#my cheeks are burning bc I can’t not pick at my skin

[cynical-things]

me and the devil (dermatillomania)

[michibap]

ok so im ovulating and actually fucking tweaking over how big schlatt is hold on

nsfw below the cut

-the worm that lives in my ear will not shut the FUCK up about how there’s a 97.5% chance that he’s stronger than u

-roughhousing and genuinely thinking you have the upper hand one minute, and then the next you’re firmly pinned underneath him while he laughs in your face and it’s like oh

-and maybe it’s a little nerve wracking realizing how easy it was for him to bend you to his will, especially after thinking you’d bested him

-but when you look up at him his eyes are brimming with fondness and he’s leaning down to squish an obnoxiously wet kiss to ur cheek

-giggling and trying to turn your face away, shrieking when he playfully nips at the soft skin

-but u stop laughing bc ain’t SHIT funny about the way he grabs your face to bring it back to look up at him

-big ass hand coming up to grip the sides your your face, fingers digging into your cheeks to force your mouth open so he could slip his thumb between ur spit slicked lips

-pressing the pad of his thumb against your hot, wet tongue before running over the sharp points of your teeth, knuckle grazing against the silky inner lining of your cheek, cursing to himself and bringing his other hand down to palm himself over his shorts

-strong hands easily pushing your thighs out of the way to make space for that big ass head of his

-the rug burn would go ACTUALLY fucking crazy bc that man is a messy eater and i KNOW IT

-shaking his head and shit, hungry growls muffled by your cunt

-forearm pinning your hips to the bed to keep you from squirming away when it gets to be too much, keeping you there until he’s had his fill

-motherfucker doesn’t even come up for air until you’re knotting your fingers into his hair and prying him away from you with a whimper

-he parts from you with a grin, leaning down to give her one last kiss before he’s surging back up towards you, catching your lips in a searing kiss

-smiling into it when you gasp into his mouth at the sensation of long fingers breaching your entrance, taking advantage of it and using the chance to bully his tongue into your mouth

-his groan harmonizing with your keening moan when he crooks his fingers just right

-mercilessly sending you hurtling towards another orgasm, humming with a grin as he feels you squeeze around his fingers

-laughing at you as you whine when he draws them out, wiping them off on his shirt and pressing a parting kiss to your mouth before his hands come to your hips and flip you onto your stomach

-doesn’t even give you the chance to get into position, one hand dragging your hips up while the other settles between your shoulder blades, wide palm pinning your front to the mattress, effectively keeping you arched for him

-you can’t do much more than whine into the mattress and fist your hands in the sheets as you feel his fat head pressing against your entrance, gasping when it finally pushes in

-he throws his head back with a drawn out groan as he presses in, but forces himself to pick it back up so he could set his eyes on where he’s sliding into you

-you yelp when you feel a harsh slap to your ass, whining when he grabs a mean fistful of stinging flesh, though it trails off into a moan when his hips punch forward with another brutal thrust

-once he’s bored of pistoning his hips into your ass, he’s using both hands to grab your hips, moving you back and forth on him, encouraging you to take over

“C’mon, baby-“ he’d hiss through gritted teeth, “fuckin’ take it.”

-he’s more than happy to watch you fuck yourself back on him for a while, but once you start to lose your rhythm he’s locking back in, meeting your thrusts with his own

-little grunts punched out of him every time his hips meet your ass

-usually you'd have to tear the fabric of time and space to get him to pull out, but he couldn’t be assed to grab a condom earlier, so now he’ll suffer for it

-he plays a dangerous game, teetering painfully close to the edge before he’s forcing himself to pull out

-completely disregarding how you whine as you clench around nothing, too busy frantically fisting his cock over you, knuckles bumping the fat of your ass as he struggles to catch his breath

-maybe his free hand comes to spread you open, giving himself a pleasant view before he’s spilling

-tbh idc if u finish or not TBIS ISNT ABOUT YOU

-once he’s satisfied, he’s collapsing on top of you, chest pressed to your back, squishing you into the mattress

-weighted blanket of a man.

-ignores you complaining about needing to pee as he dozes off, nuzzling his face into your hair as he gets comfortable

-whatever bitch u can pee later GOD

jschlatt PLEASE give me a chance king i’ll sign the nda no questions asked I MEAN JT

[oreosmama]

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts. 

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance. 

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes. 

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet. 

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting. 

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle. 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.” 

You suck in a breath. 

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.” 

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead. 

“I need you back.” 

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing. 

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek. 

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was. 

“I didn’t know…” 

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return. 

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache. 

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time. 

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow. 

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull. 

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears. 

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his. 

Were. 

You were his. 

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb. 

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it. 

“I need to see you.” 

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face. 

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.” 

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do. 

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys. 

Then the sound of a door slamming. 

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving. 

“I need to see you.” 

And the voicemail ends. 

_________________________

Satori Tendou: 

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief. 

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond. 

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it. 

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs. 

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker. 

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg. 

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something. 

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months. 

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day. 

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went. 

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done. 

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke. 

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon. 

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking. 

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh. 

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time. 

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue. 

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself. 

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled. 

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 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.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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! :)

“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.”

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.

—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.

—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.”

“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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

—END OF PART III.

[wreckedandpolemic]

anything that you wanna - matty healy

(mdni) in which you take matty apart. piece by piece. part of the regret me universe. 2397 words.

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, degradation, sub!matty, pegging, oral (kind of? you’ll see), feminisation? calling him princess idk, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it choking

(huge thank you to @abouttofillhisshoes without whom this fic would not exist bc i must have read facedown as reference material at least 10 times while writing this)

You didn’t really mean for him to find it. It just amuses you to make Matty take part in his own unmaking, so you sent him off to collect your ropes and the toys you need to take him apart. When he doesn’t come back, though, you pick yourself up to find him and punish him for wasting your fucking time. He’s kneeling on your floor, his back to you and a toy you can’t see in his hands, entirely transfixed. “What’s so interesting, huh?” He drops the toy like it’s burned him, guilt painted scarlet across his face as he turns to face you. “Don’t be shy, baby.” You stalk across the room, leaning down to see what he’s looking at. Your lips part in a surprised little gasp as you realise he’s staring down at your strap, fingers running over purple silicone like he’s worshipping it. “Oh,” you smirk. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’ about with that, baby?”

“Do you… Is this, um, yours?” There’s a nervous tremble in his voice that you can’t help grinning at.

“No, I keep someone else’s strap in a box under my bed,” you deadpan, leaning down over him with a crowing smirk. Matty shudders, deliberately avoiding your eyes. “Is there something you want, pretty boy?” you ask, sitting in front of him on the bed and gripping his jaw to force his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are wide, glassy with desire. “Spit it out, darling. If you don’t ask, you won’t get,” you smirk, digging your nails into his jaw. “Don’t make me force you to tell me.”

Matty flushes crimson, words coming out muffled as he buries his face in his hands. “Was thinkin’ about you fucking me,” he murmurs, and you feel a heavy pulse of arousal in your cunt.

Closing your eyes as visions of Matty fucked dumb and drooling fill your head, “Shit,” you hiss. “Yeah, we can do that if you want, baby. Come here.” You cup his cheek, uncharacteristically gentle as Matty sits down next to you, and he shudders at your thumb brushing over his cheek. “Have you ever done this before?”

Shifting his hips subtly, Matty lowers his eyes and swallows thickly, seemingly realising you’re taking this seriously. “Only, uh… by myself,” he confesses quietly, and you have to bite down hard to keep yourself from moaning.

“Fuck,” you groan, thighs clenching. “You like that? Fucking yourself like a girl?” Condescension drips from your tone, and Matty moans low in his throat. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you like you’re my pretty girlfriend?” Squirming under your hard, unflinching gaze, he nods slowly. “Why don’t you take those clothes off for me, then, princess?”

Matty strips eagerly, and you drink in the sight of newly-revealed, toned skin as you fix the harness onto your hips. His eyes glaze over as they travel up your body, glued to the silicone hanging between your legs. He’s practically drooling as he speaks. “Please, I want…” He whines softly, making a greedy, grabbing motion at you. “I need you to fuck me.”

You laugh meanly, gripping his jaw. “Not yet, darling. Have some patience, yeah?” Words he’s used on you dozens of times, but seemingly doesn’t understand, grasping your hips and thighs where you kneel above him. “How bad do you want it, princess?” Matty gives a low, shuddering moan, pleas springing to his lips as the degrading epithet washes over him. “You wanna get on your knees for me? Suck my dick before I fuck you like a good girl?”

His eyes go wide with disbelief, and you just jerk your head and shrug. “Fuck, okay,” he murmurs. “Whatever you want.” Oh, he wants it bad, you realise. Whatever you want isn’t a string of syllables either of you put together often, reserved for your deepest, most desperate desires. Like the time you begged him to tie you up and use you like a fuckdoll, needing your brain shut off and thinking of nothing but where on your body he’d cum all over next. A dizzy smile crosses your face at the memory, lust spiking in your core.

Matty’s on his knees under you, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs and drool pooling in his mouth. There’s a question in his gaze as he looks up at you, brown eyes wide and glimmering with lust and trepidation. “Aw, baby, do you need me to talk you through it? Teach my pretty girl how to suck dick like a slut?” He nods wildly, hips rocking against nothing as you thread a hand through his curls. “D’you remember how I do it? How good it feels when I get you off with my mouth? Yeah? Start slow for me, okay, princess? Kiss the tip.”

The power he’s handed you is heady, deliriating as he debases himself, slowly kissing and licking at the silicone of the toy. “That’s it, baby,” you say, groaning as if he’s really giving you head. “Nice and slow, you can take it.” The toy slides slowly between his lips, swollen and dripping with spit as he inches down. The corners of Matty’s mouth stretch pornographically, a pleading little moan escaping him as the toy meets the back of his throat. You thrust messily into his mouth and he gags, desperately searching for friction and grinding his hips in the air pathetically. Sliding a hand into his hair, you press his head down, laughing cruelly when he gags helplessly, redoubling his efforts and moaning. Drool drips obscenely down his chin, the sight of him in such a wanton state sending heat dripping between your legs. He whines up at you when you pull him off, tears brimming in his wide, pleading eyes. “Gotta work on your gag reflex, princess. Look at you, crying ‘cause you had my cock too deep down your throat. Pathetic,” you scoff.

“M’sorry,” Matty whimpers, so feebly that you almost feel sorry for him, nudging him to his feet and back onto the bed.

You fish in your bedside drawer for lube, handing it to him with a saccharine smile. “Get that pretty hole ready for me, yeah?” Matty’s chest heaves, spreading his legs wide as he slicks up his fingers. He traces slick circles around his hole, your cunt pulsing needing at the mere sight of him.

Pushing a finger into himself, he lets out an obscene moan, your blood racing faster as his lips part around ecstasy. Eagerly, you watch him gasp and moan at the intrusion, his eyes lidded and black with lust. Pure pleasure fills his expression as Matty slowly drags his finger out and back in, deeper this time. “Tell me how you feel, baby,” you instruct, pulse roaring in your ears and your body tense with desire.

“Feels fucking good,” Matty groans, back arching and a broken moan slipping from his lips as he slides a second finger into his hole. “Gonna feel even better when you’re fucking me into the mattress,” he adds, a shit-eating grin painted on his swollen lips.

