#its bc there is only one plug in my room and its on the other side of the room from my bed so if its charging i cant be on it

[victim9d]

it is technically bed time but my phone battery is low so. Perhaps. I am around vibing for a few minutes maybe

[aturnoftheearth]

going to explode forever

[chocosvt]

HER | part four.

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

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

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight. 

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy. 

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me… if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.  

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like… did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you  some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow��with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you.  I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections  of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

 But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!” 

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”  

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.  

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay.  So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks. 

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July,  he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

[chvoswxtch]

hello! I hope ur having a good day! I have a request if you’re up to it! we’ve always had Professor matt so to spice things up can we have a college!matt x professor!reader? he’s actively trying to gain the pretty professor’s attention and she’s slowly falling for it. you can make it fluffy or spicy or smutty. its all up to you!

hi nonnie!

I hope you're having a good day as well! I genuinely loved this idea bc we all know matty is a flirt but I feel like college!matty is a HUGE flirt and would totally go after the pretty professor. and honestly, she would eat that shit up, let's be real. but who wouldn't???

thank you so much for the request! ❤️

warning: contains mentions of sexual content (minors please dni), swearing word count: 3k

office hours.

When Matt was reminded by his advisor that he needed to take a literature course to satisfy his degree plan, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. He had been continuously putting it off, but with one final semester left of undergrad, he couldn’t graduate without it. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t enjoy reading, he simply just wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t have to do with his program. He’d read enough “classic literature” and written enough analysis essays in high school, and he wasn’t looking forward to going through that agonizing process again. Reluctantly, he signed up for the last course available.

Taking a seat in the very back of the small classroom, Matt set up his laptop and plugged an earbud into his ear, prepared to appear engaged while he got started on a project for another class. All around him seats filled up with other students, but it wasn’t until he caught the sweet scent of pink grapefruit and blue wisteria that his fingers stilled over his keyboard. He turned his head slightly to the side towards the wall as the scent rushed down the hall, accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Matt’s head snapped towards the front when you walked through the classroom door slightly out of breath, heat in your cheeks from the run, and also a twinge of embarrassment. 

“Probably not the best first impression to be late on the first day of class, but in my defense, I’m still learning how to navigate New York. I can’t promise I won’t be late again, so we won’t be counting tardies in this class, to a reasonable limit.”

An anxious giggle left your lips, and luckily everyone seemed to find the humor in your admission. Matt’s lips parted slightly at the sound, and he quickly ripped the earbud out of his ear as you introduced yourself.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please call me Y/N. This is my first year teaching, and you guys are my second class, so we’re figuring this all out together.”

Another timid giggle left your lips, and Matt clenched his fist tightly as the sound settled in his ears. 

“I don’t expect perfection, I just want you guys to do your best. We aren’t reading things some arrogant ‘expert’ decided was a classic, or writing mind numbing papers identifying every literary device to prove you know what they are. I want to show you works that move you and make you think…make you feel. And I want to know what they make you think, and how they make you feel. The only way to fail this class is to not try.”

God your voice. It was as sweet as your perfume and had a velvet cadence that stuck to Matt’s ears like honey. He wanted to listen to you talk for hours, about anything. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest throughout the duration of class, and you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you paced slowly around. You were incredibly nervous. Matt could feel it in the tremble of your fingers, hear it in the slight shake of your voice, and feel it in the rush of blood that never left your cheeks. He found it endearing that you were so anxious, and could hear how passionate you were in the way you spoke. Everything about you drew him in, and before he could stop himself, he was marching up to your desk once everyone filed out of the room to introduce himself.

“Excuse me? Hi, my name is-”

“Matthew Murdock, right?”

Matt abruptly paused, and he swallowed the sound that threatened to come out of his mouth at the way you said his name.

“J-just Matt, uh…yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Y/N.”

Your hand was so soft and small clasped in his own, and he could faintly smell the scent of blackberry from a lotion you’d smoothed over your body the previous evening. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You have perfect timing, I was actually just about to come to you.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter, already missing your touch as you slowly let go of his hand.

“You were?”

“Yeah, this is for you.”

You lightly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, carefully guiding his hand to a folder that you had outstretched in your hand. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly as he let his fingers glide over the folder, pausing as they ran over a braille label that had his name on it. Taking the folder into his hands, he opened it to find stacks of paper in braille on the inside.

“It’s the syllabus, a list of the works we’re studying, and the first section of notes we’re going to go over. I wasn’t sure if you were able to access the digital copies. I’m still trying to figure out how the portal works, honestly.”

There was a timid smile that stretched across your mouth, and Matt could hear a slight bit of nerves in your confession. For a moment he was stunned silent by the kind gesture, swallowing thickly as he closed the folder and offered you a small smile in return.

“I-uh…yeah, I was able to. But um…I-thank you. For this, I uh…I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I like to have tangible copies of things, myself. Helps keep me organized. Or, at least I think it does. Maybe it’s a sensory thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking it’s making me more productive.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle as you giggled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“I can understand that.”

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, any help or accommodations at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me. All my information is on the syllabus, and I practically live here since I never go home, so my office is always open.”

“Good to know.”

From that day forward, Matt sat in the front row for every single class. He blitzed through every single text on the syllabus, always prepared to participate in the discussions, and approached every assignment early. He wanted so badly to impress you, and his chest swelled with pride every time you complimented one of his thoughts or ideas, or stayed behind after class to offer your positive verbal feedback on one of his assignments. 

Matt knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted the pretty, young professor’s attention. He could hear the way the other students in class talked about you, which caused a tide of possessiveness to rise in his chest. Matt could also feel your affect on them as you smiled in their direction, or offered a compliment to one of their remarks, and it made jealousy simmer in his bloodstream. He was determined to be your favorite.

He found himself constantly stopping by your office hours to feign needing help or a second opinion on his approach to a paper, mainly as an excuse to talk to you alone, but also to scratch that itch of praise when you confirmed he was on the right track. Matt knew he was smart, and he knew he wrote incredible papers, but he liked hearing that come from you. 

He loved when you complimented his intelligence. Was it wrong to fake being unsure just to hear you say, “That’s exactly right, Matt” or “I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but I love that idea”? Probably. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt good.

Matt had to be careful playing dumb. You both knew he was smart, so he had to switch his tactics up. He found himself asking for other recommendations for reading material from you, wanting to know what your favorite works were, going out to buy them and consume them just to get a glimpse into your head, and then listen to the passion in your voice as you explained why they meant so much to you. He liked that you asked him questions too, questions he didn’t hear you ask any of the others when they stopped by. You asked him about how his other classes were going, how his day had been, about himself and his friends, and he could tell you genuinely cared about the answers. Every second he spent with you, he felt the crush he had on you getting stronger and stronger. He knew the way he felt about you was wrong. You were his professor, and he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about you that he did.

He shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time you smiled in his direction and showered his mind in praise. He shouldn’t feel the spark of something more when you let him hold your arm as you guided him towards your office, reveling in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He shouldn’t stroke his cock to the sound of your voice from a recorded lecture, waiting to let himself come until it got to the part of the recording where you said his name so sweetly. He shouldn’t be waking up with a wet patch on his sweats after yet another wet dream about fucking you over your desk. All of this was wrong, and the good Catholic boy in him knew that.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Because every time he started to feel guilty about what he was doing, he reminded himself of the way your body reacted to him.

Matt was careful with his flirting, crafting his sentences in a way that could be played off as casual conversation or banter, but riddled with undertones that could only be understood by the person given the cipher. The blood that rushed into your cheeks when Matt complimented you back or said something teasing that made you giggle only fueled his confidence to get bolder and bolder as the weeks went by. 

He heard the uptick in your heart rate when he mentioned how soothing he found your voice, and the way it pounded beneath your ribs when he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your exposed thigh to reach for his backpack. He felt the warmth that pooled in your cheeks when he stopped by with your favorite coffee, and when he confessed that you were one of the best professor’s he’d ever had; definitely “his favorite”, he had said. He should’ve felt bad that he could possibly ruin a career that you were clearly very passionate about, but the selfish part of his brain was screaming that you felt it too. 

With spring break approaching soon, and the thought of going a whole week without being around you, Matt devised a plan to finally make you his.

The building was empty considering most professors and students had left the previous day to get a head start on vacation plans, but Matt smiled to himself hearing your familiar heartbeat coming from your office. You had made class today optional, in case anyone was traveling or needed the break, and Matt had hoped that he would’ve been the only one to show up. To his disappointment, about half the class was there, but he knew he would get you alone soon enough. Matt waited until your office hours were just about to end, in case any other student had some last minute question, and when he was certain that it was just the two of you alone, he raised his knuckles to knock softly on the worn wood of your open door.

A quiet gasp left your lips, clearly surprised by the company, and Matt had to stop the cocky smirk that threatened to take over his mouth at the way your heart started to beat faster noticing his presence.

“Matt, hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t miss your office hours, did I?”

“Uh…nope. You have exactly a minute.”

Matt’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin at the playful tone in your voice, chuckling as he followed the familiar path from the door to the chair that was directly in front of your desk.

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. I know you have very important spring break plans to get to.”

“Oh yeah. Super important. I mean, my takeout isn’t gonna order itself.”

Matt dropped his backpack on the right side of the chair, folding up his cane as he sank back into the plush cushion and tossed it down by his feet. He pulled off his glasses and set them on your desk, a habit he had gotten into since you’d let it slip that you preferred it when he didn’t wear them.

I feel like you hide behind those, sometimes. It’s nice to get to see all of you, Matt.

His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips as he fixed his gaze in your direction, a timid smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I actually need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Matt. Whatever you need. What can I do?”

Matt gripped onto his own thigh to steady himself, your immediate response and sweet voice hitting his cock before they even reached his ears. His lips parted slightly when you sat up a little straighter in your chair, leaning in closer over your desk with a warm smile on your lips.

“I need a letter of recommendation for the law program.”

“And you’re asking me?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised tone of your voice, shaking his head slowly as he leaned in closer to your desk and rested his elbows on the surface.

“I already have a few from my other professors, but my advisor mentioned having one from a professor outside of my main area of study would make me seem more…well rounded.”

Matt should’ve felt horrible about lying. He didn’t actually need a letter of recommendation from you. He’d applied to the law program months ago, and had already gotten in, but he would confess that later.

“Mm, so I’m next in line to make you look good?”

“Well, you are my favorite, and you have a way of making everything sound beautiful. If I’d taken your class a long time ago like I was supposed to, I probably would’ve asked you first before anyone else.”

Matt didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath you took, or the way your face instantly became a few degrees warmer.

“You wouldn’t have been able to take my class earlier, Matt. This is my first year, remember? You would’ve been stuck with someone else.”

