beyond having her sectioned (which seemed extreme and unnecessary), you had no ideas.

“Can I try?” Wooyoung asked when you relayed the problem to him.

You and Jia shrugged at one another. Couldn’t hurt. Wooyoung took up a plate of food and a drink. He did not return for some time; when he did, the plate was almost empty.

“You didn’t,” Jia gasped, spotting him first as he walked through to the kitchen.

He nodded.

“She ate that?”

“Yep.”

“My god, you’re a mother whisperer.”

“Is she... ok? I mean-”

“Yeah, what do we do? Does she nee-”

“Can we help?”

Wooyoung took his place next to you at the kitchen table, slipped his fingers between yours.

“She feels guilty,” he said. “To the point that she’s been paralysed by it. She said she feels worse every day because she knows that the two of you are trying so hard and she’s being so difficult-”

“-It’s not difficul-”

“-Her husband died; it’s understandable.”

“It’s not just this part,” he continued. “She realised, when your dad died, that it would just be the three of you and she’d finally have to face you.”

“Face us? What does that mean?”

“She knows your dad was not a good dad and, often, not a good person, either. It’s one thing when you make a decision for yourself, but it’s another to have brought the two of you into the world and made you grow up with him-”

“It’s not her fault, though.”

“Would she rather we were never born?”

“No, not that at all. But she has had so many years of being distracted and sweeping it under the rug and having other things to worry about: raising you, and then you both moved out so it didn’t seem as much of an issue, and then taking care of him. Now she doesn’t have any of that and she has to sit with the decisions she made in her life and decisions she didn’t make and that includes having children with him and not leaving him and, in her mind, not doing all the things a good mother should have.”

“But she was a good mum,” Jia argued, voice quiet with thick emotion.

You nodded, tears burning in your eyes, stomach churning. She had two kids to raise and never quite enough money or support to do it; she did her best. You might have blamed her when you were younger, wondered (screamed viciously in your head about) why she never left, why you couldn’t all have just left him, why she chose to have children with someone who so clearly did not want them. You were younger then, though, and things seemed simpler. Now that you were older, you understood. It wasn’t her fault.

It was also strangely comforting. A little schadenfreude knowing that she was aware of it, what he was like, that she knew, that she would understand how you felt, feel it too. You had assumed that she was grieving in the normal way, the one where you missed the person and couldn’t imagine the rest of your life without them and felt the enormous hole they left in your life like a wound that would never heal. It hadn’t occurred to you that maybe she was having difficult feelings about it, too. Was part of her relieved, too?

You felt a strong wave of sympathy for her and another of anger for your dad. That he had maybe ruined so much of her life. You and Jia were young and had so much time to live without him; your mum had spent the majority of her life with him. How miserable had he made her? You didn’t know. How happy had she ever been? You didn’t know.

You realised then, as you had with Jia just days prior, that you should have all talked about this more. If you’d all been more open about your feelings, maybe things would’ve been better. Maybe, even, possibly, over time, if you’d all communicated better about what a prick your dad had been, your mum would have left him. Maybe you could’ve banded together instead of isolating yourselves into little pockets of misery.

You put your head in your hands fighting the sob stuck in your throat.

“So fucking stupid,” you whispered, referring to all of it, all of you. Everything.

“She said she’s going to try tomorrow,” Wooyoung said. “She’ll come and try to help. She wants to try; she’s afraid you’ll be angry, disappointed in her.”

“We won’t,” Jia answered. “We won’t.”

Your mum did appear and you talked and you cried and no paperwork of any kind was done, but you felt closer to her. The three of you around the kitchen table felt more like a family than you ever had. You felt more capable of dealing with everything with your mum behind you. You even began to feel tentatively positive again.

The process of dying can be short or long. The process of grieving is always long. There were so many things to pay for that you dad had not saved for; there were debts in his name that your mum was now responsible for; there were so many people coming by to say how sorry they were, not knowing that they were probably sorrier than you were.

The funeral was the worst of it. Publicly mourning for a man you could hardly stand to think about. A man who, if he stood in front of you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to hit. The part of you that was relieved he was gone was in revolt—livid that he continued to take up so much time, effort, and space, that there was no relief. Not yet.

It would end, eventually, you knew it would. Things always ended. You just weren’t confident about your ability to make it that far.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you said, lying in Wooyoung’s bed, fighting with every ounce of yourself to just get up and start the day.

Wooyoung came back and lay beside you, already dressed, almost leaving for work. He kissed your cheek and you turned your head, wanting his lips on yours.

“It’ll get better.”

“Will it?”

“Promise.”

And he sealed it with another kiss.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, right? That’ll be better.”

“Maybe.”

“And if you want to stay in bed until then, that’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said with a shrug before moving to get off the bed.

You clung to him.

“No, please!”

“I have to go to work!”

“Five more minutes.”

“Ok, five more minutes.”

The pub was packed and you were grateful that your friends had snagged a table because a night spent standing with a pint in your hands was not what you wanted. You’d been back in Ilsan for months but this was the first you’d seen of most of them. Your fault, of course, and Wooyoung had had to drag you here, but now you were grateful that he had. You had missed them. Missed them growing up into actual men and women, not the youthful-cheeked babies you had left behind. You supposed the same applied to you, too.

You had been reluctant to go because you had the stench of death on you. You’d get all that pity and sympathy; the sad smiles with the sloping brows; the awkwardness whenever anyone mentioned their own parents, or London, or illness, or anything that might in any way remind you of the thing you couldn’t forget if you tried.

You had underestimated your friends. They weren’t the next-door neighbour or the ladies from the WI your mum attended. They were your friends and they knew you and loved you and loved to give you just as much shit as they ever had. You were overwhelmed by the relief you felt in their company and the alcohol buzzed in your blood, bubbly and warm.

Even when Wooyoung left early (because it was a school night), you stayed. You walked him out to the street and, as you always did now, kissed him goodbye. Neither of you had mentioned it. You hadn’t meant to start anything when it happened the first time. Hadn’t meant to make it a habit, but it had easily become one and you didn’t want it to stop.

You returned to the table (the crowd thinner now because Wooyoung wasn’t the only one who had to work the next morning) and immediately sensed tension.

“Ok what was that?” Hongjoong asked as you were still sliding back into your seat.

“What was what?”

He gestured to the door as if it were obvious.

“What?”

“What was that?” he asked again, slowly, as if you were stupid.

“What was what?!”

“Ok, I don’t think this is going anywhere,” Seonghwa interrupted. “We wanted to ask you what’s going on with Wooyoung.”

“Oh, is something going on with him?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and pursed his lips; you knew he was biting his tongue.

“With you and Wooyoung.”

“Nothing’s going on with me and Wooyoung-”

It was instant, your denial, the same way it had been when Jia had inquired about the ‘change’ in your relationship earlier in the week.

“You need to stop it with the stupid act or I’m going to lose it.”

“It kind of seems like you already have, Hongjoong. What have I done?”

All that bubbly pleasure you’d just been feeling was turning flat, souring in your sinking stomach.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” he demanded, eyes boring into you.

“Yes... Kind of a risky move for you to say that if you thought I didn’t know.”

“I know you know; it seems like maybe you could do with the reminder though.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know that he’s in love with you and you know you’re not in love with him but you’re perfectly happy to play pretend, is that it? Happy to play house with him, hold his hand, act like his girlfriend as long as you don’t actually have to be his girlfriend?”

You wished you had stopped one or even two drinks ago. Your surprise left you unarmed and your brain was not at its sharpest. You had done your best not to think about it—Wooyoung, his feelings, your relationsh- friendship. You had been leaning on him particularly hard recently, that you knew but, well, there were reasons for that.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted. “I swear I don’t understand. He’s just been there for me; there’s kind of been a lot going on.”

And it was supposed to be your defence, but Hongjoong’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, right, there has, but it’s kind of funny that none of us know about it, huh? Why is this the first time we’re seeing you since you came back months ago? Aren’t we your friends? Did you even think about giving any one of us the opportunity to ‘be there for you’? I’m guessing no. Because we aren’t the one who fuck you, right? We aren’t the ones in love with you, who’d do anything for you, wh-”

“Hongjoong...” Seonghwa’s voice was soft but carried a warning note.

Hongjoong ignored it.

“You don’t have us wrapped around your little finger so we’re of no use to you, is that it?”

“No.”

You wanted to say more but you didn’t want to cry in the pub in front of everyone. You were mortified, not least because you knew at least part of what he was saying was right.

“I get it,” Hongjoong continued. “Woo’s a great guy and you’re fucking lucky to have him, but if you aren’t in love with him or you don’t have feelings for him, you need to fucking stop because it’s not fucking fair. You are taking advantage-”

“I do love hi-”

“Fuck off! If I say I love you, you know I’m not telling you I’m in love with you. It’s different. Wooyoung told you how he feels and he never expected anything from you—he has never asked for anything from you—but here you are, playing with his feelin-”

“I’m not playing with his feelings!”

“Aren’t you? Because you’re doing a really good job of behaving like you’re his girlfriend and if you don’t have any intention of actually being his girlfriend, then what you’re actually being is a cunt.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa cut in, placing a hand on Hongjoong’s arm. “Go and get a drink.”

But Hongjoong was already out of his seat, stalking off, leaving you stunned, a little sick.

“Sorry about that,” Seonghwa started. “He’s a little worked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any feelings for Wooyoung?”

You had loads... but you weren’t sure if any of them were the kind he felt for you.

“I don’t... know.”

“It’s ok. It’s been a bad time since you got back, I know. We’re just...”

“Concerned,” San chipped in.

“We have obviously known for a long time about his feelings for you and, while you were living in London, it didn’t really matter because there wasn’t any way you could be together even if you did want that, too, but, now that you’re back, we... Well, we’ve always kind of assumed you would get together at some point and we just want to... check if that’s what’s happening.”

“Has Woo said anything to you?”

Seonghwa shook his head.

“No, this isn’t coming from him. We've asked after you, obviously, because we wanted to know how you were doing—we missed you—but he hasn’t said anything about your relationship or his feelings or anything like that and we haven’t seen you so we don’t really know what’s going on.”

Seonghwa was being leagues nicer than Hongjoong had been but it was making you feel worse. It was one thing when it was just Jia; she was your little sister and it was her job to be annoying and you could dismiss her questioning as just that. It was a lot harder to dismiss coming from your mutual friends. If, in one evening, they had noticed things had changed between you, could you deny it any longer? Would you actually have to face up to the things you’d been hiding from?

“Nothing’s going on,” you repeated, weakly, quietly. “I’m not... I’m not trying to hurt him.”

“We know. We kn-”

“Hongjoong doesn’t seem to.”

Seonghwa shot a glance over to the bar where Hongjoong was standing, shredding a beer mat.

“He’s just being protective and he’s a little hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“I don’t agree with his delivery or timing but we have missed you and you’ve... pretty much ignored all our attempts to reach out to you.”

You hung your head in shame. He wasn’t wrong. You just hadn’t wanted to answer any questions, to be visible to anyone else—to have all your problems made visible to others. It was the same thing that meant you didn’t tell anyone you were moving back in the first place. You didn’t want all of your deepest-seated problems rising to the surface of other people’s awareness.

Hongjoong returned with two shot glasses. He waved one under your nose.

“I love you, ok?” he said. “Just stop being so fucking stupid.”

You nodded, fingers tentative on the shot before you. Hongjoong pouted.

“You aren’t going to say you love me back?”

You didn't really feel like giving into the fun, but you knew he had a point and you also knew that he would apologise properly in the morning. It would be churlish to reject this attempt to smooth things over.

“I love you, too,” you duly replied, exaggerating your exasperation, faking a smile, taking the shot.

When you crawled into Wooyoung’s bed later that night, he rolled over, searching for you in his sleep. You were wide awake, even with two more shots sloshing amongst the beer inside you. He loved you. He loved you but things between you felt the same as they ever had been. Your feelings hadn’t changed since the last time or the time before that or the time before that.

Maybe you were in love with him. Maybe this was what it felt like to be in love. You’d had relationships; you thought you’d been in love before. Maybe you hadn’t been. Maybe this was love. You considered your options: separate yourself from Wooyoung (to what extent you didn’t know) or commit to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to that question.

You were sticky and sated, sitting in Wooyoung’s lap, feeling his heartbeat slow under your palm.

“Woo?”

“Yeah?”

Your own heartbeat skipped, picked up the pace because you had thought about this conversation a lot (the conversation and what might come after it) but it hadn’t made you less nervous.

“I want to be with you.”

His chuckle was a puff of air.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean... I want to be with you.”

You sat up straight, looked him in the eye, so you could track his reaction as you continued.

“Like, actually be with you. Be us... Be your girlfriend.”

You expected surprise, hesitation.

He closed his eyes, teeth biting his lip from the inside, and nodded. You waited for him to speak. He sighed.

“I don’t... I don’t think you do,” he said.

He was looking at you, straight through you. You might have been naked already but now you felt exposed.

“Yes, I do. I do. I wan-”

But he was shaking his head again and you stopped.

“I love you,” and it hurt, somehow, to hear it this time. “And you know I... You know I would want that. To be with you. Properly. But...”

He didn’t usually hesitate this much when he spoke. Wasn’t usually this reluctant to tell you how he felt—to tell anyone how he felt. His fingers were fidgeting on your thighs, dancing and tapping. He looked at you and looked away and then back at you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t supposed to hurt. Him. Or you.

“Wooy-”

“No... I get it. I know why you... I know you don’t want me. You want security and stability and I can be that for you; I am that for you and I’m glad to be. But you don’t want me like that, princess. You’re not in love me with me, are you?”

How you were the one with tears in your eyes and not him was beyond you. You had told yourself that yes, you were. You were in love with him. If everyone was accusing you of acting like his girlfriend already, and you already loved him, already slept with him, already spent most nights in his bed, then weren’t you in love with him?

You opened your mouth to say it, to insist that you were, that you wanted more, more of him, but he was looking at you, through you, like he always did. Eyes so soft and warm and dark. Arms solid and secure and wrapped around you now, keeping you safe. His heart, enormous, sensitive, yours. There was a growing sense of panic in you now, that this was going sideways, might ruin everything. That maybe this could cost you him. That he would pull away. That you would lose him. And then you would lose your mind altogether.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok.”

And he was the one comforting you as you leant forward into him, tears spilling, streaking down his chest. He was the one rubbing your back and pressing kisses into your hair. Because you couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell him that you were in love with him because you didn’t know if you were. Didn’t know if love really was this desperate and panicked and needy and selfish. Didn’t know if you could bring yourself to drag him down with you.

When Wooyoung got up the next morning and got ready for work, he let you pretend to be asleep. Left the lightest of kisses on your cheek and shut the door as quietly as he could. You waited a minute or two to be sure he was out of the building and then you scrambled to leave yourself. You were mortified, still. So embarrassed but also ashamed. You felt foolish and cruel. All the things Hongjoong had accused you of. Your cringe was physical when you thought about Wooyoung telling them what had happened, what you had said.

You didn’t hear from him for hours. Hours in which you worried that it was over, in which you convinced yourself that you would never hear from him again, that just like that your friendship was over. You were supposed to be applying for jobs, now that your dad was dead and buried, but you stared at your laptop screen, unseeing. You could only think about Wooyoung. You checked your phone every thirty seconds, just in case. You opened your message thread, in case he sent one but you didn’t receive a notification. You tapped your thumbs on the screen, waiting for the magic words to come to you. The words that would take everything back, make it right again.

It was agony. It was terror. It was too much to keep to yourself, despite your shame. You told Jia everything and, by the time you had finished, you were on the verge of tears, on the edge of panic.

“What if I’ve fucked it all up?” you asked, choking on your words.

“Woo’s not like that. He hasn’t messaged you because he’s at work. Politely, dear sister, get a grip. Besides, I feel like you’re missing the point. You told him you wanted to be with him and he told you you aren’t in love with him. Which one of you is actually right?”

“I don’t know... Both, maybe, in a way... I don’t know.”

“Sounds like maybe he’s right then. You should probably know if you’re in love with someone, especially someone you’ve known since you were like, one, and have been sleeping with for years. If you don’t know, then you don’t.”

“But I-”

But you were terrified of losing him. He had been your life raft throughout it all. He had kept you afloat. Without him, you would have gone insane. Without him, the last few months would have been unbearable. Without him, you would never stay, but if he was here, you’d already decided you would never leave again. You needed him. Even now, when life was approaching some kind of normality. When the consequences of your dad’s life and death were still being felt but you could at least use the living room again. Things were getting better but they weren’t good. Wooyoung was. He was the best thing you had.

Your panic subsided when Wooyoung showed up after work, as usual. He acted as if nothing had happened, except he didn’t kiss you to say hello, and didn’t hold your hand, and only gave you a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight—even though you’d been kissing goodnight on the mouth for years.

As the days wore on, things settled. Your anxiety about the situation melted in his warmth, which was the same as it had ever been. You wondered what was going on in his brain, in his heart, how he could allow this, how he could stand it. You lay, naked in his bed, listening to his deep, slow breathing, thinking: if I were him—if I were in love with my best friend—there's no way I could stand this proximity for so long.

The thought cut you like a knife and you sat up, sharply. Fuck. You sank down again carefully, hoping you hadn’t woken him. If. If. You weren’t. You really weren’t in love with him. And he knew it before you did.

For as long as you lived, even as a friend, you would never deserve Wooyoung.

When morning came—the weekend, a lie-in—you got up first, left the apartment and returned with overpriced coffee and pastries.

“Woo,” you called softly, kneeling on the floor beside him as you placed his coffee and his croissant on the bedside cabinet.

“I smell coffee.”

“I bought coffee.”

He winked one eye open, looked at you, and swivelled it to his treats. A grin spread across his face as he stretched and rolled over.

“Oh, treating me like a princess! It’s about time.”

You stood and he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto the bed. He kept one arm around you as he reached for his drink.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked, humming in satisfaction after his first sip.

“Nothing. Just being you.”

“Are you ill?”

You punched his arm—carefully, so he wouldn’t spill.

“Can’t I do something nice for you for once?”

“You can. In fact, I encourage you to do it often. Every day, if you want. I’d be fine with that.”

You rolled your eyes and settled down, tucked under his arm.

“I wanted to say something.”

Wooyoung was good at not letting his tension show, but you couldn’t miss the second’s pause in his body, the still moment before he let it go again.

“You were right,” you said.

“About?”

It was, again, to your shame that you couldn’t quite meet his eye when you said it.

“I’m not in love with you.”

“Ah.”

You told yourself you didn’t feel the kick of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I... I love you more than anyone. So much. I feel like... I feel like I love you like my life depends on it.”

He nodded.

“That’s not the same thing,” you continued.

He smiled, exhaling a puff of laughter through his nose.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, darling. It’s ok. I told you: it’s ok.”

- Six Months Later -

Normality had found you. Routine. A settled feeling rooted in you now that you were back where those roots first found soil. An apartment of your own. A job. New friends as well as all the ones you had left behind. Counselling because you decided you needed it. It had helped a lot with unearthing things long buried in you.

Like your love for Wooyoung. Like your being in love with him. The fissure that opened in you when you first mentioned his name in a session—long after you’d started. You had been so determined to keep things about your father and your childhood and determined to keep Wooyoung out of it. You had done so much of the work tiptoeing around him, until your counsellor, Suzie, called you on it. Told you that she knew there was something you were holding back. You spoke his name and burst into tears.

Because you had been so sure that you weren’t in love with him. You told her all of it—the entire, wretched, embarrassing account of how you’d kicked him while he was down—and reached the sure conclusion that it wasn’t love. Not like that. But the further down you dug, the deeper into your life she probed, the more wrong that felt.

It had always been Wooyoung. You had just never allowed yourself to admit that. Because he knew too much. He was too good to you. He indulged you like a spoilt child but—and it had surprised you so much when Suzie said it that you had stopped crying—you didn’t believe he really was in love with you. He couldn’t be because you didn’t deserve it, not someone like you with someone like him. You couldn’t explain the belief in light of his behaviour (nor his behaviour in light of your belief), but for you it was true and you were left with remnants of something that might have been everything you’d ever wanted: your love for him, your belief that you could never be good enough for him, and his friendship.

He was already seeing someone else by then. That wasn’t a surprise. You had said you weren’t in love with him and he wasn’t going to just sit around and mope about it. He had needs. Desires. A life. Now a boyfriend... Maybe boyfriend—you weren’t sure if they’d had that conversation yet. Whatever Yunho was, he was the person that kept you out of Wooyoung’s bed. You did nothing about it because you had no right to. Suzie did not agree with you on this but could not (would never) force you to do anything you didn’t want to, so you agreed to disagree.

“You know if you’re in love with him, you just have to tell him,” Hongjoong said, sitting himself down across from you.

No hello. No hi. No greeting of any kind.

“What?”

“Wooyoung. If you’re in love with him, you should tell him.”

You spluttered. Tried to find some plausible denial. Tried to not be overwhelmed with embarrassment that he knew—you didn’t think anyone knew outside the walls of your counselling sessions. You thought you had been doing a good job at keeping your feelings to yourself.

“We all know,” Hongjoong said, casually confirming your worst fears.

“Wooyoung?”

“No, not him! Wouldn’t believe it if we told him any-”

“You cannot tell him!” you hissed.

“We’re not going to! I’m just saying.”

“Oh my god, Hongjoong. You’re not just saying anything; you are exposing me in public right now! And he’s right there!”

You jabbed a hand in the direction of the bar where Wooyoung was waiting to buy drinks with, yes, Yunho—who was lovely and tall and polite and made Wooyoung laugh and whom you could not hate even if you wanted to.

“He can’t hear us.”

You put your head in your hands and then flapped them open like window shutters to look at Hongjoong.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re being all moony-eyed and obvious about it and, if you don’t do something soon, he’s going to get serious with that guy.”

“That guy has a name.”

Hongjoong shrugged.

“Yeah, but he’ll be out of the picture pretty soon, won’t he?”

“Will he?”

“Yeah, once you tell Woo how you fee-”

“SHUT UP! I’m not going to do that!”

“Or consider this: you do it.”

“No.”

“How about doing it?”

“No.”

“Ok but, what if... you did it?”

“No!”

“Or you could do it.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“YES.”

“Yes what?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide as saucers, as Yunho took a seat next to Hongjoong and Wooyoung beside him.

“Yes what?” Wooyoung repeated.

“Yes, she’s an idiot,” Hongjoong said, looking at you, challenging.

Wooyoung laughed.

“Sounds about right.”

“Hey!”

He blew you a kiss and you pouted, digging into your performance and kicking Hongjoong under the table.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about telling him. You had (at Suzie’s encouragement) and, every time, it brought you out in hives. It wasn’t even the fear of rejection (not exclusively anyway). It was the foolishness of it all. Having hurt him only to come crawling back, on your knees, to say that you were wrong. You couldn’t beg forgiveness. You couldn’t ask him to take you back. Not before he met Yunho and certainly not now. He deserved something better even before Yunho had appeared.

