#its gotta be a talent at this point
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pastara-cell · 4 months ago
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God this blog may just turn into a tmf blog for a bit- Sorry hermitblr/trafficblr peeps
Just listing some basic drew headcanons here because I feel like I see the same ones over and over again so I’d like to combat that 🤺🤺/lh ofc, I love all headcanons
>Drew is Bengali, His great grandparents came to the uk from Kolkata (Whether it be from partition stuff or not) And since then, his family blood has still been entirely from west bengal
>Drew isn’t necessarily religious, however, He enjoys Hindu religious holidays (Like Diwali and Holi) and Pujas and He especially loves the food. His parents (who are Hindu) are fine with him being non religious, But do wish for him to participate in events just to spend time with him, which he doesn’t mind at all
>Adding onto that, he doesn’t eat beef or pork. Not for religious reasons, but because he just wasn’t raised on them and doesn’t enjoy the taste or texture.
>His parents love him, but are absent quite a lot due to work and business meetings. The only times he’ll see them for more than a months on end is during the winter months, mainly because thats holiday season. Other than that, 2 weeks at home, 2 weeks on a business trip, repeat
>His parents try to show their affection to him via gifts and food, because its really all they can send over while they’re away. Because of this, drew developed Gift giving and cooking food for people love languages
>this man can COOK. I know I said its one of his love languages, so you’d assume so, but oh my LORD this man can cook. Its half the reason henry and liam come over so often! He best at more traditional bengali food (although he hates doing it), but he can make pretty much anything if you give him a heads up, the ingredients, and enough time to tinker around with the recipe!
>His hair is actually wavy/loose curls, but he hates having curly hair, so he either straightens it so it doesn’t poof up, or uses a bit of hairspray. The only people who really know his hair is curly is the jomies (including jake, lia, and zoey) because they’ve slept over at his house, and have probably seen him when his hair was wet and curly again.
>He’s 15 feet into a glass closet. My sexuality head-canons for him change a lot, but I’ve sort of settled on omni/ace for now. However, For the most part, I think if he were to come out, he’d just be queer. I dont think he’d care for labels too much
>Obvious attachment issues, slight separation anxiety, although, I can see it being more leaning towards henry and liam than jake for that. He might have had an obsession with jake, but I think it’d have hurt more if henry and liam left him, considering they had been there the longest.
>He loves zoey, even still. He really does. He’s terrible at showing it, but he does his best.
>Zoey, knowing his love language is gift giving, and he’s rich, befriended him in late middle school/early high school, and they started dating seconds year odd high school. Drew definitely was the one who confessed after being hyped up about it by henry and liam and jake. Zoey definitely wasn’t planning on dating him, but shrugged it off as being able to get him to do more stuff. She eventually did develop feelings for him, but she was too far into the mess she had created to stop, so she kept pushing
>He has such an rbf guys, like, he would be thinking about the happiest thing ever and his face would be just this 1000 yard stare
>He definitely drinks energy drinks guys, probably monsters but I can see him bringing an alani to school because he knows he’s gonna get called emo if he brings a monster to school
>He is called emo quite a bit at school, although he isn’t. It doesn’t bother him much anymore.
>He loves cats and really really wants one, but he’s severely allergic. Like, your throat closes and you die unless you get to the ER or have an epipen level allergic.
>He has Two bearded dragons (Each around 18 inches long, a boy and a girl) named Jevin and Pearl, his two favourite hermits
>he watches hermitcraft. Probably the life series and Empires and Outsiders and Life steal and all that stuff too, but He watches hermitcraft RELIGIOUSLY (He’s watched every episode that Jevin, Pearl, Grian, and Xisuma have put out, and he’s working on Mumbo’s pov right now)
>His favourite broadway musicals are Heathers and Six. Mean girls is up there too, but those are his favorites
>He didn’t cry during the titanic because it was sad, but because he watched it with zoey and she was crying, which made him cry
>i’m not gonna diagnose him with anything necessarily because i’m in no way qualified for that, but he definitely has mood swings and his opinions change a lot depending on who else he finds has them. He can go from hating something for years to immediately liking it if Liam says its good, or go from liking something to hating it if Hailey likes it.
>He listens to music, heck, one of his main designs are airpods- So, I think that he definitely listens to electronic stuff, scenecore type shit (Asteria, Barely human, Odetari, Clover!, and allat jazz) Not because its his favourite, but because Liam and henry both listen to it, so drew likes it.
>He really cares about his friends, but is really shit at showing it.
>He’s not good at communication, and is not often sure how to communicate what he wants or what he needs without sounding blunt or rude. He often rehearses how talks will go.
>This mf does not regret bullying that music club guys- I love him but i’m not even gonna attempt to justify him bullying them because I feel like it takes away from his character a lot
>He hates Hailey and Zander, Mainly because he finds them annoying and freaky.
>He’s only bullied luke because of his connection to zander and the music club, he doesn’t really mind luke as a person
>Milly Is his second cousin, they really only have their families meet up on holidays, so they never grew up close. Drew and Milly dont view eachother as family, so they dont care about bullying eachother/doing stuff to eachother’s friends. Drew and Milly do both occasionally pull the “I’m going to tell Thamma (grandma)!”, which does admittedly stop the other from doing whatever they were going to do.
>Drew has picked on pretty much all the club members, except for sean. Whether this be because Sean is taller than him, older than him, Or because they simply just have never really talked, drew mostly leaves him alone. He forgets sean is there most of the time
>Insecure as shit, do I even need to say it lol?
I have a lot more, but these are my main headcanons. Ofc, I fluctuate a lot with them, I’m like a multishipper but instead of shipping its with headcanons.
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luck-of-the-drawings · 11 months ago
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OOOH BABY THIS ONE WAS A LONG TIME COMING. NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE!!
YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER. A DAY OF ADVENTURE WITH YOUR CLOSEST FRIENDS. OH HOW TIGHTLY YOU HOLD THEM TO YOUR CHEST, AND OH HOW TERRIFYING IT IS TO WATCH THEM GET EVISCERATED BY SOMETHING YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. MAYBE IF YOU JUST LISTENED A BIT MORE, IF YOU LET THE SMART ONE LEAD THE CHARGE, THIS WOULDNT HAVE HAPPENED. ONCE AGAIN YOUR IMPULSIVENESS LEADS TO DISASTER. HEAR ME NOW, YOUNG TIDESTRIDER, YOUR STUPIDITY WILL BRING THE DEMISE OF EVERYTHING YOU WERE BORN AND FORGED TO PROTECT. HOW COULD THE PROPHECY HAVE CHOSEN SOMEONE SO USELESS? I BET YOU WISH YOU CHOSE THE RIGHT LEVER. FAILURE.