“I guess I forget sometimes because you’re so good at this. But, that’s true. I don’t think I would’ve liked who I got stuck with as much as I like you. I’m glad I waited for you.”

Matt did his best to stay calm as he heard you swallow thickly, your breathing becoming a little more shallow as your heart rate drummed loudly in his ears.

“That’s…really nice of you to say, Matt-”

“I mean it.”

A blanket of tension suddenly surrounded the two of you, and his lips parted slightly as he caught a faint shudder course through you. Your fingers clutched the hem of your dress where it settled high on your thighs, digging your nails lightly into your palms through the fabric. Matt was waiting for your body to give him a signal, indisputable proof that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, before he crossed that line the two of you had been dancing around.

“Um…when do you need it by?”

“The earlier the better, I’m a little behind. But, take your time. I’d like this to be as…real and honest as possible.”

“I…um…I can have it ready for you by the time we come back from spring break.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate everything that you do for me, truly.”

“O-of course. It’s my job, Matt.”

Matt’s voice dropped an octave lower as he cocked his head to the side slightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip before the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a devilish smirk. 

“No. I think it’s more than that.”

Bingo.

The second he felt you press your thighs together under the desk and the enticing scent of your arousal hit his nose, Matt knew he had you. He rose from the chair steadily, gliding around the side of your desk slowly like a predator circling in on its prey, grabbing onto the sides of your chair as he bent over so that your faces were merely an inch apart.

“I think you know that too, sweetheart.”

“Matt-”

“I think if I put my hand between these pretty thighs, you’d be just as wet for me as I am hard for you.”

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you sank back further into your chair, fighting the urge to spread your thighs to let Matt test his own theory, and averting your gaze from the prominent bulge in his jeans. 

“We can’t-”

Matt lightly grasped your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. He delicately traced his thumb along your bottom lip, leaning in ever so slightly to bump his nose against yours as he inhaled your scent deeply.

“You’ve done so much for me. Been so good to me, sweetheart. Shown me so much kindness. I’d like to repay that kindness, and show you how much I appreciate you. You gonna let me do that?”

A soft whine of desperation sounded in your throat, and a huge grin split across Matt’s mouth as you leaned further into his touch. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Yes you are. Because you’re my girl. My good girl.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[ohbo-ohno]

i know we're all on the serial killer au rn (which... god. yeah. fuckin hell. i have nothing to add its so immaculate) but my brain is still lingering on puppyboy soap and punishments. and reader being made to watch his more brutal punishments... what do u think those punishments are? bc we know johnny is like the biggest masochist ever and the only way to really punish him is to deny him of pleasure. so how does simon manage other punishments knowing he's probably just going to enjoy them?

- 🪶

feather!!!! the prodigal horny son returns!!!

Not doing as much x reader stuff for this one! I think that version of Johnny is like impossible to punish because he’s so horny all the time so I’m gonna have some fun with another version of Johnny that has some actual humility and can in fact be punished

Also if anyone is interested: wrote more of ghost being very mean to soap here and here

Two words: Public. Humiliation. Fastest way to get Johnny teary and desperate is to fuck with him in public.

Ghost will fuck him in an unlocked room, hold Johnny’s jaw open so he can’t block his wails and moans. Doesn’t let him cum, leaves him there with his pants down for anyone to see - or use :(

Gropes him beneath a table for everyone around to see, rubs his cock and balls, gets poor Johnny all whiney and shifty. Makes him lean his full weight into Ghost, looks up at him with desperate puppy dog eyes, can’t stand to look anywhere else because he doesn’t want to know if anyone else is looking

Pins him against the mirror in the gym. Slips a hand down his shorts and jacks him off, doesn’t bother to weight for people to leave. Just gets him off right there, makes him paint the inside of his shorts and doesn’t let him change, makes him keep working out all messy

Has Soap shower with a cock cage on. Makes him shower at one of the busiest times, gives him an itty bitty little towel so he’s got nothing to hide behind. Does wonders for Johnny’s ego problem

Makes him wear a tail plug all day. Leaves poor Johnny with an awkward shape in the back of his pants, spends all day horrified at the thought of someone else knowing what he’s wearing. Ghost will do anything he needs to to remind him he’s a puppy though <3

He’d also love denial as a punishment with Johnny. Refuses to fuck him, just thrusts between his thighs (makes him squeeze them real tight for him) until he gets off, paints Johnny’s swollen balls with his cum. Flops into his back with a big, satisfied sigh and ignores the whining mutt next to him

Locks him in a cock cage and milks his prostate. Gets Johnny’s balls nice and empty but doesn’t let him quite finish, leaves him sobbing and miserable. Simon makes him lick his mess up, then locks him in the cage for the night so he doesn’t have to deal with his humping. Falls asleep to his sniffles and cries

Also - beatings for sure. Simon tears Johnny’s ass to shreds. Even as a masochist, Johnny’s got a point where it stops being pleasurable (in some universes at least lol) and Ghost is more than willing to go past that point. Beats him black and fucking blue, totally has one of those paddles with a word engraved on it - maybe one with Simon and one with Bitch or something, just to really ham home what Johnny is

Could see him caning the bottom of Johnny’s feet if he refuses to crawl :( Puppy wanted to stand like a person so bad yesterday, now he can’t put any pressure on his feet at all without sobbing. Poor thing. Just crawls along behind Ghost like a good dog should

[bytedykes]

Nie mingjue and liu qingge for the character ask game?

Sexuality Headcanon: im a nieyao/3zun truther so like he likes men... lqg is my beautiful aroace swordguy <333

Gender Headcanon: I LOVE BUTCH WOMEN!!!! ok both of them are men to me as canon, but like. take my hand. butch nmj and he/him butch lqg okay?

A ship I have with said character: i guess i already said but Big fan of nieyao i like it when weird assholes tear each other into pieces ^-^ 3zun is also good. for lqg i like him in bingliushen but only the way i personally like it and not the way people usually do it. hes a part of their marriage in the sense that he's their nonsexual nonromantic chew toy that they like sooo much. also lqg/tlj can be really good sometimes (thinking of raitala's 'the reluctant suitor' series - very nice tianliu series but also one of my fave lqg characterizations i've seen lol he's such a weirdo in this one)

A BROTP I have with said character: nmj and nhs!!! i love you nie siblings you rock. also i like nielan childhood friends i think its very fun especially when they start falling apart in the later years <3 an interesting take ive seen before also is nmj&wq which is pretty fun. LQG&SQQ THE BESTIES <3 theyre everything !!! i really like them i like how much they genuinely enjoy each others company and how fucking Bad they are at like. being in a friendship its awesome. also as a treat for myself lqg&yqy is sooo tasty i love it when lqg genuinely likes and looks up to him and yqy is fond of him in turn. could a sect leader and his coworker-subordinate really be... friends?

A NOTP I have with said character: obviously ew incest ships but aside from that i cant really think of anything? lqg x romance my notp i think he's so aro. also okay. okay honestly. liushen sometimes NOT all the time but sometimes the way ppl act about it irks me and i automatically look away. like the blatantly ooc fandomized liushen. bye </3

A random headcanon: lqg forest puddle water drinkerrrr dkjaskdss no im kidding im kidding. my random headcanon ("random headcanon" lol) is that he has good dad energy. he could pull thru. give that man a baby :] can i plug spring in bloom here again does anyone want to read spring in bloom by kay my friend kay <3 also i think he's immune to sex pollen bc he's an aroace jock who just exercises it out of his system. no basis for this one other than it's hilarious

for nmj... i think he secretly has a very annoying sense of humor that many people don't know about but he terrorizes nhs with. dad jokes type of beat... da-ge jokes <3

General Opinion over said character: I FUCKING LOVE THESE GUYS!!!!! i love it when there is a guy with a big fucking sword who has sooo many problems. lol! anyway ok more specifically:

i thought nmj was very interesting while reading the novel and definitely had a "hey wtf dude" initial reaction to him, but he's reallyyy grown on me <3 partially bc he's been on my mind a lot and partially bc of his presence in cql! (cql nmj is my type also so that definitely did smth to me as well lol) i think he's a really interesting character to explore both bc of his general backstory and bc of his relationships w other characters, as well as the fact that (in the novel) we never really see him of completely sound mind, so there's lots of room to play w how you portray him. he's fun!

lqg i love soooo much i loved him from day ONE i loved him as soon as he showed up. he's so good. i think his appearance was a very funny surprise (?), esp the way sqq narrated it lmao, and i really like him in general. i loveee the loyal sword character trope and i like how lqg does it (so well <3). his general awkwardness and extreme talent to put his foot in his mouth is also really charming ("its ok you can just get a new disciple" what is wrong with him). i also think there's room to explore w him, especially his family + relationships w other sect members, i love you liu siblings... lqg is a character who goes through a lot of growth imo and it's very satisfying to see that + how his rs with sqq changes through the novel. lqg is also a character that is so fun to put into situations and also make fun of. bc he's so sucks <3 ANYWAY I FUCKING LOVE LQG if there is no lqg lovers on this earth i am dead etc

TYSM FOR THE ASK KAY <333 sorry it took me so long to answer LMAO it was really fun though

[nothing-more-than]

✨️ A proper tour of my feeding tube!! ✨️

Putting it below a readmore link bc it'll be a little (read: very) long <3 It isn't graphic though!

The tube!! There's a little balloon in my tummy to hold the tube in, and a rubbery disc against my skin to help hold things in place. The numbers and lines on the tube are meant to tell me if my tube has slipped out/pushed further in, so I can adjust it as needed (or contact my doctor if it's a significant amount of movement). The tube isn't connected to the disc, and can move independently of it.

Then we have the tube itself, with its three chambers and ports:

The Gastric port, aka the G port, that leads to my stomach. I use this for meds crushed in water, as well as draining my stomach when I feel ill, because my tummy isn't very good at processing things I consume.

The Jejunal port, aka the J port, that leads to the beginning of my small intestines, is the one I use for my feedings. I have to flush it with water four times a day to prevent the thick formula from clogging it up.

Lastly, we have the Bal. port, aka the Balloon port. The Balloon port was just used to inflate the balloon, so I don't do anything with it. When it's time to replace my tube with a shiny new one, they'll snip the tube with a scissors, and the air will leak out of the balloon, allowing them to remove the tube.

Here we have the tube connected to the feed bag! It has a cute purple cap for the end, so I can keep my formula from leaking everywhere or getting contaminated while I stop my feedings for water flushes. I like to loop it and put it in my cute zebra print clip, to hold my tube up and shorten the length of tube I have to deal with.

The feed bag tube goes through a pump, then connects to the bag, all hung on my iv pole!

(Sorry for the shaky pic, I have pretty bad hand tremors from a medication side effect rn).