You were standing at the bar later that evening when two arms slipped around your waist and a head rested on your shoulder.

“Hello, you,” you said as Wooyoung moved sideways next to you, his hand resting on your back for just a second before falling.

“Hello. Buy me a drink, please.”

You scoffed.

“Since you asked so nicely...”

“I said please and everything!”

“Does Yunho want one?”

Wooyoung shook his head.

“Nah, he’s good.”

“Is he now?”

He bumped his hip into yours, lips tight to try to contain his smile.

“I approve by the way,” you told him.

“You approve?”

“Yes, of Yunho. I approve. You guys seem... good.”

“I’ll let him know he’s finally passed, shall I?”

“Yeah, would you? That’d be great. I can have the certificate sent out to him tomorrow.”

Another hip check, an unconcealed smile.

“And what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Dating? I know they won’t be The Best You’ve Ever Had but worth a shot, right?”

He was waiting for the blow—a smack on the arm or a shove—but you grinned back.

“And does Yunho know he’s not the best you’ve ever had?” You clutched your heart in dramatic performance but your stomach genuinely sank. “Or have I been dethroned?”

Wooyoung raised his nose, ignoring you, pretending he hadn’t heard, tongue working the inside of his mouth.

“Great! I’ll go and let him know!”

He grabbed your arm.

“Do not tell him that-”

“Woo, what kind of idiot do you think I am?!”

“Exactly the kind of idiot you are, princess.”

Your retort was interrupted by the arrival of your drinks, which Wooyoung paid for, picked up, and carried back to the table.

That was the thing. Being friends with Wooyoung was joyful, the greatest joy of your life, and you couldn’t risk that. You’d rather be his friend than nothing at all. Especially since he was happy now, had someone who made him happy now. Even if it wasn’t you.

yunou._.u: hi! I hope it’s ok to be messaging; I was hoping we could meet. I'd like to talk to you about something.

You looked at the instagram notification once, twice, then opened it to be sure you were seeing things right. You clicked on his profile and regretted it instantly because the very first photo was Yunho with Wooyoung. They looked sickeningly happy.

You: sure. When do you want to meet?

yunou._.u: is today ok? After work? I finish at 6

So there you were, approaching a cafe with your stomach in knots, about to meet Wooyoung’s not-quite-boyfriend for who knew what reason. Your only guess was something birthday-related; November wasn’t exactly soon but maybe Yunho was an extravagant kind of guy who wanted to whisk Wooyoung to some tropical paradise (during term time?) or have something custom-made. You hoped it was that, because that would be easy.

You spotted Yunho as you entered—he stood and raised a hand, a little shyly.

“Have you ordered?” you asked.

“No, I was waiting-”

“Sorry, I got a li-”

“No, no, it’s alright. We can order now.”

You stood at the counter in silence, staring at the drinks board unseeing. Yunho insisted on paying for yours, too, and your heart ached because he really was such a nice guy.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” he said as soon as you had sat down again. “This conversation might be a little awkward but I really want to make sure that everything is cleared-up.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised.

“I’m sorry for my directness but do you have feelings for Wooyoung?”

Your eyebrows would’ve shot right off the top of your head if they could have.

“I-... I-”

“He told me that he used to have feelings for you-”

‘Used to’. Ouch.

“-and I am choosing to believe him when he uses the past tense, but if you have feelings for him... I know I can’t compete with you and I don’t want to.”

You were stunned into silence. You didn’t know whether or not to be honest. Would honesty ruin what Wooyoung had with Yunho? You didn’t want that, you really didn’t. You wanted him to be happy and you had firmly convinced yourself that being happy with you was not an option. He had moved on. The proof of that was sitting right in front of you.

So you couldn’t say yes.

Nor could you bring yourself to lie.

“We’re just friends,” you replied.

Yunho smiled.

“I know and if that is your answer then I will accept it. I really like Wooyoung; I’m serious about this relationship and I’d like to ask him if he is, too, but if there’s any part of you that cares for him as more than a friend, I would really appreciate the heads-up. You and he have known each other a very long time and, like I said, I know I can’t compete.”

You were curling inwards with shame, knowing that you had the answer but not able to say it out loud. You couldn’t admit it to him, couldn’t break his heart and maybe Wooyoung’s, too, just for the sake of your feelings—feelings that were too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho said when you still did not respond. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with this and, really, your feelings aren’t my business as such; you don’t have to tell me-”

“-I...”

It was there, in your chest, rising in your throat, this pressure, to say it, admit it, but there was pressure to hide it, too, to not expose yourself to ridicule, to despair. Yunho looked on, patiently waiting, sipping his coffee, as you stared back with pleading eyes.

Yunho smiled—kind. Sad. He nodded.

“I understand. Thank you... and thank you for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

He rose from the table.

“I’ll see you around,” he said in parting, taking his half-empty mug to the return station and leaving you with yours, shell-shocked and sick, at the table.

“... I felt like I was going to vomit,” you whined from your seat on the floor, grabbing onto Hongjoong’s leg like a life raft. “What am I supposed to do?”

He laughed from above you on the sofa.

“Man, Yunho has class. That was a fucking classy move.”

“Yeah, I get it: he’s great! How is that helping?”

“I’m just saying. If he and Woo do break-up, he’s gonna need a rebound... Might just have to make myself available to him-”

“Hongjoong! You’re fucking gross! You can’t go around scavenging your friends’ exes!”

“Why not? Motherfucker is tall and, rumour has it, well hung.”

You twisted and gave him a vicious slap to the thigh.

“HONGJOONG! As if I needed to hear that! You are disgusting! You cannot sleep with him!”

“If he’s up for it, I can do whatever I want! Woo will be too busy up in your guts to notice-”

“Oh my god, I am leaving. I hate you so much. This is why I avoided you for months.”

But Hongjoong grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave and pulled you down onto the sofa with him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say that I haven't already fucking said. I think you should tell Wooyoung how you feel; Yunho knows and he’s made it pretty clear that he’s gonna bow out for you so, if you don’t tell Woo, he’s just gonna be heartbroken for no reason, isn’t he?”

You leant into Hongjoong, who was right even if you didn’t want him to be.

“Please don’t tell him,” you begged for what might have been the hundredth time.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you fucking loser.”

“Don’t be mean to me.”

“You deserve it.”

You slapped him on the chest.

“See what I mean?”

You flopped onto your sofa, intent on vegetating for the rest of the evening. It was Friday so all the chores you had left could wait. There was nothing between you and your umpteenth rewatch of Parks and Rec.

Until Wooyoung strolled through your door.

“Who let you in?” you asked.

“I did, princess. That kind of thing can happen when you give someone the keys to your house.”

He fell onto the sofa on top of you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before sitting upright and pulling you that way, too.

“What do you want?”

“I can’t just want to spend time with my favourite person?”

You didn’t argue with that because you hadn’t seen him all week and, it might have been a slip of the tongue, but it felt too good to be referred to as his favourite.

“I broke up with Yunho.”

Your jaw dropped and your stomach fell with it. He broke up with Yunho?

“No!”

“Yep.”

“Woo...”

You cupped his face and his hands circled your wrists, gently pulling them down, slipping his hands into yours.

“Why?” you asked, with some trepidation.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; his lips pursed to stop it.

“I spoke to Hongjoong...”

Your mouth dried, heart sped. Hongjoong was like Fort fucking Knox—if he wanted to be, if he thought the secret worth keeping—but he was also a fucking meddler and you should have known better. Of course he spilled the beans when it was your feelings at hand, but he hadn’t done the same when it was Wooyoung’s—hadn’t given you any warning of that bombshell. You would’ve liked to have been angrier but your anxiety drowned it out. Wooyoung knew. He knew.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Wooyoung asked, no reproach, no accusation in his tone.

“How?” you choked. “How could I tell you?”

“Well, there are plenty of options. You could have started like this: ‘Hey, Wooyoung, guess what? I’m in love with you!’; or ‘Listen, donkey, I know you have a boyfriend and this is hilariously shit timing and everything, but I have feelings for you’; or, an absolute classic that everyone loves, a boombox outside my window and you shout ‘Wooyoung! I love you! Be my boyfriend!’... Take your pick.”

Curling in on yourself again, embarrassed and ashamed, raw with vulnerability; you could not meet his eye.

“Hey,” he called, so softly, with a gentle tug on your hand when you did not respond. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His face, downturned, hurt but trying to look like he wasn’t. You hated that you were the reason for that face. You couldn’t stop the tremor in your voice as you spoke.

“Because I wanted you to be happy.”

“Did you not stop to think that you make me happy? You know this.”

“Yunho...-”

“Is not you.”

“Hongjoong wants to fuck him, by the way.”

A swerve but you didn’t know what else to say. You and Wooyoung had crossed all sorts of line together, but you could not get yourself across this one.

Wooyoung sagged, sighed.

“Yes,” he said wearily, with an eye roll, “he made that disturbingly clear.”

“Do you think he will?”

Wooyoung shrugged.

“As long as I don’t have to hear about it, they can do what they like... You’ve changed the subject. Did you not want me to know?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Yunho.”

“Do you not want to be with me?”

When you pressed a hand to your chest this time, it had nothing to do with dramatics. It hurt, that he doubted, that you had made him doubt, that you were still, sitting and talking as you were, making him doubt.

“I do... Fuck, I do. I just...”

If there were ever a time for putting on your big-girl pants and being honest, this was it. Still not able to look him in the eye, you looked somewhere just over his left shoulder.

“I’ve already let you down before. I don’t want to do it again. I’m-... If... if this doesn’t work out, I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“Who says it won’t work out?”

“I don’t know, statistics?”

Wooyoung almost laughed.

“Only three types of lie in the world, princess: lies, damned lies, and statistics. I’m not going to force you, th-”

“Please do! Please force me!”

And it was you holding him by the wrists this time, up on your knees, exclaiming, because you couldn’t push yourself over the line, needed him—as you always needed him—to help. He laughed.

“You’re truly pathetic, you know that?”

“Yes, I know... Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please kiss me.”

He did just that. He tasted sweeter than your months of remembering, lips softer than the landing your heart descended into. Yours, again, only yours. As you thought he never would be, could be.

“I love you.”

Like you had said so many times before, but also not like it because it was finally like that. Like you were safe and held as you always had been, but also wanted, longed for, dreamt of. You were so happy at that moment that you even forgot to be angry with Hongjoong.

You would remember later, but for now, it was all Wooyoung.

#ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung x reader #atz fanfic #atz x reader #atz smut

120 notes · View notes

matchpointfaist · 1 day ago

Text

college best friend! art x reader °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

three days passed after the party, after the kiss, and art didn’t so much as text, call, or reach out in any way. you were hurt, confused, slightly anxious at the loss of contact, but more than anything, you missed him.

you missed his stupid jokes and the way he smiled like you were the funniest, most brilliant person in the room. the way his arms lingered when he hugged you goodnight, the way he rambled on and on about tennis and potential matches and probability for going pro next year. the way he’d sit patiently while you studied or read, even though you knew he was bursting at the seams to do anything but study. you missed your best friend, plain and simple, and you hoped that he missed you too.

his long awaited breach of silence finally came on the fourth day, early that morning, around the time you were sure he was getting ready for his morning job. it was simple, to the point, a text that quickened your heart rate unreasonably so; ‘can i come over later? miss you.’

‘of course you can.’ you replied in an instant, already making space on your bed for him to lounge, subconsciously making sure you looked okay, that your sleep deprivation and worry weren’t broadcasted too clearly on your face.

he was there thirty minutes later, a soft knock at the door pulling you from your thoughts, jarring you and exciting you far more than it should’ve. “coming!” you called, straightening out your clothes before pulling the door open, fighting a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

four days was the longest you’d gone without seeing him since the two of you met, which seemed sort of pathetic to think of, but you’d grown accustomed to spending all your free time with him. “hi,” he smiled, less enthusiastic than usual, but a smile nonetheless, “can i come in?”

as if nothing happened, the two of you sat on your bed, and you tried not to let your eyes linger too long on his lips; your mind wandering to the way they’d felt on yours.

“i guess i should apologize,” he broke the silence that had settled over the room hesitantly, “i shouldn’t have kissed you without asking first. we were drunk, and i was an idiot, and i’m so sorry, and you can be mad at me but i miss you, and,”

you cut him off with a laugh, shaking your head, “shut up, art. don’t be sorry, okay? it was sweet, it was-“ your cheeks flushed, “it was good, i promise. i miss you too,” he blinked in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face, and it struck you then that you’d do anything to keep him this way. happy, awestruck, content.

“it was good?” he asked softly, like he was afraid if you repeated it you’d change your mind, “i could- i mean, we could kiss again, if you wanted, i just didn’t wanna assume, and i didn’t wanna overstep,”

this time, you cut him off with your lips over his, just as he’d done at the party. he tensed, ever so briefly, before melting into you, kissing you and smiling against your lips and tracing his fingers up your spine, pulling you into him and warming you so thoroughly you were certain you’d never felt anything like it.

you settled in his lap, curling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him until you were breathless, until you had to pause and rest your forehead against his, giggling slightly, giddy on affection.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he exhaled with a soft, breathy laugh, “you really have no idea, i- i’ve thought of you, like this, for so long,” “yeah?” you kissed him again, unable to hold yourself back, hoping you could show him that you felt the exact same way.

it was cliche, falling for your best friend. it was reckless and silly and so unbearably young of you, but you didn’t care. with art, it felt like you’d known him all your life. maybe even before that, in some alternate past life, maybe you’d been in love with him before your souls were even in these bodies, here in this dorm room. the statistical probability of meeting him, out of everyone in this world, was so slim, but you truly couldn’t fathom feeling this way for anyone else.

no one could come close to him, you were sure of it. he made you feel so alive and so at ease, so completely certain of yourself, so confident that this was the right thing to do. you’d never felt anything more right than kissing him, actually. it was like all the little pieces fell into place, and suddenly you knew exactly what to do, exactly where to place your hands, exactly how to move against him.

his hands made their way up the back of your shirt, tucked underneath the material, hot and smooth against your skin as you kissed him, and you were startled as a soft moan passed from your lips to his as his hand brushed a particularly tender spot on your shoulders, leaving chills on the delicate skin.

he smiled against you, pulling away to look at you from his seat underneath you, his eyes wide and admiring. “do you want me to stop?” he asked almost timidly, “we don’t have to do anything else,”

“wanna do this,” you said without a second thought, pausing to pull your shirt over your head, shivering slightly in your bralette. his cheeks reddened, and you felt him stiffen beneath you, hard between your thighs. “you’re so beautiful,” he exhaled, gently reaching out to trace over your ribs and chest, so featherlight and tender it almost brought tears to your eyes.

it was quicker after that, all of your clothes in a pile on your floor, pulled off between breathless kisses and murmurs of admiration from the both of you. art was all muscle under his shirt, his chest rippling with movement, and you were reminded of just how strong he really was as he picked you up, repositioning the two of you and laying between your thighs, kissing you from this new position with a power he didn’t have before.

“art,” you mumbled against his lips, pulling at his hair gently, “d’you want me on top?” his breath visibly faltered, and he looked you over, his eyes dark as he took in the sight of you laid out beneath him. “want you however you feel best,” he said quietly, pressing a warm kiss to your chest, and you sat up as you heard him laugh, felt the hot exhale of his breath against you.

“what?” you asked, suddenly self conscious, crossing your arms over your bare chest, and his eyes widened at the motion, like he was confused. “oh, no- i just, i can’t believe we’re doing this,” he smiled, gently pulling your arms down, kissing your cheek, “can’t believe i finally have you,”

he kept kissing you as he moved closer between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit with an unsteady hesitation, but he relaxed as you hummed in pleasure, your eyes falling closed. “feels good,” you murmured, tilting your head up to kiss his neck, arching into his touch, “god, art, that’s really good,”

only a few minutes and he had you practically writhing beneath him, whimpering and moaning and suddenly so embarrassingly desperate in a way that a man had never had you before. after he was sure that you were comfortable, that you were ready, he rested the palm of one hand on your cheek as he slid into you, his face all hazy with pleasure, a quiet groan leaving his swollen lips.

“oh my god,” he buried his face in your neck, resting his hand on your hip to hold you tight to him as he fucked you, and you were acutely aware of the way he shook like he was holding himself back.

you were a mess of breathless moans and messy kisses, your hands in his hair and his hands on every inch of your skin and taking pauses just to look at each other, to take in the beautiful simplicity of this; this, between you, this love that had been growing for months that you’d both been too shy or scared of just plain stupid to admit.

he made you come before he’d let himself finish, his mouth swallowing your moans as you trembled around him, digging your nails into his toned back as he fucked you through it, panting against your neck and praising you so softly you thought maybe he wasn’t even doing it for your benefit.

when he finished, your name spilled from his lips in a broken moan, and you wished you could capture it forever, play it on repeat whenever the mood struck. he was so doting after, cleaning you up gently, kissing you and taking breaks to laugh, to smile with the sort of giddiness you’d only seen on him after he won a match.

you fell asleep there, despite you both having classes that day, too caught up in the serenity of it all to leave your dorm room. when you woke up from your nap, art was still there, his expression peaceful as he lay curled up in your pink bedsheets, your stuffed bear under his arm. when he finally woke up, he laid in your lap as you read the study material for the class you both missed. later that night, he fucked you again, taking his time and kissing every inch of you, his movements so slow and careful that it warmed you all over. you knew you loved him far before that, but it finally came from your lips as you came undone for the second time, and when you both calmed down, he made you say it again just to make sure you meant it.

and oh god, you did.

#art x reader #challengers #art donaldson fic #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #artdonaldson #art donaldson smut #college best friend! art #stanford! art #stanford art donaldson #stanford art x reader #so high school

101 notes · View notes

meo-eiru · 1 day ago

Note

Hi hiiiiii!!! I just wanna say i love ur oc’s so much, they live rent free inside my head like a growing necrosis!! Ever since u dropped the character trivias for Lavi and Elias I cant stop thinking about an AU with the game Catherine for Elias and Lavi but like with a lil twist to itt (the twist being i cant properly remember the entire plot to Catherine, its been like a decade since i played it so i tweaked so much of the actual storyline to better fit the narrativeT-T) feel free to delete it if its too weird;;

TW: cheating, pregnancy, reader/mc is pregnant, ooc Lavi im sorry, Elias having a reasonable crashout, yandere behaviour, continuous affair, reader/Mc cheats, character death(?), misuse of commas and my terrible grammar really

—

Okay so Imagine this, whilst drinking out one day, trying to drown out the midlife crisis and potential worries about the future, you end up having a drunken one night stand with Lavi, this one night stand however snowballs into an affair as you end up sleeping with Lavi AGAIN.

You’re pregnant, and you’ve been in a relationship with Elias for 5 years, Elias is absolutely ECSTATIC to find out that you’re pregnant, and is even considering marrying you if you agree to it (you have no choice in the matter btw lol), so in order to plan for the baby (and wedding), Elias has been taking more and more modeling jobs to hopefully save enough for your future together.

This would’ve been a happy ending for both parties if you actually KNEW who the father was. Youve been rethinking your entire relationship with Elias for a while and whilst its good to feel loved and appreciated just for existing, Elias’ is just… he’s too much sometimes— well most times tbh.

Elias would kill you both, but he hasn’t suspected anything yet, and you plan to keep it that way because you’re thinking of ending things with Elias by the end of the month anyway,

until you can’t.

And you find yourself puking every morning, a worried Elias by your side at every step of the way, loving, understanding (?), pulling your hair back and dabbing away sweat from your face as you stay hunched over the toilet seat, and the guilt smashes into you like a truck, its debilitating—Elias loves you so much, cares for you (too) so much. The guilt should have set in sooner, you should be groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness, but you dont, instead you stay, and the affair continues, even when you don’t remember spending the night with Lavi (where they even at the bar last night?). Even when the test shows two lines. Even when Elias starts doing more work to provide for the two of you.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe its your consciousness telling you you need to leave, to not subject Elias to a life chained up to someone who doesnt love them enough to stay faithful.

You end up having these weird nightmares where you have to fight for your life trying to escape a hellish landscape. You survive each night but always seem to end up waking up to Lavi on your bedside (you haven’t been outside, Elias hasn’t allowed you to go to work since the pregnancy test, you don’t remember telling Lavi your address either)

But one night, when you wake up from another nightmare, crying, shivering, Elias and Lavi nowhere in sight.

Impulsively, you end up calling Elias and tell him about the affair, how you don’t know who the father of the child is, how you’re sorry and how terrible you are and how it would be better if you just break up.

and as expected, he breaks down. asking you, demanding answers, crying, screaming, shouting, asking if you actually loved him, asking if the child is actually his, asking you why he wasn’t enough, how he knew you were acting weird, asking which fucker he has to kill to make everything work out. its guttural, the way he screams, shouts for answers.

You end up dropping the call. And Elias immediately spams your phone with missed calls until you end up blocking his number.

He’s coming for you, you know he will. And he does, not even an hour later, banging on the door. You worry about your neighbours hearing about all of this commotion, its 11pm, he should’ve been at home but he was still at work, should’ve spent this time relaxing and watching tv shows with you at saturday night, but instead he was still at work, working to support the both of you (even if a big part of you knew it wouldn’t have stopped him from coming anyway)

He’s banging on the door, and you have half a mind to grab the knife at the sink. He stops after what felt like an eternity, only to forcefully barge his way in by using his body to slam the door open.

Elias makes his way inside, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders, eyes red with tears as he looks at you with the most painstakingly hurt expression you’ve ever seen (you’ve seen it countless times before, but only this time its different, it’s it scarier, it feels like he might actually hurt you)

His eyes grows into slits, as you feel another arm snake behind you.

It’s Lavi.

You are so fucked.

Elias ends up lunging at Lavi, screaming, intent to kill, to get rid of the vermin homewrecker that ruined (whatever was left of) your relationship.

Lavi fights back, albeit without mentally damaging Elias in the process as he talks about how much time he spends with you, how he planned on taking you with him secretly behind his back, how the child is actually his and how he intends to take full accountability for it.

You watch as Elias screams reaching for something in the sink only for Lavi to laugh at him, taunting him, waving the knife in his hand hautily, simpering with a glint of malice in his eyes “Looking for this?”

You’re about as useful in this situation as a screen door to a submarine. And you know its in vain, but you scream at both of them to stop anyway. Crying as you fall to your feet, you feel like puking.

Elias freezes, breath hitching as he turns to you before the expression on his face falters, angered as Lavi continues, telling him that “he’s the reason you’re having such a hard time right now”, “how he has no business being a father when all he does is hurt you”.

Everything falls into a blur as the fighting continues,

it feels like forever but it does stop, and you hear someone slump on the floor.

and you find Elias on the floor, with the knife plunged into Lavi’s stomach.

——

I had to write it out the brainrot was killing me, had to write it out until the brain rot unrotted itself.