“God, look at that pretty little hole, princess. Look so gorgeous, fucking yourself like that. Gonna fuck you dumb,” you promise, entranced by the sounds falling from Matty’s lips as he curls his fingers inside himself, face scrunched in bliss.

Your fingers creep between your legs, pulling your panties aside to rub at your soaked cunt. “Fuck, y’so wet,” Matty slurs out, using what little awareness he has left to lift his head and fix his gaze on your glistening core.

“So are you,” you taunt. “My pretty girl’s fuckin’ dripping for me, huh?” You tip your head back and moan quietly as you draw slow circles over your swollen clit, the weight of Matty’s gaze on you magnifying every spark of pleasure until you might catch alight.

Matty’s cock looks painfully hard between his legs, dripping precum with every thrust of his fingers. “Yeah, m’wet for you, fuck. M’ready, please,” he whines, writhing under his own touch, hips grinding desperately up against the air. “Please fuck me.” His words are high, breathy, tinged sweet with desperation.

With a Herculean effort, you ignore your base impulse to scramble on top of him and give him exactly what he wants. Instead, you kneel up slowly, tracing your hands over his heated skin. “How do you want it, princess?”

Helpless moans spill from Matty’s lips. “Like this,” he gasps out, grinding his hips up against nothing. “Wanna kiss you while you fuck me.”

The very idea invites intimacy foreign to the two of you. You don’t kiss, you grapple lips and teeth and tongue, you breathe moans and drip spit into each other’s mouths. But you look down at Matty, sweat-soaked and pleading and desperate, hands grasping needily at your hips, and, god, he looks so destructible that you want to give him anything he wants. “Yeah?” you say, kneeling between his legs with a vicious grin. “Alright, baby. I’ll be gentle,” you smirk, his gaze transfixed by the lube dripping between your fingers and you coat the toy in it.

“Don’t want gentle,” Matty pouts, and you slowly run a hand up his chest, his breath hitching when you rest your palm lightly over his throat. He’s achingly hard, cock pressing against your belly as you lean down, mouth hovering inches from his and your hand applying the barest pressure on his neck.

“You think you can tell me what to do while you’re whining for my cock like a little bitch?” you murmur, almost loving in tone. Unable to resist, you spit in his open mouth, a whimpering moan escaping him when you slowly press the toy against his hole.

Matty’s lips part in ecstasy, eyes glassy as his hole stretches around you. “Fuck, yesyesyes—” he gasps, arching up and chasing the sensation. Heat throbs in your cunt, arousal battering your bloodstream. His cock drools precum against your stomach, everything around you feeling slick and wet and messy, the air saturated with the smell of sex and a haze of desire. “More, please, fuck!” he begs.

You lean down, crashing your lips against his as you slowly push into him, greedily swallowing his every sweet little moan. Matty’s lips are slack, feeble against yours as you lick into his mouth, drinking in the taste of him. “S’that feel good?” you ask, inching the toy deeper. “God, can feel how greedy this hole is, princess. Practically sucking me in, so fuckin’ tight around my dick. Whore,” you moan, head spinning with some unholy cocktail of desire and power.

His entire body is flushed, seemingly suspended and free-falling through a haze of bliss, unable to decide between grinding his cock up against your belly or his hips down against yours. “C’mon, fuckin’ fill me up, please! M’a good girl, m’your slut, I’ll be whatever you want, just fuck me,” Matty whines, eyes rolling back in his head as you fill him torturously slow. “Shit, yes, right there,” he gasps, whining and grinding down against you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ohmygod, feels so fuckin’ good, please don’t stop,” he babbles, his cock drooling against your belly as you press into him until your hips are flush against his.

“Such a good girl, moaning all pretty on my cock,” you murmur, dipping your head to kiss at his neck, the tang of sweat coming up on your lips. “Gonna wreck you.” Your cunt throbs with need, neglected as you devote your entire attention to Matty, a drooling, whining vision straight out of a wet dream.

“God, yes, please!” You pull almost all the way out of him and slam back in, a scream tearing from his throat at your sudden, brutal pace. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, the syllable drawn out, stretched thin with pleasure. “God, feels so good, fucking- fuck, I can’t–” He cuts himself off with a broken moan as you meet that perfect spot inside him over and over.

So sick with lust you can barely see straight, you bite into the flesh of his neck, muffling your pleasured groans against his skin. “God, so dumb for me, princess. You look beautiful,” you praise, fucking him so deep his tongue lolls out of his mouth and his words die in his throat. The only sounds are your pants and moans, the slick sounds of sex, filling the room in a lurid melody. Your head spins, the sight of Matty falling into oblivion under you so erotic that you could almost cum, arousal practically soaking through your panties as you fuck him harder.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t stop it, I– fuuckk,” he gasps, tears brimming at his lashline as his hips buck uncontrollably upwards, cum splattering hot against your belly.

You fuck him through, swallowing his whines greedily, slotting your mouth over his and letting him ride it out. “Fuck, greedy little whore, cumming without permission.” The slight look of fear that flickers across his face pulls a smirk to your lips as apologies spring to his. “Shh,” you say, pressing a thumb against his lips and dragging down. “It’s okay, baby. Felt too good, you couldn’t stop. S’fucking hot when you cum untouched, make such a mess of yourself,” you soothe, hushing him softly as you pull out, unbuckling the harness and discarding the strap along with your panties. “Made a mess of me, too, didn’t you? Dirty boy. Better clean up your mess, yeah?”

Matty flips you eagerly, kissing at your neck and collarbone as his cum smears between your bodies. He laves his tongue over your nipple, sucking and biting at the barbell hungrily. Pleasure wells at the base of your spine and you lay back as it wash over you, letting Matty lavish you with whatever he wants, desperate to return the favour. He licks slowly over your belly, cleaning his cum and looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes. “Good boy,” you say, sliding a hand into his hair and puppeteering him down until he’s eye-level with your cunt. Hunger gleams in his gaze as he buries his tongue inside you, a sudden wave of heat rolling over your body. “That’s it, princess. Been such a good boy. You wanna make me feel good? If you do it fast enough, I’ll get you off again, any way you want.”

[zaimta]

Hiii! Are your requests open? I’ve been reading your OP stories and I loooove them!

So I was wondering if I can request a story where Ace and zoro are both interested in you, like hella interested and causes a lot of tension ? You can choose how it ends and who reader ends up with lol.

zai broadcasts - pre time skip zoro gotta love him man this idea was a serve anon, im gonna split this into 2 parts bc i actually love both of them and i can’t pick one and i have ideas for both that i wanna use so stay tuned for em!!

˗ˏˋzoro ver. ˗ˏˋace ver.

˗ˏˋ«────── « 𓆩♡𓆪 » ──────»

“nice to meet you everyone i’m ace, and thank you for taking care of my kid brother by the way i know he can be a bit much.”

“oh no he is the near death situations we’ve been in is insane…and you just got on the grand line??”

ace laughed at your snarkiness “that is true he has a tendency to not think!”

nami shrugged her shoulders “well if we’re being honest here i don’t get paid enough to die every five minutes.”

“agreed.” the remaining stawhats spoke in unison slightly annoying their captain.

“hey i’m an excellent captain thank you very much!”

after the reunion between brothers ace revealed he was looking for a man named blackbeard and since their paths collided he decided to travel along with luffy and his crew.

“so are you gonna stop staring at him or go talk to him?” nami nudged you with a grin becoming aware of your little crush on ace.

you nudged her back with burning cheeks “shut up! it’s not like that nami.”

she rolled her eyes and mimicked your voice while fluttering her eyelashes “oh ace you’re so handsome! oh ace you’re hotter than your devil fruit! oh ace the things i’d let you do to me-”

“nami!” you shouted in embarrassment your face growing warm at her horrible impressions and the fact that he might’ve heard.

“the logical thing here would be to just talk to him! it’s not everyday you see a catch like him on the grandline y/n.”

“yeah…” you sighed looking over to where the green haired swordsman was leaned the mast he was napping as per usual, but the way the sun hit his skin just right. you couldn’t help but to stare, accidentally zoning nami out in the process only hearing her again when he gently nudges you for your attention.

“oohhh zoro too huh” she smirked at you but then sighed “personally im team ace im pretty sure he can pay his debts on time…”

“oh speak of the devil here he comes~” nami’s eyes followed ace as he walked along the deck of the merry, she noticed how his eyes lit up once he spotted you and she smirked to herself.

you turned around making eye contact with ace and turned around immediately, which caused nami to laugh at you being to nervous. “ready or not here he comes” she giggled.

“hey y/n, how are you doing”

nami giggled “oh? so excited to see them you forgot all about me?” ace attempted to respond but nami cuts him off speaking with a devilish grin directed towards you “up bup up! i’ll leave you two love birds to talk okay?” she ways goodbye to the two of you and walks into the kitchen of the merry.

ace sighs and sits next to you on the deck, his shoulder softly brushing against yours “so what was that all about?” he chuckles while pointing in nami’s direction. you roll your eyes with a slight smile on your face “that’s just how nami is, y’a know sweet dependable, insufferable nami…so” you look him in the eyes “what’s life like for you on the seas mr. ‘fire fist’” ace smiles at you “oh you know sailing, meeting amazing people, can’t forget running from the navy.”

you chuckle a bit “you don’t say?”

he chuckles “yup, the best part has been meeting amazing people like you” he takes his hat off and places it on your head with a grin “you’re quite the catch y/n.”

from the kitchen sanji watched the two of you on the deck, and suddenly gasped loudly which got the attention of nami and zoro “that bastard?! taking my y/n like that?!?” he shouts angrily. nami raises a brow “what now?” sanji points at the window with tears welling up in his eyes “everyone knows that if a cowboy puts their hat on someone, they’re claiming that person, that bastard just claimed y/n!” he speaks through sobs “nami-swan hold meeeee” me leapt into her arm’s crying into her shirt so she had no choice but to comfort the cook “there there” nami rolls her eyes while patting his back lightly.

“so what you’re saying his y/n is his now?” zoro said suddenly grabbing the attention of nami and the weeping cook, nami smirks at the swordsman “what do you have a crush on y/n or something? y/n looks cozy with ace don’t you think, are you sure you can’t even make a dent in that?”

zoro sucks his teeth “what’s that supposed to mean?” nami’s smirk grew wider and there was a mischievous glint in her eyes “im saying that y/n seems pretty into ace, unless you’re into y/n and you want to change that.” zoro snaps at the ship’s navigator in frustration “of course i want to change that!”

zoro’s eyes grow wide at what he said and a brush quickly creeps up his neck and spreads across his face “i mean-”

sanji looks at zoro in shock while nami has a grin on her face, she points towards the deck where the two of you are sitting “so how about you go do something about it, swordsman.”

[kasdan]

𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦 {𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1}

join the taglist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

a/n: hello! welcome to my first story I am posting on tumblr (i would like to apologize if it is suckish) I have had this story plot in my mind for a while and i’ve been on a frank castle craze recently and figured i’ll just write about it. so please read at your hearts content and i would love your lovely feedback and we will see if this story goes anywhere. i had to split this chapter into another part bc it was getting too long so oops.

Summary: you are experimented on and are trained to be the perfect weapon but you’ve decided that you’ve had enough and rage takes over.