There's a screen to display my dose, rate, and how much I've consumed during my current feeding. I can just click the labelled button and it'll show me what I wanna see/adjust! It also explains whatever alarm might end up going off, such as 'NO FOOD' (when my feed bag runs out), or 'PUSH PAUSE TO START' (for when I pause a feeding and forget to continue it after I've finished whatever I was doing). Oh and it shows if it is actually running, along w how much battery life it has left! I plug it in each night after I've finished feeding for the day.

The screen does light up when it's plugged in, but I don't like dragging the cord all over the floor when I move around, so I just deal with the dim screen.

Then there's the feed bag (which will actually change now that I get pre-filled ones). The tube comes out the bottom, and at the top is a cap you can twist off to add more formula. Each bag (and tubing) is only used for one day, as it isn't sanitary enough to continue using it for more than 24 hours. The other style of bag I'll be getting can be used for 48 hours max.

Each bag can hold up to 1200ml of formula, but I only fill it half full and add the rest later, as I don't like when it's super heavy. The lines and numbers along the side show you roughly how much formula is in there, the key word here being Roughly. It's not always accurate.

BONUS: Here's my table! When I first got home, I was in so much pain I could barely move, so my bed was put in the living room, and I have a table with baskets of everything I might need. I've got headphones and gaming things, tissues, socks and headbands, my planner, and tooons of meds. I'm also borrowing my brother's grabber thing-- I use it to turn on the light behind me :3

BONUS 2: Here's a self-portrait I did shortly after I got my tube, expressing the struggle I've experienced while healing and adjusting to my new situation. It was a rough couple of weeks, but I made it through, and things are finally starting to look up now. I'm eager to start sharing the things I've learned, and what I'm still learning!

And that's it!! I hope this was interesting or helpful <3 You're welcome to ask questions about anything, either here or at my main blog @arcadian-vampire . Thank you for your time!

[cheswirls]

oh the woes of having multiple hobbies....

i think it being artfight month is making me sink back into the 'i shouldn't want to do anythin but draw until this is done' mood i usually have during the semester which is.. ick, kinda

the other day i had the urge to write (unmedicated too!! that doesn't happen very often anymore!) and i should've jus acted upon that but i ended up guilttripping myself w the whole 'you should do art instead its only 30 days its only once a year' which is already so suffocating. i ended up doing neither actually in part bc i psyched myself out abt making a choice so in the nd i made no choice (typical when unmedicated so this is the okay-ish norm tbh) and think i tired myself out enough to go to sleep. i woke up to an art file on my laptop so i intented to start smth i guess

also i think checking out an ipad from campus during the semester is so much easier to draw on vs the hassle that is drawing on my display tablet these days. i miss my wacom if only bc it was wireless and thin and easy to power on and get going. with this new tablet i have to plug in 3 diff cords and its bulkier nd i gotta scoot my laptop on my desk to still be in reach bc the tablet has no touch function and it takes A LOT of power and effort out of my laptop thats 12 yrs old now. it makes drawing digitally that much more of a chore tbh and is partially the reason i've doodled so much traditionally in the past year and kept all my digital art for uni work only

which another point. is uh. idk i think i'm rambling now but. last year i got super excited for artfight and drafted a bunch of stuff digitally and was sitting at the coffee table in the main room of my apt for the first time in so long and it was going well until i got rly into tetherverse again n started working on the sequel like mad and that stole away a lot of my drawing motivation. i had two handfuls of of artfight attacks sketched and only ever finished a SINGLE one last year which was terribly disappointing. and then i think realizing that at the end of the month absolutely killed my desire to work on the writing project i'd grown so passionate about too. vicious cycle all around rly.

i dont want it to be llike that this year but once again now that artfight is here even tho its a fun thing i've made it a "requirement" in my mind which kills all my passion to work on it. i think the term is... obligation? when something turns from doing it for fun into an obligation i Have to complete then i lose allllllll motivation and desire to do it. it's THEEE reason i'm always telling my dad i could never write books for a living, bc writing is a hobby first nd foremost and although i enjoy it a lot i know as soon as i become tied down to a project and i Have To complete it or face consequences then it will suck all the fun out of it

this is the same way for school and part of the reason uni's been so hard since.... ever, really, and it's jus taken me long to realise it. i get really into an art project at the start and then as deadlines and check-ins and such creep up i become less and less engaged. i have no trouble completing things in one sitting if given the time to do so if i'm 100% invested and engaged. during spring break 2022 i stayed up for almost three nights and two days and did nothing but research and write almost 25k for a fic opener. if i had work or anything else those days i literally cannot recall. the only thing i remember doing is taking a break to walk 15min to go and pay rent and that's when it rly set in how much caffeine i'd had and how long i'd been up writing.

all of that to say that if i'm into something i can waste away working until it's done. i've said this before bit making a wip folder for art Killed™ my art creating process. i used to have one file open and work on it until it was done, and if that took me more than one full day then i'd sleep on it and finish it the very next day. i don't rmember that happening very often. now i leave things unfinished all the time and its terrible. i also have a Lot Less free time to be fair but also. also. i cannot multitask so as soon as i save a wip and move on to the next it fucking bites the dust. i've gotten into the habit of leaving smth unfinished in another window on csp in hopes that i'll jump bck to it but i stopped that after a while bc i jus collect windows like i collect internet browser tabs.

i also think to go along w the time thing.. i have to mentally acknowledge that i have sufficient time to devote to smth. i'm not the type of person that can do smth for 15 min then jump up and do smth else. if i could write 100 words a day for a fic every day then i'd have far, far less wips than i do now. its harder especially to do this for fic bc a lot of what i do is longer work and sometimes i have to sink into it. if i'm writing for a 50k+ fic i haven't touched for even a month then i need time to go over what i have and what my plans are. it's much harder to work on a longer fic after a bit has passed than it is to pick up a shorter one bc it requires less time to dive back into the world. especially if its been like 6mo-1yr, before i even start writing again i gotta reread everything i've written up to that point. that takes more than a day, and i might get tired and move on to smth else before i've even finished rereading which is so exhausting. it's exhausting to work on so many diff things at once.

with art that means i gotta have time to fight w my display tablet and get everything settled. it takes so much work and effort that if i only have a couple hours, i feel like even that's not enough bc i know i'll have to stop before i'm done. if it takes me 90 minutes to get into drawing and i gotta be ready to leave in another 30 then like whats???? the point rly???? that's how i think tho!!!! it sucks !!!!! if i'm up at 8am but ik i have smth to do at 5p then my whole day revolves around that thing happening in 9 hrs. when it hits 12p i theoretically have enough time to do smth but executive dysfunction makes it hard to pick a singular task to prioritize, and when its 3hrs away from w/e i have to do suddenly nothing is worth it anymore. i'm very much a 'sink into it' creative person which means i cannot jus dive in and work on smth. i gotta have music, i gotta have some focus, i gotta be comfortable, i gotta have my mood set to w/e i'm doing, i gotta know what direction i'm going in,a nd i gotta have energy and enthusiasm to do said creative task. all of that aligning w/ inattentive adhd is so hard and makes life so miserable, but this is compounded even moreeeeeee by not being able to work unless i make my mind feel like i have ample time to do so. mainly bc if i get rly into smth then have to stop for an obligation that i'd rather do less (mainly work! rather would do anything but work but alas) than what i'm doing currently then it drains all my energy very rapidly and i get so disappointed. w/e i'm doing after, whether it be work or class or w/e, is with an air of such disdain bc it interrupted the 'special thing i was doing' that it makes life hell in all honesty. i want to put myself thru that the least amount of times possible which is why i never start anything i know i'll have to put down w/o being able to finish. let me rephrase that. being able to finish as i'd like it. working on a super long fic but writing enough for a chapter or running out of steam on my own and finishing a scene and then being dragged away to smth else is fine, bc i've "finished" on my end even if not in full. it's being interrupted in the middle of the process when i'm not ready to quit, basically. that kind of "finished" is what i mean. if i have 2 hrs and it takes me an hr to find references and i'm not exhausted after that then another 20m to sketch smth decent and only with like half an hr or so left am i into what i'm doing then what's the point?? especially when, as established, i can push a drawing into the wip folder and forget abt it if i'm no longer "into it" when i'm back and have time to draw again.

long rambling i'm tired of but basically it's the season of drawing obligations again and i wanna try this year to have fun and do what i want but ALSo not feel guilty abt doing smth that is not drawing for other ppl, which i already do so much of year round anyway (i love it, this is not a complaint). i wanna be able to write and play pkmn and read and do whatever and not feel like i Have to be artfighting every second of the day.

[vitos-ordination-song]

There’s lots of things I could note about my Evangelical upbringing but I’d say one of the ways that adults demonstrated their authority was by restricting normal child behaviors and enforcing boredom. That’s true of child socialization in many places around the world, especially in school contexts, but mine had that religious dimension. And it was something my parents enjoyed doing.

It wasn’t until the last few years that I realized that other churches didn’t have hour+ long sermons. And mine were always boring. I actually loved the music, I think my church had good music esp for the type of church it was, its parent church was way more megachurch shit. But the sermons were devoid of meaning or always on the same 2 facile themes, always a white male 40s-70s preacher. I don’t remember any hate spewing from the pulpit or anything much political, but I could be forgetting things bc 1) I was young and indoctrinated myself, 2) I just don’t remember the sermons at all bc there was nothing to them! Not a one was memorable or stuck with me. So every church service turned into me sitting and staring at the ceiling. I remember some people came and went from the auditorium but my parents judged them and forced us to attend even tho most other parents allowed their kids to go to the kid services (I went to them sometimes but I remember a particular episode where my dad forced me to stay in the service even tho it started snowing and all the other kids went outside!! It barely snowed where I grew up I was so pissed).

School had its normal boringness and in elementary/middle school i only had occasional religious services in school. But then in high school I went to a MUCH worse school, both educationally and politically. And my first school taught young earth creationism so that should tell you something. The religious service was held weekly, had AWFUL modern Christian rock, and featured manipulative youth pastor speakers or testaments. Their speeches were usually at least 30 minutes and sometimes strayed into hate or politics or shaming. Then at this school I had to go to Christian retreats where they tried to psychologically break you down through music and manipulation, they made us do awful games and “team building exercises,” and the sermons were THREE TO SIX HOURS A DAY. One of the preachers my first year went on a rant about how God knew if you were “in this room right now” and didn’t believe in him. It freaked me out because I wasn’t a Christian by the end of middle school and I’d gone to this school against my will, which made everything worse! I had mental a breakdown every time I was on that trip.