I do know i couldve done this darker and better but i cant write anymore i feel so rustyT-T if you see “them” instead “you” its because i originally wrote this with “Mc” and using “they/them” before changing it to explicit xreader

Rereading my writing realising it is so tellenovella coded oof

Holy shit anon I don't know how you did it but this might just be the most hellish possible scenario known to mankind. I'd honestly just end it right then and there, there's no getting out of this bermuda triangle ass dynamic we got going on here.

Like Lavi and Elias being in the same universe is already horrible, them liking the same person is even worse but darling CHEATING on one of them with the other??? I would just

#asks #elias #yandere pretty boyfriend #lavi #yandere incubus #fanfic #tw cheating #yandere x reader

99 notes · View notes

babysfirsthaze · 21 hours ago

Text

Pent up... (Ekko x reader)

Synopsis: you and Ekko have been caught up with responsibilities, haven't had a whole lot of time together. You get needy. He takes care of you.

Content: the most vanilla sex of your life, soft kissy missionary, fem!reader, p in v, unprotected, very light nipple sucking, established relationship. Not very proofread. Probably extremely out of character.

A/n: first fic ahhh idk..!!🥹 this is lowk so vanilla it's boring idk. Trying 2 ease myself into it. Please lmk if I made any mistakes, I did this instead of homework so I hope it's good smh</3 enjoy

Sex isn't that important to you.

Really, it's not.

Ekko's always had a higher libido than you, not that you don't wanna fuck him, it's just not really on your mind much. You're fine without it, as long as you get to hold him at night. But– fuck.

It's been almost two weeks. You've both been busy with responsibilities, leading the Firelights isn't easy, even with the weight on four shoulders. You find yourself looking at his body a little more than his face, getting distracted, thoughts wondering away to hot, steamy places, when you're supposed to be paying attention. It feels a little dirty, you've never been one to sexualise people. But you can't help it. He's hunched over a desk at the moment, shoulders tense and legs spread absent-mindedly.

Your mouth waters.

"Ekko," you start, the word soft, your fingers fidget with your top as you sit on your shared bed. He looks up, eyes curious and a bit tired. "Hm?" He sits up a bit and you bite your lip, unsure how to go about this, but you've never been a shy person.

"That work important?"

"..Not really," he hums, tilting his head, looking at you curiously. You open your mouth, close it again, trying to get your thoughts to shut up. Dick dick dick dick. Come on now, you're better than this, right? Surely you're better than this.

"I need somethin'," you mumble, thighs squirming together a little. "C'mere."

He does, and you look at the way his arms flex when he pushes himself off the desk, instead of his face. He frowns, bemused. That's new. Then you're tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer to you, and looking up at him with those big, sweet eyes. Shit. He starts to smile, standing over you where you sit on the bed. "Yeah? What's that?"

You tilt your face up at him, raising your eyebrows a bit. "Kiss me?" He grins, first instinct to tease you a bit, but then you tug at his shirt again, thighs pressed together and a sort of need in your eyes neither of you are used to. He doesn't have a lot of resolve, that man.

Your mouths connect, and he's smiling a bit, and he's got his hand rested on the side of your neck, and he smells good, and ohh, god. You sigh into his mouth, hand curling tighter around his shirt. The kiss is slow, filled with an affection and closeness. But the mood changes before long, and you tug him closer, the kisses becoming hungry, heavy and hot.

Ekko leans further over you, scooting you back a bit so you're more on the middle of the bed. He knows what you want. The two of you don't have much free time these days, and yeah, teasing is fun, he'd love to work you up, make you wait, but – it's late. So he's climbing over you, movements slow, the kiss unbroken.

You trail a hand down his waist, tugging at his shirt. "Missed you," you hum into his mouth, and he sighs, enjoying the hands on his skin. He kisses a line down your jaw, mouthing onto your neck. "Yeah?" He sucks and gnaws gently on your pulse point, making you whine. "Been neglectin' you, huh? Sorry, baby."

You forgive him.

You tug at his shirt again, and he gives in, helping you tug it off to reveal his toned, heavy body. He takes yours off in kind, careful hands unclasping and slipping off your bra. Then his mouth is back on your neck, kissing down your chest, before latching around your nipple, brown eyes closed as his mouth works at you, making you sign and moan.

"Pretty girl," he murmurs, and he comes back up to look at you. His hands trail over your body, gentle but hungry. You hook your arms over his shoulders, chewing on your lip, eyes all hazy, full of need. Your mouths connect again and he groans, right hand creeping under your waistband. You whine, bucking your hips up eagerly, needing his touch.

"Please," you sigh, and he doesn't deny you, dipping two fingers down into your panties. You're already wet, and he grins. Running his fingertips gently over your clit, squeezing the small nub gently between them, like he knows you like. "I got you, baby," he mumbles, his voice all breathy, and you can feel him straining against his pants, his hips brushing against your thigh thanks to the position you're in.

You mewl, squirming under him. You really have been needing this, shit, your clit twitches, and you bite your lip.

"Don't tease me," you mumble, your voice a little strained. It feels good. But you want more, you wanna get off, you want him to fuck you. "Please, just fuck me." He chuckles, cooing softly at you, his fingers dipping down, teasing at your hole. You whine, and he swallows it eagerly into his mouth. "Sorry, baby. 'M gonna fuck ya."

You'd both need more foreplay than that, on a different day. But it has been a while, and you look so pretty, and he tugs his hand out of your panties, sitting up a bit. Then he's pulling your pants off, hands gentle, careful, and he groans, eyes trailing over your pussy.

"So pretty," Ekko says again, almost to himself. He runs a soothing hand over your thighs, watching hungrily as your arousal drips down your folds. Shit. He reaches for his belt buckle, pushing his pants down efficiently, he's just as worked up as you are. His boxers are on the floor and by God that dick.

He's hard, pre leaking out of his sensitive slit.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his hand wrapping around his shaft, and he thumbs at his tip. Just looking at you. He thinks you're so pretty, could look at you for hours. But there's more important things to do.

He kneels back down on the mattress, tugging your knees apart and settling between them. He spits lightly on his hand, spreading it down his length, using it like a lube as he pumps himself slowly, other hand pressing against your clit. This draws a soft whine out of you and he smiles, chewing on his lip.

He shifts, leaning forward to stroke his tip over your clit, teasing it. "Shit," he grunts, and he grabs your hand, holding it against the mattress as he enjoys the feeling, brow furrowing slightly. "Fuck, Ekko," you whine, squeezing his hand.

"Shhh, baby, I got you," he mumbles, pushing his tip inside you, before pulling it out again with a soft pop. Then he starts to fuck you. Slow, gentle strokes, filling you up all nice, shifting and hoisting your knees till he hits that good angle, the one that makes your mouth fall open and your eyes go fuzzy. "Yeah, baby? That feel good?" He cooes, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He nudges against that spot inside you, groaning softly and pressing a thumb to apply gentle pressure to your clit. It's been too long, both your heads are going hazy, and he just wants to make you feel good, to feel good in turn. "Shit, I missed this fuckin' pussy."

You moan, and he shushes you with a kiss, squeezing your hand. "People are trying to sleep." You can't find it in you to care, not when you're finally getting the dick you've been craving for days, but you feel compelled to listen to Ekko, so you keep quiet. Just sigh into his mouth, whining softly and allowing your hands to trail up and down his back.

The pace is slow, gentle and full of affection. Just rocking into that warm, gooey spot inside you, he's only a couple inches deep, but he doesn't mind. Ekko kisses you, sighing sweet nothings into your mouth and right down to your tummy. His thumb still working at your clit, just rocking back and forth on top of it, in time with his hips, sandwiching your most sensitive parts between your favourite boy and turning your brain into mush.

It doesn't take much, to push you over the edge. God knows you've waited long enough. A few careful, practiced touches, whispered praise and reassurances, and sure enough that feeling is bubbling into your tummy, spilling over when he starts to rub little circles on your clit. You cum holding your breath to keep quiet, face twisted up in pleasure as Ekko fucks you through it. So pretty.

"Good girl, good girl...bet that feels good, huh? This what you wanted? Sweet girl just needed a fuck, yeah, I know, I know..."

Then he's pulling out, still touching you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He nuts with a groan, pumping himself to the same pace, warm cum shooting out of him, onto your tummy. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, placing small kisses to the skin there.

You just lay there for a moment, both needing a second to recover, get your bearings again. Not the most intense orgasms of your lives but exactly what you needed. He nuzzles into you, nudging his nose against your jaw.

"Round two?"

Published on 12/2/15 by babysfirsthaze on tumblr

#arcane #arcane smut #ekko #ekko arcane #ekko smut #ekko x reader #piltovers finest #ekko x you #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #mine

103 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 11 hours ago

Text

Valentine's day Mishaps

Pairing: tasm! Peter Parker x fem! Reader/ Spider-Man x fem! Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Your first ever valentine's date as a couple goes haywire when spidey duties interrupt.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, CW food mentions, CW injury mention, established relationship, lovestruck! Peter, best friends to lovers/ childhood friends to lovers, fluff.

Requested by @yumeaoka-chan - Let's see. A Valentine's Day request for Peter Parker, please. Andrew Garfield's version, of course🤭💕It's your first Valentine's as a couple and Peter has planned this day/night out to a tee. Whatever he has planned can be up to you. However, nothing is going how he wants it to go, interruptions and accidents happening all throughout it. He's all upset and chastising himself, apologizing to you when you really don't mind it. You thought everything was going perfectly, just enjoying being with him. Something along the lines of that🤭💕

Navigation

“Pete?” You call out groggily from the bed, eyes scrunched up to look at the darkened silhouette by the door as you lean on the nightstand and click on the lamp.

Peter walks into the light, revealing his signature Parker smile while he carries a full tray of clinking dishes. The room is dark thanks to the blackout curtains that he gifted you a few months ago after briefly complaining about the sun shining right on your eyes at the crack of dawn. Of course he can't let the love of his life suffer.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” He winces, socked feet padding on the carpet as he makes his way towards you. “This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I thought you were my sleep paralysis demon.” Peter chuckles as you sit up. You give him your best smile even though sleep still clings to your lashes. “Surprise?”

Peter lays the tray carefully over your lap, revealing breakfast dishes that consist of fresh fruits that's drizzled in condensed milk. A hearty stack of waffles with whipped cream and honey, a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and a croissant. A long stemmed rose sits right next to the glass, you feel like soaring. Especially when he gives you a wobbly smile.

He expects you to grab the rose or a spoon, but you reach over the tray to grasp at his face, quickly placing a kiss on his lips. It takes him aback for a few seconds, but he quickly reciprocates, brown eyes closed, humming as you feel him smile against the lips.

The two of you part with a resounding smack, but your eyes never leave the lovestruck look on his face. “Happy Valentine's day, Peter. You already got me beat.”

“It's not a competition,” he shrugs, doing his best not to topple over the tray. “I'm winning though.”

Chuckling, you give him one last smooch on each of his cheeks, tip of his nose, temple and forehead. Which was not the last of it as you come back and chase his lips again to press a sweet kiss.

“You are, I'll get you soon.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, honey.” Before you pull away, he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Eat, I wanna see the absolute bliss on your face when you take a bite.”

“Where’s yours?” You ask as you pick up a fork.

“I already ate.” He says, nose scrunched up.

“You ate all the duds, huh?”

He nods, guilty.

You hum, grinning at him as you take a bite. Sure enough you showed him absolute bliss.

—

Peter helps you put on your coat as if you need help. But you let him, how could you not when he stares at you with those big puppy eyes of his?

“So, first Valentine's together, what do you want to do?” His warm palms close the buttons on your coat, and tucking in your pretty red scarf inside the collar. “I've got something planned for tonight, so we kinda have to wait for it.” Looking at you through his lashes, Peter seems apologetic even though you're staring at him with so much love.

“I know it's cold, Pete, but how about a nice walk around central park to start off?” You nervously say as your fingers play with his coat sleeve.

“Where we had our first date?” You nod, biting your lip. “And here I thought I'm the romantic one.”

“Just trying to one up you, Parker.” Giggling, you tie his scarf nicely, noticing that it's in the same shade as yours. He watches you with shining eyes, hands already on your waist. “We can stop by the same coffee stand, and get pretzels after. Only if you want to.”

“You could tell me we're going on a trip to the raft and I'll still say yes.”

You pat his chest with both palms, and he resists the urge to kiss you breathlessly in the small apartment hallway. “The raft? I don't think they let civilians have tours there. Why, you got friends there?” You joke.

“They should,” he chuckles out, not even completing his own joke. “There's probably good money in there— they actually shouldn't. That— that would be horrible.” He cracks, cringing at his attempt at a joke. His head falls on your shoulder as you laugh and hold the back of his neck. “Sorry, just…nervous.”

“Why? It's just me.” You mumble against his temple, lips brushing along his warm skin.

“I know! That's why.” Lifting his head up, Peter lets out a groan. “I just want it to be perfect. It's for you and you deserve perfection.”

“Oh,” cradling his face, you pout at his pout, while your index tucks a hair strand away from his face. “This…” You tap your foot on the wooden floorboards. “This is already perfect, Peter. Anywhere with you is perfect for me. Whether we're shitting on a terrible movie or out and about around the city, it's perfect.”

Peter sighs, wondering what he did in his past life to have this kind of life. “So you don't want your gift?”

You blow raspberries, rolling your eyes as your arms loop over his neck. “Of course I want my gift.”

Chuckling, Peter pulls you in by your scarf, careful of his own strength and kisses you right on his doorstep.

—

You made Peter wait on a bench while you buy a couple of hot steaming cups of mediocre coffee. He watches your back as snow slowly drifts down in tiny specks of snowflakes. You chuckle at something the old vendor said, and he smiles at how your smile lights up the whole park.

As he waits, he shifts in his seat. The spandex inside his clothes are uncomfortable as it clings to his skin. He knows he can't really leave his alter ego behind, but not even crime has holidays off. Sometimes he wishes it does though.

“Hey,” you beam at him, handing him a styrofoam cup. “Drink it quickly before it freezes.” Shivering, smoke billows out from your lips as you breathe.

Peter mirrors your smile, taking the cup from you as he pats the space next to him for you. He even wiped away the snow just for you.

“Thanks, gorgeous.”

“You're welcome, handsome.” Nudging his shoulder, you watch him drink over the rim of your cup as you take a hearty sip.

“What?” He notices your eyes on him, making him scooch closer to you. “Something on my handsome face?”

“And here I thought you're perceptive.”

Peter knits his brows together while you move your eyes down to his cup. He follows your line of sight, finding your unmistakable handwriting on the cup. His guffaw echoes out in the park, bouncing around the white powdery snow.

“It's a riddle.” He excitedly says, tone higher than usual. “With a warm cup you take a sip, but here I am cold as a statue on a winter’s day.” Making a face, he turns to you. “Is this your way of saying that you're freezing, babe?”

You take his cheek, leaving a kiss mark on the other after pressing a chaste kiss that has his legs wobbly. Good thing he's sitting down.

“Genius, it's for the next destination.”

“You—” he blinks, shock and awe evident on his face. “It's a treasure hunt?” Placing the cup on the bench, he twists in his seat and grasps at your cheeks, squishing it together. “Have I told you that I love you?”

“Numerous times before but I'd love to hear it again.” You say, muffled as he puckers your lips together, lips that he leaves an affectionate kiss on that lingers for a moment. Smiling and giggling, he places his arm around your shoulder. “So what's your answer?”

“Easy, the museum. It's where we bumped into each other after not seeing each other since graduation.”

You pat his chest for a job well done. “Correct, and here I thought I made it vague enough.”

“Please, I—” his senses go off as a resounding crash can be heard a few miles away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” he sighs, defeated. “Would it be an asshole move if I leave right now?”

“Call of nature or…” you change your tone into a whisper. “... Spider-Man duties? Either way, not an asshole move.”

“The latter, babe.” Peter's shoulders slumps visibly. “I'll be back I promise.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I'll wait for you at the museum, okay?” Before he reluctantly stands up, you grasp his wrist. “Be careful please.”

With one last kiss on your temple, he rushes out of the park.

—

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter bolts out of an alleyway and into a busy street, dodging cars and trucks while his shoe laces are still undone. “Fuck.” Almost slipping on a sheet of ice, he finally sees you beneath a lion statue in front of the museum. He expertly balances himself as snow crunches underfoot.

Your scrunched up face lights up when you see him. Waving him over, he runs to you, arms wrapping around you as he crashes against your form. His hands brace your back from smacking on the statue.

He heaves atop the crook of your neck, lashes fluttering close as he breathes you in. “I made it.”

Wrapping him in your arms, you hold him close. “You did. Are you okay? Nothing damaged?”

Peter lifts his head up as he fixes the scarf on your neck. “I'm fine,” he exhales deeply, now smiling through the ache on his ankle. “Barely broke a sweat.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank goodness.” Fixing his coat collar that his red suit peeks underneath from, you grin up at him. “If you're too tired we can go home.”

“And miss the treasure hunt? No way.” Reaching over you, he plucks a hefty gift box from the stone lion's mouth. “Besides, the presents might get stolen.”

Biting your lip, you watch as he shakes the present. “Open it before I burst a nervous vein.”

Peter chuckles, giving you a quick peck on your cheek before carefully unwrapping the gift. “You little shit.” His eyes are wide and a grin plays on his lips.

“I know, I'm good.”

He takes out the book from the box, revealing a first edition of the hobbit book. “Where in the hell did you get this?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug.

“It's Ned, right?”

“Yeah, it's Ned. I had to pry it off his hands after he found it for me.”

Opening his arms for a hug, you immediately place yourself in between, embracing him back as you lay your head on his clavicle. He kisses the top of your head with a resounding smack.

“Thank you, this is amazing.” He squeezes you. “You're amazing.”

“No, you are, Pete.” You peek over his arms, gazing at him with softness in your eyes. “I heard you saved a bunch of people on the subway.”

“I'm the latest gossip now?” Smiling, he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, the talk of the town.” Poking his side, earning a chuckle from him, you kiss his chin before reluctantly letting go lest you get a ticket for PDA. “Check page 164.”

Peter laughs, akin to a giggle as he opens the book to the page. He finds a pink sticky note with doodles of him and you in full tolkien regalia. Right next to it Is the next clue.

“Where boundless knowledge lies but where love most thrives.” He reads aloud, heart feeling like it's beating out of his chest. “It's our highschool.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, hand wrapped around his scarf as you play with the frayed edges. “I thought it would be fun to go where it all started.”

“Where the pining started?” He teases, taking your hand to hold it instead, letting his warmth soothe you.

“Yes, where the pining started.” You giggle as he embraces you again, swaying you to the imaginary music and the sounds of the city. “I love you, Pete, ever since the day I accidentally knocked off your glasses after you protected me from Flash. And way before I knew my eighth grade crush wasn't just a crush.”

Peter feels like he's about to burst into tears right in the middle of a busy New York street.

“I—” before he could say all the sweet words that have been in his chest since you punched Flash on his smug face, numerous sirens go off as police cars and fire trucks dash further into downtown. Once again, his senses go off. “Shit.” He turns to you and you're already nodding at him.

“Go, I'll meet you there.”

“I'm so sorry.” Peppers your face with kisses until you're smiling again. “I really am, I— I love you too, so much and I'll tell you some Shakespearean shit later but I have to do this first, okay?”

Chuckling, you kiss his calloused knuckles before he sprints off. You could only hope that he's going to be okay as you hold the book against your chest.

—

The cold nips at the tip of your nose as you wait outside by the old school. Snow gathers near your feet as the temperature drops down further into the negatives, teeth chattering cold. Shivering, you tuck yourself into the awning by the window, coat bundled up and tightening the scarf around your neck. You'd come inside the school but it's closed and even if it is open, it would probably be trespassing since you graduated years ago.

Trembling, you check your watch. As the hand ticks by, you feel icicles forming in your lashes. You're debating whether you should go home or not since you've been waiting for more than an hour now. But you can't do that to Peter. It'll break his heart if he doesn't see you in the meeting place. Why did it have to snow in New York after three years of not having any?

As you kick snow and watch it roll away, you hear your name getting called from above.

Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, swings quickly towards you. His red and blue form landing down on the soft snow expertly.

“Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!” He jogs towards you, hugging you as he feels how cold and stiff you are. Rubbing your arms and back, he desperately tries to warm you up. “I'm sorry, god, you're frozen.”

“S–Still P–Pretty though, right?” You give him a small smile as you tremble through your words.

“Yes, still gorgeous.” He says with urgency. “I need to warm you up, okay?”

“R–Right here? That's i–illegal, Pete.” Despite the impending frostbite, you still manage to crack a joke.

Peter holds your face, palms warming you up. Smiling apologetically, he holds you close. “I'm going to get you home, we'll have hot cocoa and watch shitty television.”

“How— what about your gift?”

“Babe, you're a popsicle right now. I'll get it later, I promise.” He says as he lifts you up and readies to swing away.

“I–I have it.” You whisper, smoke billowing out from your dry lips. “Good t–thing this is the last one.” Patting your front coat pocket, you beam at him as he bundles you in his arm.

“I'll open it later,” your brows knit together. “I promise, after you get warm I'll open it immediately.”

You nod and he swings away quickly like he's after the Vulture himself.

—

“I was supposed to leave it on top of the flagpole for you.” You murmur against his stomach as you lay on his lap, all bundled up in blankets and warm clothes as the portable heater whirrs in the background.

“And how would you do that, hm?” He lowers the volume to the TV as his hands rub along your arm.

“I know a guy.”

“Yeah, me, I'm the guy.” He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. “Do you want more hot chocolate?”

“No, thank you. I want you to stay.” You shake your head, nuzzling his stomach lovingly.

“Okay.” Chuckling, you can feel that he's holding onto something in his genius head of his. “I’m sorry that our date didn't go as planned.” Laying his head on the top of the couch, he gazes down at you with love. “I promise you I rescheduled the reservation for next week. Then we can continue Valentine's day.” He sighs, clearly guilty. “Even if it's done already, we can— we can continue it, right?”

“Valentine's day part two.” You wiggle your hands behind his back, embracing him in an awkward angle but with affection nonetheless. “You really don't have to worry, Pete, I had fun doing all the riddles. And I knew that something like this could happen so I only made three.”

“How many were you originally planning?”

“Fifteen.” His eyes widened. “Maybe for next year, babe.” Biting your lip, you reach up to hold his cheek, reassuring him more. “Did you like them?”

Peter wiggles the simple silver bracelet on his wrist as he eyes the book on the coffee table. “I loved it all, thank you. The initials engraved on it was a cute touch.”

“Really? I thought it would be too much.”

“You're never too much.” He softly says, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Please tell me when I make you unhappy.”

“I will, but I don't think you can ever make me feel unhappy. Not on purpose anyway.”

“That's impossible.”

You shake your head as you gently push his head down towards you. Peter lets you, noses bumping against one another. “I've known you since we were eating glue, trust me, I know, Peter.”