Pairing: eventual frank castle x reader

Warnings: torture, needles, blood, mentions of kidnapping, child abuse, death, murder, trauma, slow burn, language, tasing

Word count: 4.5k

Chapter song: Ember by Katherine McNamara

~

I hear the muffled clack of footsteps getting louder and clearer as I work to open my eyes. The room is bright, and I have to squint as I go to pick my hand up to block out some of the light.

However, I can’t move my arm. My breathing gets heavier as I work myself awake and try to figure out what's going on. Then I remember. I remember exactly what’s happening, and I relax under the bindings since I know there is nothing else I can do as I stare at the ceiling above me.

The footsteps stop right in front of my door, and I close my eyes again, not wanting to face what I know is going to happen as the door slides open. The person comes through the door and says nothing as they walk up to me. It’s silent until I hear them start typing loudly, the sound of the keys echoing in my ears. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, wanting to drown out all the noise and go back to a noiseless slumber.

Suddenly the typing stops, and I hear rustling on the left side of the table I am strapped to. Then everything stops, and all that is heard is the faint clicking of the clock somewhere in the room, where I can’t bring myself to remember where exactly it is.

I feel the person roughly grip my arm, and my eyes shoot open. Not caring about the brightness of the room anymore, I turn my head towards the perpetrator. I can’t see their face; they’re wearing a mask that covers the bottom half of it, with only their eyes showing as they stare down at the arm they grabbed.

"Please." I open my mouth and manage to get out a plea when I see the needle that they’re holding in their hand. My voice cracked in three different places with just that one word, and it came out as more of a whisper, but I know that the person heard it when they look up at me.

I see their mask move, and the corner of their eyes move up as if they were smiling at me. I get a nauseous feeling in my stomach at the sight, and they say nothing as they look back down at my arm and bring the needle to my skin.

My mind is screaming at me to do something, anything, as I see the needle get closer and closer to my skin. I try to move away, but the bindings are keeping me in place, and my entire body is sore, I'm not even able to move a muscle. I can’t get away even if my life depended on it, which in this moment I am sure it does.

I turn my head to look away, and I feel the needle pierce my skin as a tear rolls down my cheek at the knowledge of what is to come. I can feel the liquid coursing through my veins, and I know it’s just a matter of time before I start feeling the effects.

I brace myself on the table as my skin starts to burn and my veins feel like ice is going through them. I have been through this process hundreds of times already, and it still has a growing effect on me, as if it changes every time.

I soon feel unbearable pain as the icy feeling in my veins turns into a burning sensation that makes my skin feel like it’s boiling. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My throat is raw from only screaming and barely any talking for days on end.

Tears streamed down my face as I struggled against the binds holding me down. I know that I’m barely moving them and have no chance of escape, but my body was moving impulsively, trying to get out.

Small whines are the only thing leaving my throat, and my eyes are blurry from the tears. I see the outline of the person in the room with me walking around my body on the table. I don’t have to see them to know that they’re writing their ‘findings’ down.

I close my eyes again, praying for the pain to go away, even the slightest bit. It’s gone on for hours at a time before, and I just hope that I pass out early this time.

I don’t know how long I’ve been on the table in pain for; it can’t have been more than 20 minutes, but it felt like hours. I can vaguely hear the door to the room opening before everything goes black and the pain in my body is left to a dulling heat in the back of my mind.

When I wake up, I’m back in my cell, laying on my bed—a single blanket and a worn-out pillow laid out on the ground of the cold room. It takes me a minute to be able to move my arms and legs. I can still feel the dull throb of pain in my joints as I move myself to sit upright against the wall.

There’s not much in my room, that being a small table in the corner with some paper and writing utensils that I never seem to really use, and a small toilet in the corner. I usually spend the day staring at the white, blank walls, waiting for the pain in my body to go away fully. It never completely leaves; there’s always that dull ache in my body, reminding me of what’s been done to me and mocking me, saying I’ll never be able to function with my body like it’s supposed to. Well, apparently this is what it’s supposed to be: a rag doll getting picked up and pushed around for other people to poke and prod at.

I’ve been in this place since I was born, and I have no idea how long it's been since. I have no concept of time in here besides the glances at the clock in the operating room, as they call it. Not that I can read the time on it anyway; I was never taught. Sometimes I would stare at the clock in the room while I was being worked on, trying to figure out the time, but they were always fast glances, and I couldn’t bring myself to focus that well when I was being injected with stuff.

Reading the time on clocks isn’t what I was made to do anyway. I hear the voices and conversations in the hallway pass by; it’s not like I have anything else to do anyway. I’ve heard several instances where they’re talking about a military weapon that would be very helpful, and I can’t help but notice that the weapon that’s been constantly talked about is me. They’re making me into a weapon.

I guess it would be obvious to any outsider looking in what they are trying to do, but I don’t think of it that way. I’m here trying to understand why this is happening and why it’s happening to me. I didn’t ask for any of this, and I often find myself wondering what a normal life and childhood would entail.

The only vivid memory I have of being in this place is Ellie. She was brought into my cell one day when I was younger, with nothing said from the guards as they threw in an extra blanket and pillow. That’s when I found out that there were other children here too, not just me.

I watched as the guard closed the door and heard the lock click into place. I glanced over at the little girl who came in with me. She didn’t look at me and instead opted to claim the corner diagonally from me.

It was silent in the small cell, as if another person hadn't been put in with me and it was still just me. I kept looking at her from the corner of my eye as time passed and my position sat up on the wall. She never moved from where she was; only the occasional small hiccup was heard after a muffled sob.

The guard came back later with two trays of food that consisted of a couple pieces of bread and a small cup of water—not nearly enough to be able to healthily sustain ourselves on, but I was already used to eating like that for years.

One tray was dropped in front of me, the little water that was in the cup sloshing out over the edges onto the ground. I looked up and gave my best dirty look to the guard, but they didn’t acknowledge me. The other tray was dropped in front of the other little girl in the room. She flinched away and tried to curl into the corner she was in more, even though her body was already fully pressed against the wall.

I start to drag the tray towards me and hear the thud of the boots from the guard leaving the room, the lock clicking into place. I pick up a piece of bread and start picking off the green parts of it. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but it didn’t feel right eating it, so I made it a habit of carefully picking the parts off every time.

I started nibbling on a piece after I'd picked off the green from both pieces. I noticed movement in the corner of my eye and turned to see the girl reaching for the food on her tray after some hesitation. She looked down at the bread and also started to pick off the green parts and place them back onto the tray. I watched as she practically shoved the bread into her mouth and gulped down what she had for water.

I could visibly see that she was still hungry, so I moved my tray closer to hers after I finished the piece of bread and had some water. She jumped when she heard the scraping of the tray against the ground, as if she forgot there was someone else in the room, and finally looked up at me with wide green eyes. I nodded towards the tray and pushed it closer to her, motioning for her to take it. She just shook her head and pushed herself back into the corner she was in, her eyes still locked onto mine.

“Take it.” I insisted with a hoarse voice.

"I- I can’t, it’s yours." She said it in a small voice, shaking her head again. Her voice didn’t sound as bad as mine did, which is what would happen if you'd spent enough time here. I figured she was new and they just brought her in, and with that, I pushed the tray even closer to her, trying again to have her take the bread, but without getting so close as to scare her.

"I don’t need as much; I’m used to it." She just stared at me, as if processing my words for a moment. Then she slowly reached forward to grab the food from the tray. I let out a sigh as I leaned my head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

There was movement on my side, and I turned my head to see the girl standing beside me, holding out half of the piece of bread I'd given her. I opened my mouth to turn her down, but then closed it and carefully took the food out of her hand after seeing the look on her face.

I felt the corner of my mouth lift up slightly as she sat down next to me and started up a conversation.

"My name’s Ellie. What’s yours?" She spoke in more of a happier tone than what it was like earlier. I stared blankly at her question, my mind not coming up with an answer. My name? What was my name? The only answer I could come up with was the series of numbers that ‘patients’ are addressed as.

It seemed she noticed my hesitation in answering the question when she spoke up again. "Do you not have a name?" I looked at her and didn’t know what to say, so I instead opted to gently shake my head in denial.

She looked at me in confusion before a smile spread across her face. Well, that’s okay!" she said cheerfully, "we can share a name! You can have my middle name; it’s y/n; it’s not like I’m using it anyway." She finished her thought, a smile still on her face as she looked at me.

I found myself mimicking her smile while nodding my head in agreement. She clapped her hands in excitement while engaging in a different topic completely. We spent a long time talking about random things, with her mostly telling me about different things about the outside world. It was the first time in my life that I was having a full conversation with someone that wasn’t one-sided and had me enjoying the other person's company.

A tear falls down my cheek, and I work my sore arm up to wipe it off. Thinking about Ellie is the only thing in here that makes me feel anything other than pain, and I will make sure that I find out exactly what happened and who was involved.

Suddenly the door to my cell opens, and my trainer walks in with a smile on his face. I don’t match it as I stare at him with a deadpan expression.

"Come now, why the long face? I thought we were buddies." He says it in a cheerful voice, and I stare at him, not moving, with the same expression on my face. His face drops into a scowl, apparently done with playing nice for the time being.

He throws two pieces of clothing at me, and I let them hit me, still not moving. "Get dressed; I don’t have time for your shit."

"No." The first word I speak, he isn’t ready for, as he does a double take at me like he’s shocked at me saying anything. I usually don’t say anything and just move, like while getting dressed and following him to the training area. However, today I’m not feeling compliant, know I’m too sore to try and train, and don’t know how I’m going to fair.

"What did you just say?" He asks with a sneer in my direction when I don’t move right away. I know I shouldn’t push back and just do what he says, but today I don’t have the patience to pretend.

"I think you heard me and my shit." I respond, and I see his eyes visibly darken. I don’t have time to react before he’s roughly grabbing my arm and forcing me up. Pain shoots through my body as I’m forced up, and I hold in a whimper. I don’t need him to get any satisfaction from this.

“Listen here, you little bitch,” he practically spits in my face as his grip on my arm tightens even more. I can already feel the bruise forming where his hand is. He opens his mouth to say something before he’s interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway.

"Is there a problem here?" A guard passing by hears the commotion in the room and stops in the doorway. My trainer's face spreads into a smile as he turns around to face the guard. The guard has their taser out of their belt holder, holding it as if ready to attack at any moment. I go stiff as I’m attracted to the sight, knowing how that tiny stick can feel as the electricity courses through my veins. Unfortunately for me, it seems the trainer felt it.

He releases my arm and starts to walk up to the guard. “Yes, everything is fine, just a little issue with getting the equipment to cooperate." His back is turned toward me, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he talks. He walks forward and reaches his hand out to the guard. In this moment, my mind is screaming, No, no, no, please no. The next events happen in a flash as he takes the taser from the guard and strides back up to me, immediately connecting the taser to my ribcage.

I let out a cry as the electricity shoots through me, and I fall to the ground. I can feel the electricity throughout my entire body as squirm on the ground trying desperately to make it stop.

I see the trainer crouch down beside me and take ahold of my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "See what happens when you don’t cooperate?" I grit my teeth as I force out a response.

“Fuck. You.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval as he stands up and walks towards the door, giving the guard their taser back.

“I expect you to be in training in less than 20 minutes.” He then leaves the room and says something to the guard, causing them to nod and take their place standing against the wall outside the doorway to my cell.