My parents would do stuff like make us sit and watch long boring movies or Christian/political propaganda. I was taken to an anti-Obama movie which played into the “he might be Muslim” thing, I was forced to watch PragerU at the dinner table, I was forced to watch a creationist movie, I had to listen to Rush Limbaugh until I literally cut my parents off bc they were obsessed w him, and I saw Dennis Prager himself live with my mom, against my will, with one of her ghoulish friends! Beyond all that boring and stressful waste of time, my parents also forced us to sit at the dinner table “as a family” most nights. We had to eat even if we didn’t want to and sometimes talk if we didn’t want to; other times we were expected to stay silent. Usually dinner was longer than an hour, often marked by adult outbursts or childish fighting (w each other or parents). You had to sit at the table until you finished everything they told you you had to finish. So more just sitting around because someone has arbitrary control.

It’s no wonder i had to completely remake my personality, learn everything over again, and get out of that environment to be who I really wanted to be. And also no wonder that I now try to keep myself occupied if not always plugged in.

[junewongapologia]

I don't actually think that Edmund sucks, I think Austen fandom is way harsher on him than he really deserves. I think mostly bc we don't see him grovel (for want of a better word) like we do the other heroes whose flaws take up a large part of the story. Which, like, fair, honestly, I want him to grovel too, she deserves it, and I've hated characters for not being appropriately sorry before, but I personally find it easier to forgive Edmund because of how thoroughly his own sense of judgement is undermined and shaken by the end of the story.

Conversely, people are way easier on Crawford, who is actually a worse person, and who Fanny wouldn't be happy with - she says she would be miserable with him and I have no reason not to believe her.

I have a lot of sympathy for Edmund in that I feel like he's kind of desperately trying to be good and dutiful, but hes young and daft and blinkered by his family, his upbringing and his situation. Like, he's brought home immediately after uni to run his dad's estate. I couldn't have done that at 21, and I think it makes sense that he's not good at it. I like his character as someone with a fundamental moral centre who nonetheless struggles to properly apply it.

Do I want him to be better? Yes! Of course, he should've been better for Fanny, he should've tried harder, he should've taken better care of her. But ultimately, in MP we see Edmund at his absolute nadir, and he comes out of the other end having made the right choice. We see Henry Crawford at his absolute best, and he doesn't.

As for the ending, I feel like there are no good answers because of the way it's set up. I say as someone who learned to love the ending of MP I still don't like or buy the transformation of the house or Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram from a realist's perspective.

It's this place that looks nice but it's rotten to its core, built on suffering and exploitation, and the places Fanny is confined to - like her freezing little attic - or the places she tries to make her own, like the East Room, are cold. I don't buy that it can transform.

But equally, the way that Fanny's story is set up doesn't allow for an ending where she leaves to be satisfactory. A key theme of MP is Fanny's displacement when she's ten, and we see it permeate through the story with the one that threatens her at 15 and later with her Uncle sending her to Portsmouth. The whole story emphasises that these displacements are traumatic and always at the behest of other people. Her deciding to refuse Henry's proposal and wish to stay is so intentionally opposite that.

There is no thematically satisfying ending where Fanny decides to marry Crawford against her better judgement and only when she's been disappointed in love again and it's actually great imo. I think it would undercut a major thematic aspect to the story. It's a Cinderella without a Prince Charming, with a sort of Burkean philosophy - that change must be brought by reform, and there's no way to escape the world you live in. Fanny can't escape Mansfield Park, partially because it's literally in her.

(I am also not satisfied with the idea that the place is magically reformed, bc the love of her Aunt and Uncle has always been half-hearted, conditional and selfish, but if I had to choose, I'd keep the ending where she stays bc I think it's important to the story's themes)

But Fanny brings good to Mansfield Park - and when she brings her sister back its sort of exemplifying the fact that she has a say in the makeup of the place now.

I think it's definitely the most Of It's Time of Austen's book. The politics of it are very Early 19th Century Whig imo (plugging my pervious post lol).

But my favourite thing about it has always been the fact that Fanny Is Right - not about everything, but her moral centre is the best out of the whole cast of characters (and she's a better judge of character than all of Austen's other heroines). My dislike of the Fanny/Henry pairing and liking Fanny/Edmund attend from that.

She's like Mr Knightley, if he was poor and a teenage girl people listened to him even less and moved him around like a chess piece.

(I am so sorry that this went on so long, and I don't want to come across as argumentative I promise)

It is no secret that I hate the Fanny/Henry pairing, bc like...

How can you read that book, and how Henry acts, and the distress it causes Fanny while we're in her head the whole way through...

And want her to be wrong? And want her to be the one to have to admit she was wrong?

No! Terrible, awful ending. Henry Crawford is not a good person. He's not, like, evil. But he's selfish and self-centred and thinks he deserves Fanny because he's rich and charming and made the bare minimum effort to seem like a better person. I fully buy into the idea that he likes her because he likes a challenge, and that if finally faced with what she like every day (shy and retiring and quiet and uncomfortable around loads of ppl) he'd start to resent her sharpish.

This is a book about selfishness and selfish people, and even in this cast, he's near the top of the most selfish, the most careless with the feelings of others. At the centre is Fanny, who is maligned and mistreated, but despite all is selfless and good, though she struggles with jealousy and negative thoughts and feelings.

It's a book about how she - poor and dependent and not especially well educated or taken care of by her relatives - knows her own mind and deserves to be treated as a rational, intelligent person.

It is literally crucial to her arc and the arc of the story that she's right about Crawford!

[sipsteainanxiety]

Could I request headcanons on how Bakugo would act having a hyperactive S/O who has a especially hard time getting tired at night

i am. so sorry this is late af skfhsdkf before i answer this im just gonna plug this fic rq bc i was reminded of it LOL it's just what u asked for

bakugou loves his sleep. we all know he's in bed at eight, the old man, and once he's out, he's out. he's one of those really deep sleepers, yet he wakes up at even the slightest of things if he senses them.

he's gotta wake up early for his shifts and so he likes being well-rested for them. he doesn't particularly like having to wake up early of course—he'd much rather sleep in (who wouldn't?). but well, he had a job to do and he wouldn't let his urge to sleep stop him from being a hero.

for so long—so many years—he had grown accustomed to his set routine and sleep schedule. it was practically ingrained in him—he wouldn't alter it for anything. on days where he had to stay up later than usual or wake up earlier, he'd be so grumpy. his friends quickly learned that he needed his beauty sleep lol.

but then... he met you. and he fell in love.

once you moved in with him, though, he quickly learned that you were not... the easiest person to deal with when it came to sleep.

he loved you, he really did, but fuck you were hyper at the latest times of night. you would be up on your phone or laptop, watching shows or typing away.

at first, he left you alone, figuring that you would eventually come to bed or adapt to his own sleep schedule. but the first few nights where he didn't fall asleep with you tucked into his chest, he found himself waking up crankier than usual. and he knew he was fucked.

sometimes he'd wake up with you curled up in bed next to him. but at other times he'd find you passed out on the couch in the living room, your laptop still open on the little table in front of you.

there was one time he woke up randomly at three in the morning to find you fucking baking cookies. it was a nightmare.

he didn't blame you, no. never got too upset at you or too angry. but he was always tired once eight or nine hit, and he didn't want to sleep without you. he liked having you in his arms as he slept and he knew he couldn't let this shit slide anymore if it was starting to impact his own sleep. he was getting exasperated, at this point.

he came up to you one evening as you were reading something on your phone and stared at you until you looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"'m stagin' an intervention," he said bluntly. when you asked what for, he replied, "you 'n yer shit sleep schedule."

"my sleep schedule's not that bad—" you started to protest, but he was having none of that.

"bullshit, you went to bed at four a.m. last night," he hissed out. you gave him a sheepish look and fiddled with your phone.

"okay fine, maybe it is bad. but i just have a hard time sleeping!" you told him.

"no shit." he huffed and crossed his arms. "'m gonna help ya." you only gave him an uncertain look.

he was patient with you. he did his research. he made you try teas that would make you sleepy, had you try melatonin, made you do extra work during the day to tire you out, even had you try to do a 12 hour fast to reset your circadian rhythm. he wasn't going to give up, no sir.

he set up a rule that you couldn't use any technology after eight, to prevent you from staying up even more with all the artificial light in your face. you protested weakly at first, but you knew he was doing this for your own good.

some of the things he did worked. but not all the time. and he eventually had to come to a compromise with you when it became clear that you just couldn't fall asleep as easily as he did.

and so, you settled on going to bed with him whenever he would retire for the night. you let him curl up into your side or wrap you in his arms. sometimes you'd just wait until he would fall asleep until you'd pull up your phone on its lowest brightness setting to play around on it. other times you'd be on it from the start and would let him tug you close to him as he'd peer over your shoulder until he'd fall asleep.

it wasn't perfect, no. but it would do. and eventually, you found yourself falling asleep easier and easier whenever you were warmly tucked against him, listening to the sounds of his soft breathing.

[wh6res]

WHEN YOU FIND OUT HE HAS AN ONLYFANS BC HE ACCIDENTALLY CASTED HIS LAPTOP SCREEN TO THE SMART TV

feat. the ‘00 line : tw suggestive

✰ — RENJUN is mortified. wtf his screen turned black right as he was cropping off his face from the video of himself masturbating in the car, where he does most of his onlyfans content bc duh he can’t do it in the apartment. you were always straight home after classes. a homebody. he cant just splay himself on the bed and moan and whine loudly to his heart’s content or else you’ll hear him and god no he’d rather die than you finding out he has an onlyfans. but just as he was furiously pressing the space button of his laptop to get it work somehow, your head pokes inside the door. “uhm, renjun i think you accidentally casted your screen on the tv” “ha ha what? no i did not” and right on cue, he hears the very distinct “ugh baby bet you want this cock in your mouth don’t you? i do too” coming from the living room and his cheeks were tinged red when he fell to his knees. “yn please let me explain!”