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi riptide spoilers#jrwi riptide#cw gore#cw blood#cw eyestrain#THE NIGHTMARE ARC WAS CRAAAZY IVE BEEN WORKIN ON THIS SHIT SINCE THAT EP CAME OUT OHHH MY GOOOODD#ITS DONE ITS DONE I DONT CAAAARE I CANT LOOK AT IT ANYMORE JUST TAAAAKE IT#IT WAs meant to just be a buncha silly doodles and. well. then i saw all the beautiful colors in the world#and i just really wanted to draw jay getting fucked up by a lazer#IGNOREEEE THE DIFFERING ARTSTYLES THIS HAS LITERALLY BEEN COOKING FOR MONTHS AND I AM TALENTED IN MANY DIFFERENT WAYS#I LOVE COLORS!!! if you look clooosesly youll notice that gillions eyes are bright green everytime#the dream stuff is all reddish and the waking world stuff is blue#I ALSO LOve drawing tears and that weird thick blood pouring from the wounds in his chest#i also LOVE drawing Dead Eyes (eyes of some1 who is dead) poor chip lmaooo everyone point n laugh at this guy who got Power Word: killed#he care so much for gillion tho... when he was breaking jay out he was like 'we gotta save gill' BUT#THAT WAS DREAM CHIP. THATS HOW GILLION SEES CHIP.. gillion knows these two love n care for him so much AUUUUUU#MORE IDEAS: i like to think gillion knows what price looks like bc chip has shown him Via his funny magic Disguise Self Bandana#also kinda unrelated but still in this episode. ive never seen gryffon act so homosexual. admitting he goes to like. 'male service' or wate#like that was all in gills dream. does gill just see gryffon as a fruit or somethin. does he Know?#okayokay i think i got most o the worms out of my BRAIN. i just love blood and terror and horror and fear so mmuuuuch#and i hope u love it too. have a good day if you can help it
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cluescorner · 6 months ago
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I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc
#damian wayne#damian al ghul#damian al ghul wayne#batman#batfamily#for all of the issues that come with having Steph as your fave having too much wild shit happening at once is never one of them#btw I quite like The Boy Wonder Issue 1. wow shocker an artist and writer who I have liked everything they've ever done#has once again written something that I am enjoying with art that makes me want to be part of its world.#it's almost like Juni Ba is really freaking talented or something#like I have some problems with it but it seems like many of those are part of the point. Damian is learning that his siblings are more#three-dimensional than he realized and that is part of this 'coming of age' story merged with fairytale#so I can't be mad at the oversimplistic defining of Dick and Jason and Tim until the conclusion of the series. that might be the point.#I hope that the series will address Steph as a Robin but if not then frankly it's not an issue unique to this series.#I'll be annoyed and disappointed but ultimately roll with it like I am with Babsgirl being here. There's too much good stuff here to get#hung up on shit that seems to be almost an editorial mandate at this point. at least that's where I'm at.#I am also very sorry that Chip Zdarsky is massacring your boy. he has 'X (Tim for him) is the best Robin so everyone else must suck' diseas#where a writer really likes one specific Robin and in trying to uplift them demeans all of the other Robins. instead of like...just writing#for that one character only or alternatively not demeaning the other characters in order to make his blorbo look good#it's wild because I actually think his writing for Tim is pretty solid. but he's not writing a Tim series. he's writing a Batman series.#and if you are going to write a Batman series and include other Batfamily members you need to actually write them well.#instead of assigning them like 2 personality traits while Tim gets to be a whole character#I accept that behavior in fanfic where I have lesser standards because it's fucking free. not a comic run that wants me to pay#tens of dollars in order to understand what the fuck is going on. he's been going for a while now it's gotta be a lot of money.#I can buy Steelworks with that money. I can see John Henry and Natasha Irons in a trade. Fuck you Chip.#it's why it takes such a special person to write a good ensemble story/a good Batfamily story. you have to be good at writing a LOT#of different characters. which I don't think most people are. I sure as hell am not. I can write maybe 3 at a time confidently well.#and you also have to give all of them at least SOME love or else people will be upset that you aren't focusing on their fave#and also the writing as a whole will suffer. Chip Zdarsky is a pretty good Tim writer. I'd maybe read a Tim solo written by him.#I would not read a story focusing on multiple characters that I like written by Chip Zdarsky. because every character who isn't Tim#is at least a bit weak/inconsistent/out of character INCLUDING FUCKING BATMAN. THE NO. 1 GUY MOST ARE HERE FOR
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dogboots · 30 days ago
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my special skills are eating large volumes of soup and [shuffles some notes around] being a huge bummer
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sakasakiii · 1 year ago
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OH??? EH???? HUH HOW DID I NOT SEE THIS EARLIER WAAAA HE LOOKS SOSOSO GOOD??!! 💓🥺🥺🥺💓💓 oh myg dkfsdknj the lighting the scars the bgggg down to his dishevelled hair and hsi golden eyes,,, you got everything so perfect!!!! i am in LOVE with your colouring style and art style pleeasseeee i am beyond myself rn 😭😭😭
im sorry i didnt see this earlier but ahhh thank you so much!!!! this is the sweetest thing ive ever gotten and im def saving this for... wallpaper purposes... hohoh.... 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ im so honoured you took the time to do this--- thank you a million times again!!
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I really love @sakasakiii 's erestor design so I wanted to draw him
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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 11 months ago
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The Fight || Billy The Kid x reader
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Summary: Billy involves himself in a physical fight over you.
Warnings: violence, swearing, blood
Wc: 1,347
A/n: uh- this is my very first time writing a Billy fic so pls bear w me (especially w how they talk and stuff) bc in the the series I don’t really find Billy talking like how ppl write abt him (absolutely not hate whatsoever to those who do, I absolutely love ur fics find you all so talented 😭) so I’ll try my best to be as accurate as I can. Do let me know if I make a mistake so I can improve :)
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Divider by @pommecita
"I'd fuck her any day if she wasn't whoring herself for him," Ollinger slurs, throwing his head back to let the contents of the bottle run down his throat as the men around him laugh. Billy's head pikes up at the sound. Typical Ollinger, talking about some woman as if she was an object.
Billy watches from the other side of the room as he continues to talk to them, his voice becoming louder by the second. "hot for a fucking gringo, and that's saying something," He shakes his head his eyes half close by how wasted he was.
"Wonder how Billy would feel if I had her, don't think he's too keen on sharin?" He nudges the guy beside him before bursting out laughing. Hearing this, he realises that Ollinger was talking about you. Calling you a whore.
He slammed the bottle in his hand down on the table making a loud noise. Pat Garrett and Jessie slightly flinch before they look up at Billy who was already standing, fuming.
"What's goin' on?" Pat asks, his eyes trying to follow Billy's line of gaze. Billy doesn't answer, instead, he storms over to where Bob Ollinger was and his friends. They were all laughing until one of the guys ushered everyone and tapped Ollinger to face Billy.
He slowly turned around, seemingly not bothered by Billy's presence or the fact that he towered over him. "Have something to say 'bout my girl Ollinger? Hm?" He stands his ground, taking another swig of his alcohol as he maintains eye contact with Billy. Everyone in the room had quietened down, eyes trained on the two who never got along.
"Maybe. Wanna hear what I gotta say Billy?" He smirks as Pat Garret and Jessie had already stood up from where they were. Billy narrows his eyes at the man. "I think she's a pretty little gringa you got there, but she needs a real man, not some kid like you-" "You're fucking pathetic, y'know that?" Billy spat, venom laced in his words.
Ollinger seemed to have sobered up when he said that. He looked at Billy with pure rage. "What’d you call me, boy." His blood was boiling at this point. "I said." Billy steps closer, "You're fucking pathetic." He threw a punch at his jaw as Ollinger falls back from the impact and his lack of balance.
At this point the room was cheering the two on as they throw punches at each other. Ollinger swings at Billy but misses, he was glad he wasn't drinking as much that night. He then lunges and aims towards Billy's stomach, knocking him onto the table as all its contents fell on the floor. "C'mon Billy get up!" Garrett pushes him back up.