I take my time getting up, with shocks still hitting me every once in a while. He knows I don’t know how long 20 minutes is, but I can’t bring myself to move any faster than I am. I can see the guard in the doorway from here, their hand resting on the taser in their belt, which causes me to try and move a little faster.

I move to change into the clothes that were thrown at me, cursing out the trainer in my head the whole time. The shocks from the taser have practically all disappeared by now, leaving behind fits of rage in their wake. I’m angry at the trainer for treating me like some piece of equipment he can hit and throw around when it’s not working to his standards. I’m angry at the experiments they’ve decided that I’m going to be the center of and the torture that I’ve had to grow accustomed to over the years. I’m angry at the people behind all of this, and I’m angry that I couldn’t have a life outside this lab that Ellie had told me so much about before.

I work to get dressed in my fits of rage, and throw the old clothes carelessly on the ground. There’s nothing really different about the clothes, both pairs include a shirt and pants that are all white, the training clothes maybe being a little more flexible for movement.

After I’m dressed, I walk out of the room and don’t even look at the guard by the door as I start down the hallway towards the training room, but I can hear their footsteps walking closely behind me.

The halls are long; the walls are all white and empty, with doors lining up on both sides. If you weren’t looking hard enough or were just passing by quickly, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell that there are doors here by how they blend right into the walls, with no doorknobs but light fingerprint panels built into the wall in order to open them.

Getting to the training room was a fairly long process, but you do it over and over again, and it doesn’t feel that long; you get numb to the feeling and just keep walking, and before you know it, you’re there. That’s what happens this time when I make it to the training room. I’m in front of the door in what feels like no time, and I push the door open to enter. This is the only place I’m authorized to enter like this, and I make my way towards one of the benches, ignoring my trainer standing on one of the mats in the middle of the room.

I sit down on the bench and lean forward with my elbows on my knees as I scan the room. It’s about three times the size of my cell, with various mats covering the ground. The walls are the same white color that the rest of the building is, but instead of being bare, there are walls with an assortment of different gun types and knives. However, all the weapons that are on the walls are props for show and won’t do any real damage. I learned that the hard way when training. One time I tapped into my rage and threw a throwing knife at the trainer, but instead of piercing his skin, all it did was bounce off his chest as he started to laugh at me.

Ever since that day, I have found myself not holding back my punches in retaliation, even though the trainer didn’t say anything about it. I could see that he was taken aback by some of them, especially when I got him hard in the eye once. I was particularly happy when he stumbled back from it, but I paid for it the next day when he was extra rough with me.

I watch as the trainer nods his head towards the door, and see the guard was waiting in the doorway for a signal to be released. They immediately turn to leave back down the hallway we came from after the signal from the trainer was given.

He looks at me expectingly at my place on the bench. I know I’ve been testing his patience today so I sigh, push myself up, and walk over to him. I stop when I’m in front of him, waiting for instructions.

“Today we’re doing solely hand to hand training.” He smiles at me and I know he’s still trying to push my buttons, he knows I get highly more aggressive when engaging in hand to hand combat. He’s also incredibly cocky, thinking he’s going to get away with a lot, especially since the day I got him in the eye.

He gives me no warning when he’s already taking a swing at me. I easily duck out of the way and brace myself. There’s no time to recover before he’s coming at me again. He throws swing after swing at me, and I work to dodge and block them. I can tell he’s not thinking of his movements and is just trying to get as many punches in as he can.

I take advantage of his carelessness and after he throws a certain punch, I push back. I bring my arm up to block his punch while pulling my other arm back to throw a punch into his unprotected stomach. He gets pushed back, not expecting the blow, and I jump at the opportunity to not give him the upper hand.

It’s my turn to throw punch after punch at him, and he isn’t as good as blocking them. He tries to punch back again but I don’t give him the chance to. I make sure he doesn’t get a chance to do anything but try to weakly block my advances.

He crashes to the ground after a particularly hard hit to the jaw, and he brings his arms up with a look of anger on his face. "Hey, you’re not supposed to—" he starts to say something angrily, but I cut him off as I jump on top of him and deliver a hard blow to his cheek. You could hear something pop when it happened, and his face turns to the side as blood starts to drip from his mouth.

I don’t stop as I tap into my anger and continue punching him over and over. His face quickly becomes deformed, swollen, and bloody as I don’t hold any punches back. He starts choking on his blood as he lays there, taking every single punch I throw his way. There are tears in my eyes as I start to scream my anger while still punching him.

I eventually bring myself to stop, tears still streaming down my face as I pant and look down at the beaten-up trainer below me. He’s not moving at all, as if—oh shit. I quickly bring my fingers down to his neck to check for a pulse. I wait for something, anything, but there’s nothing.

I quickly get up from the body and wipe my face with the back of my hands. Think. Think. Think. My mind is going into overdrive trying to figure out what to do. The guard would surely be back any minute; the training sessions don’t go on for that long. If they find me in here with a dead body, there will surely be drastic consequences. I can’t let them find me.

If I leave the room, I’ll be out in the open. You need restricted access to every room in the building. I’ll be stuck in the hallway, just waiting for someone to find me, unless I can get access to the doors.

I look down at the body by my feet and then up to the walls lined with the prop weapons. I quickly run up to the wall with rows of knives on it and try to find the sharpest one I can manage.

I find a switchblade that can’t be any sharper than the corner of a piece of paper, but it’ll have to do. I go back over to the lifeless body and bend down, spreading out his hand face down on the ground.

"I would say sorry, but I would be apologizing to myself for having to do this." I speak to the open air as I grip one of the fingers, holding it still, and bring the knife I have gripped in my palm up and bring it down as hard as I can. I cringe as I hear the bone in the finger crack. The finger is pushed up as the bone breaks, and I keep bringing the knife down into the skin in quick recession as blood splatters on me.

I feel the finger partly break off, and I stop striking the knife down in order to work to pull it off the rest of the way. I drop the knife and put the hand that was holding it on his arm so I can get more leverage on it. I push his arm back and pull the finger with my other hand, and the finger comes off his body with a pop. I stand up and lift up the finger in my hand, blood dripping down onto my arm from the bottom part of the finger where it was ripped off.

“Thank you for your kind contribution.” I say as I inspect the dissevered finger in my grip. I hurriedly make my way to the door to leave the training room, but the door opens before I get there, and the guard that brought me there is standing in the doorway.

@sleeperthelazy @hathay

buy me a coffee ♡

[rosenallies]

bring back drag racer au angst :(

I wrote this in entirety laying on my living room floor listening to phoebe bridgers </3

This is also the most projecty projecting in the world bc lowkey I don’t have a therapist rn which is crazy bc I was fully inpatient for over a month just 2 months ago lmfao <3 but lemme just get the feelings out <3

Tw/ s*icidal ideation and kinda SH

——

Really, Anetra should’ve seen it coming, the thoughts started off small and quiet, a mere whisper in her ear. She shook them off, pushing them away; she had no reason to be depressed, she had two loving partners, a career she loved, enough money to pay the bills and she felt that should be enough.

But it never was. As much as she tried to remind herself that she had no reason to be so fucking sad all the time, it never worked and the sadness still crept its way in, seizing her in its iron fisted grip.

Like every other time before, she tried to hide it, faking smiles and feigning having enough energy to pull herself out of bed in the morning. But soon enough, Sasha and Marcia’s usual easy smiles twitched when they looked at her, a pinch of worry in their faces as they watched Anetra slowly slip.

Then, the meltdowns started. Out of nowhere it seemed, Anetra would wake from a dead sleep, screaming and tugging on her hair, confessions leaving her lips like word vomit that made her partners’ chests ache painfully. Sasha would hold her, hoping the pressure from her arms looped around her would calm her down while Marcia spoke to her in their softest voice, sometimes even singing softly with misty tears in their eyes. Those nights always ended in Anetra passing out in the middle of the bed, salt streaks down her cheeks while Marcia and Sasha stayed up watching over her, whispering quietly how it’s the worst it’s ever been.

“Sweetheart,” Sasha said sadly over dinner one night as she watched Anetra push around food on the plate, avoiding taking a bite. She put her hand over Anetra’s and picked it up, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “You’re having a really hard time.”

Anetra wanted to laugh, shake it off and say she was fine but Sasha didn’t ask, she merely stated the truth. As if she even could hide it with a laugh in the first place with her oily unkempt hair, dark circles, nails bitten down to nothing, and tiny bruises dotting her arms from her pinching her skin just to make sure she could still feel.

“Yeah.” Anetra stated simply, a crack in her voice.

Marcia’s brows furrowed together. “We’re so worried about you. You’re really scaring us.”

A brief flash of anger burned through Anetra’s body, then quickly transformed itself into guilt just for the fact that her initial reaction was anger. Of course her partners were worried for her. She knew she was slipping away from them in every way possible, she felt it yet couldn’t manage to tether herself in place.

Sasha cleared her throat, making nerves bloom in Anetra’s belly. She squeezed her hand gently, silently reassuring her.

“I’m worried you’re not…” she paused, looking for the right word, “safe.”

Heart thumping in her chest, Anetra swallowed. “What do you mean safe? How could I not be safe.”

“Because darling, you-you,” choked up, Sasha stopped, closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears from flowing.

“Netra,” Marcia chimed in with their soft voice, “you’re hurting yourself, you’re not eating, you’re not getting out of bed, and-and last night you said some really scary things about -um, not wanting to be here.”

Anetra’s stomach twisted, she was thinking about it all the time, but had no recollection of letting that out of her brain where it remained safe and protected. It was one of the only things she swore to always keep to herself. The last thing she needed was for her partners to think she’s some kind of freak who just can’t get over her own tumultuous emotions enough to the point where she often wished she was dead. She felt her cheeks flush red, fighting to urge to pinch herself to see if maybe she’d wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“I-I didn’t know I said that,” she stammered.

Sasha nodded. “I didn’t think so, but you feel that way, don’t you?”

Tears welling in her eyes, Anetra nodded. “I do.”

“Oh, honey,” Sasha cooed, moving to kneel on the floor in front of Anetra’s chair. She took both of her hands gently, “why? Why do you want to-?”

“I-I don’t know, I just do. And I’m so tired, I just want to sleep forever.”

“No, no, no, don’t say that,” Marcia replied, now crying themselves.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I don’t know why I feel this way.”

Sasha nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I’m scared you’re not safe. Marcia and I have been doing some research and talking to some doctors and they agree, as do we, that you might be safer in the hospital right now.”

Nausea hit Anetra in waves. “The hospital?”

“Yes, baby, we think you need a lot of support right now to be safe and it’s just irresponsible of us to think we can do that because we’re not professionals.”

Crying harder, Anetra shook her head. “No, no please!”

“Netra,” Marcia sniffled, kneeling next to Sasha, taking one of Anetra’s hands, “please.”

It was then that Anetra started to get worked up, breath coming out in shallow puffs and her whole body shaking like a leaf. “I-I can’t- I don’t need-“

“Baby, yes you do. Please l, do it for me and Marc. We need you safe, baby.”

Anetra continued to melt down, the same things from the night before slipping past her lips, proving even more so that she needed more support than either Sasha or Marcia could give. But in that moment, Sasha was too afraid she’d make herself sick.

“Ok, baby, it’s ok, we don’t have to go anywhere. How about we get you to bed?”

A few more outbursts and soothing touches from her partners, Anetra was calm enough and felt herself being lifted out of her chair. She barely registered that Sasha had carried her to bed, laying her down and cuddling around her frail body.