✰ — JENO is proud. you and him are quite close, he wouldn’t call it being bestfriends but still, he’s comfortable in your presence and so are you with him. its not that he’s keeping his onlyfans a secret, it’s just you never really asked anyway so he didn’t tell you anything. you and him were chilling in the living room like always. just you getting some readings done on the coffee table while he edits his pictures on the sofa. he had his earphones on and everything and was just doing quick last touchups for this latest nude pic he’s going to post tonight. just when his laptop screen turned black, the smart tv opened on its own, you and jeno’s eyes widened questioningly until there it was. his nude pic; standing before the gym’s locker room mirror, holding his hard dick on one hand, phone on the other, with his tongue teasingly peaking out. “okay but can i see the real thing right now?” jeno doesn’t let the shock paint his features. simply, he smirks.“fine but no drooling”

✰ — HAECHAN is shameless. he’d be kinda confused as to why his laptop’s screen suddenly turned black on him while he’s editing the audio for a new video he’ll be uploading in the weekend. he’d be plugging up his laptop charger bc he thought the device was drained, until he heard slick sounds and his moans coming from the living room. where you were. holy shit. when he bolts out his room, he finds you choking on your chips, sat upright on the couch as you can’t even take your eyes off the screen. he was going to apologize but when he saw the pink tinge on your cheeks and the way your legs clenched as you watched the video of him jerking himself off, he didn’t feel sorry. “are you that fascinated that you can’t take your eyes off my cock, baby? there’s more where that came from” and when you shyly waddled inside his room well... “hey wanna make a sex video with me? we can split the money”

✰ — JAEMIN is clueless. so like jeno, jaem over here isn’t going crazy trying to keep his onlyfans a secret. he wanted to tell you initially about it but the topic was never breached in everyday conversation until eventually he forgot to tell you about it completely. he had been streaming live that night until his toe might’ve accidentally pressed the button that said screencast just as he was about to cum all over his hands. meanwhile you in the living room, raised an eyebrow when the movie cuts and you see him on screen, right when he says “i wish you were here with me. your pussy would feel amazing choking my cock” when his stream was over, he hears a knock on his bedroom door and he immediately put his pjs back on before opening it. “hey jaem thanks for free content, thats some good stuff you have there. maybe i can join in sometime, okay thats all i have to say! bye~” “uh wait hold tf up what do you mean”

✰ — YANGYANG is relieved. okay so yeah he’s keeping it a secret but only because from what he remembers, you were always more on the conservative side. bb is scared you might kick him out if you find out he’s a content creator at onlyfans. okay definitely, his secret keeping needs a little bit of work because he literally left the tab open, right on his profile. you and him were working on a project together and you had insisted he casts his laptop screen on the tv for the presentation file and boiiiii he accidentally casted the wrong tab omfg im dying. his fingers trembled trying to find the uncast button as the most recent video he posted autoplayed “hey babe, you back? daddy’s been waiting for such a long time i missed your sweet pussy” but he pauses when he hears you laughing. “omg yangyang! i cant believe you have a daddy kink wtf!” well at the end of the day, he’s just relieved he doesn’t have to hide it from you anymore and he can still live here.

✰ — SHOTARO is cheeky. okay if yalls think he’s going to be all innocent and embarrassed and soft uwu about the whole thing lmao hell no. i dont think he is. i bet he’s hiding all that sexayyy charisma under that cute face and it’s also probably why he’d have a hoard of people on his onlyfans. addicted to the contrast of that cute, soft voice of his going deep and domineering when the led lights in his room turn red. okay so you were running around the room almost late to your appointment when he “accidentally” hits screencast on his laptop. and suddenly the smart tv opened and he tried gulping down his laughter when you literally stopped in your tracks and watched the video of him unfold. “i bet baby’s laying down right now with her fingers shoved inside her cunny, getting off at the sight of my cock, hm slut?” your eyes widened like saucers and shit your pussy just clenched. “taro wtf is that-that you?” “i don’t know, why don’t you come here and find out, baby?”

headcanon reqs are open bitches !! had so much fun making this lmao idk alot abt onlyfans so im sorry if some of the details are wrong :'>

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

Hii can u do a imagine abt like the reader and vinnie got into a fight bc of the rumors going around abt vinnie and nai and she saw the paparazzi picture too with nai and vinnie and nai is kinda touchy to vinnie (the reader and vinnie are secretly dating) and the reader hang out with larray and charli and dixie and she keep thinking abt the fight so she kinda had a bad day and when she came home she said this to vinnie “ I know you are mad at me but I had a really bad day so can we pause the fight for 5 minutes I need a hug “ with Vinnie plss thank youuu!

*Picture's not mine*

As long we got each other - Vinnie Hacker

So I changed it up a bit, hope that’s okay with you☺️ Thanks for your request, so sorry for the wait. Enjoy 💜

Warning : a Little bit of angst

Word Count : 1.3k

---------------------------------------------------------------------

‘’ TikTok stars, Vinnie Hacker and Nailea Devora were seen hanging out at Saddle Ranch with other known creators. The pair has been spotted a lot together recently, hanging out and posting videos together. Their fans has been shipping them and –“ you closed the tab, sighing.

You were watching one of Hollywood Fix’s latest video while Vinnie was in the shower. You could feel your blood boil into your veins at the newest gossip. You got tired of hearing all these rumors about your boyfriend. It was your choice to keep your relationship a secret, not wanting people to come after you for dating one of the most hyped TikToker to ever be.

You were quickly making a name for yourself and you preferred laying low with Vinnie, scared of people cancelling you or calling you a clout chaser. He understood and respected your decision, even though the only thing he wanted to do, was show you to the world. Vinnie was madly in love with you, to say the least, showering you with his affection any time of the day. He often stayed at your place, liking the calm and the intimacy the two of you could have, it was far different from the Hype House.

“Earth to (Y/N)” a voice startled you. Looking towards the bathroom, you were met with a dripping Vinnie. He was leaning against the door frame, drying his wet hair with a towel while another one sat tightly against his hips.

“What?” you asked rather harshly, making him put both his hands up in defense

“Whoa there, Tiger. What’s gotten you all worked up?”

“Nothing”

“I know you baby. Something is bothering you, I can tell. Talk to me” he approached you, sitting next to you, on the bed.

“Are you and Nai sleeping together?” you asked looking directly into his eyes

“Wh-what? Of course not, I’m in a relationship with you, I would never do that”

“Well maybe, she should know because she’s all over you.” you responded, sighing loudly.

“She’s just my friend (Y/N), nothing more” he said putting his hand on your right knee, before you got up swatting his gesture away.

“Really? You always go out with her, everyone is talking about you and I’m getting tired of it. You take her out like the both of you are in a relationship” you said getting frustrated

“I don’t take her out, we all go as a group. Plus, if my girlfriend wasn’t so ashamed of me, maybe she’s the one I would take out” he got up, turning his back at you, heading towards his dresser to grab some clothes

“I’m not ashamed of you, don’t change the subject Vinnie. You know why I want to keep our relationship a secret”

“Then stop giving me bullshit about going out with my friends, I asked you a bunch of time to come and you always deny my offer. Going out to lunch as a group doesn’t mean people will think we are together.” He sighs before covering his upper body with a white t-shirt

“You know damn well, girls who hang out with you always get hate, Nai is probably the only exception. You said you respected my decision”

“I do respect your decision, but it doesn’t mean I have the same opinion. I just want to be with you and show you off (Y/N). It’s difficult for me too.” He said turning to face you, his eyes burning into yours

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one getting the hate” you responded aggravated with the conversation

“You’re not going to get hate (Y/N), and even if you did, who cares? It doesn’t matter as long as we have each other”

“Arghhhh, you don’t get it” your voice getting louder, grabbing your bag turning around marching towards the door

“Where are you going?” he asked you dumfound

“Out, we’re both clearly angry with the situation, and I prefer to leave before one of us says something we would regret.” You said, exiting the room leaving Vinnie speechless and fuming.

You had gone to join your friends, trying to change your mind from the argument you just had with your boyfriend. Hanging out with Larray, Charlie and Dixie for sure helped, but they could see you were not your normally bubbly self.

“You sure everything is good girl?” Larray asked you, looking worried

“Yeah (Y/N) you seem off today” Charlie emphasized while sipping on her iced coffee

“Oh euhm yes, everything is okay. I don’t know I’m just tired I guess” you responded giving your friends a small smile trying to reassure them.

After a day filled with shopping and paparazzi following you around, you decided to head back home, feeling exhausted. You wiggled your keys, unlocking the door, stepping inside, dropping your many bags on the floor before making your way to the living room plugging your cellphone. It had notified you earlier, indicating your phone was out of battery. A few seconds passed, before it rang multiple times, a bunch of text messages and missed calls coming through, most of them being from Vinnie.

“Where are you baby?”

“I’m sorry, can you please call me back”

“(Y/N), I’m starting to get worried now”

“I saw you were out with you friends, I know you’re mad at me baby, I’m sorry, I love you”

You sighed, contemplating whether to call him or not. Before thinking twice, you dialed his number, the phone ringing a couple of times before hearing his deep voice

“(Y/N)?” he said, his voice sounding worried

“I know we’re fighting right now, but I had a really bad day and I need a hug” you said on the verge of tears

“I’ll be right over baby” he responded before hanging up. You went to change into some comfier clothes and washed your face before you heard a knock on the door. You went to open it and the moment you did, two big arms engulfed you in a hug. Your head found its way into his neck, breathing in his scent.

“I needed that” you mumbled, detaching yourself slightly as you looked into his eyes.

“I love you, you know that” he said his eyes burning into your soul making you close the gap between the both of you, going in for another hug.

“I’m sorry about the argument. It was stupid of me to accuse you of being with Nai”

“It’s okay baby, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, I shouldn’t have. I don’t want you to worry about other girls, you’re the only one for me” he said kissing the top of your head

“And I respect your decision to keeping our relationship on the low. I’m just so in love with you and I just want to show you to the world, but I know it’s selfish of me to think this way” he sighed pulling your body away from him, only standing a few centimeters from each other. You pecked his lips, before smiling softly at him, making him furrow his eyebrows in confusion

“Let’s go get ice cream” you said out of the blue

“What?” he said laughing lightly

“You heard me, let’s go get ice cream, together, as a couple” you took his hand dragging him out of the door

“You sure about that? I don’t want to pressure you” he said stopping you and bringing you closer to him

“Vinnie, I’m willing to go out with you in public, dressed like this and holding your hand and you’re questioning me?” you asked smirking at him “You were right earlier, I’m not afraid as long as we got each other”

That night you and Vinnie went to get ice cream a few fans snapping pictures of the both of you hand in hand smiling at each other, both your names soon trending on the internet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading

Hope you like it, let me know what you think

-K

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Invisible Assistance

Prompts: If ur taking requests do you think maybe you could write about the sanders sides as kids where Virgil subtly looks out for the others when they’re afraid of things (cuz he can tell as anxiety)? Like for example he plugs in nightlights in the hallway bc Logan is afraid of the dark. He leaves sticky notes with compliments out for Roman bc Roman’s afraid of rejection/falling short. He stitched together little stuffies for patton bc he’s hates being lonely. Those kinda things. Virgil would have to do it discreetly bc the other sides wouldn’t accept the help if it was from anxiety (even if they really really wanted the things that would help). And maybe the other sides find out after they accept Virgil bc he says something offhandedly about it? However you wanna write it tho!!! <3 - renjunstolemykidneys

Can I request a Sanders sides fic where one of the sides is touch averse? - anon

Oh is it kid fic time? it's kid fic time!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none! fluff land down below bois

Pairings: it is found family to the MAX

Word Count: 3836

When one of the others is afraid, a patch on the back of Virgil’s neck tingles.