“So you're happy?” You nod, brushing your lips on top of his, a clear invitation for him to kiss you. “I didn't even get you flowers. I was supposed to, and chocolates and open the door for you and order dessert that's too expensive. Shit, we were supposed to go ice skating— and, I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You can buy me flowers and chocolates and do all that on Valentine's day part two.”

Peter finally kisses you, silently promising to give you that and more.

Banners by @/cafekitsune

Pictures from Pinterest

36 notes · View notes

nerdsnuff · 2 days ago

Note

hello!! not sure if you're taking requests but if you are could we possibly get mark boyfriend headcanons?

🐊 MARK BERSKII BOYFRIEND HC’S

MY FIRST REQUEST OHMY GOD GUYYYSSSSS YHANK YOU SO MUCH OFC ILL TAKE IT HERE U GO I HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE I LOVE MARK MY INDONESIAN KING anyway diana/mark friendship mentionedddd :P sorry took long </3

cw for descriptions of smoking.

𓆊 before dating and before getting close, you bet he was shy as as fuck. probably ran away from you a lot (not too literally, but would shy away from long conversations) and always be visibly red with how pale he is

𓆊 during the confession, he was so nervous that you got nervous too. he was a stuttering mess

“i uh—okay…” he mumbles something you can’t hear. you attempt to listen closely as he mumbles something. “look… i like you alright… it’s fine if you don’t like me back i just thought it’d be a good time to tell you…”

𓆊 anyway, with a lot of convincing you two date. THUMBS UP. HOORAY. he was super shy in the beginning it took awhile for him to comfortably do a lot. but he always tried to be affectionate. imagine shy hand holding! where he starts off by slowly intertwining your fingers before fully wrapping around yours.

𓆊 if you smoke, oh you KNOW he’d do it with you. he’ll share his cigarettes with you (only a few though) and do that romantic thing where he lights your cig with his.

he leans leans closer to you, cigarettes being the only thing keeping your faces apart. without a word he puts his cigarette against yours. you inhale, the sound of burning paper crackling very lowly between the two of you. once lit, he pulls away, swiping the cigarette off his mouth as he blows out smoke. the exchange was silent, and you simply admire your boyfriend with a slight blush on your cheeks, noticing how nice he looks. though you got so distracted that you almost forget to exhale too.

𓆊 if you don’t smoke that’s fine, but he’ll still smoke in front of you so you’ll smell like cigs after every hangout with him lol! just so you know, he would NOT smoke around you if you’re uncomfortable or can’t handle it. he may have an addiction but he is respectful!!!! either way yes you should bring perfume btw especially if you live with people who wouldn’t be cool with the smell of smoke.

you grimace as he blows smoke onto your face, giggling afterwards despite your sour face. “hahah, sorry. you bought perfume right?” you let him know you did, and he smiles. “okay, good”

𓆊 he loves sharing things… he’ll share his beanie, he’ll share his jackets, he’ll share his cigs and lighters, he’ll share his ear/headphones. you could say it’s a love language.

“don’t listen to diana. i don’t have lice, she’s lying!” you couldn’t help but laugh as he grumbles and protests, trying to get you to wear his beloved gator beanie. of course you don’t believe her, it’s just fun to mess with him. you then mention his oily hair, backing up your excuse as to why you still don’t wanna wear it. he rolls his eyes. “come on, if you have such a problem with it then maybe you should just… wash it for me or something” he suggests bashfully.

𓆊 won’t ask, but he needs reassurance once awhile. you’ll notice him looking down sometimes, drooped eyes more droopier and sadder than usual; that’s when you know you’ll need to say some sweet words to him. it helps, even if he doesn’t show it. it’s nice to know you’re there for him when he needs a shoulder.

𓆊 he has the sweetest cat, who loves you too. you always come home from his house littered in white cat fur even if you dust yourself off before leaving, haha. it’s suggested to not wear black when coming over.

𓆊 sometimes (a lot of times) gets jealous of his cat LOLLLL but only when you give her more attention than him

mark breaks the silence between the two of you with a grumble, snapping your attention away from his cat. politely, he pulls his cat away from your grasp and set her on the floor. once she walks away mark turns back to face you with full attention, the same amount you’re now giving him instead of his furry companion. he doesn’t spare a moment to speak before burying his face in the crook of your neck. his hot breath tickles you as he mumbles, “you’ve been paying more attention to my cat than me. so now that she moved it’s my turn. unless you only came over to see her…”

𓆊 absolutely yes to cat cafe dates. DUH! he likes how peaceful they are, and he’s surrounded by some of the things he loves most, you and cats.

𓆊 after dating long enough, he gifted you a gag gift of those rollers used to remove animal fur from your clothes. you always bring it when you come over and you never forget cause he’s always there to remind you to bring it.

𓆊 has tried to make some beats for you once and you loved it obviously. he tried to match it to your music taste so you’d like it more.

𓆊 you guys would absolutely share songs and he’ll absolutely judge you (LIGHTHEARTEDLY AND JOKINGLY) if he thinks something you shared is bad.

#🧇#project eden's garden #pjeg #pjeg x reader #project eden's garden x reader #mark berskii #mark berskii x reader #unrelated why’s my tumblr all fucked up. So much random spacingzs STOP #so im sorry if anything looks fugly

25 notes · View notes

goldenroutledge · 3 hours ago

Text

serendipity

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i'm telling you all of a sudden, but it isn't new with me. i love you. ❜

summary: fluff. in which daniel doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: for the lovely @katsu28! thank you so much for requesting <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a beautiful couple!” An older woman stops in her tracks to do a double take of you and Daniel dressed to the nines, blending in with the rest of the wedding guests decorated in black tie. Maybe it was the way you brushed a few bread crumbs from his beard or the way he draped his arm around the back of your chair during the meal that made you two appear like any other couple in the room.

“Us?” You question, looking around just to be sure her comment is directed towards you. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone made this mistake. “We’re not-”

“Why, thank you!” Daniel interrupts, giddy as ever as he raises his glass. “She is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Makes up for the two of us, I’d say.” Your heart flutters under his gaze, one that’s convincingly lovestruck. He gently squeezes your waist to drive it home, pulling you close.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think anyone can look bad in Venice, must be something in the water.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” Daniel muses, turning his attention back to the woman as she smiles fondly. “So humble, this one.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s still suffering from some whiplash and needs his eyes checked.”

“Please, my eyes have never deceived me when it comes to you. You’re stunning.” His tone is sincere, and if you didn’t know he was putting on a charade, you’d believe him. Still, your cheeks are growing undeniably warm, regardless if he actually means it or not. Daniel’s always been a flirt.

“Just trying to keep up with you.”

“Maybe you two will be next.” The woman wonders out loud, a playful glint in her eyes as she winks at Daniel, leaving the two of you to enjoy the reception. He doesn’t miss a beat, feeling no need to acknowledge what just happened.

You, however, can’t brush this one under the rug. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Daniel questions, playing clueless.

“Either I hit my head earlier or you just told that lady we’re a couple. You do realize you just lied to an old lady right?”

“I prefer the term method acting.” Daniel quips, all the more amused at your very unamused expression. “Come on, two great looking people together at a wedding? My jacket matches your dress? We’re not exactly avoiding the assumptions.”

“And that was purely coincidence, might I remind you.”

Daniel rolls his eyes playfully at your recollection of the morning. The look on your face when you first realized the matching colors was priceless. It won’t be the last stunt he pulls off, for now he’ll let you believe it really was a coincidence. “Oh please, you love it.”

You shrug, indifferent to what he’s insinuating. At least that’s what you hope he receives from it. Internally you wince every time you have to shut down his relentless positivity with another cold shoulder. “Your performance was convincing, I’ll give you that.”

“Just don’t wanna let anyone down. She’s not the first person to say something y’know, we might as well just accept our fate now.”

You avoid his eyes, finding the drink in your glass to be the safer of the two options. Whenever you do lock eyes with him, you can’t be held responsible for what you might say. Confronting the spark between you two has weighed on your mind, and heart, for more sleepless nights than you care to admit. Here and now, at your friend’s wedding, certainly isn’t the time to start.

–

The night stretches on and the mood is much lighter. Tears of joy for the happy couple have already been shed and the celebration was ongoing well into the night. Dinner was everything you expected it to be, each course more perfect than the last.

Daniel had been asked to give a toast in the upcoming weeks of the grand event. Not that he was the smoothest speaker to ever hold a microphone, but his humor was undeniably perfect for every crowd and setting.

He was rarely at a loss for words. For this speech in particular, when he tried to picture the moment and sit with his thoughts, he realized he had none. It may have been the first time he was truly out of his league. Ask him to write a speech about racing and the intensity that comes with it? No problem. Writing about love, in its truest and most passionate form? That poses a greater challenge.

Scribbled on the notecards tucked away in his suit jacket are a few quotes from philosophers or books he’s read, hoping one will inspire some profound words.

When the microphone finds him, Daniel takes one good look at you smiling back at him, and drops the cards on the table. A rush of confidence flows through his veins, telling him that he may not be so hopeless after all. He takes a deep breath and greets the room.

“I’ll be honest, when the bride and groom asked me to give a speech on their big day, my immediate response was ‘Are you sure’?” Light laughter falls over the crowd, putting him at ease.

“I’m no expert, but when I think about why we fall in love, the answer is simple. We fall in love when the idea of spending the rest of our days alone with someone feels more like paradise instead of a punishment; when we wake up and fall asleep to the thought of them, and happily let them run through our mind every hour in between.”

Everyone in the crowd lovingly gazes at their person. Daniel notices that your eyes have remained fixed on him this whole time. He feels himself blushing, and smiling at you before continuing.

“The way I see it, falling in love is this feeling of unwavering commitment, of being unwilling to give up on someone no matter how much they beg you to. It’s knowing that even if your love is never reciprocated, you’d still feel like the luckiest person on planet Earth, knowing they hold a place in your heart no one else ever could. Loving somebody, to me, means accepting that you couldn’t un-love them even if you tried.”

Daniel catches your eyes and they sparkle, whispering everything you wish to say back to him. A pause lingers over the crowd. You wonder if anyone else can hear your heart beating out of your chest. Under Daniel’s gaze, it feels as though you’re the only two left in the room.

He turns towards the bride and groom once again to end his remarks. “It’s for all those reasons that we’re here celebrating today. My deepest congratulations to the happy couple, may your love story never end.” Daniel raises his glass of champagne and everyone else follows suit, cheering loudly.

The bride and groom beam with joy, tears in their eyes as they resonated with every word he spoke. Everyone in the room had someone they thought about, someone they picture standing across from at the altar, hands held while they swear to keep their promises. The more Daniel went on, the more you realized that for you, it’s him. By the way he was looking at you, you have a pretty good idea that he was thinking of you, too.

Daniel shares an embrace with the bride and groom as they thank him for his heartfelt words. If they only knew the speech didn’t come from those notecards left discarded on the table. Daniel’s speech came straight from the heart, purely inspired by the burgeoning love he feels for you. Other guests sing his praises as he walks past their tables as he makes his way back to you. Romantic notes of the piano pick up from where they left off, and the floor opens up for guests to dance their night away. It gives him the perfect segway, unsure of how you’ll. If you react at all, that is.

“Congratulations, Plato. That was a pretty great speech.”

“I felt inspired,” He charms, extending his hand for you to take. “May I have this dance?”

Your lips curl into a smile, letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Do you even have to ask?”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Deflecting by speaking in sarcasm and responding with rhetorical questions.” Something that admittedly drives him crazy, for better and for worse. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do you wanna know?” He gives you a pointed look, silently telling him that you’ve just proved his point. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for me that way. To imply how I feel because I can’t say it.”

The music is soft and the way Daniel holds your body to his… it's intimate. Like you could bare your deepest secrets to Daniel and leave it here in the ballroom once the song’s over. Insecurities only seek to discourage, they’re little reminders that this music isn’t for you. This night of romance doesn’t belong to you and Daniel, two friends that have blurred the lines so many times that they now cease to exist.

The last thing Daniel wants to do is rush you or scare you off. It’s a shame that he doesn’t think more before he speaks. “Do you ever get tired of keeping it in? Not saying what’s really on your mind?”

“Not always. I’d say it’s better to keep people guessing, never let them know my next move. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Am I just ‘people’?” He questions. His tone is soft and smooth, not accusatory in the slightest. It’s what makes Daniel so easy to talk to, even when it hurts. You never have to hide from him, he’s always waiting for you with open arms.

“No, you’re not just ‘people’, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Are we talking about me or you? Because I’m pretty sure this entire party knows that I’m madly in love with you. I think you might be the last one to realize.”

You freeze, and instinctively feel like taking a step away. “We’re at a wedding, Daniel. Love is in the air. You’d kinda have to be a psychopath to not let your heart soften when you’re around all of this.”

“Has yours softened? Is that what I saw in your eyes when I gave my speech?”

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you talk all romantic like that. If there weren’t about a hundred witnesses here I wouldn’t believe it.” You giggle and he smiles at your joke, knowing that you’re absolutely right. This wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for him.

“Well, believe it. I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me. I love you.” Daniel pauses, gauging your reaction. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m still the luckiest man in the world, remember?”

They say actions speak louder than words, and the way you kiss him says more than you can express in this moment. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and Daniel is relieved in knowing that it won’t be the last. He kisses you back, and this time it means something. It’s a chance at having more than you ever thought possible. Less of keeping your love locked away and more accepting what’s been here all along.

“It’s not new with me either. I love you too, Daniel.”

“If I knew that was coming, I would’ve said it sooner.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, just happy.” Daniel shows off that signature smile, one that won’t be erased anytime soon. The maid of honor interrupts your moment, asking for all of the men to clear the floor. “Now go, it looks like you have a bouquet to catch.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his boldness. Then again, the Daniel you love has never been one to back down from being unabashedly himself. “You mean you want me to catch it? You know that means we’re next right, are you sure you can handle that?”

Daniel lets his fingers trail down your arm as he backs away, bowing slightly and planting an affectionate kiss on your hand. He’ll be gone before you can scold him any further for what he’s about to say.

“With any luck, we will be.”

💌: i miss danny so much 🥲 feel free to request more from my blurb event here! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

28 notes · View notes

dreaminofdixon · 13 hours ago

Text

I always felt like more of a queen.

A/N:

Here’s another snippet from my story—one that I genuinely enjoy re-reading. I often find myself revisiting my work, not just because I love the story itself, but because I’m always making adjustments. Perfectionism keeps me tweaking things, even when I’m happy with how the narrative unfolds.

At its core, this story is about a relationship that begins with hostility—quite literally at gunpoint—and gradually evolves into something deeper. For me, the journey is the most compelling part. This particular moment is where the "Princess" nickname first comes into play.

__________

“Gettin’ dark.”

I jumped, nearly spilling the precious fuel, and turned to glare at him while he put his weapon over his back.

“Really, Daryl?!”

He casually leaned against the car, obviously pleased with himself. A full day of riding had him looking the slightest bit more relaxed than usual and I was here for it.

But he couldn’t know that.

“Why do you have a thing for scaring me? It’s rude.” I pushed him before returning my attention to the project at hand. “And yes, it’s getting dark,” I shot him a look, “thank you for pointing that out.”

“Jus’ sayin. Should get settled b’fore long.” He glanced over my shoulder before looking back at me. “If yer out too much longer, lemme know an’ I’ll walk ya.”

The corner of my lips curled up into a smirk and I faced him, hand on hip.

“Are you…concerned for my safety?”

“New place.” He brushed it off. “Dunno wha’s ‘round here.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you care.” I held up the half-empty gas can. “I figured you’d wanna top off the bike?”

“Yes’m.”

He took it from me and I expected him to leave, but he stayed right where he was at and watched me pour a portion of the next can into the car.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Jus’ makin sure ya don’ spill.”

“I worked in construction once upon a time,” I told him while I focused on tipping the can into the tank just enough. “Not like…on job sites and stuff.” Carefully, I pulled it away and put the gas cap back on before moving to the next vehicle. “I was the office girl, obviously. But I learned a thing or two. Pumping gas was one,” the gas cap popped off the truck, “filling gas cans to take a couple gallons to guys on job sites, you know,” I explained. “And siphoning gas for just such an occasion.” I smiled to myself when I remembered that day. “I did have some good times. What about you?”

“Always a grease monkey. Tha’s how I know bikes.”

“Oh really? So you are quite handy to have around. Not just a pretty face and a sterling personality,” I teased.

I’m pretty sure he blushed.

“I don’t think people give you enough credit, Mr. Dixon.” I finished emptying my gas can in the truck before I moved to face him and leaned my hip against it. “Truly. I think there’s more to you than you let on, and I can’t wait to learn everything there is to know.”

“Not much t’ know.”

“I doubt that.”

“Hey, did you finish fueling up the truck?”

The blonde approached us and I shook my head. I let my gaze linger on him for just a second longer before turning to her with a smile.

“Nope. If you wanna take over, I don’t think it needs much more.”

“Great.” She moved between us and set to work. “How much do you think we’ll need for the RV?” She shot a glance at me and then Daryl.

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug.

“Not sure. Probably quite a bit, I’d think, but he would know better than I do.”

“Ladies,” Shane interrupted, “it’s gettin’ dark. We’ve got some cars cleared out, and Lori and Carol put bedding and a light in each of them. Why don’t ya leave the fuelin’ for the mornin’ and go get settled in?”

“Sure.” She emptied the rest of the fuel can and put the cap back on the tank. “This one’s done anyway.”

Shane took the tank from her and grabbed the other.

“Come on, I’ll show ya to your spots.”

“I’m gonna grab something from the RV,” I said. “I’ll find my way in a minute.”

“We’ll wait…”

“I’ll be fine. If I take too long, Daryl can walk me.” Turning to him, eyebrow raised, assumption made. “Unless…you don’t want to.”

“‘s fine,” he grumbled.

The two headed down the freeway, talking quietly to themselves and leaving us behind.

“If you don’t want to…”

“Can’t have ya walkin’ ‘round in the dark by yerself. Go get yer shit.”

“Well, I don’t have anything to get,” I admitted sheepishly. “Just didn’t want to be whisked away in the middle of such a scintillating conversation.” I followed him to the motorcycle and carefully traced my fingers over the chrome handlebars while he worked. “Plus, I know it’s crazy, but I kinda like spending time with you.”

He filled the tank silently.

“I know it’s pure torture for you, though, and I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.”

He scoffed, “no ya don’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Because I don’t think it’s torture.”

He set the gas can down and screwed the cap back on the tank before pulling a dirty red cloth from his back pocket and wiping it down.

“I like to think that, somewhere deep inside, you enjoy spending time with me, too. Could just be wishful thinking but…” I shrugged my shoulders.

“If it ain’t,” he mumbled while he focused on his task.

“If it isn’t wishful thinking, and you do actually enjoy spending time with me, then I may go so far as to say it’s possible you might like me?”

He looked up at me, his pretty blue eyes finding mine.

Butterflies.

“Could be possible that I like you, in case you were wondering.”

“Couldn’ tell.” He winked at me.

Swoon.

He tucked the cloth back in his pocket and picked up the gas can.

“Le’s go, Princess.”

“Princess?”

He gave a single nod, “fits.”

“Does it? I always pictured myself more of a queen, actually,” I joked.

“Nah. Princess.”

We began our walk in the direction of the RV.

“Queen’s gotta have a king, right?”

“Sure,” I agreed.

“Ain’t got a king yet?”

“Well, no, not yet.”

He tucked the can away in the RV’s storage.

“Then yer a Princess.”

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, “but only you’re allowed to call me Princess.”

“Good.”

__________

Thank you for all the love on my other little snippet. <3 I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do!

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon incorrect quotes #norman reedus #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #norman reedus smut #norman reedus fanfiction #bigbaldhead #wwwbigbaldhead

21 notes · View notes

puck-luck · 1 day ago

Text

new beginnings | august 5 - 11

note: this is chapter 11 of 13 (plus an epilogue). we are in the final stretch! this chapter is 19.5K.

----------

71:90 – TREVOR

“And another grüner veltliner for the lady,” Sarah spouts with a fond chuckle, topping off Honey’s glass.

Honey’s smile is dopey and her cheeks are growing pink from the wine. “Thank you, Sarah,” she says, sounding a whole lot like she does when she exaggeratedly flirts with Trevor.

Trevor squints at Honey.

Sarah notices first and starts to laugh. “God, Trevor, you might need to be cut off,” she laughs. Trevor turns his eyes on her. She laughs harder. “Don’t look at your bartender like that, especially not if you want to keep daydrinking on a Monday afternoon.”

“He’s just mad ‘cause I’m being sweet to you,” Honey says, propping her chin on her palm and blinking at Sarah like a cat about to nap. “He doesn’t know how to share. Very jealous.”

“She’s a married woman,” Trevor grumbles, frowning at Honey.

Honey waves her hand at Trevor, just a flick of the wrist. “She has the wine, Trev. Be sweet.”

“Don’t wanna,” he pouts.

Sarah snorts out a laugh and ruffles Trevor’s hair. “Can I get you anything else, bud? You’re not going to let your girlfriend drink alone, are you?”

“I’ll take–” Honey waves her glass in front of Trevor’s nose enticingly, but the smell of the wine stings his nose. “Not that. I don’t like that,” Trevor says, pushing her glass away. He tried it earlier. It tastes like pepper and celery and seeds. He doesn’t know how it’s her favorite. “Uh, something red. Fruity.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Honey laughs.

Trevor fixes her with an unimpressed look. She remembered this morning that he and Jack were once two participants in a very poorly-executed threesome (not for lack of trying on Trevor’s part) and she’s been milking it ever since. Her chirps were funny the first time, just because Honey has never really chirped Trevor. They’ve always been more serious digs, not chirps, that come from her mouth. But now she’s chirping and it was funny and cute at first… but now it’s getting under Trevor’s skin.

Sarah walks away after nodding in assent to Trevor, signaling that she’ll be back with his order soon.

Trevor’s look turns into a pout. “You’re so mean to me,” he complains, faking a pout. “I never should’ve told you about that threesome. We were 17, it was such a long time ago.”

“Your 17 was so much different than my 17,” Honey says with a laugh. She says it so casually, even taking a sip from her glass of wine. Trevor’s stomach turns thinking about that– how he was so carefree and happy when Honey was going through the worst time of her life. She clears her throat after swallowing her drink and says, “Hey, if you had to choose another one of the guys to have a threesome with me, who would it be?”

Trevor immediately balks. “None of them,” he replies, defensive. “Absolutely not.”

Honey laughs again. “Good answer,” she says. “You passed the test.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t let you have a threesome with Bea, either.”

“Have you?” Trevor asks. There’s something about the way she says it that makes him suspicious.

“No,” Honey says with a wave of her hand. “Bea didn’t actually start hooking up with people until we were eighteen, and I stopped having sex after the whole Thomas thing. If I couldn’t trust my partner, then why would I trust a random person, you know? We kissed once, though.”