[llau-ren-ti-a]

Bad Batch Headcanons - Skin Conditions

I’ve had this on my mind for way too long now and I NEED to write it down.

For context: I think that their mutations and “enhancements” had some side effects and actually made them more sensitive or gave them some other issues, this is one of many. Maybe Regs have to deal with this too, but I’m running with the Bad Batch for now.

TW: skin conditions, acne, eczema, a little blood? self-harm and injury

Hunter

first of all - he has like the most sensitive skin ever

I’m talking unscented, only natural ingredients, ph-neutral, everything you can imagine

soap made from ash, lime and oil, like, really specific and gentle shit

but on the other hand worst mixed skin ever, goes from crazy oily to dryer than Tatooine at least once a week

he’s either looking like a glazed donut or a shedding lizard

he’d straight up put cooking oil on his face bc “oil is good for dry skin, right?

someone tell this man how to take care of himself istg

bandana hides his greasy roots

bandana may be tied in different styles to hide his dandruff

he‘s highkey insecure about it

he‘s shedding like a dog, his hair is everywhere

in the shower, on the bed sheets, in the food if he cooks

if he ever shaves, doesn’t matter where or how he’s getting the worst razor burn and ingrown hairs ever

he’s getting all the issues

also, a big candidate for body acne?

he gives me back acne vibes

doesn’t wash his bedsheets or towel nearly often enough

they actually all (accidentally?) share a towel and never wash it, I’m convinced

Tech

his skin is dry af like, eczema / neurodermitis / psoriasis dry

especially his hands and joints, like the inside of knees and elbows

and around his eyes, especially because of his goggles/glasses, but also in the corners

he researched everything but sometimes just can’t help it and almost scratches his skin off

Hunter makes him wear cotton gloves when he goes to bed

that’s why he never sleeps

Crosshair straight up ties his hands with bandages so he can’t scratch himself

also a very dry scalp / dandruff candidate

should spend all of his time moisturising

tinkering around the marauder and getting into contact with motor oils/hydraulic liquids/fuel only makes it so so so much worse

doesn't wear skin protection, especially not gloves because it 'inhabits his motor functions'

don't get me started on his nails and nailbeds, because I can see how inflamed and irritated the skin is

the skin also peels off

sweaty hands

has a lot of moles?

stresses about said moles

Wrecker

has the nicest skin ever

except for a big pore / blackhead here and there

usually around the nose or on his forehead

literally the guy who either doesn't use soap or uses the same bar of soap to wash everything

it works

healthy glow might be mistaken for oily skin but it's actually not

actually gets a sunburn often, especially on his head, but refuses to do anything about it

turns into a lobster on uv-light-intense missions

red skin, really tight and shiny

sometimes, if crosshair is feeling really mean he gives him a brotherly slap on the sunburnt shoulder

he gets mouth sores sometimes, like cold sores?

also very attractive to mosquitos? he sweats a lot

scratches his mosquito bites so there are little scars all over his body

really random but occasionally he gets like one big aggressive butt pimple and can't sit for a few days

is very vocal about said butt pimple

Crosshair

my beloved

he's also getting all the issues

had very bad acne as a cadet

especially around his chin and cheeks to the point he straight up refused to take off his helmet

now that he's done with puberty he has a bunch of acne scars left

still breaks out sometimes

very sensitive to water - he just washes his face like usual and suddenly breaks out because that particular planet's water is 'weird'

so much acne but dry af skin, it's hard to combat

skin picking as self harm

aggressive nail biter; not only the nails but the skin around it

he's actually one big hangnail

and his nailbeds and sides are always inflamed

toothpicks to stop him from picking his skin

or to try to stop him from smoking but this is not a mental health / addiction headcanon

I'm convinced he has the ugliest, driest old man elbows and knees, I just know that they look weird

Echo

technically a reg, I know

but his prosthetics sometimes don't sit right, so there's a lot of friction and a high risk of irritated skin, blisters and sores

he's so pale - not surprised at all if he gets sunburnt quickly

reminds everyone to use lotion / sunscreen

learned the hard way bc he listened to Fives

tries to keep everyone from making stupid mistakes

buir mode activated

Omega

baby

baby skin

for now

Echo attempts to keep her in check

gets one really bad sunburn and learns her lesson

can't move for 3 business days

also, not a skin condition but she spends 5 seconds in direct sunlight and is just covered in freckles

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ARI FIRST THINGS FIRST I'M SORRY I DIDN'T TAG U I DIDN'T WANNA PRESSURE U OKAY I'M SORRY second of all how many of them can i ask about bc......... what if i wanna know about all of them? what then ari???? have u thought about that?????? okay okay no but i do NEEEED to know about sappy drunk!sugu bc helloo??? that sounds so good and also woLFY SUGU AND LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD????? you're crazy i'm so obsessed already and actually sick!satoru too bc he's gonna be such a baby i need to hear about it OK ONE MORE BECAUSE NOBARA??? OH MY GODD SKATERGIRL NOBARA PLEAAAAASEEE that's literally genius wow i can't wait to hear about all of them i'm so excited!!!!!!!

- @softgirlgonehaywire

MICKEY PLS DONT APOLOGIZE PHSJDHD i wasnt planning on doing it at first cause i didnt know if ppl would be interested 😭😭 BUT then i saw that u and everyone else was doing it so i immediately caved AND IM SO GLAD I DID u picked some of my personal faves !! ari/mickey connection going steady hehe

i’d apologize in advance for making this long but i feel safe w u this is just our average communication let’s go <33 here is some tea for u while u read !! 🍵

OKOK SOOOO first of all ; sappy drunk!sugu x reader….. yes. this one is sooooo special to me its been downright rotting in my drafts since the beginning of time and its literally all written out ?? but i need to delete some stuff n polish it overall….. </3

BUT yeah the plot is basically just: sugu goes out to a bar w satoshoko, gets drunk even though he literally never gets drunk, and so reader discovers that he is, in fact, the sappy kind. (shocker!) it’s just sooooo sickeningly fluffy and he’s so whipped. ☹️☹️ he’s like a puppy. all he can think of is reader and how much he wants to put a ring on their finger HE’S SOOOOO

here are a couple snippets hehe. literally just disgusting amounts of Fluff for my soul

sho 🚬 : anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying. you: HUH???????? you: WHY??? 😭😭😭 sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: pls come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

”— and i have you.” a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real. he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat. a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.  ”my angel.” that peaceful smile changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

”sugu,” you whine, dragging his name out childishly. ”we need to sleep…” ”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

i just think sugu has so much love in his chest that he like Never lets out bc he knows it can feel overwhelming unless he shows it in small doses but then he gets drunk and everything just SPILLS out . idk but my knees would buckle

AND THEN ….. wolf/hunter!sugu x little red riding hood!reader OHHHH MICKEY IM SO HAPPY U ASKED…. this concept entered my brain and has Not left even once but its still just this vague idea in my head. im just so interested in fairy tale aus!! i figure its probably gonna end up kinda twisted? or maybe a mix between sweet/twisted if i can pull it off 😭😭 bUT the main idea is that sugu plays the part of both the wolf AND the hunter, reader doesnt know who to trust but sugu is their only option either way. at first i was thinking of making him like a whole Wolf Man but now im leaning towards it being more symbolic … the trustworthy hunter was the ”wolf” all along yk? IM SO FOND OF THIS ONE i cant wait to write it !!! ive been itching to write something a lil more gritty anyhow :33

AND AND SICK!TORU X DOTING!READER ….. our babyboyyyy he’s so :((( he’s just so sick and delirious and trying to convince reader that he’s Fine Actually but he’s just burning up :(((( and so he has no choice but to face the terrifying reality of Being Taken Care of By Someone He Trusts. horrifying. as soon as he’s slightly better he’s just throwing himself over u and begging for kisses though (he’s an opportunist <33)

this is another one that’s just veryyyy fluffy n sweet!! AND another one that i have written out i just need to delete a lot of stuff bc its like . over 10k i think I GOT CARRIED AWAY OK…… 😭😭

aaand here r some snippets from this one!! just overflowing w gojo love <333 he’s our sweetiepie our little baby angel i need him tucked into bed

”really, baby,” he slurs, voice raspy and dry. attempting to get up, arms straining under his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —” unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles back down. face falling back into the mattress, as he croaks out a meek little wince. (the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.) ”ah,” he hums, muffled into the sheets. resisting the urge to close his eyes. ”that’s… annoying.”

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, looking up at you. ”can you check?” a raise of your eyebrow. you give him a smile. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.” ”just wanna make sure,” he whines. ”please?” an exaggerated sigh. then you’re leaning down, soft lips meeting his forehead, humming against his skin — and, just like last time, and the time before that, his temperature hasn’t gone up. ”you’re good.” ”oh, thank god,” satoru exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tenderly, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again. after a silent moment, you part your lips. ”… you can.” he blinks. still smiling. ”stay forever, i mean.”

yeahhhhhh. yeah. u know how it is. (i am consumed by love for this silly little 28 year old man)

AND FINALLY LAST BUT NOT LEAST … skatergirl!nobara x reader <333333 my most beloved ever. i only have a vague outline but im sooo in love w this concept mickey im overjoyed that it caught ur eye….. just . picture nobara being covered in hello kitty band aids bc she’s not very good at skating but she just thinks it’s SO fun and she goes to the skate park w maki while wearing acrylic nails and she’s just having such a blast :(( grinning and giggling!!! she’s literally my daughter i adore her ….

my idea for the fic is basically just that reader has this weird one-sided rivalry w nobara bc they’re a bit jealous of her + she’s so pretty it makes them angry LOL and they assume that she doesnt notice them at all… but in reality nobara is like HIGHKEY crushing on reader she does these complicated flips JUST to impress them she’s a lovergirl!!! so it’s basically just super duper fluffy n sweet hehe <33

TYSM FOR ASKING MICKEY i had to take my time w this one hehehe . i hope u’ll enjoy these fics when theyre posted although it’ll probably take a while… COVERING U IN KISSES WATCH OUT

[nathanbatemanfucker]

summary: a little time jump in this series— javier does blue the favor of taking her to the record store.

pairing: f!reader (blue) x javier peña

warnings: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI (this fic is 18+ only though this blurb is sfw)

word count: 1524

an: it’s the 10th (acts of service) aka BLUE SCOOPS DAY. no chapter this month bc of @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb but i decided to give y’all this. this takes place about 3 months after Blue’s arrival in Laredo and a month or so after she and Javi finally meet (soon i promise). thanks for reading my friends!

fluffy february masterlist | misc. masterlist

Your stomach has been in knots since the moment you woke up and you feel stupid. You’ve been alone with Javier before and here you are having a panic attack over him driving you to the record store. Granted, you were nervous that day he’d picked you up to go to the funeral home, but never like this. This feels different, like…more. You readjust your top and hair more times than you can count in the mirror and that’s exactly what you’re doing when he knocks at your door.

When you open the door Javier can’t help but think about how beautiful you look. It’s almost all he thinks about when he’s with you— that and this is all he will have. Longing looks, favors, and dinner’s with you and his father. This is all it’ll ever be because he won’t do this to you.

“Javier? You ready?” You say a little breathlessly, his intense gaze warming your cheeks.

He clears his throat, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “Yeah, you?”