It doesn’t hurt, which is good, because that would be really annoying, but it tingles.

Or, five times Virgil helps one of the other Sides when they're afraid, and one time they show him how much they appreciate it.

When one of the others is afraid, a patch on the back of Virgil’s neck tingles.

It doesn’t hurt, which is good, because that would be really annoying, but it tingles. He used to be scared of it. He ran to Janus the first time it happened because he didn’t know what he did wrong, he didn’t know why this thing was happening to him. Janus had calmed him down, walked him through his breathing exercises, and said that it was one of his powers.

“Powers? What powers?”

“I can grow extra arms and I can tell when people are lying,” Janus had said, “those are my powers. You can tell when people are afraid.”

And Virgil could. There was a small patch on the back of his neck that acted like a fear detector, where he could tell what was wrong. Over time, he had figured out how to tell who it was that was afraid.

Logan’s fear felt really fuzzy.

Not like the soft blankets that Patton likes from the hall closet, but the kinda weird static that the TV has sometimes when the video games won’t load properly. It’s fuzzy. It’s kind of hard to think. Sometimes, if it’s really bad, it gets kind of hard to see.

Logan doesn’t like being afraid and Virgil doesn’t blame him. Being afraid isn’t fun, that’s why he doesn’t like it.

Logan’s fear is fuzzy because Logan is Logic. Logan makes things clearer, easier to understand, because that’s his power. He’s really good at it. When Virgil gets afraid for himself, Logan is really good at explaining why it’s not so scary after all. Sometimes it doesn’t always work, but it works most of the time. But Virgil can’t do what Logan does for him because that’s not his power. He just knows when Logan is scared and fuzzy.

At first, Virgil thought it was something wrong with his glasses. After all, Logan needs them to see, doesn’t he? So if his glasses are fuzzy, he’ll be fuzzy. But Logan uses the glasses to see outside, not inside. So it isn’t the glasses. So he starts trying to figure out what Logan is scared of.

Then he notices that Logan’s light stays on all night while everybody else turns their light off.

He mumbles something about it to Logan the next day and Logan tells him that’s because he likes to read at night and so he needs the light. But Janus said his mouth felt weird after Logan said that so Logan’s lying.

Oh. Maybe Logan’s scared of the dark.

Virgil goes back to his room and opens his closet. He scrambles up on the step stool—putting his arms out for balance like Patton and Janus said—and reaches for the box of night lights. He pulls the cardboard down and rifles through it, looking for ones that Logan would like. He comes across a collection of night lights that Thomas saw at the space museum—what was it called? He pulls one closer and reads off the label.

“Planetarium,” he mumbles, “got it.”

It’s a set of nine night lights, one for each planet, and a big one to be the Sun. He scurries out into the hall and checks to make sure no one is around. There’s no one there. He tucks the box under his bed and scampers off. He needs to count how many outlets there are to see how many lights he’ll need.

There is one by the bathroom, two in the middle of the hall, one by Patton’s door, one by Roman’s door, one by Remus’s door, one by Janus’s room, one by Logan’s room, one by his room, and one at the top of the stairs.

One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten.

Perfect.

Virgil hurries back to the cardboard box and makes sure there are ten night lights. There are. Now all he needs to do is figure out where each one has to go.

The Sun is Logan’s room. Obviously. Mercury can go with Roman because those two love to play together. That would make Venus Remus because the twins are very close too.

Patton is the Earth because he takes care of all of them. Janus can be Jupiter because he likes being the tallest.

The bathroom can be Uranus.

The stairs can be Neptune because Logan likes that Neptune spins on its side, which is really cool. And the stairs are kind of sideways so it matched.

Virgil holds the last night light in his hands. Pluto. It’s small, a kind of purple-gray. It matches the sleeves of his pajamas. As he walks back to his room, he plugs the Pluto into the outlet next to his door.

Perfect.

He doesn’t feel Logan getting scared by the dark anymore and the Sun nightlight is really bright.

2.

Roman’s fear makes his neck feel hot. Almost like he’s embarrassed by something or he’s ashamed of something. He doesn’t like it, and he can imagine that Roman doesn’t like it very much either.

Roman is really loud. He really likes singing at the top of his lungs, even when there are like four other people in the room that are trying to do something. He really likes talking loudly too, even when they’re trying to do something. Sometimes Virgil thinks that Roman is too loud, but he’d never say that to him. That would be mean.

Roman gets hurt a lot. He says it’s because of his quests in the Imagination but Janus doesn’t believe him. Not about all of them. And that would be a weird place to get bruises. Virgil goes in there too sometimes, to play with Remus and Roman or to train with Roman. One of his other powers is fighting the things that come to hurt Thomas so he has to be ready. And he only gets bruises on his arms and legs from that.

Roman gets them everywhere. And Roman’s a good fighter! So it doesn’t make sense that he’s really hurt all the time.

Virgil does figure out that Roman gets hurt when Thomas feels bad about something. When Roman and Thomas have been working really hard on something and it doesn’t go well, Roman goes off into the Imagination and he looks hurt when he comes back. That’s when Virgil feels that he’s scared.

When they get a bit older and Virgil can start confidently naming it ‘rejection,’ he starts to notice that Roman slumps more when he’s hurt. Like it physically hurts to stand up straight. Which is really bad, because Roman loves to sing but you can’t sing properly if you don’t stand up straight. And if Roman can’t sing, he can’t make himself feel better.

Virgil also notices that Roman really doesn’t like it when he’s not sure what to do.

Virgil isn’t the best person to go to for this, because he’s always upset that things are going to happen and they’re going to happen and they don’t know how. But he notices that Logan, who always knows what’s good to pay attention to, doesn’t help either. Patton is the only one who seems to be able to help. And he helps by telling Roman that he’s doing a good job, that they will help, that it’s okay. Roman likes being told that it’s okay.

Virgil can get behind that.

But Roman isn’t always around when Virgil remembers to tell him that, so he decides to write it down.

On his desk, there is a pack of red post-it notes. Virgil stashes one in his pocket all the time with a pen. When he thinks of something that Roman should hear, he writes it down and sticks it on Roman’s door. He doesn’t go into Roman’s room, that’s mean. And rude. He knows better.

Things like ‘I like your singing.’ Or ‘The pancakes you made were really good.’ Or ‘You did a good job today.’ That kind of thing. Sometimes it’s just ‘I like you.’ Because Roman is good and Virgil likes him. A lot.

When he feels Roman start to get afraid, he goes and writes it down and sticks it on the door. Then he retreats to his room and waits, holding his breath, until he hears the creak of a door down the hall and the fear goes away. If he waits a few more minutes, normally he’ll hear Roman start to sing.

Then he lets himself smile.

3.

Patton’s fear feels really heavy. Like…really heavy. It kind of hurts to breathe sometimes if it catches Virgil off-guard. So he really doesn’t like Patton’s fear.

What makes it harder is that Patton is really good at hiding when he’s actually afraid. He screams really loudly when there’s a spider or when something surprises him—thank you, Remus—but when he’s afraid, it’s harder to tell.

But Virgil sometimes catches him sitting in the living room by himself, watching TV, and he’ll be afraid. Not of what’s on the TV, but of something else. So he’ll come downstairs and ask if Patton’s okay and Patton will say he’s fine, but then Virgil will curl up in a chair and that won’t be true. The fear will still be there. It’s only when someone else comes down that it goes away.

Virgil remembers very clearly the day that he spent an hour sitting downstairs with Patton and left to go to the bathroom. He had come back downstairs to see Janus next to Patton and Patton wasn’t afraid anymore. He’d gone back to his room and thought about it.

Virgil couldn’t help with this as he was, but the others could. Patton was afraid of…of being left alone?

Okay. Okay, Virgil could make things that would make Patton feel less alone.

He was never really good at making things, not like the twins were, but he was good at fixing things when they got ripped. When he wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares he knows how to fix his blankets and pillows and pajamas. So he takes the scraps of fabric he has from all the ones he still had to fix and frowns.

Patton likes frogs. So he draws a frog on the blue sheet and cuts it out carefully. He folds the fabric over and cuts out another one. He stitches them wrong sides together, leaving a little bit at the bottom. He turns it inside out and fills it with stuffing from the pillow. Then he sews the bottom back up. It’s a little frog plushie, and it’s for Patton.

He leaves it outside Patton’s door to a squeal of delight.

When he feels Patton get lonely again, he makes another one. This time it’s from the galaxy pillow and he makes a cat. The cat’s eyes don’t come out right when he draws them but they kind of look like glasses. Logan’s glasses.

The next time, he makes a lion. The lion is fuzzy because the slipper that was falling apart worked really well for a mane. He gives it Roman’s favorite red sash because he accidentally cut the fabric in the wrong place and needed to keep the stuffing inside.

After the lion, he makes a snake. He gives it a little paper hat like the one Janus wears. He giggles when he sees the final thing, it kind of looks like it belongs in Phineas and Ferb. Agent J.

When Patton gets really afraid, he looks at the last bit of the green fabric he has and chews his lip. Can he…maybe he can make an octopus. Like Remus. It takes a long time and he accidentally pricks his fingers a couple of times, but he gets a sloppy-looking octopus. After a moment, he grabs the pen and draws a smile with lots of sharp teeth. Like Remus.

Patton doesn’t feel so lonely after that.

4.

Remus’s fear feels muffled. Not like it’s there but it’s not really, but it gets hard for Virgil to hear things. Not like Logan’s fear where everything is fuzzy, but like someone has their hands over his ears. He doesn’t like it. It makes his own head louder.

He notices that Roman is loud but Remus is louder. Remus is constantly making noise, not like Roman’s outbursts, but always. He’s tapping a table or stomping his foot or humming to himself. He’s never quiet and when he’s quiet it’s bad.

He remembers watching Roman and Remus come out of the Imagination once and Remus hadn’t made a noise. The twins had scurried off to Remus’s room and they hadn’t come out until breakfast the next morning. Virgil’s head had been really loud all night because everything else had been muffled.

Remus isn’t quiet. Remus doesn’t like the quiet. Remus hates the quiet. Remus is scared of the quiet.

Virgil doesn’t like the quiet either, but he can’t exactly make noise without worrying that he’s disturbing everyone else. But Remus doesn’t have that problem. Remus is loud and he likes that he’s disturbing everyone else.

But maybe Virgil can help.

There is another box on his desk full of fidget toys. Virgil doesn’t use them most of the time because they’re stuck in the back of the desk but he does like the fidget cube. Maybe Remus would like it too?

He figures out how to get another one and makes it green and black. He puts it outside Remus’s door.

Well, it’s not quiet anymore.

But Remus isn’t afraid, so that’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Virgil remembers too late that the reason he doesn’t use the fidget cube that often is because he can’t stand the sound of the clicking and the squeaking of the cube. But Remus isn’t afraid anymore and he has his headphones.