“You and Bea? Like, recently?” Trevor raises his eyebrows in surprise.

Honey scrunches her nose at Trevor. “No, not recently,” she says. “Although she wishes she could pull the make-out trick at bars for free stuff. No, it was in middle school. It was a boy-girl party thing.” Honey grins. “I bet you loved the idea of two girls kissing when you were in middle school, Trev.”

Middle school, high school, rookie year… even now it’s not unappealing. He doesn’t seem to do a good job of keeping his face still and impassive.

“I knew it,” Honey accuses, pointing at him with her index finger. “You’re such a boy.”

It’s then that Sarah returns with a new glass for Trevor, taking the empty one from their table. “This is your last one, both of you.”

“What? Why?” Honey whines. Before Sarah can reply, she turns to Trevor. “This is your fault, you weren’t nice to Sarah.”

“It’s not Trevor’s fault, Honey,” Sarah says with a smile. “You guys asked me to cut you off at 4:30 so you could go get fruit.”

Honey groans. “So not fair. Push it back to 5.”

“Babe, you’re going to be hungover for work tomorrow if you keep drinking. I’m trying to give you time to come down from this,” Sarah reasons.

“Thanks, Sarah, we understand,” Trevor jumps in, digging his hand into his pocket to find his wallet. “We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Yeah, you’d better be,” she teases, looking around the patio. There are only two other tables taken and neither occupants have been there for very long. “I was super worried about running out of table space.”

Honey is sulking. She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at Sarah. “You shouldn’t turn away your patrons.”

Sarah stifles a laugh. “I think I’ll live.” She leaves the table, heading inside, and Trevor laughs when Honey sticks her tongue out at Sarah’s retreating back.

“Look who’s being mean now,” Trevor says.

“She took the wine away,” Honey returns.

“You asked her to.”

“I didn’t think she’d do it!”

“Well, baby, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Honey groans.

“But,” Trevor says enticingly. “Now we get to go to the fruit stand!”

Honey takes her glass and drinks, swallowing a mouthful before she eyes Trevor out of the side of her vision. “Who’s going to drive?”

“Drive?” Trevor asks. “To the fruit stand? We don’t need to drive. We can walk.”

“Okay, then after that,” Honey says. “Who’s going to drive us home? I’m in no state. You’re in no state, plus I wouldn’t let you drunk-drive me on the mountain roads anyway. You don’t know them well enough to even try.”

“We’ll call an Uber,” Trevor says, defaulting back to his go-to when he gets a little too tipsy on a night out.

Honey bursts into laughter. “In Litchton? Babydoll. There’s not even a taxi service in town.”

Now it’s Trevor’s turn to groan. “Well, why don’t we call Earl?”

“No, we can’t call Earl, he told me and Bea that if we ever called him again for a ride while we were drunk, he’ll make us pay for his mechanic bill. He’s had a check engine light on for like, three years, so we’re trying to wait him out.” Honey swirls the wine in her glass, then watches the legs drip down to join the settling liquid.

“I can pay for his mechanic bill,” Trevor insists. “Hello, professional athlete over here? My contract is almost six million per year?”

Honey’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, Trev,” she says. “You’re… rich. I mean, I thought you were, but I didn’t think you were rich-rich. Six million, that’s… that’s a lot.”

“That’s just my contract,” Trevor explains, backpedaling. “I don’t actually make that much. I have to pay agent fees and trainer fees and stuff like that. I only take home, I don’t know, between two and three million.”

“Oh, only,” Honey parrots back sarcastically. “That’s more than I make…” she trails off, thinking hard. “That’s more than I’ve made ever. And you make that in a year? What’s your biweekly direct deposit like?”

Trevor blushes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” This is one of those things that makes him vastly different from the rest of the world. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his job and all the things it affords him; Trevor actually can’t imagine living a “normal” life with a “normal” salary. Still… being called rich… it just makes him feel weird.

Honey continues to remind Trevor why she’s the world’s greatest person, because she’s quick to drop the subject. “What about our other resident threesome enjoyer?” she asks. “Could he drive us?”

Trevor furrows his brow. “Who?”

Honey chuckles at Trevor, giggling like they’re sharing a joke. She picks up her glass and sips.

Trevor laughs too, awkwardly, and picks up his own glass. He looks out toward the Appalachian mountains in the distance. There are pink flowers sprouting in the window-boxes along the edge of the patio, creeping up into eyeline. It’s so pretty here. He avoids Honey’s eyes.

“Cole, baby,” Honey says after a brief silence. “We could call Cole. He could drive us.”

“When did he– oh, yeah,” Trevor starts, then remembers. When Quinn blueballed Bea, both Jack and Cole went upstairs with her. He feels kind of stupid for forgetting. He definitely should have remembered this before Honey explained her joke– then, he wouldn’t have laughed so awkwardly and made it obvious that he had no idea what she’s talking about. Trevor hums in surprise, then stops. “Wait. But we’re on a date,” he says.

Honey nods and shrugs. “For all he knows, we’re just hanging out,” she says.

“But he’ll get sad that we didn’t invite him,” Trevor tells Honey. “And, like, they know we’re friends, but they don’t know we’re close enough friends to hang out just us.”

“Tell him we ran into each other in town,” Honey suggests. “It’s Cole. I don’t think he’ll care that much.”

Trevor stares at Honey. “He’s the most dramatic person I know.”

“More than Jack?”

“Yes, baby, more than Jack,” Trevor says seriously.

Honey scoffs. “Ugh. Can we just call him? I’m sure it won’t be that big a deal.” She tilts her head back and finishes her glass of wine. “Tell him I’ll buy him a bottle of liquor at the liquor store tomorrow after work if he picks us up.”

She’s not going to budge on this, which Trevor realizes. “Alright, Hon,” he concedes. “Once I finish my drink, we’ll go buy some fruit, and then I’ll call Cole.” He lifts his glass, which is still about half full, to his lips and drinks.

Honey stands. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” She touches Trevor’s cheek, her fingers a little more clumsy than normal. She jokes, “Chug, Trev, chug!” and heads inside.

Trevor is left alone, sipping on the remaining wine. Honey’s right, it would be easy to call Cole and ask him for a ride. It’s probably their best option. He has the car since Honey picked Trevor up from the house this morning and, to be fair, Cole was still asleep. That kind of throws their “we met in town” story out the window… which Trevor doesn’t love. As willing as Cole is to overlook trivial details, and as easily he transitions from one moment to the next, this might be too far. If Honey doesn’t want the boys to know because she’s not ready, then it might not be a good idea for Cole to pick them up.

But she’s so insistent. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk and, hell, Trevor is drunk too, but this just doesn’t seem… right.

Trevor takes a big deep breath before finishing his wine. Good timing, too. Honey has exited the bathroom and is now waving goodbye to Sarah, even blowing a kiss before she accidentally stumbles into one of the plush chairs in the interior of Wild Bloom. She’s laughing when she exits the building, eyes lighting up when she sees that Trevor succeeded in finishing his glass, just like she’d asked.

“Let’s go get some fruit!” Honey bounces onto her tiptoes as Trevor rises. She produces his card and hands it back to Trevor. “I’m thinking maybe not grapes? We’ve probably had enough.”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh. She’s so funny today– except for the overdone threesome stuff. Honey always has jokes, but she’s being very vocal today. Trevor might have to blame the alcohol.

Honey gasps suddenly, as Trevor stands and gets ready to leave the bar.

“What?” Trevor asks.

Honey is fumbling for her phone, dialing a number and holding the device to her ear. She reaches for Trevor’s hand and holds it, walking with him across the patio. She chews her bottom lip while she waits for the person to answer. When they do, she brightens again. “Hi, Bea!” She exclaims.

Trevor almost bursts out laughing. She’s acting like she would if Bea called her by surprise.

“Can you do me a favor?” Honey asks. “You remember how you owe me because I’m always opening the store for you when you’re sleeping over with Quinn?”

Trevor smiles at the ground, kicking a piece of gravel in the alley where they walk.

“I need you to pick me up and open the store with me tomorrow,” Honey says. “Why? Because I’m drunk… and I’m not driving back to my house tonight. Is that good enough?” She pauses, waiting for Bea’s response to end. “Don’t call me irresponsible for getting drunk on a weekday, you’re just crabby because you’ve been in the car for almost six hours.” Another pause. “No, I can’t get Trevor to come get me, who do you think I’m with?” Honey looks to Trevor and makes a face at him, feigning annoyance at the words of her best friend. “We’re going to call Cole. Yes, Cole.”

Trevor still doesn’t feel any better about that.

“No, babe, I gotta go. We’re almost at the fruit stand. I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. Unless you want to sleep over tonight?” Honey grins at Bea’s response. “Really? You’re not tired of that guy yet? Impressive.” She laughs. “Okay, bye. Love you.” Honey hangs up and puts her phone away, then lifts Trevor’s arm to bring it over her shoulders. She wraps her arm around his waist.

They walk the rest of the way to the fruit stand like that, leaning on each other. Honey can’t seem to help herself, running her fingertips over the fuzzy surface of the peaches. Trevor’s not carrying her bag this time because, although he tried to keep it, Honey stole it from his shoulder. Instead, he’s able to watch her move in her own way. Her movements are practiced, like muscle memory, and it reminds Trevor of how she looked the first day they met. He has a sense of deja-vu when Honey tucks her hair behind her ears and plants one hand on her hip, pursing her lips as she looks at the fruit.

“Hey, how did you know I was Greek?” Trevor asks suddenly, remembering how Honey’s eyes had illuminated when he told her his last name for the first time.

Honey looks over at him, drawing her eyebrows together.

“When we first met,” Trevor supplies. “Right here. I told you my name and you said ‘You’re Greek?’ all excited. You weren’t quite as excited after I told you I lived in Cali.”

Honey stares at him a moment longer, then she recalls the moment herself. “Oh!” She tilts her head to the side and hums, thinking. “Um, your nose? You’ve got a very Greek nose. And then I read an etymology book a while back, specifically about surnames around the world, and the Z and the -as in your name kind of gave it away.”

She’s so smart. Trevor likes her so much.

Honey breaks into a smile. “How cute of you, thinking about when we first met,” she teases. “What was your first impression of me?”

Trevor blushes, remembering exactly what he’d realized as he’d sat in the front seat of the car and looked at her from afar. “Uh, that you’re a lot prettier than the girls I know in California.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “That I wanted– well, that I wanted your attention and I wanted you to like me.”

“I could tell,” Honey says, biting her bottom lip to curb the even-larger smile on her face. “You were trying really hard, Trev. It was… interesting.”

“I was interesting,” Trevor repeats. He squints at Honey and nudges her arm. “That’s all you thought about me?”

“I didn’t like you,” Honey laughs. “You bumped into me, nose in your phone, then you barely apologized, and then you came back a few minutes later and just started talking about shit, obviously lying to me about some of the details of your life. It was weird.”

Trevor tries not to pout at that. He had felt lame talking to Honey, but he didn’t realize that she’d actually found him off-putting. “You didn’t think I was cute or anything?”

Honey pauses, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re very handsome, Trevor,” she says. She nods at him, blinking up at him in fake earnest. Trevor nearly rolls his eyes. Honey continues, “You were dressed like a bum, though.”

“I’d been in the car for eleven hours!” Trevor defends himself.

Honey reaches over and pats his cheek. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says. “Don’t dwell on it. You’ve got me now, don’t’cha?”

Trevor grins. “Yeah.” He bends down and kisses her mouth. “I guess I’ll go call Cole.”

“Thanks,” Honey says. “I’ll be here.”

Trevor nods and walks away, just about a hundred feet. He leans against the brick wall of the grocery store and scrolls to find Cole’s contact. When he finds their shared messages, he clicks along until his phone is ringing and ready.

Cole picks up in two rings. “Where are you?” he asks. “You’ve been gone all day. No note? Honestly, Z, you’re trying to kill me.”

“You were asleep when I left,” Trevor replies.

“How did you leave? The car is here.”

“Honey picked me up.” Trevor braces himself for impact, but Cole is quiet. “She had to run to Winston to pick up something, didn’t want to go alone, and I thought it might be nice to go see one of the girls I hooked up with who lives in Winston.”

Cole is quiet for a second longer, then he hums. “Okay. So… what, you want me to come out? Why are you calling me?”

Oh, now Trevor feels worse. Cole is going to hate that they went drinking without him, leaving him alone in the house. But, like… it was a date… Trevor should be allowed to go out with his girlfriend without a third wheel. “Um… well…”

Cole sighs into the speaker. “What,” he repeats impatiently.

“Honey and I went to Wild Bloom after we got back,” Trevor says. “Remember the wine bar that we went to with Ellen and Jim?”

Cole is eerily silent.

“We’re a little drunk and we need you to pick us up from the grocery store,” Trevor admits sheepishly. “We, uh, we can’t drive like this.”

The silence stretches on.

“You’re calling me for a ride,” Cole says. “After you left me at home, alone, all day.”

Trevor presses his lips together. It really does sound bad. “Yeah.” At least Cole isn’t focusing on the fact that Trevor and Honey have been hanging out all day, one-on-one.

“Fuck you, dude. I’m on the way, but fuck you.” Cole promptly hangs up.

Trevor pulls the phone back from his ear and stares at the screen. He cringes, going through the conversation again in his head. He hates making the guys– but especially Cole– mad. Cole is his happy friend. When he gets angry… oh, when he gets angry… the mere thought sends a shiver up Trevor’s spine. The horrors of angry Cole…

He shakes his head and returns to Honey. “You ready, baby?” He asks, trying to sound upbeat.

Honey clocks him immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Trevor sighs. He wanted to pay at least before talking about this with Honey. “Cole’s mad,” he says. “I knew he would be. We should’ve invited him to drink.”

“I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow,” Honey tells Trevor. “Cole never holds onto things for very long.” She tries to give Trevor a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t offer the same reprieve that it normally would. Trevor hates upsetting his friends.

“Let’s just pay, okay?” Trevor replies. He pulls his wallet out and hands it to Joan, who is quick to complete the payment and shoo them along. There are a couple of other people at the stand now, so it’s getting crowded. It’s not a huge stand. Regardless of how quickly she waves them off, Joan is sure to tell Honey and Trevor that she’ll see them next week.

Honey holds Trevor’s pinkie in hers silently for about five minutes as they walk around the grocery store, buying a case of beer for Cole. A big one– Honey said she’d pay for it, but Trevor refused, and they went for the 48-pack to really try and make it up to Cole. Honey lets go of Trevor’s pinkie once they’ve purchased the beer, insisting on holding it. She gets tired of holding the case and passes it off to Trevor within three minutes, frowning exaggeratedly until Trevor relents and takes the heavy item from her.

Cole pulls up in front of the grocery store a few minutes later. He doesn’t say anything as Honey and Trevor climb into the car, except a brief thanks to Honey for the beer. His hands stay on the steering wheel and his eyes are set on the road in front of them. He doesn’t involve himself in conversation and the car ride slowly drifts into something stilted and tense.

Trevor doesn’t walk Honey to the door, nor does he put her fruit away for her. He doesn’t kiss her goodnight and barely says more than a goodbye.

Cole still doesn’t speak when they drive back to the house. He doesn’t talk to Trevor when they go inside. He goes downstairs, puts on a show, and ignores Trevor when he sits on the couch next to Cole.

The day went from really, really good to… this. Tomorrow will be better. Trevor wishes Honey was here.

72:90 – HONEY

Having Bea back is excellent, although Honey could live without the teasing over her relationship status. Fine, she called Trevor her boyfriend by accident and then made it official, but that doesn’t mean that Bea has to poke fun at Honey. It’s really not as funny as she thinks it is.

Their shift is long today, which Honey doesn’t mind. It’s National Night Out. On the first Tuesday of every August, the shops along Main Street stay open until well after dark and the citizens of Litchton are free to roam and mingle with their fellow townies. There’s a bouncy house in the grocery store parking lot for the kids, snow cone machines and carts for root beer floats lining the curb, and plenty of other games along the three-block section of road that closes down every year for the event. It’s one of Honey’s favorite days of the entire year.

She spent most of her afternoon setting up the outdoor booth that she and Bea will man after hours. Ada is planning on paying them for an entire day’s worth to extend the store’s hours– like she always does– even though Bea and Honey insisted that it wasn’t that serious and they would be fine taking their normal hourly pay. Honey still doesn’t think that sitting for five hours in the nice summer weather is worth a day’s pay, but Bea had eventually shushed her and said “This is not a thing that we should fight!”

The booth is all set up now and the ladies left the store around noon, so Honey is running out of things to do. The Reading Nook is an awesome place to work because there’s so much downtime, but Bea is currently sitting behind the cash register in Honey’s usual place, so she can’t sit and read like she normally does. Instead, Honey is curating a stack of books that they can throw on sale during NNO. She’ll probably take her break when she’s done– they get an extended break today because they’re working a fourteen-and-a-half hour day.

“Bea, can you pull up these titles and see the prices for me? I’m thinking 20% off,” Honey calls from one of the stacks, balancing a stack of books in her arms and pulling another from the shelf.

“Mmm, if you put them on the counter for me,” Bea replies. “I don’t want to yell back and forth.”

“But then I have to walk back and forth to you,” Honey complains. She peeks her head around the stack and glares at Bea.

“Babe, if we’re having a lazy-off, you know I’m going to win,” Bea says. She closes her own book, one with a red cover and a dragon-looking beast on the front, and stares at Honey. She holds eye contact for a minute and then shrugs.

Honey rolls her eyes and drops the first stack of books on the counter for Bea to flick through. She’s right– Honey prefers to be up and moving, whereas Bea is content with anything, even if it means staying in one spot for longer than an hour.

She spends the better part of the next hour walking around the store and pulling books. Eventually, Ada stops Honey and asks if she’s trying to sell out the whole store. She takes the final stack from Honey’s arms and sends her out of the store to take her break.

At first, Honey isn’t sure what to do. She already ate lunch at the store when the ladies left. She doesn’t really need a coffee, although she wouldn’t hate to have one. She could grab one. Maybe that’s something to do towards the end of her break. Honey will wander a bit first.

The air in Litchton is nice in the midst of the afternoon, if only a little heavy. There will probably be a thunderstorm later tonight. If it doesn’t happen tonight, then tomorrow will certainly be full of rain and humidity. That kind of ruins Honey’s plans for after work tomorrow– she and Trevor were supposed to head out on a hike. If the ground is all muddy and wet, then she doesn’t really want to do that. Trevor can just come over and hang out in her bed instead. She’ll do the crossword in the Litchton Local, which she’s been neglecting lately because she’s been a bit too tired to wake up so early on Thursday mornings like she normally does. Honey blames Trevor. He’s been keeping her up late.

Honey is approaching the hardware store, ready to go inside and bother Earl, when her phone rings.

It’s… Trixie. Bea’s oldest sister.

Honey blinks at the screen, then slides her finger across the surface to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, H,” Trixie greets. “How’s it going? It’s been a minute since I checked in with you.”

“...Good,” Honey replies. Trixie is correct– the last time they talked was on Trixie’s birthday in January. Bea talks to her sister more often than Honey does, for obvious reasons. Honey’s a little confused why she’s getting a call now. “What’s up, Trix?”

“I can’t call my baby sister’s bestie and see how she is?” Trixie asks, laughing.

Honey looks into the distance like she’s staring into the face of a camera. She loves Trixie, and Cece for that matter, but she’s not close enough with either sister to talk to them regularly. Sure, they check in once in a while, but Trixie had already graduated from college– early, by the way, because she’s an overachiever– and moved to the coast before Honey and Bea moved to Litchton. She’s five years older than them and a great older sister figure, but Honey is grown up. She doesn’t really need advice from an older, wiser sister anymore. She didn’t even tell Trixie about Thomas when all of that happened; it was too embarrassing. Honey is pretty sure she knows now, given that Bea and Cece know all the hairy details, but Trixie has never outright talked about it.

“You can, but I have a feeling you aren’t,” Honey answers. “You always text before you call and this time you called out of nowhere.”

“Well, Bea told me you were on break so I couldn’t call her and kill two birds with one stone,” Trixie says. “So I figured you had no good reason to ignore my call.”

So Trixie was talking to Bea just before this– if Honey is going by her gut, this will have something to do with the recent company they’ve had in Litchton.

“Yeah, I’m just walking around Main Street.” Honey’s passing Bold Brews now, so she might as well get that coffee. “Hey, what coffee should I get during break?”

“I’ve been into matcha lately,” Trixie says. “It’s more tea than coffee, but it hits the spot when all the case briefs start blurring together.”

Oh, yeah– another reason why she’s an overachiever. Trixie is a lawyer.

“Okay, give me a second.” Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and greets Joel, Bea’s ex who is actually working today, ordering a ‘Velvet Mist’ to go. It’s their matcha, with a shot of espresso, a bit of vanilla, and splash of rosewater, and it’s actually not all that bad. Honey doesn’t normally order it, usually going for the ‘Midnight Rider’ instead, but she likes a change every once in a while. The last time she ordered the ‘Velvet Mist’ was when it debuted on the menu a year and a half ago. After she pays and walks to the end of the counter to wait for her drink, Honey brings the phone back up to her ear. “So what are you calling about, Trix? Actually.”

“Ugh, fine,” Trixie relents. “You’re so stubborn. Next time we talk, at least pretend to enjoy the small talk. I miss you sometimes, you know.”

Honey accepts her drink from the other barista– she doesn’t actually know her name, which is surprising for a town like Litchton– and waves goodbye. She takes a sip from the straw and lets the taste mull over for a second. After a moment, Honey decides that it’s fine. She takes another sip. “Miss you too, Trix,” she parrots with an eye roll.

“I heard my two favorite country bumpkins got boyfriends this summer,” Trixie says. “And I was wondering if you guys would all like to come to the beach and stay with me this weekend. I want to meet your boys.”

Honey takes another sip. “Mm, where did you hear that?” She asks.

“Well, Cece told me about Quinn and when I called Bea just now, she was deflecting and being evasive and saying it wasn’t going to last past the end of the summer…”

Sounds about right, Honey thinks.

“...and then, as a last ditch effort to distract me, she told me about your boyfriend,” Trixie finishes, her tone salacious.

“She seems to have left out that my relationship is supposed to be a secret,” Honey says sarcastically. “In her effort to stop you from focusing on hers.”

Trixie scoffs. “You’re too young to have secrets. Who cares if you’re dating some guy?”

“Believe me, the boys would care.” Honey plops down on the bench outside of city hall and brings the phone to the other side of her head. She thinks about how Cole was silent and put off in the car yesterday, just like Trevor had said he would be. “They care about everything.”

“Okay, so frame it like this,” Trixie proposes. “It’s a free beach weekend. Just a group of friends going to Bea’s sister’s house and enjoying the sand, salt, and sun.”

Trevor would probably like being at the beach again, like he’s in California. The Hughes boys might like the open water– they had been whining about a “real” lake. They could experience the real ocean instead, which Honey thinks is better than a lake. Cole might… well, a beach trip might make him forget about being forgotten.