Billy had a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow as a trail of blood fell down the side of his face. However, it was nothing compared to the damage he did on Ollinger. "Call a whore one more time, I dare you," Billy yelled, throwing punch after punch as he was on top of him. "Billy! Billy stop!" Billy heard your familiar voice but didn't stop. All he could see was red.
From the moment you stepped foot out of your carriage that dropped you off in front of the pub, you knew a brawl of some sort was going on inside by the way you could hear cheers and the noise of furniture being knocked over.
You hurriedly walk in. You couldn't see what was going on over the tall people who stood in front of you. Weaving your way through the crowd to try and see what the commotion was about, you bumped into Jessie. "Woah there-" "Jessie, what's going on? Where's Billy?" You quickly ask him before your eyes fall onto him.
He was on top of Ollinger, throwing punch after punch. Your eyes widen in horror as you try to go to him but was held back by Jessie who had an arm around your shoulder. "Let me go! I need to stop him Jessie!" You struggle against his iron like grip. "Can't have you get involved in fight, sweetheart. Can’t let you goin' home with a scratch on your pretty face now can I?"
He says against the side of your face as you squirm, helplessly watching the fight. There was blood everywhere and you feared that Billy had killed Ollinger. "Jessie!" You thrash in his grip before he gives Garrett a look who nods and quickly breaks up the fight.
"That's enough, Billy. You got what you wanted," Pat and few other guys pulled Billy back who was breathing heavily, blood covered his shirt and hands. Billy spits on the ground. "All right, show's over!" Jessie yells as people start leaving. Ollinger gets pulled up by a few others as he's dragged away, his body limp.
"Don't you fucking go near her! You hear me Ollinger?" Billy yells before he spits more blood out. "Enough, Billy!" You exasperated, kneeling beside him to take his face in your hands, inspecting it.
Thank god there wasn’t much damage, only a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow. “For god’s sake Billy! What happened now?” You search his eyes as he stares back at you, blankly. You catch Pat and Jessie looking at you before their eyes find the floor rather interesting. You stand up, dress already spotted in crimson as you brush the loose strands of your hair behind your ears, “What happened here?”
~
You made a beeline to your bathroom. Billy closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, he let out a groan before falling back onto the soft mattress. He starts to sit up when he hears you walk back in, a first aid kit in your hands.
You hadn't spoken a word to him since the two of you left the pub and came back to your house. You were grateful that your parents were away for the week, they would have thrown a fit if they saw you covered in blood and Billy batted up.
Moving to stand in between his legs, Billy lifts his hands up to rest on your hips but you slap his hands away. "Darlin'-" "I don't want to hear it Billy," You say, annoyance dripping from you voice as he hisses at the contact of disinfectant on his cut.
Billy lets out a sigh, his eyes trained on your angel like face as you attend to his face. "I'm sorry, I really am-" "Five times. Five times you've gotten into a fight because of me." You scoff, tilting his head firmly as you go over his eyebrow.
"You told me you would stop Billy. I can't keep playing nurse with you because you can't bite your tongue," You make eye contact with him. "You expect me to just sit around and do nothing when some guy is calling you my whore?" Billy's voice gets louder as he furrows his eyebrows at you.
You gulp, eyes looking everywhere but him. "Look at me!" He grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, "You've known me long enough to know I ain't that type of guy," He spoke, his eyes darkening.
"And you've known me long enough to know that I can handle whatever they call me. I don't need you getting into a fight every time someone foul mouths me," Your eyes begin to water. You hated seeing Billy like this. You hated how most of his fights revolved around the topic of you.
"They're all worth it, doll. You're worth it." Billy wipes away the singular tear that managed to escape. You sniffle lightly before he pulls you onto his lap, your arms securing themselves around his neck as he strokes your hair.
"Try not to get into another fight because of me," You mutter, your fingers drawing random shapes on his back as you hear him chuckle, "Can't keep any promises, darlin'" He kisses your hair as the two of you hold each other.
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meazalykov · 2 months ago
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independent
sister!trinity rodman x rodman!reader
part one - part two here
summary: even though you're sisters, you might have to let her go
warnings: angst, swearing, childhood trauma mentions
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there is no way that you would reject the offer your agent sent you.
at twenty one years old, barcelona feminine offered you a 3 year contract to play at their club as a defender.
for many years while growing up, you were obsessed with barcelona and the atmosphere all of games had.
you idolized messi, before idolizing alexia putellas when barcelona's women's team started putting themselves on the map.
there is no way that you will say no to barcelona.
as of right now, you were with washington spirit. the nwsl club and the catalan club had ties together, so you shouldn't be surprised that barcelona saw you-- spirit's best defender-- before anyone else in america.
when it comes to transfers and talks of contracts, you weren't allowed to disclose the details with anyone.
even with your own sister, trinity.
trinity is your best friend, and your fraternal twin. you were 9 minutes younger than her and stayed attached to her hip.
its not like trinity didn't like it, she loved staying by your side. when you asked your mom to start playing soccer at the age of 4-- a shock considering that your father is one of the basketball legends in the NBA-- trinity joined with you.
now, many years later, the both of you were playing in the NWSL and play for the USWNT. you had the speed, strength, and determination that made you an unstoppable defender while trinity's speed, attitude, and dribbles made her an unstoppable forward.
there were many obstacles that you had to go through to get here.
emotionally, you weren't okay while growing up. missing your father who happened to be very famous in the sports world took a toll on you for a long time.
sometimes, you wondered if he would've came by to see you, your sister, and your brother more if you'd decided to pursue a professional career in basketball instead.
trinity pretended that the absence didn't affect her, as she would comfort you every time you were upset about your father not showing up to the games to see you both.
you knew deep down that it did affect your twin, as she would greet mom and then search the crowd to see if she can find dad anywhere after.
another obstacle was trying to overachieve in soccer, to the point where it would take a toll on your body most days.
having a father who is famous for his NBA career in the 90s, you didn't want people to think that you were "buying" your way into higher spots on the teams. you wanted to prove that you had talent, not nepotism.
after solcal blues, you nearly played soccer for UCLA while trinity wanted to follow DJ to washington state. the both of you had major anxiety about splitting apart from each other-- wondering if the both of you would survive without seeing each other everyday.
however, COVID-19 decided to keep you both together. the quarantine solidified the codependency you shared with trinity.
so, telling trinity that you'll be moving clubs scared you. you didn't know how she'd react.
she would probably see if she could switch clubs with you. you frowned at the idea, knowing that barcelona couldn't offer her a contract, they have too many forwards already.
since you said yes to the catalan club, you'll be in another country while trinity stays in DC-- unless she went to another club in europe to be closer to you.
now, you'll have to tell her before news pages leak the contract deal.
"trin?" you called out inside of your shared apartment with her. you assumed she'd be in the living room, so you walked out of your bedroom to head to there.
"hey, you're awake!" trinity said as you sat down on the couch beside her.
she wasn't smiling, in fact, she sounded like she was waiting for you to wake up to tell you something.
"trin I gotta talk to you about something."
"okay-- coach said you wouldn't be in training or the next game, I was surprised because you didn't tell me that." trinity chuckles as you frowned.
little did she know, the last game with spirit was your last.
"I'm sorry--- I just wanted to talk to you about something important."
she looked at you, waiting for you to continue as you looked down at your sweaty palms.