So it’s fine.

5.

Janus’s fear is cold.

It’s probably why Virgil took so long to work out that Janus was scared of anything. Janus didn’t like to admit that he was scared of things. Janus didn’t like to admit much of anything if he’s being real, but he really doesn’t like admitting when he’s scared. And Virgil is used to being cold so he probably didn’t notice it for a long time.

But Janus does get scared and when he does, the back of Virgil’s neck feels cold.

Janus is like a snake the same way Remus is like an octopus and Patton is like a frog. If Logan is right and he normally is, it’s like how Virgil is like a spider and Roman is like a lion and Logan is like a cat. Which means that there are certain things that Janus does that are like a snake.

Even if he has too many arms to be a snake. Like…way too many.

Janus has a forked tongue. Remus is jealous and Patton thinks it’s kind of weird. Janus has scales. Roman thinks they’re strange and Logan thinks they’re interesting. Janus hisses sometimes when he’s tired or upset. They all think it’s cute. Janus doesn’t like that either.

They’re watching a documentary for a science class and snakes come up. Logan leans forward with his notebook, Patton grabs his juice box, and Remus starts thinking of ideas to do with Roman later. Janus watches the documentary. Virgil watches Janus.

“Snakes, unlike humans and most other mammals, are cold-blooded. This means they have an inability to regulate their own body temperature. They must bathe in the sun to stay warm.”

What?

“But basking out here in the open is risky. Predators, like this hawk, can see snakes in the grass, thanks to their incredible eyesight. The snake has to choose. Being safe and cold, or risk getting warm and being lunch.”

What?

The others are focused on the footage on screen or by their own conversations, so Virgil can stare at Janus. Is that…is that why Janus doesn’t like coming to spend time with them? Is that why he doesn’t like coming out of his room? They’re not going to eat him, he’s part of Thomas! They need him like they need each other.

But if Janus is part snake…then it would make sense why he’s nervous about being in the open.

Only later, when Virgil is startled awake by how cold he feels, does he realize that he might’ve been wrong.

Janus isn’t afraid of being around the others, he is afraid of what happens when he isn’t around the others. Because Virgil never feels Janus afraid when he’s with them. He only ever feels it when Janus is alone.

When Janus isn’t in the warmth with them. When he’s safer, maybe, but when he’s cold.

Janus is afraid of the cold.

Well. That’s the easiest one to fix.

Virgil gathers up all the blankets he has and goes to Janus’s door. He dumps the pile on the floor and scampers back to his room, knowing that Janus would’ve heard something hit the ground. He waits, waits, waits, and then—

It’s gone.

The cold on the back of his neck is gone.

Virgil smiles and burrows down under the one sheet on his bed. He pulls his arms tight around his pillow and buries himself under the thin sheet. He curls up as tight as he can and feels that the back of his neck is no longer cold from Janus’s fear.

Janus is warm. That’s all that matters.

Janus doesn’t feel cold again. Janus feels warm. Janus feels warm. Janus feels warm.

Logan has light.

Roman has love.

Patton has friends.

Remus has noise.

Janus has warmth.

They’re okay.

They’re okay.

They’re…okay.

Virgil falls asleep in the cold room.

+1

Virgil doesn’t like touch.

It…it’s not that he’s afraid of it, but it…

Okay. Here’s the thing. Virgil doesn’t like that the others can touch him.

Thomas can’t touch him. Thomas is safe, Virgil keeps him safe, but he doesn’t touch him. Thomas is safe and that is Virgil’s job because he is afraid and Thomas isn’t and it’s fine. There’s a line there. Thomas and Virgil hold the line between each other and it works.

Patton tries to pull him in for hugs and Patton doesn’t like being alone but his hugs make Virgil feel like he’s trapped.

Logan tries to touch him on the shoulder to get his attention and Logan likes being listened to but that hand feels like a live wire.

Roman tries to pull him close when they fight and Roman doesn’t like being rejected but sometimes Virgil doesn’t know whether he wants to fight the monster or Roman’s grip on him.

Remus tries to scare him by grabbing him and Remus likes noise but Virgil can’t stand being grabbed.

Janus tries to poke him because getting people out of their comfort zones is part of his job but Virgil worked hard for his comfort zone and he doesn’t want to get out of it.

Virgil doesn’t like being touched.

But that’s okay. He can…it’s not like the others normally want to touch him.

Virgil likes to sit by himself. There’s less to worry about when he sits by himself. He can sit and he can make his own noise and do his own thing and he can be fine. He can hold a pillow if he needs to and he won’t get overwhelmed. He can just…be.

He likes the idea of just being.

He doesn’t get to do it often.

So he’s surprised when he opens his door one morning and there’s a box sitting in front of his door.

He takes it back inside and opens it up. His mouth falls open.

There, on top, is the last post-it he stuck on Roman’s door. The one that just said ‘you’re important.’ He picks it up with shaky fingers and turns it over.

Virgil, these are for you. We know what you’ve been doing to help and we want to help you too. We know that you do not like being touched so we got you something that can help. You are important too.

Under the message that makes Virgil blink back tears for a second, he sees the names of the others scrawled in their colors. He puts the post-it note in the most important part of his desk and peers back into the box.

He lifts out a spaceship nightlight. It’s the one from the movie he and Logan had spotted on the way back from school. It’s very shiny and smooth to the touch.

There’s a notebook in the box that has the quote from Winnie the Pooh: ‘Always remember you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.’ A purple pen is tucked into the binding.

A spider plushie! It’s soft, it’s fuzzy, it fits right into the palm of his hand. It looks like it’s been made out of the Halloween sweater they got given for Christmas. It was a weird year.

There’s a small tin of putty. It’s purple and black, sparkly, and it makes really cool sounds as Virgil stretches and squeezes it. If he traps an air bubble in it, it makes a satisfying pop sound.

Virgil’s eyes widen as he pulls out a weighted blanket. Oh, it’s warm. It’s so warm. It feels perfect. He can understand why Janus hisses when he’s tired now, he wants to do it himself and he’s not even a snake.

There’s one more thing in the box. It’s dark, soft, and for a moment he thinks it could be another blanket. But as he pulls it out, his mouth drops open.

It’s a hoodie. A simple, plain, black hoodie, that’s soft and looks warm and looks big enough to cover all of his upper body.

They…they know he doesn’t like being touched so…so they gave him a shield.

Oh.

Oh.

Virgil doesn’t take the hoodie off until he switches it for a purple one many years later.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[milkacchan]

Request for anon: Can I have aizawa dating (without knowing) one of his student's (you can chose) older sister? Thank you and stay hydrated! 💗

• It was Bakugous sister.

• He honestly didn't even make the fucking connection. He's just tired.

• You have brown hair, Katsuki has blonde hair. You curse a lot but have a much better control with your temper and youre not as hot headed.

• he didn't connect the resemblance either until he see's you too in the same room

• and he doesn't like bringing work home- especially when he gets to see you

• which isn't as often as he'd like it to be

• so he won't talk about it

• so you wouldn't know that he taught your brother

• he'll say his day was frustrating or it was good and then the subject would be changed

• Your family would know you're seriously dating /someone/

• but they wouldn't know who.

• your dad would know more than your mom would- you're closer with him

• Katsuki would also know youre dating someone, he doesn't know who, and he pretends not to care but he's annoyed he hasn't met them

• he doesn't know what they're like. They could be an asshole- he wouldn't know.

• your relationship with Katsuki is weird.

• some times he's decent- and yall act like normal siblings

• and then sometimes the two of you ignore eachother for months

• which is ridiculous because youre 26 and he's 17.

• you think he has some animosity for leaving the house and leaving him to be the only child there

• now his parents are down his back

• he might also be upset that you disciplined him a lot

• but you also comforted him when he needed it

• regardless he'll still show up at your apartment when he's fought with mom

• or he 'got bored' aka he missed you but he's not gonna say that

• if he didn't feel like spending the night in the dorms, he'd crash at your place.

• Back to the point- they don't know much.

• it's completely unknown to everyone that you're dating your brothers teacher.

• Aizawa is patient. He's so patient.

• you've been hesitant on him meeting your family (though you've been together for what- a year? Year and a half?) Because well...your family is your family.

• you don't want him to dip

• you're utterly in love with this man and you'd be htterly devastated if he left

• and honestly? He's content with how it is now.

• Him occasionally spending the night(s) ((weeks)) at your apartment, leaving work out of conversations and just enjoying company.

• you dont have to go too fast- its fine how it is now.

• he loves you and that's really all that matters to him.

• but one day, you do decide its time for him to meet them.

• it's over winter break- it's December, not long before Christmas, he'd be spending it with you this year and he should meet your family before hand.

• You guys decided breakfast was an appropriate time.

• So there you are, sitting in bed with your greasy gremlin of a man

• he's got a hand in your hair, the other on the bed on the other side of your head to hold him up.

• you were under him, licking the inside of his mouth

• that's as far as you two had gotten before there was a knock on the door.

• you looked towards the clock as he let out a small groan.

• forgive him, it'd been a solid 2 weeks since he'd seen you last and he missed every part of you.

• it was late, around 11:30, none the less you got up, pressing another kiss to his lips "I'll be back in a minute babe,"

• and off you go to answer the door

• and when you do answer you see Katsuki standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking very upset.

"Katsu?"

"I got into a fight with mom. Can I sleep here tonight?"

You nod, "yeah yeah, of course. Just text dad that you're here okay?" You step aside to let him in. "Did you walk? Drive?"

"Hung out with Ei and then drove here."

"Car out front?"

"Mhm, parked next to yours."

"Did Ei do a good job making you feel better?" You glance back at him as you take a cup out if the cupboard.

"Yeah, he did. I'm just not in the mood to go back."

"That's okay. We know how mom gets. What was it about?"

"Responsibility or some shit like that. Not exactly sure anymore."

"Katsu," you mumble, sitting a cup if tea in front of him. "You're doing fine. With everything thats going on, you're dealing with it really well. You're still just a kid, you deserve to have some fun." You kiss his forehead and he nods. "I'm gonna make sure the guest bedroom is ready, kay?"

"Kay."

• So once the room is ready, he brings his cup into the room and plugs in his phone before looking at you.

"Is /he/ here?

"Sho? Yeah, he's probably sleeping now. You'll meet him in the morning. Is Ei and his family still spending Christmas dinner with us?"

"Yeah. He is."

"Does he know how crazy we are?"

Katsuki smiles slightly. "Yeah, one of his moms is like that."

"Good, then you have nothing to worry about. Goodnight Katsuki." You ruffle his hair.

"Let the bedbugs bite, hag."

"You too, little fucker."

• Getting back into bed woke Shouta up, though he was only just drifting off.