“Mhmm. Coffee,” You press the warm to-go cup into his hand similarly to the last time he picked you up.

And just like last time, when he takes a sip it’s made perfectly.

The drive to the record store is 20 minutes, it sits on the other edge of town and the ride starts out awkward as he fiddles with the radio dial, trying to find something to fill the silence. He quickly learns that even with a melody in the background that his heart is beating so loudly he’s afraid you can hear it.

God he hates this.

Not being in control, confidence so low it's scraping the gates of hell— neither are something he’s not used to. In Colombia he had to be born of those things to get shit done, to simply stay alive. But his usual smoke and mirrors of a badge and sex appeal don’t work here with you. He doesn’t know how to keep you at bay, and he’s sure as hell doesn’t want to. But he will. He will do this right even if it kills him.

“So why Blue?” He asks suddenly, the burn to fill the silence becoming too much. He feels your eyes on him immediately, and tries to picture what expression’s on your face. Probably surprised, with your eyebrows arched and eyes wide, your plush mouth hanging open.

He tacks on quickly, “I know that you’re always wearing something blue. A shirt, a dress, a bandana. But why the nickname?

You continue to gape at him for a moment, a little in shock. He noticed that? He’s been…looking at you? The thought makes that familiar ache at the apex of your thighs blossom, the heat he always brings to your skin rises a few degrees.

“Oh,” You say finally, clearing your throat as you look down and run your hands over the blue blouse that you’re wearing today. “It’s my favorite color…it was my grandfather’s too.”

His face falls, and he can't help but look over at you, “I shouldn’t have asked, I didn't mean to bring that up for you.”

When did this become so hard for him? He’s always cared for the women he interacted with, no matter their status or occupation, a soft spot created by his mother and the way she raised him. But this? He’s drowning in you, struggling to stay afloat in a simple conversation. Stumbling every time he tries a gesture he thinks will pan out as caring or charming.

“It’s fine,” You reassure him, and you have the urge to reach out to touch him— instead, you grip your coffee cup tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

“It's alright, Javier, really.”

More silence. This was not going well, and you can’t help but be disappointed. The back and forth between you and Javier makes no sense to you. He takes a leap and then several steps back, leaving you to chase after him. Doesn’t he know that you’ll take him as he is? You guess not, you haven’t said it in so many words but he has to feel doesn’t he?

“Thank you for bringing me here. It means a lot,” You murmur as he parks the car outside the store.

It’s simple and small, a hand painted sign that reads ‘Frankie’s’ hung up above the floor to ceiling windows. Even from the car you can see rows upon rows of records.

“Don’t mention it. Good to go?”

“Sure.”

The way you light up when you see the jazz section in Frankie’s is better than all the wonders in the world to Javier. You let out a little squeal, looking up at him with such a genuine excitement that he can’t help but grin back at you. It's even better to hear you ramble, plying him with information about artists and yourself without him having to say it word. This feels the most you, like you've finally forgotten about whatever makes you nervous around him and let go.

“My grandfather got me into records, you know. It was his thing, he hated tapes. He was a good cook, a terrible baker which is where I come in, but he's taught me everything I know about proper cooking. And every time he would cook for us, which was every night, he’d have a record going. We’d dance in the kitchen sometimes together. It felt like he had hundreds of them, he had at least one for every week of the year. But it was incredible, he was incredible.”

“He sounds like he was a lot of fun. I’m sure you miss him very much.”

You're thumbing through a section, pulling out a record that has Chet Baker sprawled across it in white letters, “He taught me to live, regardless of the circumstances. We were dealt a pretty shitty hand with my grandmother but all things considered, he found happiness.”

“You had a lot to do with that happiness I bet.”

You glance up at him, breath catching at his proximity. When had he gotten so close?

“You think so?” You ask softly, your gaze distracted when his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip.

He nudges your elbow with his and quirks his eyebrows at you, “I know so.”

The way he's looking at you almost makes your knees weak. Eyes glittering, his mouth slack, his staring into your eyes with an intensity that steals the rest of your breath. Your brain is panicking at you, pleading with you to tell him how you feel.

“Javier, I-”

You're interrupted by a saleswoman with big hair and red lips, “You two need any help? Oh, Chet Baker. Perfect for you lovebirds.”

“We’re not lovebirds. She just, uh, works for my dad. I’m doing her a favor-” Javier tries to explain, much to your disappointment, but the woman interrupts him too.

He’s right, you aren’t lovebirds but there’s something inside you that hurts at his denial. You’re grateful this woman stepped in before you’d made a fool of yourself.

“Javier Peña as I live and breathe,” The woman claps her hand over her chest dramatically.

“Hola, Elena,” He sighs, obviously exasperated but it goes right over her head.

He wants to know what you were going to say. It looked important— intimate even.

You squeeze his arm with an apologetic smile before leaving the two of them to catch up. You need to look at the models of record players they have anyway, it's what you came for. Javier doesn’t find you until you’re checking out, whistling at the pretty penny you’re spending.

“It’s worth it,” You grin up at him, eyes bright and it takes all his willpower not to take you in his arms and kiss you.

The ride back is more silent than the ride going, the two of you unknowingly thinking about the same thing.

What were you going to say to him? And what even is it? It’s always easy to feel what you do for Javier, he taps into the rawest part of you desire, the softest part of your heart. But putting it into words? It seems an impossible task.

By the time he drives you home you still aren’t sure about what you want to say. As always, he walks you to the door, insisting on carrying your bags up to the door.

When you get the door unlocked you turn towards him, hands reaching for the bags, “You can ask me about him. It doesn’t…it’s alright if you’re curious about him, about me.”

His eyes drop to the ground before he focuses them on you again, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow, Blue,” He murmurs as the bags slip from his hands unto yours.

You can't help but smile at him. Javier doesn't know if you smiled this much since he met you, and his returning smile spans his entire face at the thought of being the reason for that.

“See ya, Javi.”

Back in his truck, he lights a cigarette immediately. He's a goner for you. Hook, line and sinker.

blue scoops taglist: @lesbianhotch, @honeybrowne, @jazzelsaur, @mccn-bcys, @jxvipike, @thevoiceinyourheadx, @hotchs-bitch, @laurensprentiss, @pedrito-friskito, @lola766, @amb11, @vanemando15, @emilianamason, @iamskyereads, @welcometostayingawake, @alpaca-swimsuit

[subskz]

more thoughts abt making lino wear a strap on and riding it instead of his dick 🥺🥺🥺??

sure ^_^ i think it’d be one of the best ways to mess w lino since he always expects to be pampered by you simply for sitting there n looking pretty (in my very unbiased, not at all self-indulgent opinion)

trying to teach him a lesson may not work if it results in his pleasure bc in minho’s mind, he’s just getting what he wants in the end anyway -_-; so smth like this where all he can do it lay there and watch helplessly as you use him as a holder for your strap would undoubtedly drive him crazy hehe. he’d try so hard to play it cool at first bc after all of the hard work he put in to gaining your attention through annoying you instead of just asking for it, the last thing he wants to do is swallow his pride and beg

but it doesn’t take long for him to get fidgety beneath you once you’ve asjusted the strap around him and lined it up w your entrance…he can’t help but stare w a very obvious longing as you rub the tip along your folds, whether he’s more jealous of you or the toy, he doesn’t know. poor thing would nearly hiss just from the sight of it sliding into you meanwhile his dick is twitching and neglected behind you 💓 the moment you start to move and he feels the painfully subtle stimulation of you rocking on his abdomen, his patience fizzles out and the whining begins

he scowls up at you miserably, the corners of his lips curved into an irresistible pout as he complains abt how unfair this is and how you shouldn’t get to have all the fun! but no matter how cute his big pleading eyes look as he insists “don’t you wanna play w me?”you stand your ground and remind him that he’s done nothing to deserve it and he should learn to not be so selfish 😽 he, ofc, does not take kindly to that bc he’s so used to getting his way w just a few cute words and a bit of eyelash batting…so naturally when the whining doesn’t work he starts acting up

in his frustration he jerks his hips up as best he can, trying to press his length against you and gain some kind of friction, but you quickly put a stop to it by grabbing hold of his sides and shoving them back against the mattress, earning the cutest involuntary squeak from him 🥰 even w the warning of your fingernails digging into his skin, he still doesn’t relent, and without breaking eye contact he stretches his arm out to reach behind you and try to touch himself

his whine of protest when you slap his hand away would be so pitiful you almost want to have mercy on him, but you know if you indulge him now he’ll be insufferable abt it later. instead you pin his hands above his head and let out a nice long exaggerated moan just to taunt him <3 he huffs and pouts and fusses abt how mean you are, and you shush him by saying he has no right to complain when he’s too spoiled to use his dick properly anyway, and he should pay close attention to learn a thing or two abt pleasing you instead

your words make his ears burn in humiliation, and that combined w how badly he’s aching for release quickly makes the last of his pride crumble. he squirms adorably under you as you pick up the pace, not even bothering to hold back his lil whimpers, and just as you feel your high creeping up on you he mewls out a soft, broken apology in that honey voice of his 💗 everything he did was just his own convoluted way of trying to get your attention and ofc you know that, but it’s more fun to make him ask for it outright

you give his cheek a condescending lil pat, cooing abt how much cuter he is like this as you reach behind you and finally give his dick some much-needed attention. the moan he lets out doesn’t disappoint, and he even breathes out a lil “thank you” so you won’t change your mind~ after getting him so worked up it only takes a few pumps before he’s spilling into your hand, making the most heavenly noises that send you over the edge as well ♡

[talkethtothehandeth]

I accidentally deleted someone’s ask about how I manage my chronic pain. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you. Since someone took the time to ask me, maybe they’ll see this again

Drugs, anon.