"I'm leaving." you mumbled.
trinity's eyebrows flared together.
"what do you mean?" she asks.
"another club offered me a contract, and I feel like that would be best for my career." you say.
trinity sighed, in relief, un-crossing her arms before laying her feet out on the coffee table.
"oh okay, you'll still be in the country so I can visit you. maybe we will even clash-"
the older twin had experienced distance with you before. you were gonna play in los angeles while she went to washington state with DJ--- however, she didn't know how far she would be from you.
"trin." you stop her.
trinity read the facial expression on your face. you looked sad, shaking your head slowly as you kept rubbing your hands together-- wondering if this was the end to the close bond you shared with your sister.
"you're going-- overseas?" she mumbled.
trinity is your personal mind-reader, almost, she could tell what you were thinking based off of your facial expressions and the current situation.
"I couldn't say no to barcelona." you say, crossing your arms as you looked away from trinity-- towards the turned off television.
the silence between you and trinity grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. she didn't say anything immediately after, which scared you.
you look over to see that she is looking right at you.
you could see the hurt in her eyes, but there was something else there too—anger.
she finally pulled her hand away from the resting position on her lap, standing up abruptly.
"so, that's it? you're just going to leave?" trinity's voice was sharp, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
"what happened to communication? why were you so secretive about this? weren't we supposed to be into soccer together, y/n? we always said we'd have each others backs, no matter what. and now you're running off to barcelona like its not a big deal."
"it is a big deal," you shot back, standing up to face her.
"but this is my career we're talking about, trin. i can't pass up an opportunity like this just because it's hard. you know how much this means to me. YOU know how much I grew up loving barcelona."
"and what about me?" trinity demanded, her voice rising.
"do i mean anything to you? because it sure doesn't feel like it right now. you didn't even talk to me about it before making your decision. you just decided on your own, like me or DJ don't even matter to you." trinity rubs her left temple with her finger, overwhelmed and frustrated at your decision.
"DJ? he doesn't even live in DC!" you protest.
"at least he will be in the fucking country!" trinity snaps.
"that's not fucking fair trinity," you argued, frustration creeping into your own voice.
you never said trinity's name fully, always calling her trin.
"of course you matter to me, but this is my life! i have to do what's best for me, and that means taking this chance. you would do the same if you were in my shoes." you stood up, just five feet in front of her standing body.
"you really don't get it, do you? it's not just about you, y/n. we were supposed to be a duo, and now you're breaking that up. you're leaving your own twin behind, and you don't even care because you want to prioritize your career over that." trinity let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.
"of course i care!" you shouted, feeling your emotions getting the best of you. "but i can't let that stop me from going after what I want, especially since dad stopped coming around so much before we grew up. i need this, trin. if you can't understand that, if you can't be happy for me, if you want to stay at the same club for your whole career-- then maybe you need to let me go."
the words hung in the air like a bomb that had just gone off. trinity's face twisted in hurt and disbelief, her eyes narrowing as she stared at you.
"let you go? are you serious right now? you're the one who's leaving, y/n-- just like dad did. you're the one who’s letting go!"
"i'm not giving up on us!" you insisted, your voice trembling with the overwhelming process of your feelings. "but if you can't support me like a twin sister would… then yeah, maybe you need to let me go."
trinity stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she processed your words.
for a moment, you thought she might say something—anything—to bridge the gap that had opened between you. but instead, she just shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
"fine," she said, her voice breaking as she relaxed her arms in defeat.
"go. do what you have to do. but don't expect me to be here waiting when you realize that the grass isn't greener on the other side."
with that, trinity turned on her heel and stormed out of the apartment, leaving you standing there. you flinched when she slammed the door shut, probably scaring your neighbors in the process.
you wanted to run after her, to take back everything you'd said, take back your contract with barcelona and stay in washington-- but you knew it was too late for that.
the rift between you and your lifetime companion had been torn wide open, and there was no going back now.
all you could do was hope that, in time, she would come to understand why you had to do this—why you had to follow your own path and break your dependency from her, even if it meant leaving her behind.
for now, the only thing you could do was stand firm in your decision and hope that your dream didn't cost you the most important person in your life.
part two
my master list is here if you want to read more fics <3
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ssparksflyy · 9 months ago
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i cannot remember if i already sent in a request, my apologies if i did. but could i get a percy x daughter of dionysus boyfriend headcanons
ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.
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percy jackson dating hcs! ๋࣭ ⭑⚝
pairing: percy jackson x daughter of dionysus!reader warning(s): alcohol, teensy bit of underage drinking a/n: hellooo! dw pooks u didnt send it already <33 sorry this took me a sec to get out, school SUCKS
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WE WERE IN THE BACKSEAT DRUNK ON SOMETHING STRONGER THAN THE DRINKS IN THE BAR
im not kidding though. percy's literally so in love with you that he feels drunk
he gets super smiley and giggly when he talks about you
im talking actually twirling his hair and kicking his feet goodnight
and the poor new camper he's supposed to be showing around literally just wants to learn where the restroom is
he seizes up any opportunity to talk about you methinks
someone could be like
" look at that (f/c) flower! its so pretty!!"
and percy, who's like 12 feet away would run up like
"DID YOU KNOW (F/C) IS (NAMES)'S FAVORITE COLO-"
at this point half the camp knows your entire life story
honestly. pollux loves percy.
he sees how happy he makes you and how well he treats you and is just like 'awwww'
DEFINITELY TEASES YOU THOUGHHH
he also definitely doesn't see percy sneak into your cabin. no siree he doesnt. hes sleeping. goodnight.
( castor also loved him. ILY KING. 😭 )
mr d on the other hand...
literally surprised he hasn't turned him into a dolphin yet
one day he will
but like say you guys are just happily walking around camp, holding hands, being cute , the usual.
when like suddenly you turn to the big house and see your PISSED dad DEATHSTARING you guys. oh hell no.
AND PERCY DOES NOT HELPPPP.
he'll literally look mr d straight in the eye. then turn to you and give you a long kiss. right in front of him.
chiron has had to hold him back countless times
like there was one time when you walked out of cabin 12 together and mr.d saw
he was FUMING
he's seen you walk out of cabin 3 before, BUT CABIN 12?? HIS CABIN????
percy's ass was grass.
literally.
you two were sitting together on the grass, just chatting, and percy could not get uppp
there were vines literally tying him to the ground
you were laughing so hard and he was PANICKING. RIPTIDE WOULD NOT CUT THEMMM.
eventually when you stopped laughing you were able to get the vines to retreat, but percy is still scared to sit in the grass, so all picnic dates have been moved to the lake ♡
whenever youre practicing making wine and like have to taste test it, percy always takes a sip with you
cause obviously you gotta taste it and make sure your actually improving, so you both take a little sip together
it's his own way of saying that he trusts you and your talents
he absolutely adores picking strawberries with you
sometimes you'll help out the demeter kids and bring percy along
and hes just like speed running it i swear
you dont even know why. like he's just laser-focused
apparently, he doesn't know either, it just happens 🤷‍♀️
at the end of the day, when youre done picking strawberries, you'll sneak a few in your pocket and share them with percy ♡
he doesn't care if he's developing back problems from being hunched over in the fields all day, your strawberry kisses are worth it ♡
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yourlocalshootingstar · 5 months ago
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GIGGLING GIDDY JUMPING UP AND DOWN
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GhosNako Stimboard 🍋‍🟩🌠🍡
GIFT FOR MY BELOVED - @yourlocalshootingstar
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chocosvt · 3 months ago
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HER | part three (m).