"Who was that?"

"Brother, he got into a fight with mom. He's spending the night in the guest bedroom so you'll meet him tomorrow."

He nodded. "Can I go back to kiss you now?" He mumbled.

"Yeah, but we have to be quite now." You smile.

"You know thats one of my favorite games," he got back on top of you, moving your legs so they were on either side of his waist and he had easy access to grind himself onto your heat. You let out a sigh and his lips reconnected.

• The next morning you woke up early than you had really wanted but sometimes shit happens.

• katsuki was already up, if course he was.

• he gave you a small nod, eyes traveling to the hickey peeking out from under your robe before looking away. Gross.

• "Sleep okay?"

"Slept fine, you?"

"Mhm," you smile slightly. "Dad say anything last night?"

"He said to tell you goodnight and he was excited to see you tomorrow, but I was too lazy to get up-" his spoon clattered.

You glance back, "Ah, Katsu this is Shou, Sho this is-"

• Katsuki is 😃

• Why are you fucking here???

• Aizawa is 😌

• I'm gonna use this to destroy you

"Jesus-" Katsuki groans. "No- no no-"

Shouta rubs his face, but he's internally jumping- oh he's going to use this to his advantage.

"What-?"

"You're dating my fucking teacher?"

"Wha- oh." You snicker.

• This is gold

• This is absolutely gold

• You are going to beat Aizawa ass later though, he's totally been overworking his class

• They walk into breakfast and your parents are like ????

• "Hey isn't that-?"

"Yes." Bakugou grumbles. "Yes it is."

• Honestly they'd both use it to their advantage.

• "I'll tell my sister if you ____"

• "I'll tell your sister if you don't _____"

• and when y'all get engaged and class 1a finds out that he's going to become bakugous brother in law, they flip their shit dude.

• Because one, Eiji was the only one who knew he had a sister and that he was dating bakugous sisterb

• mans walked in with his famiky to see his boyfriend and stopped dead in his tracks.

"M-Mr. Aizawa..why are- uhm- why are-?"

Bakugou grabs his hand, nodding at his mother's. "He's dating my sister."

"He's what?" He whispered, eyes widening.

"Tragic, I know."

• One time you had to bring him something bc he forgot it at your apartment that was practically his too at this point

• and you walk in

"Hey sho, you forgot this."

"Mm, thanks."

• Bakugou drops his head to the table

"Bye Katsu," you wave and smile. "By Ei, have a good day,"

"Please leave,"

"You too Bakugou!"

• "who was that?" Mina asks

"Bakugous sister,"

"My fiance,"

They said that the same time

• All hell breaks loose

• "The fact that bakugou has a sister is processed first- "she looks nothing like you how-"

"She has my dads brown hair. I have my moms blonde hair.'

• He's bombarded with questions

• he ignores them

• the fact that Aizawa is ENGAGED to bakugous sister- now that's gold

• and he's bombarded with questions too

• no he did not know you were bakugous sister

• he met you after school started

• at a fruit stand actually

• he proposed before Christmas

• yes, he asked for your parents approval

• yes he asked for bakugous approval, he said yes

• no, he didn't have kids

• but y'all did have a cat and a dog

• No Mina, I'm not showing you a picture of them

• because Ayoma, we're in class right now

• maybe after if you guys shut up

• Anyway Bakugou is the ringbearer for the wedding 🤪🤪

• Class 1A is invited

• Mic is the best man

• Your best friend is your maid of honor

• All might officiated it

• its a good time

[atsumiyass]

Bakusquad during christmas

here’s a lil something for christmas since i’m feelin in the spirit - venus

warnings: fluff, platonic relationships

Katsuki Bakugou

Bakugou would definitely take on cooking duty.

We all know mans can cook BOMB ASS FOOD.

He literally wouldn't let anyone else take on the job so...

But I feel like if you tried to help out he wouldn’t care as much

Bc he has a soft spot for you, ofc.

Also bc he knows you can cook pretty good as well.

So you both spend the afternoon cooking together.

Which turned out to be fun...

Apart from when you almost burned down the whole dorm building but we dont talk about that.

Once you finished putting away the food for tomorrow, you had the amazing idea of watching a Christmas movie to get into the spirit and relax after all your hard work.

it took some begging, but he finally agreed.

as long as you watched whatever he wanted, of course

but i mean who were you to say no to Bakugou

so

you made your way to his dorm since he had a tv and you didn’t

lucky prick

he put the disc in and you both settled on the wall where his bed was, a few feet apart from each other

but you’re y/n, and you’re in desperate need of attention

and it was cold

and Bakugou just happened to be a couple feet away

so the only logical option would be to snuggle up next to him

it took some courage but when you did, he surprisingly didn’t mind

he actually put his arm around you.

you took the chance and snuggled in closer.

soft Bakugou was a once in a lifetime experience, you had to take advantage of it.

especially since he would never act like this in front of the others

“so do you think they’ll like the food?” you asked, looking up at him.

“hell yeah they will, we made it didn’t we?” He replied, not looking away from the screen.

you smiled and turned back to the movie.

This Christmas was gonna be one to remember, thats for sure.

Eijirou Kirishima

This baby is on christmas tree duty

he asked you to tag along tho, for support

and bc he has a lil crush on you but you didn’t hear it from me (;

you both get to the common area and take a look at the empty Christmas tree

its huge.

like,

as tall as the ceiling huge.

you might have to call Uraraka for this one

you looked at each other like

“this is gonna take awhile.”

so you both get to work, first stringing the multi-colored lights around the tree

luckily they didn’t get all tangled up in the tree, so it didn’t take that long

(you actually ended up calling Uraraka to help you since it was so high up)

Once that was done, you continued on with the tinsel.

which ended up in it all getting tangled from you both fooling around.

in the trash it goes.

Next was the ornaments.

They varied from red, to white, to even hero themed ones.

you started from the bottom this time, not wanting to get Uraraka again

you decided to turn on some christmas music to set the mood since you both were just sitting in awkward silence for a hot minute

i hc that kiri get shy around his crush pls

so once you got the perfect spotify playlist going you went back to working on the tree, humming along to the song.

little did you know Kirishima was on the other side of the tree, having an internal conflict.

does he talk to you? does he make a joke? does he not say anything? does he-

“hey do we have anymore red ones?” he heard your voice, making him breathe a sigh of relief.

“yeah here..” he said going to grab one.

but ofc you didn’t hear him

so you also went to go grab one

and just like those cheesy romance movies

your hand landed on top of his.

you both looked up at each other and quickly pulled your hands back.

You felt your face heat up as you nervously laughed and picked up the ornament, making your way back to your side of the tree.

my shy, oblivious babies tsk tsk 

Soon enough you finished all the ornaments and stood back to observe your work.

it honestly looked really good.

“wow Eji, it looks great dontcha think?” you asked, turning towards him.

“Yeah we did a super good job! great work y/n!” He said, giving you his signature sharky smile along with a thumbs up

your heart: doki doki

Suddenly a light bulb went off in your head

you had forgotten the star!!!

the most important part!!!!!

wtf y/n smh do better

you dug around in the christmas box for the star, which you soon found.

“hey could you go get Ochaco again? we gotta put up the star.” You called out to him.

“I think she’s out training with the other girls, i’m sure we can handle it.” he said confidently.

you guys couldn’t handle it.

somehow you ended up on top of him after falling off his shoulders.

could this get anymore cliché srsly.

luckily the star hadn't broke, so with the help of Ochaco this time, you got it up all nice and snug.

You plugged in the cords and the tree lit up, the rainbow lights and golden star illuminating the room.

your eyes sparkled in admiration, as the whole class gawked at you and Kirishimas work.

“You’re such a good team guys!” Yaoyorozu said, clapping her hands together with a smile.

and that, you were.

Denki Kaminari

Denki our electric boy would be on presents duty.

how did you end up tagging along with him? 

you offered to go, like the kind person you are.

you actually wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t accidently break something or pick up the wrong presents.

either way

you both arrived at the first store to pick up Mr. Aizawas present, since the whole class chipped in to get him something as a thank you.

you got to the counter and gave the clerk the receipt, and they went to the back to get the order.

what you didn’t know was that while you were there, Kaminari was wondering around the store touching everything he possibly could.

it was only a matter of time before he broke something

you soon realize he isn’t behind you so you go to look for him since the clerk is still in the back

“Kaminari? Where did you go?” You call out to him, but hear no response.

You continue in the store, searching every rack to see if he was hiding inside (yes Denki is childish what about it)

you do end up finding him though

just, not in the way you would imagine.

“Denki what happened?” You asked, speed walking over to a stupefied Kaminari

you saw two batteries on the ground and connected the dots.

of course.

you sighed, picking up the batteries and putting them back on the shelf.

“c’mon you big oaf, lets get back.” you sighed again, guiding Kaminari back to the front

once you got back to the counter the clerk had already come back, present in hand.

they looked at you like “da fawk are these bitches doing”

you grabbed the bag from the counter, thanked the clerk, and left. 

(yes you paid smh you aint no robber)

Hand in hand with Kaminari you made it back to the dorms in one piece thankfully and by that time he had gotten back to a somewhat normal state

as normal as he can be

When the rest of the class asked what happened, you told them:

“just Kaminari, being Kaminari.”

Mina Ashido

you and Mina would def go ugly sweater shopping together.

both of you would force the guys (Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, Sero) to wear them all throughout the Christmas party.

so you headed over to the nearest mall to pick some out for everyone, since (in Minas words) you both have “exquisite taste in fashion”.

which you dont, but they dont know that.

Once you entered the shop you both sprinted and got yelled at to the sweaters section and started to look through the racks.

“Ouu this one just screams Bakugou!” she exclaimed, pulling one from the rack.

It was red, covered in stars, ornaments, and ugly santas with orange words that read ‘Merry Christmas’ across the sweater in cursive.

yeah he would hate it, but then again thats the whole point.

“definitely, lets get it.”

After about an hour or so of picking out unique (ugly asf) sweaters for each of the boys, you paid and left the store.

The day of the party soon rolled around and you got your sweaters on, heading over to the boys’ dorms to give them theirs.

Bakugou: Hell no!

Y/n: pretty pleaseee *puppy dog eyes*

Bakugou: .....fine.

Kirishima: aw yeah cool! I'm gonna look super manly in this!

Sero: I have a bad feeling about this, eh whatever.

Kaminari: we’re gonna look so stupid in these hahaha!

Once they all came out in their sweaters, you and Mina had a whole ass FIT OF LAUGHER 

like I'm talking a good 10 minutes on the floor.

After getting yelled at by Bakugou, you headed over to everyone else.

but not before fist bumping Mina in victory.

“We’re so doing this next year.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you can find our bnha masterlist: here

or our general masterlist: here