Ugh, it really does sound bad when Honey says it like that.

“I’ll talk to the guys,” Honey says after a brief pause, in which Trixie waits on the other end of the call with baited breath. “I’ll text you in like an hour, okay?”

“Sick, I’ll start preparing the guest room for you and Bea and the living room for the guys,” Trixie says. “Oh, this is going to be so fun! I can’t wait to see you, H. Hey, for revenge, don’t tell Bea until after the guys say yes. That’s what she gets for trying to keep secrets from me.”

That’s something Honey can agree with. It’s also revenge for revealing her secret to Trixie without warning Honey first. “Okay, sounds good. No promises! The guys might not want to come.”

“It’s a free beach weekend. They’ll come. Bye, Honey-bun! Love you.”

Before Honey can say it back, Trixie has hung up. Honey pulls the phone away and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. She takes a second to drink her beverage before composing a text to Trevor.

Would Cole forgive you if I secured us all a free weekend trip to the beach? Honey asks.

Within minutes, Trevor is replying. He might try to kiss me on the mouth, Trevor says.

Wouldn’t be the first time. So Beach Trip is a go? Ask Q.

That reply comes a bit after. He wants to know how soon we can go.

Thursday?

Thursday works. Have you talked to Ada already??? What about work on Fri

I’ll talk to her now. Plan on Thursday night to drive down. See you tn for NNO?

YYES

Honey rolls her eyes at his joke and hearts the message, then puts her phone away. She’ll have to pick out a couple of books that Trevor might like for the sale. She can convince him to buy them and it’ll give him an excuse to hang out at the booth– Bea will probably sneak off with Quinn to get a snowcone or play a round of cornhole, so Honey needs someone to keep her company.

She texts Trixie on the way back to the Nook, confirming that the boys are down. She’s sure to include that there are five of them, all relatively rowdy and annoying, so Trixie should hide anything expensive before they get there.

Back at the Nook, Honey rests her elbows on the counter and faces Bea. “So you told your sister about my boyfriend to avoid talking about your own boyfriend, huh?” Honey asks knowingly.

Bea glares at her. “You know how they get about boys.”

Honey laughs. “Which means you thought it would be better to throw me under the bus? Trixie didn’t fall for it, Buzzy.”

Bea groans, deflating. She shoves her bookmark into her book and tucks it underneath the counter, on the shelf next to Honey’s book. Bea then crosses her arms over her chest. “Damn, I was hoping she’d be too excited for you and she’d forget about me.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Honey says. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” Bea asks, a tinge of exasperation in her voice. Honey revels in it. She should be annoyed. Payback for spilling Honey’s business to her family– not that it really matters. Honey was going to tell Trixie and Cece eventually, probably around Thanksgiving when they get together next.

Honey leans forward and raises a finger to tap the tip of Bea’s nose. “You bought yourself a beach weekend in Topsail. Your boyfriend already agreed to go.”

“You coerced him,” Bea accuses.

“I didn’t coerce him, I just… conveniently left out a few details,” Honey replies. She grins at Bea, who is scowling. “You’re paying for gas.”

“I’m going to make sure Trixie interrogates Trevor just as much as she interrogates Quinn,” Bea threatens. “Just you wait.”

Honey shrugs. “This all could’ve been avoided if you’d kept your mouth shut.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey petulatntly.

Honey laughs and reaches out to try and pinch Bea’s tongue between her fingers, just to be an annoyance, but Bea flinches away. Instead, Honey tweaks her nose and pretends to steal it like she used to do to Luca in her babysitting days. Honey waves the “stolen nose” triumphantly over her head as she walks back to the stacks, ready to pick out her next few books, and Bea overexaggerates an annoyed huff at the desk.

She might pretend like she’s annoyed, but she’ll enjoy the time in Topsail. Honey knows that she will.

73:90 – TREVOR

The hike up the mountain today is a stark contrast from the hike that Honey and Trevor first took together. For one, Honey isn’t sprinting up the mountain. Trevor isn’t chasing her, trying to catch up and ignoring the dull ache in his ankle with every other step. They’re walking up a trail named Cedar Hollow Path with which Honey seems very familiar, the sun is starting to set, and they’re hand-in-hand. It’s the picture of romance.

According to Honey, they’re less than five minutes from the peak of the mountain. They’ll stop for a break, then they’ll head back down. It’ll take about 45 minutes to get back down to the car, and then another 30 in the car.

Honey’s phone is connected to Trevor’s mini speaker, which is clipped onto his backpack. He’d told her to play whatever she wanted and she’d thrown on her hiking playlist. Trevor doesn’t recognize some of the songs, but he likes them– what he likes more is that he gets to see the kind of music that Honey likes. It feels like a peek into her soul.

He loves this, being around her in what can only be described as her natural habitat. Each gust of wind and each patch of golden light that filters through the trees reminds Trevor of the girl by his side.

The song they’re listening to now is warm like the sun. Trevor can’t say that he knows it, although he probably should. The voice of the man singing is familiar and the guitar plays an acoustic melody that makes Trevor bob his head to the beat. It’s one of those songs that could’ve been written last week or fifty years ago and Trevor wouldn’t be surprised either way. Everything seems slower while it plays and Trevor is all the more aware of each step that they take, and the way that Honey swings their hands between their bodies. Her crew socks are bunched up around the top of her hiking shoes, which are a lot more practical than Trevor’s sneakers.

At the end of the song, a harmonica comes in, and Trevor looks out at the view cresting over the horizon. There’s a neat clearing in the trees and the sun is off to their left, so they’re not blinded by the brightness that is unfiltered by the woods around them. Trevor takes in the ridges and valleys of the mountains, which seem to be bathing in the sunshower. He looks at the way the light brightens Honey’s tan, summer skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be in the mountains again without thinking about you,” Trevor thinks aloud, breaking the silence. He squeezes Honey’s hand when he’s done speaking.

Honey’s lips quirk up at the corners, taking a full deep breath before she tears her eyes from the view and turns to Trevor. She squeezes his hand back. “I’m really glad you came here,” she says softly. She technically changed the subject, but Trevor can’t imagine another reply working any better than this one did.

Trevor’s expression smooths out and matches Honey’s. He leans in and presses his lips to her mouth.

Honey pulls away. “Let’s snack, then we’ll head back down,” she decides. Her voice has returned to its normal slightly-bossy tone, which Trevor finds amusing. She’s so matter-of-fact all the time and she’s not shy about it.

Trevor follows her to a boulder and takes a seat with his thighs brushing hers. He swings his backpack around his shoulders and doesn’t protest when Honey snatches it from his grasp, looking in the big pocket and digging around for the tiny bag that she’d stuffed inside so that she wouldn’t have to carry anything this time. “What’s the good of having a boyfriend if he doesn’t carry all your stuff?” Honey had asked and Trevor had pretended to be annoyed, just to appease her and make her smug about getting one over on him. He would have carried it anyway, but she likes that she managed to get him to do it without actually asking him to.

She grins devilishly at him when she pulls her back out and unzips it, finding her snack and drawing it out.

Trevor groans. “You can’t be serious.”

Honey turns the banana over in her hands. “What do you mean?” She peels it from the bottom, holding the stem in her fist like it’s a handle. “Potassium means that your muscles won’t cramp as much. We’re hiking, I think it’s important that I don’t get a cramp.” She takes a bite of the fruit, sure to hold eye contact with Trevor the whole time.

“You are not as funny as you think you are,” Trevor tells her. He takes his backpack from her lap and finds his own snack– a peanut butter protein bar.

Honey shrugs. She tilts her head down slightly, blinking her eyes innocently, and slides the banana into her mouth just enough for Trevor to get the picture before biting into the fruit and chewing proudly.

Trevor has to look out at the mountains on the horizon or else Honey will keep up this behavior, dissatisfied with her performance until he’s got a hard-on. His protein bar tastes like cardboard in his mouth, but Trevor chews it resolutely, probably more forcefully than he needs to, to keep his mind from wandering.

“So Ada is letting us take off work on Friday,” Honey says after she’s done with her banana. She throws the peel onto Trevor’s lap when she is finished with it. “Which means we can leave on Thursday after work. It’s almost a five hour drive, but there will be five of us in the car, so we only have to do an hour each. Ish. That’ll be nice, I think.”

“I think Jack and Luke are going to fly into Wilmington and drive up on Thursday night. Can you send me the address so I can send it to them?” Trevor replies.

Honey waves him off. “I have Jack’s number, I’ll just text him. Cut out the middleman.” Honey rests her chin on her hand and makes a face at Trevor. “I know you said you’re bone-tired of being the middleman.”

Trevor rolls his eyes at her joke. “Tired of being Bea’s middleman,” he corrects. He pops the last bit of protein bar in his mouth and tucks his trash into the side pocket of his backpack. “I’d be your middleman any day of the week.”

“How sweet of you,” Honey deadpans, laughing to herself. She rises from the boulder and pulls Trevor up when he extends his hands.

He stands right in her space and rests his hands on her hips before she can step away. He pecks her lips once, then twice. He thumbs over the skin of her waist, which is pleasantly bare due to the heat and humidity of the day. Honey is wearing a tiny sports bra and those biker shorts she loves so much, leaving very little to Trevor’s imagination. He wants to bite her stomach and leave a hickey there.

“And then we’ll leave on Sunday,” Honey adds belatedly. Her fingertip brushes the middle of his stomach, like their minds are connected. Trevor had forgone his shirt when he saw that she’d done the same. “Because Bea said you guys wanted to go to the rink on Monday. Gotta get one last practice in at Bojangles.”

“Do you want to come?” Trevor asks. He wants her to come. Last time they went, she got into a fight with Bea. Honey should have a good experience at the rink. Plus, maybe this time she’ll agree to road head.

“Monday is the 12th,” Honey replies.

Before, when she changed the subject after Trevor said something, it was fine. He felt like her non-answer was a perfectly good response. This non-answer is more on topic, yet… somehow worse. He’s confused. Does Honey have work or something on the 12th? Is it some book holiday that Trevor knows nothing about? “So?”

Honey scrunches up her nose. “The 12th is my parents’ anniversary,” she says. “Chris and Steph are celebrating the big 3-0 this year.”

Trevor’s not sure what to do with that information. “Is that a weird day for you? Do you want to stay home? I don’t mind if you do,” he tells Honey. He takes her hand and they start down the path from which they came.

Honey bites her lower lip, chewing on it for a second. Trevor gives her the space to think, instead focusing on the song that plays through his speakers. This one, he recognizes. It’s by that guy– Jack something. The one who always makes Trevor think of Curious George. The song is Banana Pancakes.

Lots of banana references seem to be appearing in Trevor’s life lately.

“I was thinking more like… I might want to see them,” Honey reveals after a few minutes of silence. She’s hesitant to admit it, Trevor can tell. “And, well, if we’re already in Charlotte… do you think you’d, I don’t know, want to meet them?”

Trevor chokes on his own spit in surprise, although he keeps himself from coughing. Of all the things he expected Honey to say, an invitation to meet her parents was not one of those things.

“You can say no,” Honey says in a rush, like she’s covering up her tracks. “Really, you can. I was just– ugh– I don’t really want to go alone and I love Bea, but she already knows my parents, if that makes sense? Like, she has a history with them, so it would be really easy for all of us to rely on her to guide the conversation, and that’s just not fair. If I’m going to see my parents, then I should be the one to talk to them.”

Trevor still doesn’t know what to say. Meeting Honey’s parents? The parents she doesn’t talk to? That’s… a lot.

But she’s still not done talking. Her voice grows quieter, so quiet that Trevor has to strain to hear her. “I think it would keep me calm if I could hold your hand, too,” Honey mumbles.

Well, if that doesn’t damn Trevor. The second she utters those words, he’s hopeless to say no to her. Trevor’s not the kind of guy who meets the parents, considering the fact that all of his other relationships have been fairly casual and low-key, but he’s going to have to meet Honey’s parents at some point. He wasn’t exactly sure when, but it was somewhere in the distant future… or so he thought.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Trevor tells Honey. “It’ll be cool to meet your parents. I mean, it might be awkward, but I’d like to meet the people who made you.”

Honey makes a face and recoils slightly. “Don’t say it like that.”

Trevor laughs. “I thought you liked your parents,” he says. “Even though you don’t talk to them. So why are you cringing at the thought of them?”

“I like my parents a normal amount,” Honey says. “Which means that I don’t want to think about them ‘making me’ ever. How would you feel if I talked about how your parents made you? And your brother, and your sister? Those two were made while you were alive, Trevor. You could’ve been in the next room over.”

“That’s too far,” Trevor interjects, scowling at Honey. “You don’t get to flaunt your only-child-ness in that context.”

“Who says I’m an only child?” Honey asks, grinning at Trevor.

Immediately, he comes up short. Has Honey ever outright said she’s an only child? Trevor asks himself. Or is he assuming something else about her, yet again? This is like when he assumed she was from Litchton all over again…

“I’m kidding, Trev. Yes, I’m an only child, you got that one right,” Honey assures him. “But there’s something I was thinking about last night that might come up when I see my parents.”

“What’s that?” Trevor asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“They know I go by Honey, obviously. I’ve been using that name since I was in kindergarten.” Honey lets go of Trevor’s hand to walk in front of him, since the path is narrowing too much to walk side-by-side.

“Wait, Honey’s not your real name?” Trevor teases, pretending to be aghast. “All this time, I thought that was on your birth certificate. I thought your parents were just really into beekeeping or something.”

“Hardy har,” Honey jibes sarcastically. “No, Trev. You know that’s not my real name.”

Which is true, Trevor does know that Honey isn’t her real name. He doesn’t actually know Honey’s real name, since she never uses it, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out.

“I was overthinking last night and started tweaking about, like–” Honey adopts a mocking, low voice. “What if my parents feel just as awkward as I do and they call me ‘Charlotte?’ I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility.”

“Your name is Charlotte?” Trevor demands, his voice sprouting an edge as a result of his surprise. “That doesn’t fit you at all.”

“Oh-kay,” Honey replies that in the same tone, looking over at Trevor and curling her lip. She shakes her head and flips her hand up in exasperation. “It’s not like I chose it, Trevor. Also, that’s not what you say when someone tells you their name. Have you ever met a person before in your life?”

“I’ve met many people and most of them enjoy my company, but thank you for the advice,” Trevor says. “Still, though, you know what I mean. Charlotte isn’t your vibe.”

“What do you think my name should’ve been, then?” Honey challenges.

“I don’t know,” Trevor replies. “Ava or Lauren, maybe. You look like an Ava.”

He can’t see her, but Trevor has a feeling that she’s huffing and rolling her eyes.

“But, like, your name is Honey. Honey fits. That makes sense. I don’t know why they named you Charlotte, especially since you were living in Charlotte anyway. Doesn’t that get tiresome? That’s like if my parents named me Bedford– which is a terrible name, by the way,” Trevor continues on, rambling a bit and spewing whatever comes to his mind, speaking to the back of Honey’s head.

Honey turns around and walks backwards down the trail, tilting her head at Trevor and nodding exaggeratedly. Her eyes are comically wide. She holds her hands up as if she’s saying ‘Yeah, Trev, that’s exactly it.’

“They named you Charlotte because you lived in Charlotte?” Trevor asks, seeking clarification.

“Yeah, it was very creative,” Honey replies, turning back around and leading the way. Her ponytail bounces. “Charlotte was also my mom’s favorite character in Sex and the City.”

Trevor hums at that, but doesn’t reply. They continue down the slope, weaving through trees and avoiding mud puddles from the rain the right before. All the while, Honey’s music plays on.

A thought pops into Trevor’s head and he makes the joke before realizing that it’s funny. “Double homicide to Charlotte, H. First you forsake your name and then you move away? You really have something against Charlottes, huh?”

Honey steps walking and hangs her head, her chest shaking with quiet laughter. She takes takes a breath and sighs aloud, “Ohhh my God.” She turns back to Trevor and takes his hand, clasping it in both of her own. “You have got to start thinking before you speak if I’m going to bring you home to my parents, Trev. I don’t think they want you insulting the name of their city or the name that they picked for their daughter.”

She kisses his mouth, then they walk the rest of the trail in silence, hand-in-hand.

74:90 – HONEY

Taking one car to Topsail might’ve been this summer’s biggest mistake.

Really, it made the most sense. They took Quinn’s car with its three rows of seats and Honey was happy to relegate herself to the way-way back after her turn behind the wheel. Her duffelbag is on the seat next to her, containing four different outfits for the next three days, pajamas, toiletries, bathing suits, her slippers and birkenclogs, and a beach towel in case Trixie didn’t have enough at her place. The rest of the bags are in the back of the car, behind Honey’s seat.

Right now, Cole is behind the wheel. He’s actually not a bad driver, even though he’d complained about having to drive at all. He says he’s more of a passenger– which Bea had agreed with– but that excuse hadn’t worked for either of them. For Cole, it hadn’t worked because no one wanted to drive for more than their fair share. For Bea, Quinn had offered to take her place… but Honey had chimed in and explained that Bea is the person who is most familiar with Trixie’s home. It only makes sense that she takes the last driving shift– which is already shorter than the rest anyway– and is the one to pull into her sister’s driveway.

Bea had huffed about it, but she’d been outvoted. Honey thought it was only fair that she drive, Trevor agrees with anything Honey says, and Cole had been adamant that if he had to drive, then Bea had to drive too.

On the bright side, they’re more than halfway through the drive. They’re in the Siler City to Raleigh leg of the trip, which means that they’re still in civilization. The final stretch of the drive is along backroads, but Honey likes it. It’s like there’s a Litchton-style small-town-vibe on both coasts.

What she likes less is that she’s been trying to nap in the back for a little while now and Bea is starting to get annoyed with the music in the car.

They created a Spotify blend with all of their accounts. It had taken thirty minutes to get the blend set up, since Bea is against giving her phone number to anyone but Honey and Trevor. First, everyone needed to join the blend. Then, Honey had to send the blend to Bea. Then, all they had to do was hit play on Cole’s phone, since he was the one who started the blend in the first place. There were only three steps. It still took way longer than it should have.

“You can’t just skip every song that you don’t like,” Trevor fights from the seat just in front of Honey, trying to reach around the passenger seat and grab the phone from Bea’s hands. “It’s not fair to the rest of us who do like those songs.”

“No one wants to listen to ‘Devil in a New Dress’ by Kayne West, Trevor!” Bea exclaims. She leans forward and rests her head against the dashboard, out of Trevor’s reach. The phone stays between her knees, well away from everyone else in the car. “Isn’t he still, like, a terrible fucking person?”

“Your precious Taylor Swift is flying all over the world without a care about how it’s affecting the environment,” Trevor shoots back. “What is it all of her fans say when people bring that up? ‘Separate the art from the artist?’”

“Do we have to have the Taylor Swift vs. Kanye debate,” Cole tries to interrupt, sounding just as fed up as Honey.

“My precious Taylor Swift?” Bea demands, speaking over Cole. “Don't sit on your high horse and act like you hate her when I saw you singing ‘You Belong With Me’ in the mirror earlier!”

Trevor opens his mouth and closes it a few times, not having a good comeback ready.

“Kanye West is an anti-Semite who said on record that slavery was a choice,” Bea continues. “Trevor, out of the four friends that have been living with you all summer, three are Jewish.”

“Not actively practicing,” Quinn points out.

Honey thinks this is novel. It’s the first time he’s ever said anything to contradict Bea– at least, to her face. There was that one time in the car when Honey called him out for not committing and he’d said “I’m committed,” as if he wasn’t the problem.

“You’re Jewish by matrilineal descent!” Bea scoffs. “That’s, like, the whole thing with being ethnically Jewish. Do you think Kanye West gives a fuck if you’re practicing Judaism or not? He would absolutely have something against you and I don’t want to listen to a person who spreads hate!”

“Didn’t you play ‘Call Me Maybe’ two hours ago?” Trevor asks. “Isn’t Carly Rae a shit person too? Wasn’t she racist towards CupcakKe?”

Bea pauses, relenting slightly. “Okay, I don’t actually know who CupcakKe is and I’ve never heard that Carly Rae Jepson stuff, so… T-B-D on that argument until I can do some light googling. But, still, Trevor– you should not be giving your attention to Kanye.”

“Bea, I am going to be completely honest with you right now, I don’t think this is the hill you want to die on,” Trevor says, still arguing. “I feel like there are more pressing issues in the world than a singer’s beliefs.”

“He’s insanely influential, Trevor! People listen to his shit for entertainment, but there’s a very real possibility that they’ll take his word as Gospel because he’s a ‘good artist’ or whatever–”

“Can we all shut up?” Honey snaps. “It’s not this fucking serious.”

“It is this serious,” Bea tries, but stops speaking when Honey buries her face in the back of Trevor’s chair and lets out a muffled scream.

“You two are the most insufferable people ever,” Honey spits out. “No one wants to listen to you bicker like children. I don’t like Kanye West either, but you’re both being stupid and stubborn and we still have two hours left in the car. I will break the back window and throw myself onto the highway if I have to listen to any more of your bullshit. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Trevor mumbles. He looks over his shoulder and frowns at Honey, like she’ll commiserate with him at the sheer sight of his sad face. She won’t, because he deserved it. It’s partially his fault that she’s raising her voice at all.

“Yes,” Bea groans. Honey can hear her rolling her eyes.

“Yes, Honey,” Cole echoes. He actually sounds the saddest of them all and he wasn’t even in the fight.

Honey has to suppress a smile at his agreement. She doesn’t want to diminish her successful scolding by bursting into laughter. “Good,” she says, trying to hold her voice steady. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am trying to take a nap.” She promptly turns in her seat and tries to curl up as best she can without unbuckling her seatbelt.

There’s five songs of silence by Honey’s count, and then a slow country duet begins to play.

Within thirty seconds, just as Honey is deciding that she likes the song, Bea announces, “Well, this is too slow. We can’t listen to this. We’ll be put to sleep.”

“That’s the whole point,” Honey jumps in before she can skip the track. She opens one eye and squints at Bea. “Plus, I thought you hated when people– Jack– skip through songs instead of letting them play though.”

Bea scowls. “You suck. I’m not going to let you sleep in the guest room with me.”

“I suck ‘cause I’m right?” Honey laughs. “As if Trixie would let you kick me out of the guest room anyway. She likes me better because I didn’t cut off Felicity’s hair over a stupid birthday party invitation.”

“That’s not fair,” Bea complains. “Everyone got an invitation except me.”

“What happened?” Quinn asks, his growing smile looking slightly askew and crooked on his face. “Who’s Felicity?”

“Trixie’s American Girl doll, who she loved,” Honey explains. “Like, her most prized possession, and on her eleventh birthday she hand-wrote cute invitations for all of her friends and Bea was pissed that she didn’t get one–”

“Again, not fair, because you got one and you were only invited to the party because my parents let me choose a friend to hang out with that day,” Bea interrupts.