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✧✎ 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.
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pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.
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(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.
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✧✎ 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.
THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p
happy reading!! 💕
⇢ part one | part two | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)
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“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”
He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.
“I told you!”
Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.
Wonwoo did the same.
Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.
“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”
“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.
“Of course you did.”
He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.
Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…
He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.
To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.
He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.
“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”
You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.
“Are you sure?”
“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”
“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”
Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.
“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.
“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”
You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.
“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”
“I’d love that, thank you.”
While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.
Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.
“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”
“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”
“Yeah—that’s all of it?”
“Mmhm.”
“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”
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Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.
“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”
“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”
Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.
“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”
Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.
“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”
He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.
“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”
“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”
Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.
“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”
After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.
“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”
Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.
“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”
“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”
He scratched under the pad of his glasses.
“Is that what you usually eat?”
“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”
“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.
“Ramen.”
“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."
“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.
He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.
It was a text from Vernon.
[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot
[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!
Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.
Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.
Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.
He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.
God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?
“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”
You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.
“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”
Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.
“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”
You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.
“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.
“Yeah…”
“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”
Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.
“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”
Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.
“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”
“Pfft. Did it, now?”
Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.
“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”
“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”
You grinned, shaking your head.
“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”
“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.
“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”
“Well, that soils my next question.”
You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”
For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.
Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.
“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”
“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”
“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”
Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.
“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”
“It’s okay.”
Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.
“I would love for you to come, then.”
He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.
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—JUNE 15TH.
Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.
Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.
At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.
After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.
The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.
It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.
And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.
That was something he’d never experienced before.
It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.
Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.
He should probably just go to bed.
Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.
Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.
You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu
Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.
[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102
[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?
Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.
Did you mean to send that to him?
For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.
[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?
He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.
[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes
[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?
[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol
[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(
Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.
[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.
[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.
[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?
[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.
[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.
[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now
[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?
At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.
[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics
[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it
Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.
[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.
[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)
[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.
[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming
[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better
[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.
[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries
[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!
[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3
[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.
At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.
That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.
Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.
Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.
Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.
[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!
[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours
Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.
[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?
[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo
He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.
This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.
Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.
In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.
With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.
Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.
In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.
You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.
His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.
Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.
He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.
But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.
Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.
However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.
“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”
It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.
Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.
Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.
As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.
Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.
What the fuck had he just done?
How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.
Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.
His feelings for you.
But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.
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—JUNE 16TH
Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.
There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.
Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.
Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.
“Hey, Glasses.”
He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.
“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”
“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”
“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.
“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”
“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”
Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.
All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.
Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.
“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”
Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.
“Hm? What’s funny?”
Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”
Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.
He could offer you something, and that was it.
But, now…
“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.
Instantly, Vernon groaned.
“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”
“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”
“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.
Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.
“… I don’t know.”
“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”
Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.
“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.
Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.
“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”
“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”
“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”
“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”
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“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”
Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.
Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.
Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.
“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.
“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”
“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”
Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”
“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”
At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.
[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!
[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house
“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”
“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.
[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?
[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too
[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.
[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!
[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?
[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup
[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!
“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”
“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”
Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.
They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.
“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”
But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.
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“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.
They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.
Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.
Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.
“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.
It seemed like stepping into another universe.
“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.
He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.
The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.
Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.
Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.
“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”
For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.
“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, ���—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”
Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.
“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.
Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.
“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”
As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.
“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.
[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces
[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!
Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 
As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.
She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”
Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”
“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”
“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”
Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).
One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.
Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.
He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.
“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”
It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.
“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”
Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.
“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.
“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”
“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”
Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.
“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”
“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.
“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”
“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”
“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”
“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”
He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”
“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”
Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.
“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”
As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.
“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”
“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”
Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.
“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”
“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”
“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.
“That’s stupid and absurd.”
“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”
“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”
“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”
“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”
Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.
[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo
[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!
And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.
He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.
Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”
At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.
“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.
“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.
You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.
Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.
One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.
Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.
“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”
And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.
In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.
Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.
You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.
“Move! Oh my fucking God—”
But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.
A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.
Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.
But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.
And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.
“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.
“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.
“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”
“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”
“You sure?”
Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.
Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.
It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.
“… I’m sure.”
“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.
“Hm? Is what still true?”
Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.
He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.
“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”
Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.
“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”
One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.
“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”
Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.
You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.
“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”
But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.
“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”
“Hm. Figures.”
Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”
Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.
“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”
“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”
Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.
“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”
“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”
And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.
“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”
You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.
“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”
However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.
“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”
“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.
“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”
“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”
“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”
Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.
Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.
“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”
Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.
“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”
“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”
“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’
Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.
“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”
Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.
“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”
The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.
“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.
“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”
Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”
“What for?” Vernon asked.
You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.
“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”
“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”
“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”
“I’m starting to not even taste it!”
The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.
“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”
“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.
She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.
“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.
Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.
“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”
Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.
“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”
Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.
He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.
You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”
“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”
From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.
“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.
“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”
He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.
“Thanks.”
It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.
“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.
“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”
“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.
His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.
Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.
“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.
“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.
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The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.
It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.
There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 
Everyone began to settle.
As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.
“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”
“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”
“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”
“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.
Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”
“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”
“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.
“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”
“Ah, right, right.”
His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.
He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.
“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”
Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.
“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”
“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”
“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.
Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”
“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”
He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”
“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”
“Fair.”
 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”
“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”
“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”
Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”
“Hm.”
“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”
“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”
Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.
“No, tell me.”
Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.
“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”
“Really? Is that so?”
Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”
“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.
Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”
“Maybe I do.”
“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”
Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.
“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”
Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.
Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.
“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.
“It’s not—”
“Seokmin!”
“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”
Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.
“Hm, don’t know her.”
“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.
“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.
Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.
“… Um, yeah.”
There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.
“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”
Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.
“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”
Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.
Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.
“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”
“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”
Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.
Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.
“Can’t make it easy, can you?”
At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.
“Never. You should know that by now.”
“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.
Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.
“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”
Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”
Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.
“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”
“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”
“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”
Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.
“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”
God, no.
He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.
“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”
At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”
“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”
“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”
“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”
“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.
“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”
Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.
“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”
The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.
He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.
Things would get better. They had to.
“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”
Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.
“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”
Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.
“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.
The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.
“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”
“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”
“So it seems.”
“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”
“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”
“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”
Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”
“University?”
“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”
“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”
“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.
“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”
“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”
“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”
“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”
Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.
“What?”
“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”
Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.
“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”
“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”
Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.
“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”
Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.
“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”
“Same. Daegu.”
“Changwon.”
Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.
“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”
“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”
Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”
“I’ve heard…”
“So Seokmin says you like to write?”
“Yes. Reading and writing.”
“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”
Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.
“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”
“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”
“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”
“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”
For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.
“What?”
Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.
“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”
“No... you’re not.”
It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.
Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.
“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.
“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”
“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”
Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.
He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.
Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.
“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”
Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”
“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.
Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.
“Does Mingyu always do that?”
Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”
“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”
Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.
“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”
Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.
Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.
“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.
Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.
“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.
Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.
“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”
“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”
“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”
“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”
Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.
Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.
“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”
When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”
He bit into his lip, thinking.
“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”
“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.
“Cool. I’ve got that.”
With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.
Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.
“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.
“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.
“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”
Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.
Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.
Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.
“Can you roll mine, dude?”
“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”
“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”
Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.
“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”
“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.
Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”
“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.
“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.
“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.