I use drugs/hj

I take very warm/hot baths, heat helps expand blood vessels and relieves my stiffness (from my arthritis). I’m glued to my emotional support heating pad, which you can find here in my cripple recommended products/wishlist. Whenever my friend comes to visit me, they know which side of the bed to sit on because my heating pad has already claimed my seat

Next, ice. I have multiple ice packs, and have plenty of “one time” *whispers* I use them more than once, instant ice packs. Which can also be found in the aforementioned link. They help with my inflammation as well. I bought a large ice pack from my old physical therapist’s place, it covers my entire back, and I usually transition from heat to ice depending on the symptoms

I keep my room dark and quiet, which doesn’t always work when my birds are with me. But I am sensitive to extra noise and light because my pain has gone past the point of no return and has turned my body into an over sensitive ball of nerves, quite literally. My room is my space, and unless my nephew and I are playing video games, it stays mostly quiet and very much dark because of black out curtains

I trigger point using a tennis ball to help release my muscles that have atrophied, I stretch when I need to, to the best of my ability during any given day, I mostly lie in bed tbh, that’s the only thing that makes it tolerable most days is rotting

For medicine I take a lot of different things, celecoxib, gabapentin but mmj helps me the most I’ve found— and also pisses off doctors enough for them to just accuse me of using recreational drugs (I don’t, and that doesn’t make me superior, but damn they do not fully believe you after you share that information)

I use topical relief like diclofenac or lidocaine, tiger balm helps immensely but also burns my skin at times. I have a massage gun that I got for like 75% off with the right Amazon coupons

I wear braces when I absolutely need to, which isn’t often bc I’m stubborn but also know how to navigate brace-less bc I’ve been doing this for so long

I have to have distractions, I play video games— fast paced like Warframe and assassins creed, things where it’s from one thing to a next and you’re completely submersed in the game. I forget I’m in pain sometimes when I’m playing, and then the game pauses and I get the quick reminder

I used to do music therapy, but I’ve been in too much pain to pick it back up again, so much that I ugly cried after playing the piano for the first time in months. I draw on my bent second hand iPad (that person must have just planted their cheeks on it bc HOW does it bend like that?) because it gives me the most control with my hand than paper and pencil does

I am so thankful that I have access to two mobility aids, which I wouldn’t have had access to if it weren’t for my friend who paid for the whole chair, it was one from Amazon like $100, and someone cared about me enough to do to understand my pain and wanted to help me through it, and I cannot ever express how grateful I am. I recognize that having a walker and wheelchair are very much a privilege, but my wheelchair hurts me because it isn’t custom made

My fiancée helps a lot, they bring me medicine or do things for me that I can’t, my long distance best friend is about the same level of disabled as I am because they just hAD TO COPY ME/j and when they come over we just rot, watch shows and coexist in the same space because they get it, and I feel so comfortable with them because I know there isn’t judgement, I feel comfortable with my other friends for this same reason, but sometimes my anxiety still runs rampant banging a wooden spoon on pots and pans

Having a support system really does help, it really does, and I literally only have one physically abled “irl” friend who I love so very much because they take the time to understand and they accept me as me, not “despite” my disability

And there are support groups online, there are people who aren’t assholes and who do not play Sick Olympics ™️ and I promise you there are people who you will find to be such amazing friends through your pain and who won’t leave you, I promise it is possible

And I get myself treats when I can. Like a smoothie from the café I like going to, it’s like a reward

I’ve been doing a lot better mentally, though when my pain comes around in a flare, it feels permanent, and that makes everything just a bit lot worse. I still have a very high baseline of pain, this won’t go away and I’m not sure if I’ll ever return to where I was back when I was 15, before It Truly hit.

Pain might be forever, so the best thing we can do is manage it, and if that feels helpless right now then that is how it feels and you shouldn’t force yourself out of it, imo. It’s okay to sit with the Bad thoughts and feelings even though it’s the worst ever, but I think it’s healthier than “find the good!”

Bestie, my joints dislocating enough to leave me with permanent degeneration is not good, I won’t find the good in that unless my joints aren’t swollen to the point where they make me immobile, I’ll find the good when I have relief. But when I’m flaring up? Let me have my pity party and let me be a bitter cripple. I’ve been in pain forever, and I managed to stay alive every single time I considered or tried to make that not happen. But I’m not some sort of inspiration, I’m just someone whose body broke them enough to the point where I saw no return. And maybe there won’t be, but when you find the right pain management (which, unfortunately, will be the burden you mostly have to carry) you will feel better, maybe not Better, but better.

You’ve got this, we’ve got this.

TL;DR: I manage my pain with lots of drugs, coping skills, art, a support system, and plenty of outside help from mobility aids to literal tennis balls to help, *bear grylls voice* improvise, adapt, overcome

[sunatooru]

setters reacting to you crying during sex bcs it feels so good

Hii thank you for requesting, I couldn’t fit all setters but here are a few ; Sugawara, Kageyama, Kenma, Akaashi, Oikawa and Atsumu x

Warnings: minors dni, 18+ content, aged (20-22), I think they all have gn x reader, Kenma says ‘kitten’,dacryphilia and some degradation but also some praise

~

Sugawara

* He doesn't realise at first, his head buried into your neck as your moans fill his ear

* And then he feels wetness connect with his ear

* Looks up and sees your eyes rolled back and your puffy face tear-stained

* He feels his balls tighten

* He's managed to get you in this state and he can't help but love it

* "My pretty baby, am I making you feel that good, that you're crying?"

* Ruts into you when you sniffle and reply

* "Yes sir."

* Swallows your mouth in his as he picks up his pace, the fresh tears you're spilling acting as motivation

Kageyama

* Doesn't understand why you're crying

* You've been saying how good you feel over and over

* Would try to slow down but you don't let him, pushing yourself into him and pulling him deeper inside you

* "Baby why are you crying?" As much as he wants to grips your hip and snap against you, he wants to make sure you're okay

* "Feels so good Tobio..please don't stop.." he bites his lips when he looks into your watery eyes

* Arousal growing at how much pleasure he's giving you

* Your grabby hands moving around his body, grip burning as he watches your mouth open and moan his name

* Gives you deep long thrusts, grinning down at you when your tears fall down your face

Kenma

* the way you're holding his gaze as tears fall down your cheek makes him stiffen inside you

* He's not that big in physique

* But when you whine at how he's too big to fit inside you, he snaps his hips into yours

* He can hear your cries, closing his eyes when you clamp onto him

* Has to pinch your nipple so you relax around him and let him fuck your properly

* He finds his focus watching the way your tears bounce around your face as he slams against you

* Your body jolting when he thrusts hard into you

* Moves your hair out of you face so he can clearly watch your cry over his dick

* "Taking me so well kitten, fuck so pretty when you cry."

* It's one of the few times he pushes his hair back so he can see you cream around his cock and tears cloud your eyes

Akaashi

* He's been eating you out for so long

* Your grip on his hair getting tighter and tighter

* Pushing his face closer into you, his tongue dances around your hole

* He's composed for most of the time

* But the taste, your taste..he can't get enough

* He's been flicking and teasing you non-stop

* You keep fidgeting, you thighs closing and opening around his head, your hands clenching and unclenching the sheets

* You let out a sob, a throaty, broken sob

* You look down at him, his tongue not stopping as he catches your eyes

* The sight of you crying over just his tongue makes him incredibly aroused

* Places kisses up your body, wet big kisses, until he reaches your face

* Rubs his erection against you as he kisses your tears, the saltiness transferred onto you lips when he kisses you

* "Mmm baby, you look so pretty.. I want to see you on my dick. Can you do that?" It was unusual but you nodded

* And then your tears started dropping on his chest as you ride him - he takes a mental picture

Oikawa

* Any reacting you make during sex boosts his ego

* Your moans, your breathing, the way your nails dig into his skin

* He loves it

* So when he sees you crying as you struggle to take him, he's smirking so hard

* Spreads your thighs wider so he can penetrate you deeper

* "Aww look at my crying slut"

* "Am I too big?" Definitely laughs when you weakly nod

* Makes you want to cry even more

* He gives you a mixture of praise and degradation

* Enough to have you squeeze around his cock and hiccup when he whispers in your ear

* Pins both your arms above you and hovers his face over yours

* If you're going to cry as he pounds you, he wants a full view

Atsumu

* He never forgets how rough he can get

* And how much he fills you up

* His balls slap against your ass

* His thrust quick and strong, his grip on your hips making you meet him half way

* "Fuck..yer so tight"

* Pulls your hair back so your back is pressed against his chest

* Grunts in your ear as he wraps his slightly calloused fingers around your neck

* "Yer let me do whatever I want with you, don't yer?" His grip tightens

* "Whatever you want" you choke out

* He instantly flips you around, you back on the bed as he pushes his cock inside you

* Smirks when he catches you crying

* He chuckles, look at the state of you,

* Eyes filled with tear, body bruised from his mouth

* "Nmm does my cock feel that good yer crying?" Lift your hips up without losing his pace

* Your tears boost his ego. And because of that you'll be crying the whole night

[atinywhore]

I knocked on every door

kang yeosang x fem reader

genre: honestly, mostly angst with a splash of smut at the end.. but its good smut, in my royal opinion, so don't worry

word count: 3540 (most of it is angst lmao)

warnings: pleasure dom vibes (yeosang ofc), oral (fem receiving), HICKIESSS, multiple orgasms ;) unprotected sex (use a condom dummies), some trauma elements idk how to describe it but you'll see hopefully, angst to fluffy ending bc im a softy who needs happy endings..

an: This is part two to my besties yeosang request! This is my first time doing angst really and I'm happy with how it turned out. P.S. I didn't really edit this.. so I do apologize if there are any big issues, there shouldn't be but if there is my bad, its literally midnight the I'm finishing this and am running off of 4 hours of sleep. OMG, I have nothing against Seonghwa, I would literally shoot someone if they did what I did to him in this fic, so please no hate, he was just the first member that popped into my brain. stop I love him.

be kind and lmk :) please be nice and let me know if I missed any warnings. enjoy my dirty little hoes <3

tag list: @ch0isa99ie @mingigoo @ateezinmymind @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99