“The party was at your house! You lived there, you didn’t need a special invitation,” Honey exclaims, then turns back to Quinn. “So Bea, five years old and pissed off, sneaks into Trixie’s room and chops off all of Felicity’s hair, and puts it in a gift basket for Trixie to unwrap at the party!”

Quinn’s eyes grow wide and he starts to laugh out loud, eyes darting over to Bea.

“So Trixie unwraps it and starts crying over her favorite doll being ruined and that kills the vibe of the party, and then–”

“No–” Bea growls, turning in her seat and waving a finger at Honey.

“–Then, Bea lies about it to her mom and dad and gets away with it for a whole month, until her mom finds the scissors in Bea’s sock drawer, which had been missing since the Felicity incident,” Honey continues, entirely unafraid of Bea’s threat. “And Trixie didn’t speak to Bea for, like, two weeks and Felicity was never the same after coming back from the Doll Hospital.”

“The scissors were a plant by Cece because I put them back when I was done and she overreacted,” Bea justifies. “Felicity came back just fine, practically brand new–”

“She overreacted,” Honey repeats, gobsmacked that Bea still maintains that she didn’t do anything wrong. “You destroyed her $90 doll on her birthday!”

“I was five,” Bea says.

“You did all of that over a piece of paper written in sparkly gel pen!”

“That’s it?” Cole demands. “Bea, dude, I’ll write you an invitation to a party in sparkly gel pen right now just so you can let this go.”

“I’m not the one who brought it up,” Bea defends herself. “Honey’s the one who can’t let it go.”

“Who knew you were such a monster, baby,” Quinn joins in, reaching forward to pinch the skin on the back of Bea’s elbow.

Bea jerks her arm away. “Ugh, whatever,” she grumbles. She turns toward the window and pouts, glaring into the settling dusk. Honey isn’t worried about knocking her down a few pegs– she’ll be over it by the time the next Miley Cyrus song rolls around.

Honey actually falls asleep when Cole and Trevor switch spots after getting gas in Raleigh. Cole sings along with as many songs as he can– he actually does a rather impressive Dolly Parton– and Bea eventually joins in.

The post-debate liveliness in the car is a good sign for the weekend ahead. Honey’s really excited for Jack and Luke to drive up, too, just to reunite the group. Jack’s text announcing his ETA came in just before Honey fell asleep and they’re slated to make it to Trixie’s house about an hour after the Litchton car does.

Honey’s already planning the full beach day tomorrow. She’s going to bury Jack in the sand in the shape of a mermaid’s tail. It’s what he deserves.

75:90 – TREVOR

Trevor wakes to soft voices drifting in from the kitchen. The layout of Bea’s sister’s house is pretty open, which is great for the lighting in the place, but not great for those who like to sleep in. She lives alone, so she’s only got one guest room and that’s where the girls are sleeping. Trevor and the rest of the boys are in the living room.

Quinn and Jack are sharing the pull-out couch, Luke is reclining in the plush chair, and Trevor and Cole are sharing the blow-up mattress. The coffee table is pushed against the wall underneath the TV.

Trevor recognizes Honey’s voice after he’s done blinking the sleep from his eyes. It’s the same soft tone she uses when she apologizes for waking him up as she gets out of bed. Trevor stretches, then shifts out from under the blanket he’s sharing with Cole. He rolls onto the floor in order to minimize his chance of waking Cole and picks himself up, tiptoeing into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Trixie greets as Trevor walks into the room. She holds a mug of coffee near her chin and raises her eyebrows, which are dark, like her hair. She looks just like Bea, but her hair is nearly black. Trevor wonders if it’s dyed. “Which one are you again?”

Trevor breathes out a little laugh and sidles up behind Honey, kissing her bare shoulder. “G’morning.”

“Mm, that one,” Trixie hums. “You want a coffee, Trevor?”

She’s turning and pouring a mug before Trevor can decline. Trevor looks at the clock on the microwave and sees that it’s not even seven yet, which is typical Honey behavior. He’s been trying hard all summer to keep her in bed until a reasonable eight o’clock, but she loves her routine and she’s actually very chipper in the morning.

“You’re up early,” Honey comments, sipping from her own mug.

“Someone woke me up.” Trevor smiles.

“We weren’t talking that loud,” Honey replies. She looks over at Trixie. “Were we?”

Trixie scoffs. “God, no. I don’t reach above twenty decibels until I hit morning traffic. It’s a pretty steep jump after that.” She sets the steaming mug in front of Trevor and leans against the counter.

“Why are you up so early?” Trevor asks. “I know why she’s up, but why are you?” He points his thumb at Honey when he references her, then wraps his hand around the handle of his mug.

Trixie’s lips quirk up. “Not all of us have summers off from work.” She sounds amused. “I have to head to the office in a little bit. I have meetings today, so I’m having a cup of coffee and heading out.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Honey supplies, answering Trevor’s question before he asks. “Real estate law.”

Trevor doesn’t know anything about real estate law. “That’s cool,” he says, shrugging.

Trixie hums in the back of her throat and narrows her eyes. “I don’t know about ‘cool,’” she teases. “But it works for me.”

“Anyway, I was telling Trixie that I was going to go to the store before everyone wakes up,” Honey says to Trevor. “Do you want to come?”

“We can’t eat the food in the fridge?” Trevor asks.

“I didn’t go shopping for seven people,” Trixie says. She sips from her coffee, inspects the mug, and downs the rest of the liquid inside. “Plus, some of that shit is old. I need to clean out. You guys need to buy your own stuff. I can only provide so much to your traveling band of vagabonds.” She sets her mug in the sink and rinses it out, but leaves it sitting there. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Honey parrots.

“I’m going to throw on my good clothes and then I’m off,” Trixie says. She rounds the counter and presses a kiss to the side of Honey’s head, squishing her cheeks. “Don’t set my house on fire while I’m gone.”

“Are there any dolls lying around that we should know about?” Trevor jokes, thinking about the Bea story from yesterday.

Luckily, Trixie’s shoulders jump with a laugh. “Nah, those are in the safe. I had to lock them and the scissors away just in case. That’s funny, Trevor.” She flicks the back of his head as she walks away, which stings a bit, but Trevor figures it’s just as affectionate as the kiss she gave Honey.

Trevor waits for her to walk out of earshot, then turns to Honey. “She doesn’t actually still have dolls, though, right? Because that would be kind of creepy,” he admits.

Honey rolls her eyes and reaches over to pat Trevor’s hand. “No, I don’t think Trixie has any dolls in this place. She kind of outgrew that when she hit middle school, bud.”

Trevor deflates at the nickname.

“Don’t make that face,” Honey chides quietly. She tosses a look over her shoulder, towards where the rest of the guys are sleeping. “You know I can’t talk to you like that right now.”

“I know,” Trevor sighs. “What about at the store, though?”

Honey smiles into her coffee. “Yes, you can be all… you… at the grocery store.”

“Sick.” Trevor celebrates getting permission to act like a boyfriend with a fist pump. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”

Honey hums and finishes off her coffee. She takes Trevor’s mug, which he had no intentions of finishing anyway, and takes it with her to the guest bedroom.

Trixie sneaks out the front door with a wave to Trevor a few minutes later. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a nice blouse, which is pretty impressive. Trevor likes his walk-up suits, but he doesn’t really think he could wear them for an entire day of work. They’re too stuffy.

Honey follows not far behind. She’s in a pretty sundress and her birkenclogs and Trevor can see the strings of her bikini rise up and loop around the back of her neck. She takes the keys to the smaller car that Jack and Luke drove up from Wilmington last night and waves Trevor forward, shutting the door quietly behind them.

The drive to the grocery store is practically a straight line. They turn out of Trixie’s driveway onto the main road, then turn into the parking lot of another Food Lion, like the one in Litchton. It must be a North Carolina thing. Trevor had never seen a grocery store called “Food Lion” until he got here.

Honey grabs the cart from the collection area when they walk in the store, then allows Trevor to bump her out of the way and take the reigns. He’s on good behavior for a while, dutifully rolling the cart beside Honey and waiting patiently while she tries to decide between fusili or orecchiette noodles for a homemade mac’n’cheese that she wants to put together for Trixie. Apparently, macaroni noodles aren’t good enough because mac’n’cheese is Trixie’s favorite side dish and has been since she was a child.

The grocery store isn’t very full, given that it’s 7:30 in the morning on a Friday, and the barren hallways are too tempting. Trevor starts to drifts around corners, pop wheelies, and races down aisles far ahead of Honey. When he accidentally bumps into her in the chip aisle, she shoots him a glare that would melt ice, and sends him off to go find hamburger patties for Quinn to grill later tonight.

He takes the grocery cart with him. She might be able to discourage him from performing his NASCAR tricks while she’s around, but what Honey doesn’t see won’t hurt her. Trevor’s not going to let one accidental collision ruin his fun.

He coasts down to the ground beef, staring at his options. Would Quinn rather have pre-made patties, or would he like to form the patties himself? He is weird like that. Maybe smash burgers would be fun…

Trevor reaches for the meat that he thinks would work best, dropping it in the cart. As he walks toward the slices of cheese, a guy with a Giants hat accidentally cuts him off.

“Sorry, man,” the guy laughs, gesturing for Trevor to go ahead. He uses the carton of chocolate milk in his hand to wave Trevor forward.

“No, dude, don’t worry about it,” Trevor replies, letting the guy go ahead of him. “It’s all good. Can’t hold anything against a fellow Giants fan.”

“Oh, you’re a New York guy?” The guy reaches for a pack of string cheese, the ones that mix mozzarella and cheddar in a fun swirl. That’s not a bad idea. Trevor might pick up a pack of those for himself. “Excited for the big centennial next year?”

“It’s gonna be awesome,” Trevor says. “I hope we make the playoffs.”

“Hey, me too,” he tells Trevor with a chuckle. He looks at Trevor for a second, then blinks. “Wait, aren’t you–”

Trevor allows a smile to take over his face, hoping that it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. He forgot how awkward it is to be recognized in public, especially when you’re doing something as mundane as grocery shopping. “Yeah.” He extends his hand. “Trevor. It’s nice to meet you, dude.”

“Tommy,” the guy returns, grasping Trevor’s hand firmly. “What are you doing all the way out here, man? Don’t you play for Anaheim?”

“My girlfriend and our friends are spending the weekend at the beach during the off-season, actually. We just got in last night.” Trevor nods along with his own statement. He waves his hand at the contents of the cart. “She wakes up early, so I thought I’d tag along with the grocery shopping.”

“Good man,” Tommy praises. He holds up the cheese and chocolate milk. “I got sent out on my own. Pregnancy cravings from the wife.”

“Good man yourself,” Trevor laughs.

“Where’d you drive in from, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tommy asks. “Long road trip from Cali?”

“Nah, I’m not built for that shit,” Trevor jokes. “Why do you think the league has jets now? No, my girlfriend lives near Winston-Salem. Tiny town. Litchton, actually, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

“I have, actually. Been there once, too– I used to know someone who lives up there.” Tommy shifts his items into one hand and reaches for his phone. “Hey, would you mind if we get a picture?”

Trevor’s about to comply, but he sees Honey exit from the chip aisle with her arms full. He raises a hand to wave her over. “Hon,” Trevor calls. “Over here. Check it out, a Giants fan all the way down south. Tommy and I were just about to take a picture–”

“Is that what you go by now? Tommy?” Honey asks. Her eyes were sparkling when she first spotted Trevor, but now they’ve turned sullen and guarded and she’s stopped walking forward.

Trevor takes in her body language, how she’s tersely holding the chips in front of her body like a barrier. Her shoulders are pulled back and her jaw is set tightly. Trevor suddenly stands to his full height.

This must be Thomas.

He’s sandwiched between them, having turned to Honey when Trevor’s eyes slid over his shoulder and lit up at the sight of his girlfriend. Thomas is looking between them, although he mostly stares at the girl down the corridor to his right.

At least he has the decency to look like he’s seen a ghost.

“Oh my God, Honey,” Thomas grimaces.

“You’re Thomas,” Trevor says aloud, repeating his internal monologue. His voice is hard. “You’re that Thomas.”

“Ruined any lives lately?” Honey snaps, her eyes narrowed and fierce.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Thomas tries. “Really, I am. It was, well, you know how it was. We were kids and I was hopped up on all this shit, but I’m clean now and I found Jesus again and–”

“I ‘really’ don’t give a fuck,” Honey interrupts, mocking him. Her movements are becoming exaggerated, the way they do when she’s barely containing her rage.

“I’m going to have to turn you down for that picture,” Trevor says, jerking the cart back and starting to push it towards Honey. He pauses and looks Thomas dead in the eyes. “I know you have quite the reputation when it comes to photos.”

Trevor pushes past the man, feeling sick and seeing red. He was nice to this guy. He was having a good conversation with him. Fuck– they talked about his wife. He’s got a pregnant wife at home. That makes Trevor want to throw up.

Honey is still standing her ground and staring at her ex-boyfriend, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Trevor has to take her arm and pull her away.

Without speaking, they head straight for the cash register. Honey is stewing and grinding her teeth, so Trevor sends her out to the car. The teenage cashier was starting to send him panicked looks, evidently thinking that Honey’s glare was directed at her. When he steps outside, groceries in hand, Honey has parked the car right in front of the store. The flashers are on and Trevor appreciates not having to walk all the way to the vehicle, but he is a little apprehensive about Honey driving.

It’s a straight line. It can’t be that bad.

Trevor keeps an eye on her, though. He’s obvious about it. He faces her during the first half of the ride, counting the times Honey’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and plans to continue his count for the rest of the ride. He loses track as soon as Honey speaks.

“Stop looking at me,” Honey says.

Trevor won’t. He’s not sure what she’s thinking and he won’t stop searching her face until he knows. “No.”

“Okay, then stop looking at me like that,” Honey amends. “I can see you trying to figure me out. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Just give me a minute to process it, dude–”

“Don’t call me dude,” Trevor interrupts with a frown. It’s like when she calls him ‘Z,’ or earlier, when she called him ‘bud.’ He’s not her friend. He’s her boyfriend. He deserves more than ‘dude,’ especially because he’s only looking at her like this because he cares and he’s worried.

“–and then I’ll tell you how I’m feeling,” Honey finishes. She tosses a glance at Trevor, eyebrows pinched together. “Also, it’s a force of habit. I’m not calling you ‘dude’ to be a bitch. Stop acting like I am.”

Trevor doesn’t think he’s acting like that, but that’s an argument for another time. Tensions are high right now. He should’ve thought about that a second ago– again, with the ‘thinking before he speaks’ idea. Maybe Honey has a point.

She flicks the turn signal on and creeps into Trixie’s driveway. Honey throws the car into park and pulls the key from the ignition. She sits back in her seat borderline-agressively and huffs. Trevor would laugh at the way she crosses her arms over her chest if it weren’t for the situation at hand. She lets out a deep breath. “Five fucking years,” she curses. Her attention turns to Trevor. “I hate him. Even after five fucking years.”

Trevor nods. “I think he deserves that.”

Honey inhales, nodding and chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’s more angry than upset and Trevor can’t help but feel like that might be better than a freak-out. He also isn’t one to label things, but… her anger is a good sign, to him. Honey’s not drowning in the debris that Thomas left. She’s practically surfing on it, running on adrenaline and fury. That’ll fade eventually, but Trevor thinks that this might be a step forward rather than two steps back.

To be determined.

She takes a few more breaths, her face slowly becoming less tense with each exhale. After a minute, the wrinkle between her eyebrows has faded and her mouth is in a straight line rather than a frown.

Trevor reaches out and cups Honey’s face. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just musters up a sympathetic smile.

Honey holds eye contact, then her lips quirk up and her lashes flutter in a little eye roll. “I need to talk to Bea,” she says. She leans into his touch. “She was there. No offense, but she’ll get it more than you do.”

Trevor breathes out a laugh. “I think you’re right.”

Honey leans over the center console and kisses Trevor’s lips in a fleeting, yet sweet, pass. “Can you take the boys to the beach so they don’t hear? I think we might scream and yell a bit.”

“Anything you want,” Trevor agrees. He pauses. “But… you’ll talk to me after, right?”

Honey kisses him again, gently. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you after. I just… I want to get my mind wrapped around this first. I might have to sleep on it.” She looks at that clock, then jokes, “Even though it’s not even nine in the morning yet.”

“Maybe you’ll take a midday nap,” Trevor replies with a wink.

Honey snorts. “Be patient, Trev.”

Trevor draws back and releases his hold on Honey’s cheek. He changes the subject. “You go on up. I’ll put the groceries away, then I’ll round up the boys.”

Honey thanks him, then exits the car. She leaves the keys with him and heads up the stairs, disappearing from Trevor’s sight.

He’ll do as he promised, taking the groceries up for Honey and leaving the house with the boys within thirty minutes of their arrival. They had to pack a cooler, to be fair, and that always takes a little time.

By the time Honey and Bea make it down to the beach around midday, the boys are ravenous. Honey and Bea come bearing sandwiches and they eat in a circle, sitting on their towels, like it’s a picnic.

After lunch, Cole digs a hole. Bea and Quinn head into the water, bobbing in the waves. At the same time, Honey buries Jack in the sand with help from Luke, giving him a mermaid tail and a seashell bra. Trevor sits on his towel and watches the group, feigning nonchalance, but he’s really watching Honey.

Thomas doesn’t seem to plague her mind, but Trevor doesn’t really know. She’s giggling with the group and yelling at Cole to stop throwing sand near them, which Trevor takes as a good sign.

He guesses he’ll find out what she really thinks tomorrow. He can wait that long.

76:90 – HONEY

Honey had told herself that the two cocktails at dinner would be her last drinks of the night. The boys have a kind of routine on their beach days– they pack as many drinks as the cooler can fit and they crush them. Honey, Bea, and Trixie had done their best to keep up, and it had resulted in quite a buzz.

There had been time to come down, too– Honey left the beach around 3:30 because she’d gotten sleepy. She’d showered and taken a nap, then woken up before dinner to see Bea napping in bed next to her. The guys had been in the same state when she went into the living room. Luke was the only one awake and he was watching golf on low volume, his eyes glazed over. Honey thinks he might be so zoned out that he’s dead to the world.

After dinner, though, everyone had been reinvigorated. The boys had cracked open new beers and Trixie had produced a box of seltzers from her minifridge in the garage. She and Bea are party girls, as is Cece, so it must be a McLean thing. They’d been adamant that the group played a few drinking games before winding down for the night.

They’d played Flip Cup first– dividing into two teams of four and pounding drinks up and down the length of Trixie’s dining table. Bea and Trixie had captained the teams and drafted their picks because the boys thought it was most fair. Bea’s first pick was, unsurprisingly, Quinn. Trixie had picked Jack. At first, Honey had thought it was because of his frat-boy energy.

The more drunk everyone got, the more Honey noticed that Jack and Trixie were flirting. By the time they moved onto Stack Cup, Jack and Trixie were standing next to each other and Trixie was shrieking each time Jack nearly lapped her. When he finally did and she’d had to chug the Bitch Cup, Trixie had pulled Bea’s signature pout.

Honey was not surprised when they disappeared into Trixie’s bedroom, presumably, less than an hour later. Neither was anyone else, apparently. Cole had snorted and said that Bea and Jack were two peas in a pod, since they both collected siblings like it was nothing. Everyone laughed at that, then they’d split into smaller groups. Cole and Trevor started playing Ride The Bus with a stack of cards they found in Trixie’s junk drawer, Quinn and Luke had settled on the couch to watch TV, and Honey and Bea took a girl’s trip to the bathroom.

Bea finds a fresh thing of moisturizer while she’s digging through Trixie’s bathroom cabinet and goes to smell it, catching a strong whiff of eucalyptus. She gags, stomach lurching… and pushes Honey out of the way while she’s pulling up her sweatpants so that she can vomit into the toilet.

Typical.

Honey braids Bea’s hair back messily while she yacks, then helps pat her face with a cold towel when she’s done. They decide to go to bed, even though Bea says that she’s fine. Honey thinks she needs to rest after throwing up the many, many drinks she had today, so she and Bea throw on their pajamas– a fun matching nightgown set that they always bring on their trips outside of Litchton– and cuddle up in bed. Honey is glad she made Bea brush her teeth before they left the bathroom, even if their faces aren’t close enough for her to smell Bea’s breath.

“You didn’t talk to Trevor,” Bea mumbles. She’s got her arm thrown over her face, eyes buried in the crook of her elbow. “You said you would today.”

Honey gets a flashback to the previous morning– how Bea had been aghast and furious that Thomas was in the same town as them, how she’d been elated that Honey had called Thomas out and been mean to him at the store, and how she’d pretended like it took all of her energy to praise Trevor for reacting the way he did. Honey knows that Bea likes Trevor deep down, even if she treats him like an annoying brother.

Honey groans, shifting under the covers. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You have to talk to him,” Bea replies. Her voice is monotone and tired. “You promised you would. You know how he gets when he’s worried.”

She’s right, unfortunately. It takes a lot out of Honey to sit up, especially with the last of the booze that is coursing through her veins. She feels a bit like an old man, grunting through a stretch, but she finally swings her legs over the side of the bed and begins to make her way to the door.

It bangs open before she reaches for the handle.

“Bea!” Jack exclaims, shouldering into the bedroom in nothing but his sweatpants and underwear– Honey can see the Nike lettering peeking out from under the gray waistband slung low on his hips. “New PR!”

Bea’s arm falls from her face and she squints at Jack with one eye. “What?” she asks groggily.

“I beat my time!” Jack catches Honey’s wrist as she passes him and raises her hand to give himself a high-five.

Honey fails to hold back a laugh, producing a stifled snort. Just as Jack jumps onto the bed and crosses his legs, getting comfortable, Honey slips away.

She walks as quietly as she can past Trixie’s room, finding her way to the end of the hallway and slipping through the glass door to the balcony. It’s there that she finds Trixie in her bathrobe, looking up at the stars and twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Hey,” Honey greets quietly. “I heard Jack broke his record.”

Trixie chuckles. “Yeah, he told me. I think it’s cute how excited he was.”

“How long was it?” Honey asks.

“I don’t know, twenty minutes, maybe? From the time we got naked to the time it was over?” Trixie shrugs. “It wasn’t bad. He’s definitely good looking enough to get away with that.”

“One night stand?”

Trixie nods. “Definitely, one night stand. I’m not looking to do anything more than hook up with a guy who’s five years younger than me.” She drops her hand and slaps her knees. “Do you need the balcony?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to Trevor about something,” Honey says. “Do you remember Thomas?”

Trixie makes a face. There’s Honey’s confirmation that Cece and Bea did have a tell-all with Trix when Honey and Thomas broke up. “Yeah, I remember that dipshit. He should’ve gone to jail for what he did to you.”

“We saw him at the store yesterday,” Honey tells her. “Me and Trev.”

“Shit.” Trixie’s eyes are wide. “Are you okay?”