“I don’t know yet…”
Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.
“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.
From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.
“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”
He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.
Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”
After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.
“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”
“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.
He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.
“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”
“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”
As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.
“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”
“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”
You smiled at him again.
He smiled back.
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Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.
Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.
“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”
Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.
Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.
He called.
Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.
Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.
It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.
He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.
“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.
“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.
Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.
Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.
“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.
“Fold.”
“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”
“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.
“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.
Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.
“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”
Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”
“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.
The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.
Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”
“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.
“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.
After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.
Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.
“Bet. Here you go.”
More of those green chips were moved out.
Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”
Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.
“Okay. Raise, then.”
Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.
“Fine—have it your way.”
"I’ll call.”
“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.
“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.
Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.
“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.
“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.
Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”
Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."
“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”
“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”
They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.
He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.
Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.
They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.
You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.
Princess was back to being the dealer.
Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”
Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”
Everyone called.
Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”
The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.
“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.
Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.
“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.
Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.
“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”
“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.
“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.
Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.
“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.
Seungcheol agreed.
By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.
He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.
The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.
“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”
Everyone flipped their cards.
A moment of silence ensued, and then—
“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.
Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.
Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.
By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.
He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.
Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.
[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.
He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.
[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no
His thumbs fired back a response.
[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?
[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to
[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?
[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play
[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.
[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.
[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?
Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.
[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?
[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.
[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine
[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose
Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.
“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.
Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.
“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”
“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.
“Uh, right. And Vernon.”
Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.
“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”
“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.
“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”
“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.
“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”
Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”
The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.
Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.
At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.
Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.
Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.
“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”
Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.
“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.
“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”
Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.
“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”
But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.
“What’s your move then, babe?”
“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.
And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.
“Raise.”
“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.
“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”
As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.
“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”
Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.
“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.
“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.
Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.
“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.
Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”
The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.
Unless Wonwoo folded.
“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.
“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.
You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.
 “Should I make it more interesting?”
Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.
“All in.”
He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.
“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”
Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.
“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”
“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”
Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”
“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.
There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.
However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.
“I’m folding.”
Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.
Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.
“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”
“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”
“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”
Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.
“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”
Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.
“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.
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After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.
Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.
Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.
He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.
Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.
“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”
Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”
“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”
“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”
Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.
“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”
Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.
“How’d you know my cards were better?”
At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.
Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.
“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”
“I did? Hm.”
“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”
Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.
It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.
No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”
“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”
Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”
“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”
He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."
Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."
He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.
And then he was holding it out in front of you.
“Hit?”
You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.
“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.
“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”
Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.
“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”
“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”
You looked relieved.
“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”
Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.
“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”
You puffed out another hit.
“I will.”
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It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.
Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.
Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.
He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.
“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.
She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.
“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”
Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.
“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”
“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”
“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”
Princess folded her arms and smiled.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She?”
“Her.”
“Oh. I was asking—”
“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”
Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.
“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.
“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.
The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.
He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.
“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”
Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.
Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”
Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.
Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.
His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.
“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”
But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.
“My bad. Sorry.”
It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.
“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.
Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.
“Uh, all good...”
Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.
“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”
She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.
“I hope you’re feeling okay.”
Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”
“… Are you… sure about that?”
“Mmhm.”
“Do you need water or anything?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”
“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.
He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.
“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.
Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.
“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.
“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”
“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.
“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”
“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”
All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”
“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”
“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”
“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”
“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”
Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.
“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.
Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”
Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.
“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”
Again, he was completely ignored.
“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”
“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”
“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.
Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.
The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.
Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.
Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”
He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.
“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.
Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  
And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.
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—END OF PART III.
304 notes · View notes
thechekhov · 10 months ago
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Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH40
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Laios is apparently only good at drawing monsters.
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You guys have no faith in him! Come onnnn
To that point, if the shapeshifters that are left are the most similar to the real selves, doesn't that prove that Laios actually knows them best? The other, easily-discounted shapeshifters were easily singled out as fakes because they were so caricature like.
The remaining fakes are just minutely different from the real selves. Chilchuk has slightly larger eyes, Marcille's hair is thinner, and Senshi has sharper features. What that says to me is that Laios is actually the BEST at reconstructing them in his mind.
Unfortunately, that. Kinda makes it harder.
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Welll.......yeah. No, that makes sense.
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This is a problem you all created 😂
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This is legitimately making me question everything. Because like... Marcille A is acting pretty sus. But they've been through a lot, so maybe she's just depressed?
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Oooooooh someone minmaxed into gayness. That's certainly a dependable strategy.
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FAKE!!!!! He's the fake! Senshi would never deplete an ecosystem completely like that!!!!
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ah yes, all sorts of nutrition. White rice is known for its nutrition like...... (looks at smeared writing on hand) carbohydrates and scant amounts of folates. Yep.
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HE IS HANDSOME, BUT NOT "B"!! "A" IS ALSO HANDSOME!! THEY'RE BOTH HANDSOME!
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.......guys. GUYYS.
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Laios, you're such an absolute loser and I love you but please. Please turn on the autism. Just this once, please turn on the autism beam and point it at your friends. Please
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"all of them! Everyone is fake! Including me!"
Wouldn't that be a plot twist.
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why are both the chillchucks upset at this suggestion? shouldn't the real ones be relieved?
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Illusions with physical traits, though? Is that not obvious once you start roughing it up with it? If something can be physical enough to fight, why not just use that thing to overpower the adventurer, then?
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....so it's a vampire created illusion?
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Okay, so because I saw someone else post this page to my dash about a week ago I'm actually fully aware of what comes next, and I can say with certainty that it does not ruin it. At all.
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I gotta say, as a weird little kid that practiced barking like a dog and mimicking dog howls, this is making me feel SO SEEN. He's just like me fr.
And the fact that they're all supporting his talent........friendship is magic.
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I'm so intrigued by this man and how his mind works.
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Love is not letting your dumbass furry friend climb into the wolf enclosure at the zoo and try to fight the alpha of the pack.
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This is. So real. I've never seen a manga commit SO MUCH to the weird little man trope, and I love Kui-san so much for this. This is true representation.
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Dumbass recognizes dumbass. This is why they're friends.
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I WAS WONDERING ABOUT THAT. I also didn't remember it!
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Oh, hmm.....
I'm relatively certain the hand that Marcille grasped in the last chapter WAS the cat's hand. That means the cat followed them - but because no one knew she was there, the shapeshifter didn't create any illusions of her. That means she was just hiding out, observing everything.
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Is she just sleeping in there curled up on the rice?
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Ahhh, so it was a distraction.
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snowleopardcrk · 3 months ago
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more symbolism!!!
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ah yes, more Midnight Lily, a silverbell cameo and two Moonflower doodles. AU by @cuppajj
For Moonflowers story, we have her main conflict with her father, Saint Vanilla Cookie. But what about Midnight Lily Cookie, her mother? To give a little context for whats coming up, Moonflowers story theming around the Saint where Moonflower symbolizes the Moon, which includes the Solar Eclipse to contrast the Saints light themed imagery. Plus Moonflowers additional and more religious theming being based on the Spirit of Apostasy.
It is abundantly clear that Midnight Lily is an enabler of the other Neo Beasts, while to some extent understandable as she is the weakest of the Neo Beasts (she has long crossed the line of it being acceptable).