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Honey replies with a bit of a laugh. “I was mad when I saw him. Even after we left, I wasn’t upset. It was just like, ‘Oh, here’s the bitch that changed my life. I hope I never see him again after this’ and then I was fine.” She shrugs. “Bea and I talked about it. I’m not happy with what he did, obviously, but I’m past it.”

Trixie smiles and stands, bringing Honey in for a hug. “I’m happy for you.” She squeezes Honey tight, then lets her go, palms on Honey’s elbows. “You are such an impressive and resilient person.”

Honey doesn’t know quite what to say to Trixie. She thinks that if she opens her mouth to talk, her voice will break. That was so nice.

Trixie pats Honey’s arm one last time and heads toward the sliding glass door. “Goodnight, Hon. Have a good talk with Trevor.”

“Do you like him?” Honey blurts out as Trixie steps through the door. “For me?”

Trixie turns back and nods. “I do.” She slides the door shut and disappears down the hallway.

Honey smiles to herself, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. She shakes it away, pulling her phone out and texting Trevor to meet her on the balcony. She hopes he’s awake.

He sends her a “!!!!” within seconds and Honey hears his feet padding down the hallway a minute later.

“Hey,” Trevor whispers as he closes the door behind him. He crosses the balcony and wraps his arms around Honey’s waist. He buries his face in Honey’s neck and kisses her, biting lightly over her pulse point. “I hated not being able to touch you all day. Y’looked so good in your pretty bikini, baby.”

Honey sighs and relaxes into Trevor’s touch, breathing in the traces of his cologne. It’s mostly worn off by now, but if she closes her eyes, she can still take it in. Honey wraps her arms around Trevor’s neck and holds him close.

Trevor is the first to pull away. “You okay?” he asks. “You seem… pretty okay, all things considered.”

“I am, actually,” Honey murmurs, bringing her hand to Trevor’s hair and stroking the strands along his temple. She can feel Trevor’s gaze on her face, never straying. “I think I’m really moving on. Not just fake-moving on like I’ve been doing for the past couple years.”

A smile creeps over Trevor’s face. “That’s awesome, babe.”

“I think you’ve been helping,” Honey admits quietly. “More than I wanted you to in the first place.”

“Yeah, baby, you hated me,” Trevor teases. He nudges Honey’s nose with his, then kisses her. “You didn’t think I’d be any good to you this summer.”

“That’s not true,” Honey fights back, frowning. “I thought it would be nice to have people to hang out with.”

“Hmm, I bet you meant the other guys,” Trevor continues in the same tone. He brings his hands to Honey’s hips and walks her back as he kisses her, only stopping when he’s got her pressed up against the wall. He starts to kiss down her neck, bringing his hands to her bare thighs and pushing at the hem of her nightgown.

“I gave you one week before you went back home,” Honey says. She raises a leg and tries to wrap it over Trevor’s hip. She slips at first, but then Trevor grips the fat of her thigh and holds her leg in place.

“Well, I’m still here,” Trevor replies. His right hand slips between Honey’s legs and traces her folds before shifting her underwear to the side and diving in. “And you know I’m not leaving.”

“But you are, though,” Honey chokes out. She’s reeling from the way he just shoved two of his fingers into her cunt.

Trevor hums. “Okay, physically,” he says. “But I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with me.”

“I fail to see how that’s a good thing,” Honey jokes, but she’s lost the fighting edge in her voice. It’s so obvious that Trevor is affecting her, considering the way her breath has grown weary and how she’s biting her lower lip.

Trevor laughs anyway. “I can show you,” he says.

He kisses Honey, sliding his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes drift all the way shut and she fists the neckline of his t-shirt. He tastes like the drinks that he’s been consuming all day, but with an overt layer of minty toothpaste. His lips are soft and Honey likes how he smiles between kisses.

“Is that a good enough reason?” Trevor asks softly, trailing his lips down to Honey’s jaw and sucking softly. It’s not enough to leave a mark, but she can feel his tongue massaging her skin and his teeth scraping over the area when he’s done.

“No, I already knew you were good at that,” Honey says. She feels a little stuck in her head, waiting for Trevor to do more.

His thumb presses against her clit and starts to circle. “I guess I have to up my game.” Trevor fits his teeth around Honey’s collarbone and nibbles. “You want me to talk about how pretty you are, baby?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” Honey cards her fingers through Trevor’s hair and sighs.

He snuffles out another laugh. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Trevor tells Honey.

“Thing?”

Trevor actually chuckles. “Not thing. You know that’s just a saying.” He adopts a southern accent. “Prettiest ‘thang’ I’ve ever seen.”

“You are so goofy.”

Trevor twists his fingers inside of Honey and makes her choke on a breath. “Don’t be mean, Hon. Let me talk.”

“Then talk,” Honey bites.

“Attention seeker.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

“If I was mean, I’d stop fingering you and head back inside.”

Honey rolls her eyes. She grinds down on Trevor’s fingers and pulls him up for another kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Trevor continues, jumping back into the bit. He noses against Honey’s cheek. “Honestly, Honey, you steal my breath. It’s unreal. I think about how pretty you are all the time.”

“Jerking off?” Honey gasps out. Her stomach is starting to turn from the pleasure.

“Mm.” Trevor smiles against her neck. “Sometimes. You turn me on, baby, but your looks aren’t the only thing I like about you. I’m determined to stay around for other reasons, you know.”

Honey hums, prompting him to continue. She is a bit of a glutton for praise– but who isn’t? She likes when people like her. She likes when Trevor likes her.

“Like how loyal you are to your friends,” Trevor says. “I couldn’t handle Bea for as long as you have, but you know that.”

“You handle Jack,” Honey points out. “That’s the same.”

“Fair point,” Trevor surmises. “I’m so… taken with how you act, babe.”

“Trevor,” Honey warns. She’s getting closer to the edge. His fingers are dancing inside of her, unrelenting, and his words aren’t helping. She still wants him to talk more, though.

“Do you know how proud I am that you stood your ground with Thomas at the store?” Trevor murmurs, moving his hand from Honey’s thigh to thumb over her nipple.

“Oh my God,” Honey moans out when he pokes the spongy spot inside of her. She jumps, then whimpers, pulling his face back up so that she can bit his neck.

“It was amazing,” Trevor praises. “You’re so brave. I love how fiery you were when you saw him and how well you’ve bounced back from it over the past day and a half.”

Honey’s hips jerk into his touch. Her mouth drops open and eyes roll back. She knocks her head against the wall, but the sting doesn’t actually hurt. She barely feels it. Honey snaps, her resolve crumbling as Trevor’s fingers thrust into her at what feels like lightning speed. Her hands clutch at Trevor’s bicep and the back of his neck, fingernails digging into his skin and leaving red crescent-moons behind. “I love you,” Honey whines. She’s praising Trevor and his unique ability to give her everything she’s craved in a partner, especially since Thomas destroyed her confidence the way he did.

Trevor’s hips roll against Honey’s hip like they’re controlled by an external force. His fingers continue to fill her just right. He draws his lip into his mouth and his stunning, shining eyes lock in on her expression. “I love you,” he repeats, natural and easy like nothing else.

Flickers of recognition pass through his pupils. “Oh, fuck, I love you,” he repeats again, conscious and strangled and desperate and true.

Honey melts into his gasp, her chest heaving with a sob as her climax rearranges the atoms in her eyesight. Honey’s admission, which is slowly dawning on her, has taken all the tension from her body and sent it out into the universe like a flood.

Trevor’s trying to kiss her again.

Honey gulps and wiggles away from him.

Trevor doesn’t seem to notice how she’s inching towards the sliding door. His hands slip off of her hips for one second and Honey is gone.

That was not supposed to happen. The whole “I love you” thing was supposed to be a nonissue. That’s what she told herself when she thought it– and now that she’s said it… Honey’s head cannot stop racing with thoughts.

You know what? Maybe Trevor didn’t hear her.

Okay, that’s stupid. He replied. Twice.

Maybe he didn’t realize it either.

No, that’s why he repeated it.

This is terrible. This should’ve happened a year from now over some stupid, sentimental, and dry candlelit dinner that Trevor tried to cook in his California apartment. This should’ve happened while Honey was trying to stomach the food without being mean and make sure that the candles didn’t light the flowers on fire, and she would’ve distracted him by telling him that she loves him.

Honey hasn’t thought about this at all. It– ugh– it was a dream she had a few nights ago. It should be noted that she woke with a start, sitting up, and nearly had a heart attack when Trevor’s arm had tightened around her waist to keep her in place.

She bursts through her bedroom door, interrupting Jack and Bea’s conversation. Honey slams the door shut behind her and plasters herself to the cool wood. She can hold the door shut if Trevor tries to barge in.

Bea blinks at Honey. “You okay?”

“I told him I love him,” Honey announces. She fumbles for the doorhandle and turns the lock.

“I thought you were going to talk to him about Thomas,” Bea says incredulously.

“Yeah, I was, but then we started…” Honey tilts her head and makes a high-pitched humming noise in the back of her throat as an insinuation, then opens her mouth again. “And it just slipped out.”

“During?” Bea demands. “During?”

“Yes, during!”

“I’m sorry,” Jack cuts in, sitting forward on the bed. “I’m lost. Who are we talking about?”

“Trevor!” Honey and Bea exclaim at the same time, both rounding on Jack in identical fashion.

He flinches back and holds his hands up in surrender. “Geez, sorry, I didn’t know.” It takes a moment, but their shared word registers. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re in love with Trevor?”

“What are you going to do?” Bea asks, waving a hand at Jack to silence him.

“Hide out in here for the rest of the weekend, probably,” Honey answers. She might’ve reached a pitch that only dogs can hear, but Bea and Jack seem to be faring well enough.

“Okay, not to interrupt again, but you know Trevor’s been fucking random girls all summer, right?” Jack continues.

“Oh my God, no, he hasn’t,” Honey says. The jig is up now and she doesn’t have time for Jack’s well-meaning warnings and confused comments. She has bigger problems.

“Yes, he has,” Jack insists. “He’s on Raya, dude. We’ve been talking about it for weeks. He’s very open about it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bea scoffs. She faces Jack and puts her hand on his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. “Jack, I love you dearly–”

Honey groans and covers her face with her hands.

“Sorry, Hon, I didn’t mean to trigger you.” Bea raises half of a hand-heart for Honey. “But, J, Trevor and Honey have been fucking for months. The Raya hookups were a cover.”

“What?” Jack looks at Honey, mouth open in surprise. He turns back to Bea. “And you knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course I didn’t tell you, no one knows!”

“What about Quinn?” Jack asks.

Bea relents. “Okay, Quinn knows. But Luke and Cole don’t know, so you have to shut up about it.”

Jack’s face turns from offended to slack and pale. “Oh, I’m not good at keeping secrets,” he says. Honey knows that– he’s said it before.

“I’ll give you two hundred dollars to keep your mouth shut,” Bea bargains.

Jack purses his lips. “Well, now, that’s an interesting point,” he muses.

“Hey, hi,” Honey urges, waving her hand at the duo on the bed. “Can we get back to my problem now?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t, like, call it a problem, necessarily?” Bea says, but she’s stammering a little when she says it.

Honey scoffs and widens her eyes, feeling like she’s going crazy. “You haven’t said it back to Quinn!”

“You haven’t said it back to Quinn?” Jack demands. He covers his face with his hands. “Oh my God, I should’ve just gone to bed after hooking up with Trixie. This is so much drama.”

“It’s not drama!” Bea exclaims. “Did Trevor say it back?”

“Yes!” Honey reveals, shrugging. She raises a hand and gestures into the air. “So what?”

“So what?” Bea repeats. “You have nothing to worry about. He said he loves you, you said you love him.”

“Other way around,” Honey corrects.

Bea stares at Honey for a beat, then starts to laugh. “Semantics! Dude, who cares? You’re in love! I bet he’s on the other side of the door, waiting for you to let him in so he can say it again.”

“I am, actually,” comes Trevor’s muffled voice. Honey feels one of his fingers poke her heel from the crack under the door. “Can you let me in?”

Honey resists the urge to stomp on his finger. She groans, tilting her head back and crumpling her face. She doesn’t want to face Trevor right now, for two reasons. One: she’s not over saying “I love you.” and two, it’s embarrassing. She ran away from him. She whines, slightly annoyed with herself, as she turns to the door and unlocks it. She turns the handle and Trevor crashes into the room in a similar manner as Honey did.

He kicks the door shut and brings his palms to Honey’s jaw, cradling her face in his hands. He kisses her hard. He stays there, then pulls away.

“Jack’s here,” Honey says.

“Hi, Z,” Jack supplies.

“I don’t care,” Trevor tells Honey. He lays kiss after kiss against her lips. He speaks between pecks. “I love you.” Peck. “Don’t run away.” Peck. “You said what I was getting ready to say, baby.” Peck. “I’m so glad you feel the same. I love you.”

Honey hums against his lips. “I love you, too,” she mumbles quietly. “I just–”

“Let me enjoy this for a second,” Trevor says, stopping her short. “Fuck, you make me happy.”

Honey relaxes with a little whimper, feeling a little wounded by how lovely he is. He’s so nice to her, even as wishy-washy as she’s been. He said he wasn’t going anywhere, even if he’s physically leaving at the end of the summer, and Honey is the one who’s constantly changing things up on Trevor. Ugh, how annoying.

Jack hoots from the bed, interrupting their moment. Bea, at least, had the decency to stay silent with a big grin on her face.

Trevor pulls away from Honey and glares at Jack. “Dude, get out.”

“You should be thanking me, bro,” Jack says as he stands from the bed. “I’m the one who told Honey that you like her in the first place.”

“Not to be like that, either,” Bea jumps in. “But this is technically my bedroom, and I’m a little sleepy, so I think you guys might have to wrap it up. You can consummate your love when we get back to Litchton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Well, it’s not okay with me.” Trevor rolls his eyes. His hands are still on Honey, but resting on her waist instead of cupping her cheeks. “This is kind of a big deal for us.”

“And I so get that, Trev,” Bea continues, inflecting her voice like Alexis from Schitt’s Creek. “But, also, I’m not leaving so you can have sex in the bed that I’m sleeping in after you’re done. That’s like, not…”

Honey dips her forehead and laughs. She pats Trevor’s chest and pushes him back towards the door. “It’s okay, Trev. It’s late.”

Trevor holds onto her hand and brings it to his lips, pouting. Jack catches Trevor’s shirt and tugs him towards the door.

Honey can barely contain a coy smile. “I love you,” she mouths as Jack drags him away. She brings a hand to her mouth and blows a kiss in his direction.

Trevor smiles as wide as Honey has ever seen and allows himself to be pulled from the room, barely catching the handle and closing the door behind him.

Bea jumps from the bed onto Honey’s back and screeches in her ear. She hugs Honey in a partial headlock, arms locked on Honey until she can’t breathe.

“Okay, get off of me,” Honey chokes out, slamming Bea into the mattress.

“This is so exciting,” Bea squeals. She hits Honey’s shoulder with each word. “Honey! This is so wonderful!”

“Can we just go to bed?” Honey asks, feeling her skin crawl a bit. Yes, everything is fine on paper, but another shoe has got to be on the precipice of dropping.

“Yes, but I’m cuddling you all night to celebrate,” Bea agrees. She grabs Honey’s shoulders and shakes her until Honey feels like her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Honey!”

“Shut up,” Honey groans. She buries herself under the covers, pulling the sheets over her head and disappearing into a lump.

“Are you so excited at least?” Bea aks, wrapping her arms around Honey’s middle and pressing her cheek into Honey’s back.

Honey smiles into the pillow. “It’s exciting,” she admits.

Bea squeals again and squeezes Honey’s waist like a belt that’s too tight.

“Alright, that’s enough, stop it with the Heimlich,” Honey scolds, pinching Bea’s forearm. Her grip slackens after a moment. “You already threw up tonight, I don’t want to either.”

“Do you think you’re going to?”

Honey’s not sure. It is a little nauseating to have said what she said to Trevor, even if he received it well. She said it back again and she wants to keep saying it back, but it’s still weird. She’ll either throw up from being excited or from being so surprised that she told Trevor how she feels.

She buries her face in the pillow and screams.

77:90 – TREVOR

Trevor has been riding on a high since last night. He’d been hesitant to tell Honey how he felt, how he loved her, but after running into Thomas and seeing how she’d handled that so well, Trevor had thought that there was no better time than the present.

He’d been trying to build up to it. He was praising the girl and trying to fill her head with a bunch of pretty– and genuine– compliments so that she didn’t freak out when he uttered those three words.

She’d said it first. Honey had beat him to the punch by about one second, which surprised Trevor. Her statement hadn’t really computed in his brain until after he’d said his piece, which is when he’d felt so surprised that all he could do was repeat himself.

It wasn’t surprising that Honey bolted after the fact. She’d been in an abject state of denial after calling Trevor her boyfriend by mistake the week prior, so it made sense that she was surprised and confused and frustrated with herself when she’d accidentally said “I love you.” Trevor knows Honey well enough to assume that she hadn’t meant to tell him that. He’d bet money on it.

It feels like a quick turnaround on paper, Trevor thinks. He’s never actually said “I love you” to anyone other than his family members and his closest friends, so he doesn’t know what the “right” time is. He’s known Honey for two and a half months now, but like she always says, mountain time passes differently. It feels more like he’s known her for five or six months. Quite frankly, Trevor has had feelings for Honey since he saw her outside of the grocery store on his first day in Litchton. He’s liked her since then and he can’t really pinpoint the moment that his admiration for Honey evolved into love, but it happened, and now they’re here.

They’re one step closer to telling everyone, too. Jack knows, which isn’t ideal since everyone knows that the boy can’t keep a secret, but Trevor’s okay with that. Sure, he threatened Jack and made sure he wasn’t going to tell Cole or Luke, but he only did that to protect what Honey wants. She might be in love with Trevor, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for everyone to know.

Which is why Trevor is managing to contain himself during their last trip to the beach this morning. Bea is skipping church because she’s on vacation, so everyone is together under the ocean sun for the last time this summer.

Honey looks practically edible in her red swimsuit. She reminds him of the classic Baywatch, the original series that Trevor would sometimes catch replays of when he was young. Yasmine Bleeth might’ve been Trevor’s first awakening, the one who made him realize that girls are pretty. Honey is yet another reminder and Trevor is having trouble keeping his eyes away from her.

She’s standing at the edge of the water with Cole. Occasionally, one of them will pick up a rock or a shell and skip it against the waves. One of Cole’s shells hits Luke, who is bobbing in the waves and tossing a football with Jack. Honey laughs with her whole body, bending at the waist.

“Eyes off, Trevor,” Bea murmurs, reaching out to slap at Trevor’s arm.

She’s lying next to him on her towel, back bared to the sky. The tie behind her back is undone to prevent an uneven tan, but Trevor thinks she has bigger problems to worry about. Quinn’s head is resting on the small of her back and his arm is wrapped around her body, palm flat on her hip. Talk about an uneven tan, Trevor thinks.

“Why?” he questions. “It’s not like anyone up here doesn’t know about it.”

Bea groans. “Because you’re being obvious. I know that you’re in love, or whatever, but Luke and Cole don’t know anything.”

“She looks hot,” Trevor argues. “Maybe I’m just ogling her because she’s sexy. Cole and Luke can’t argue with that.”

“Do you really want Cole and Luke to ask you why you’re looking at Honey like that?” Bea points out. “You’ll have to tell them she’s hot and then they’ll look at Honey like she’s hot.”

“And they’d be right to think that,” Trixie adds in a disinterested voice. She’s preoccupied with the stack of papers in one hand and the legal pad balanced on her knee. She waves her hair out of her face and looks at Trevor, tilting her head down to that she can meet his eyes above the rims of her sunglasses. “You’re lucky that she decided to date you.”

“I know,” Trevor replies, feeling like he has to defend himself against the sisters. He doesn’t take advantage of being Honey’s boyfriend, nor does he take her for granted. He knows that their relationship is still pretty fragile and new, even if they love each other.

Bea hums, squinting at him. She seems to decide to take his word for it, because she changes the subject. “I gave Jack $200 to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible,” Quinn mumbles. He picks his head up and turns to face the back of Bea’s head. “You don’t have to pay Jack to keep their secret.”

Bea shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’d rather pay him to stay silent than just have blind faith in him.”

Quinn snorts and kisses down Bea’s spine. “I think the world is lucky that you’re not in a position of power,” he comments. “If you’re so willing to resort to bribery.”

“What has Ada been teaching you at that store, Bea?” Trixie jumps in. “I hope you’re not bribing customers or your suppliers. I’d get so fired for bribing people.”

“We’re not allowed to bribe people either,” Quinn adds. “Although I bet Z would if he could. Anaheim sucks.”

“I would not,” Trevor refutes. He’s still fighting with the group and defending himself. They start laughing like it’s all some big joke, but his feathers are still ruffled. Trevor huffs and turns away from them, looking back at Honey and Cole.

Cole has Honey thrown over his shoulder and he’s marching into the waves. She’s shrieking and Cole stumbles over the sandbar and sends them both tumbling into the waves. Honey surfaces with a sputter and pushes Cole into a wave, jumping onto him and holding him underwater. Luke and Jack get involved not long after.

The rest of the day passes far faster than Trevor would like. They eat cold cut sandwiches as a group for lunch. Jack gets far too sunburnt, despite Honey and Bea’s better efforts to convince him to wear sunscreen. He claimed he didn’t need it since he tans well, but his pink skin is proof that he doesn’t tan as well as he thinks he does.

In the afternoon, Trixie runs up to the house and gets a volleyball. They play beach volleyball without a net, instead drawing a line in the sand that marks the barriers of the game. They don’t keep track of who’s winning or who’s on what team. The game isn’t serious and there’s a boatload of cheating– Bea pushes Luke over while his head it turned towards the sky, despite being on the same team, and they all laugh about it. Jack puts Honey on his shoulders so she can block a hit from Trixie. The ball ends up hitting her straight in the chest and knocks the wind out of her. When they finally head up to the house in the early evening, Honey’s still got an imprint of the ball on her skin. She calls it her battle scar and compares it to the mark on Quinn’s cheek. Quinn tells Honey that hers will fade.

For dinner, they eat the burgers that Trevor had bought when they ran into Thomas. Trixie whips up a salad to go with the meal and they all eat at her dining room table.

After dinner, they pack and divide into cars. Honey, Bea, and Quinn take Quinn’s rental car back. Trevor, Jack, Luke, and Cole are relegated to the other car. They speed home, losing Quinn’s car within the second hour, once they pass Raleigh. Cole falls asleep halfway through the drive and doesn’t wake up until they get back to Litchton.

One of Honey’s favorite songs starts to play from Trevor’s liked songs as they turn onto the main road. He closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest. Jack has the windows rolled down and the air smells clearer up here.

Trevor can’t imagine driving down this mountain in two weeks, knowing that he won’t be back until next year.

25 notes · View notes