To compliment well with the general religious theming, I did additional research into the role of a mother in the lens of the Bible. 'the mother is one who "binds" the family together, holding them together individually and collectively through her love and actions' Despite how broken the family is, the only remaining connection that Moonflower has with the Saint IS Midnight Lily. And in return, she does care for her daughter and the Saint at some level. Yet, she does nothing to genuinely mend what has been broken (no one is, Moonflower is afraid of her father and the Saint is so delusional that he believes that this is the best course of action to save everyone). This fits her pattern of enabling and being generally passive to the world around her, for the most part.
Another aspect that I have neglected to mention is her slow-burn of a plan, she seeks by the end to have the others at least playing by her rules, but also not liking when her children do things she does not like. This is now territory where I do a lot of guess work and personal thoughts n' research so this is very much subject to change if anymore gets revealed.
How I have understood the few tidbits we get about the Beast of Sovereignty, she is an enabler and insecure about being the weakest. And I think her insecurity in some way, even if unintentional may reflect on her relationships where she is the one in power. In general, she is fine with her kids, generally passive until they get too unruly. At that point, she will remind them with harsh words who the mother is. I'd like to note quickly, she will NEVER get physical. She only uses WORDS. It is also important to note that she does wish for her child to understand where she is coming from. She is an enabler because she holds little power over the beasts, but in dynamics where she is the one in power, this side vanishes for the most part. Despite valuing sovereignty I believe she still wants to retain some level of control so Cookies don't do things she does not like. This is generally in line with how leadership generally operate, they don't care when you're doing smth positive, but when it turns negative, that's when it starts turning sour.
As for the actual arc of Midnight Lily and Moonflower, I have a general framing but it is difficult to make something as substantial as the one she has with Saint Vanilla. Gotta wait until I get more lore and story for the gal. But in short, it is a conflict of the two trying to make each other understand their respective sides. With Moonflower trying to save her mother, her only remaining parental figure from being a beast- while Midnight Lily seeks to make Moonflower truly understand her side and hopefully have Moonflower join her permanently.
Heres other tidbits for Moonflower and her relationship with the Creme Republic. For her ventures to the Silver Kingdom are actually secret. She is a very powerful and talented magic user (similar to her parents), so her travelling long distances quickly is very possible. Moonflower is already an outcast in the Republic, it is well known who her parents are. And Cookies keep their distance, there are very few Cookies who come and check in her. Its mostly some scientists who are researching the neo beasts (espresso, maybe, depends on his condition in this au), Clotted Cream Cookie, GingerBrave, Financer (sort of, she tags along the Consul) and depending on the direction of the story, Madelaine Cookie(I will start really brewing something here once more stuff comes out~). She stays isolated in her lab in the undercity, she never comes out, and when she does, she hides her face and just retrieves things like food or research material. It is normal for her to not talk with anyone for well over a week with nothing but a single lost Raisin Crow to keep her company. I'd like to note that this raisin crow is now an albino, and Black Raisin tasked Moonflower to take care of it since it was bullied and ousted by the other raisin crows (I took inspo from the myth, but it is generally agreed that white color corvids are subordinate to the colored ones).
But she is also an outcast in the silver kingdom, despite being Midnight Lilys kid (its a well known fact), she has gotten into disagreements with their monarch and isn't the upmost loyal member- she has a strong stigma around her. Silverbell Cookie does take pity on Moonflower.
That's all for now. I'm gonna lay down, I've done so much research...I silently weep at the thought of fully showing the complexity of the three in full force.
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catfern · 1 year ago
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1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL
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pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)
music: eyes without a face - billy idol
word count: 2.3k
summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.
warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber
an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*    *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
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“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”
“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”
it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.
‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.
“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”
she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded. 
fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.
“fine.”
it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.
the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”
ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night. 
“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”
“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”
you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.
but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.
but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.
she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.
“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”
you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.
“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”
ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.
you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.
“right, you ready?”
you nod. 
the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.
but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.
everything ellie does is scripted. fake.
if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?
the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.
“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”
“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.” 
you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.
slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,
“careful, it’s just me,”
there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,
“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”
yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,
“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”
stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.
your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.
the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.
the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.
what made them just get up and leave?
wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.
one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.
you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.
luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,
“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.
“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,
“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”
“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips, 
“mhm,”
you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.
her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.
“fuck, ellie.”
you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.
ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,
a skirt? really?
had you planned this?
“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”
her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.
under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.
fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.
if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,
“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”
her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”
she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.
heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.
you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed. 
her.
“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding. 
“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”
you didn’t need to ask twice.
 fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.
she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.
and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.
she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.
low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.
your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance, 
the camera,
“hey, el,”
she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”
 “does the red light mean it’s on?”
A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,
thought you might want a copy <3
my subscribers will love you
attachment: hauntedhouse.mov 
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taglist; @whore4abby
dm me to join my sad lil list <3
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ancientgoddessofegypt · 9 months ago
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JUPITERS THRONE : ASTRO OBSERVATIONS ON JUPITER PLACEMENTS
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Jupiter square ascendant - Difficulty in spaces where their idealistic views and beliefs can piss off certain people. It is because they are more open to the universes astral possibilities and sometimes can be around others who will try to make them 'tone down' there optimism. Sometimes they will have to spend time alone to understand the path they are embarking. It is not until they leave that environment, that inspiring mark they leave on others transforms other people around them.
Venus Sag - Talented in music, arts, spirituality but they have their own twist to it. The seekers they are, they find new ways to bringing out their interest in a light that makes you ponder on it a little. Very intriguing love lives, eventually they let go of all the standards they have over their relationships and make new ones. Trying anything new in their relationships give them the wisdom they need to move forward on their journey.
Don't get your feelings hurt, tho... they are always in charge. Whether you like it or not.
Jupiter Conjunct Moon - The power they have. Whew. They are good orchestras of emotion. They have the ability to cast a spell on you with their large auras. Its hidden in plain sight. It's not until they express their emotions in a way that has people trembling at their feet. Could be amazing performers or people of intellect. They have a lot of knowledge hidden inside them. You just have to be on the other side of their overflowing emotions ;)
9th House Saturns - A long time journey with changing their beliefs through time to time. These people should go on frequent trips to the cabin, and enjoy the mountains for time to time. This will ground them and help them change their perspective a little. A little more outside time will do the trick.
Neptune/ Jupiter aspects - Your subconscious beliefs need to be above the roof. If you have a lack mentality jupiter will extend on it ten times more. Having more faith within your belief system will help you enjoy the fruits of your labor. It's all in the mind, and your luck comes from the infinite consciousness that is your imagination.
Sag Rising - These individuals possess a star light on their appearance that awakens enlightenment in other people. A dream come true in a way. Can have a persona that is of the likeness of a celebrity and have a very powerful energy to them. Something about them screams 'force'. They just got it. The mystery has yet to be solved.
Mercury Trine Jupiter - They could have an audience who just adores their opinions if they just spoke! These people are fascinating to listen to and get their point of view on things. They have a likeable aura when it comes to their speech. The ideas these peeps have within them can be used to change the minds and perspectives of others helping them expand. Can receive divine insight on what needs to be shared, learned or even be expressed in their thought waves. Deep thinkers, but in a way that philosophies whatever it is they put their mind too.
Pluto Trine Jupiter - A POWER HOUSE PLACEMENT!! These are the people who end up wealthy, famous or politicians. Naturally come into positions of power with ease. They know exactly how to get there and what they gotta do to keep it.
Sun Conjunct Jupiter - Popular. Well known. Attractive. Lucky. Lucky lucky lucky. Their faith gets them exactly what they need to fly. Even when the world throws them obstacles they wake up and keep trying. Very inspiring and influential. You can't take that away from them.
Neptune in the 9th - Believe in yourself. The world may not understand you and your own ideas but it isn't for everyone to appreciate, just simply to absorb and allow the consciousness to unfold its gifts into new horizons. Your vision is inspired by the ethereal realms around you and your environment. And you find new ways to gift others a new sense of enlightenment on each persons journey.
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olrinarts · 26 days ago
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so yesterday i was fuckin brainblasted by the wildest AU idea: yuri rock gods AU
i swear it will make sense just hear me out (bonus leshy at the bottom because it's the only other design i liked)
Okay so here's how it works: they're all still the gods of what they're the gods of, but they're all lady-shapes (shamura and lamb continue to use they/them), and it's more that divine magic is expressed through music as conducted through the crowns, rather than a completely different setting with different domains
Narinder isn't chained in place, but she IS locked into an underground concert arena, because the only lock they needed for her was the one around her throat
how it all went down was that they each had their own primary instrument: Leshy's got drums, Heket's got the bass, Kallamar's on keyboards, Narinder's on guitar, and Shamura's got essentially a real time mix studio, it looked cool but shamura's design was trash so i'm sorry you can't see it 😔
vocals just weren't a thing yet, until narinder was like 'you know what would sound good'
shamura was instantly like 'shit if there are vocals/lyrics, people are going to pay less attention to the rest of the band, meaning our divine power will wane, so we gotta get rid of her before this spreads too far'
so the bishops cast her down below, and intentionally made the seal require vocals and a band to unlock - but the lock has narinder's singing voice muted (she can talk but she can't so much as hum let alone sing)
and from then on vocals are heresy
that doesn't mean they go away, since the idea is out there now, so eventually the prophecy comes along: there's a sacrificial lamb that if not destroyed, will free the One Who Waits by uniting the instruments under one Crown and singing the song that'll break the seal
The Lamb ends up getting got by the bishops, bc they were a naturally talented vocalist (they have a roller derby aesthetic because i like the kinetics of rollerblading for fights, that's the only reason and i make no apologies) and since they were a sheep, that meant they were a target
so they're sacrificed, only to wake up Below with a giant hot cat having just resurrected them. Lamb sitting up and immediately heart eyes lmao
She hands them the Red Crown, whose form has become volatile in its time cut off from half of Narinder's divine instruments (she can still use guitar, but as she essentially split her power in order to use vocals in the first place, things are a little whack)
So once she's explained some things to the Lamb, she promises to teach them how to use their voice, and get revenge on the bishops for all the vocalists they've ever killed to try and keep the One Who Waits locked away, and so between the prospect of revenge and the divine favour of giant hot cat goddess, the Lamb's instantly in
with each bishop defeated, the red crown absorbs the instrument, but it needs fans whose devotion will make the Lamb stronger, so the Lamb's time is split between growing their fanbase, crusading against the Bishops and their entourages, and spending time with the One Who Waits in the Below
The two of them are significantly more touchy feely than they would be if Narinder was chained up - the whole seductive persona/flirtation is originally a technique for Narinder to ensure the Lamb stays loyal and gives up the Crown at the end, only for it all to go downhill because she ends up with genuine feelings for the Lamb
Any time she's done the same kind of thing to prior vessels she's had a really firm 'no touching only looking' rule, only for poor Aym and Baal have to watch their not-foster-mom carry the Lamb around or let the Lamb ride on her shoulder or snuggle up to her while they're talking instead of the singing lessons they originally went Below to have
it gets to the point where Narinder and the Lamb start to sleep together somewhere between the Lamb defeating Heket and defeating Kallamar (it takes some coordination since Narinder's like five times the Lamb's size, but two people who really want to sleep together will find a way)
(Aym and Baal having taken to just going to the backstage greenrooms during the Lamb's 'singing lessons', so the twins have no idea until at some point they get an eyeful because they came out from the backstage rooms before Narinder and the Lamb were expecting them lmao)
amusingly when Kallamar's like 'she's seducing you for her own ends' and Narinder starts to freak out while she's watching, the Lamb's just like 'idk she shouts my name pretty loud for someone who's seducing me. anyway i'm here to kill you not talk about my holy friends with benefits situationship with your hot sister'
when the bishops are dead and the time comes, the final battle with Narinder isn't about trying to kill each other but essentially over who's going to be frontman from then on, only to fight to an unwinnable draw and have the Red Crown really exasperatedly communicate that duets are a thing you dramatic lesbian morons
so it ends in mutual custody of the Red Crown and getting to tour the world that's now theirs, overcoming all obstacles with the power of yuri and rock n' roll
(whole AU exists because I was listening to Heart of A Dancer by the Happy Fits and I pictured roller derby Lamb doing a flying somersault and smashing through a title screen with the Red Crown as the Red Axe (as in guitar) and here we are)
anyway here's the bonus Leshy
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punkitt-is-here · 1 year ago
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How can I cultivate the same, "just keeping making stuff all the time" kind of energy you have? It's very impressive and something I wish I could do!
well, theres a couple reasons i think! one is that i just found ways to be satisfied with small amounts of work. its in part because of my ADHD, but my parents were always trying new things (motorcycles, leatherwork, acrylic paint, collage art, photography, video editing) so that definitely rubbed off on me; i had a great example of people just wanting to try stuff. i keep making stuff all the time because i love trying out new things; you don't have to be an expert to try something new! you just have to have a desire for it! wanna make a zine? google it! wanna write a comic? give it a shot! wanna get into woodworking? buy a carving knife and find a stick or something! i think theres plenty of ways to find entry points into interesting stuff and you gotta let yourself be okay with making shit that sucks just because its fun. which leads me to my second point!!
im okay with being dogshit at stuff! i try new things, i kind of suck at them, and i think it's either 1. cool that i made it this far or 2. kinda funny that this is what its like at the moment. i know that sucking is never permanent, everything can be improved with time, and rarely does anyone ever magically get good at something first try. i think of myself as a talented artist, but its over the course of 2+ decades of drawing; im always improving, and no matter what im going to find things i want to get better at, so why fault myself now for not being perfect? a couple of months ago i really wanted to try woodcarving, so i made spoon with my dad. did it turn out great? not really! you cant even use it as a spoon! but im glad i tried it, it was fun, i had a great time with my dad, and now i know a little bit more going in next time. the idea that you have to be perfect or make tangible progress every single time you try something new is a recipe for burnout. i promise you, it doesnt matter if something doesn't come out like God's Gift to Humanity! Did you have fun? did you learn something? are you satisfied in some small part? good!
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(pictured: tha spoon)
last, im just really easy to please myself! I'll make a doodle or implement an idle animation in my game or color a piece and go "wow! thats so cool i did that :)" and it really is just a matter of realizing that its fucking COOL to create stuff, no matter how small! whatever you made didn't exist before you, especially in your own unique way, and now it does! doesn't that rule?! i'm obsessed with it! even if its just a stick figure, its a stick figure you made, and it wasn't there before. thats fucking awesome!!! art is so cool!!!! i think that being happy with small goals and victories is a great way of trying out new things and showing off cool stuff u made, no matter what skill level. :) this turned into a whole big thing, but i hope this helps! tl;dr is try things if they seem fun, be okay with not being good at them, and find stuff about it that makes you happy or satisfied!
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