bite me- (pt 1) (pt 2)

~~~~~

He slid himself fully inside, my walls burning with pleasure. “Fuck” the word comes out in a breathy moan directly into his ear. “Holy shit doll.” He flexed his hips and another wave of pleasure burned through me. “Taking me so well.” he drew his eyes away from mine and looked down to where we were connected. Slowing his pumps and filling me as much as he can, repeating the torturous motion over and over until I almost reach the edge, and then he stops.

~

It has been 2 months since that night in the parking garage. It took me over a week to finally peel myself from my bed and actually shower. No matter how hard I tried I could not seem to erase the feeling of his hands roaming my body and how perfectly he seemed to fill me up. It wasn’t until your friends forced you out of your apartment back into civilization. You were at a cafe waiting for your friends when you got a text saying (We are sorry, please don’t hate us. You need this.) Rightfully pissed, you make to leave after seemingly being stood up, you hear a man's voice directly in front of you, “Y/n?” Your vision focuses on the tall and very handsome man now smiling down at you. “Are you y/n?” His cat-like features pulled to reflect the smile now dominating his face. “Yes I am. Do I know you?” Trying not to be impolite but his stature and angular greek like looks are ripping you back to the night you have been trying so hard to forget. It was not this man's fault that he has a similar look to.. You can’t even speak his name in your head or else you’ll crumble right here in this cafe.

His face twists in a concern like manner and you snap yourself out of the spiraling thoughts consuming you. “I’m sorry did you say something?” Feeling a slight blush warm your cheeks, he just plasters that same smile back on, this time a dimple settles on the corner of his left lip.

He never looked at me like that.

“I said I’m Seonghwa. I work with your friends and they have been trying to set us up for a while now I guess. I’m sorry it seems you didn’t know and I don't want to make you feel comfortable. I will just go now and-” Now it's his turn to warm with embarrassment. “No you came all the way here! Sit, we can just talk over a cup of coffee. His cheeks illuminating slightly with the pink still tinting his tan skin. His smile shines even brighter as he takes a seat across from you.

And for almost two months now it has been Seonghwa. We have been inseparable since that fateful day. We might be on the cusp of dating but no matter how many times he brings it up I just can’t say yes. My mind is so clearly set on picking Seonghwa, but, it's my fickle heart that is standing in the way of fully letting him in. He makes me so happy, so it should be the obvious choice of Seonghwa but it’s almost as if Yeosang cast a spell on you. No, fuck him for screwing with my life even after he’s no longer in it.

Your kinda boyfriend Seonghwa was throwing a party and of course you had  to go. It didn’t take you long to get ready and take the elevator down 3 floors to his apartment. As you neared his floor you could hear the slight thumping of a deep bass. As the elevator dinged and opened its doors to the hallway, almost shaking with the music. You turn right and walk down the warmly lit hall close towards my destination. Another right and I’m hit with the stench of weed and alcohol. Dodging the dazed bodies of both men and women to finally reach the heart of the party.

My eyes roamed the crowd, taking in the delightful sight. There’s a young girl swaying her hips in time with the beat, a drink in hand raised above her head. Looking to my left I see two young men, bodies facing one another in an intimate type of way. The taller of the two looked down at his partner with a soft expression of bliss coating his features while his counterpart excitedly shared some story, hands and arms flinging around to better share the experience.

Continuing to scan the crowd I finally see Seonghwa. Squeezing, sliding and ducking, I’m able to make my way through the crowd and reach him. Moving closer to him I wrap my arm around his and he finally turns noticing me. “Y/n! You made it!” He moves his arm causing mine to fall but he leans down and pulls me into a hug. His scent of warm vanilla and coconut rum washed over my senses. I felt the twitch of arousal flicker down to my lower stomach at the pressure of his hands running from my shoulder blades down to finally wrap around my hips.

A chill ran down my spine, but not of pleasure. I can feel the burning of eyes labored onto my back. My body stiffened and my palms began to sweat. Sensing my change seonghwa releases from the hug and sets his focus solely on my face. His brows curl in concern and he places his hands on my shoulders to pull me out of my frozen state.

It can’t be him. He doesn’t know Seonghwa, right?

“Y/n?” Seonghwa shakes my shoulders slightly, finally pulling me out of my state. “Yes hwa?” My voice barely a whisper. I clear my throat and repeat the sentence. “You went all quiet. Are you okay?” His hands move up to cup my cheeks and I can’t help but smile at his comforting warmth. “Yes hwa. Just got lost in thought I guess.” You try to laugh it off but he still seems to be on edge. You move his hands from your face and hold them in yours, “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

~

A few drinks later and you definitely forgot about the chilling thought of him being here. There was a slight buzz clouding your mind as you and your kind of boyfriend danced within the crowd. You could feel the heat of his body pressed closely behind yours. His hands held a weak grip on your hips, just enough of pressure to keep your ass connected with his pelvis. Swaying sensually to the music with a tall handsome man behind you, a great buzz growing, your mind finally turned off. This feeling enlightened your mind of its troubles and just let you be.

This euphoric feeling did not last long when the chill returned, slithering it’s way down my spine. Shooting my eyes open, I now searched the crowd for the source. Relief started to settle my jumpy body but disappeared when I spotted him.

He looked like a god. Standing in the corner of the room, drink stopped just at his full lips and his darkened eyes met mine from across the room. Stopping the movement of my body as the rush of emotions consumes me. Seonghwa’s grip tightens, encouraging me to keep moving with him. The memory of Yeosang hands grabbing me the same way causes a flare of panic to jolt my system alive. Grabbing Seonghwas hands from my hips while still holding them, I turned to face him, “I’m not feeling so good hwa. I’m going to go home, I think.” Obviously drunk, he whines out a response but I place a quick kiss to his cheek and head towards the front door.

~

I could feel him following close behind me.

His footsteps mocked mine, the heel of his boot clicking against the black and white tile. The sound echoed louder and soon enough there was a hand stopping me by the shoulder. “Y/n.” My breath hitches at the sound of his deep voice. “Please don’t walk away from me again.” He turns me around to face him but my head is locked downward, staring at his shiny black combat boots. With his other hand he hooks a finger underneath my chin and lifts my line of vision to meet his.

Gone were the inky, brooding eyes I’ve come to know and fear, now his eyes shine like two pools of dark honey inviting me into the sweetness. His warm eyes flicker all across my face before landing briefly on my lips once and taking their final place meeting back with mine. Our faces are so close that I can smell the sweet scent of peach, no doubt from the flavor of soju he had been drinking. His thumb gently runs back and forth over my bottom lips as his eyes never leave mine.

Reality hits me like a fucking train. Taking a step back, I break the contact between us and now I’m left with a cold feeling deep deep inside me. His mouth opens to speak again but I hold my hand up to stop him. “What can I help you with Yeosang?” I managed to muster up every ounce of courage I had. He falters at my response. A long silence drags on between us. He’s just staring intently at me, mouth slightly agape and his posture now rigid. “Okay then. Good night Yeosang.” Turning around I continue walking straight, aiming for the elevator directly in front of me. I don’t look back. I press the button and the doors slide open. Entering the old fashioned metal cage-like elevator I finally turn and see him. Standing exactly as I left him. It’s not until the doors are about to close that I see him start forward. It’s too late. The doors have shut and the 5th floor button is already glowing with its destination.

I make it down the long hallway to my apartment, the last and furthest one from the elevator. I kick off my shoes in the entryway and slug my way into the joined kitchen and living room. I open the fridge door and grab my picker of water, setting it on the island behind me. It’s at this point that my mind is no longer thinking. There are only the basic thoughts like the ones for water and sleep. I grab a cup from the cupboard next to me, then pour and gulp the chilled water. The water energizes me long enough to make it to the couch and once my head hits the soft throw pillow, I’m out.

~

I’m jolted from my sleep by a loud smack at the door. I froze, careful not to make a sound. Then a fury of knocks follow the smack. My dazed brain racks itself for some sort of rationalization for the situation. I jump to the thought of Seonghwa. He was pretty wasted, he could be coming up to check on me. My heart does a guilty flip. I get to my feet and head over to the door. The banging has stopped by the time I open the door. The man on his knees before me was not who I was expecting. The sound of me opening the door has him lifting his hanging head. His dark shaggy hair moves in motion with his head. The dark bangs framing his face fall back with the rest of his hair when he is fully looking up at me. The look in his eyes has not changed from when I had just seen him last.

“I knocked on every door.” His rasp almost brought my knees to tremble. “Excuse me?” My words came out weak. “I knocked on every door on this floor to find you y/n.” He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back even further making him look even more like he was carved from stone. He takes a deep breath, holds, and then lets it go slowly, reopening his eyes to look back at me. “I was wrong y/n. Ever since that night you walked away from me, I have not been able to get you out of my mind.” His hand jets up to push the hair falling into his face back. “I don’t understand what you did to me y/n but all I know is I want you. I need you.” He meets my eyes again and they are wild this time, almost as if I can see the thoughts consuming his mind like a wildfire. “Well to quote your own words Yeosang, ‘This was a one time thing. Don’t get it twisted.’ Plus if you couldn’t tell, I’m already seeing someone.” He let out a laugh at the last part of my retort. “Come on y/n, we both know you can’t fully commit to him.” Once again feeling the annoyance that once always accompanied his presence, “And why might that be Yeosang?” He rather slowly gets to his feet, now towering slightly over me, and begins to back us into my apartment.

“You know why y/n. You are just too scared to admit it like I was.” I stop moving, causing him to stop as well. He does not get to come here and treat me like this again. “Fuck off Yeosang. I’m not some toy you can just pick up and play with when you are bored.” A half grin pulled the left corner of his lips up. “That’s not how it seemed to feel last time we were together y/n. Don’t you remember?” The flashbacks playing through my mind cause waves of pleasure to migrate to my stomach and lower. “Oh bite me.” As soon as you said it, you wish you hadn’t. He closed the final distance between you two and he leans in to whisper, “Don’t tempt me doll.” His hot breath fanned down the length of your neck before he stopped right above the last spot he had bitten you. “Y/n, I need to know that you feel the same before we go any further.” My mind whirled from the sleepiness, his confession, his soft lips placing sweet kisses all along my neck and exposed shoulder and my once buried emotions for him resurfacing. Taking a deep breath I pull back from Yeosang. He seems defeated by my movement until I grab his hand. Meeting his eye briefly, I turn to lead him further into my apartment. Walking past the living room and through a tiny hall I stop outside the door to my bedroom. Before I open the door I release his hand and grab him by the face, effectively pulling his head down to my level. “I can’t be another one time thing with you again Yeosang. I won’t be able to pull myself together if it happens again.” A couple tears fell down my cheeks and now it's his turn to hold my face. Wiping my tears away and placing a kiss where each one fell, he looks at my lips and leans his head in to kiss me.

I wish I could say I forgot how soft his lips were, but I can’t. He worked my mouth open slowly for him to let his tongue slide in, deepening the kiss. When he pulls away I find myself fiending more and more, just needing another hit. “Y/n, I’m the biggest fool for ever thinking that you were.” My breath shortened in excitement and hopefulness. I reached behind me and opened the door. Keeping one hand on cupping my face, the other hooked under my knee, urging me to straddle him as he strode towards my bed. He looked into my eyes the whole time, our souls connecting. He tossed me onto the bed and placed himself in between my legs. “You are mine, doll. I want you and only you.” My whole body becomes heightened with arousal, I try to roll my hips into his but he stops me. “No, I’m going to take my time with you and show you how much you truly mean to me y/n.”

He starts by peeling off the black dress that I was wearing, leaving me in my matching blush pink underwear set. I assumed Seonghwa and I would end up sleeping together tonight so I wore it, and by the angered look on his face, it seems Yeosang figured the same. Frustration getting the better of him he rips my underwear off, like legits rips. The tear of fabric is all I hear before a rush of cool air hits my private area. He then does the same for the matching bralette. Anger now subsides to awe as he sees my naked form laid out in front of him. “So gorgeous.” He mumbles before leaning down and biting the sweet spot on my neck. As he bites he sucks to create a hickey. He repeats this action all down my neck, chest, breast, stomach and inner thigh. Leaning back on his knees once again he admires his work. He takes my new markings in as if he was staring at a piece of art, which in some ways I guess this could be his own art form.

Once he's decided that he has admired his artwork for long enough he slides off the bed to the ground,  pulling me by the hips towards his face and opening my legs , bearing  myself to him. He licks his lips and then he dives right into my soaking pussy. All kinds of sounds, moans, whimpers, pleas, etc come from my mouth as he eats me out. He doesn’t let up his assault as he makes me cum the first time, no he continues and adds two fingers. Soon enough I’m reaching my second climax. Still not letting up he adds a third finger and picks up his pace. Creating a pleasure I’ve never experienced before has me screaming out his name as I cum for a third time in a matter of minutes. Panting and truly struggling to breathe after that unworldly experience leaves me speechless. Yeosang stands from his current position, licking his fingers clean of my juices and licks his lips clean as well. The sight has my still pulsing walls clench again in excitement.

Pulling his form fitting, dark purple sweater over his head, exposing his lean torso and smooth abs to me. He reached for his pants and soon enough the sound of his dick was slapping against his skin. Mouth and pussy watering at the sight of this Greecian God standing before me. Kneeling back on the bed and then trapping myself under his form, he lines his tip at my dripping entrance. The thrill of having him inside me once again is almost enough to have me reaching my 4th climax tonight. He then slid himself fully inside, my walls burning with pleasure. “Fuck” the word comes out in a breathy moan directly into his ear. “Holy shit doll.” He flexed his hips and another wave of pleasure burned through me. “Taking me so well.” he drew his eyes away from mine and looked down to where we were connected. Slowing his pumps and filling me as much as he can, repeating the torturous motion over and over until I almost reach the edge, and then he stops. I dug my nails into his back, a plea for him to stop teasing me, and he quickened his pace. He flipped us over and pulled out the same move he did when we first had sex. Pulling me closer onto his sweat glistened chest, he wrapped his arms around me and began to flex his hips harder and faster inside me. He hit the spot deep inside that caused my vision to go blurry and my head short circuit. Hitting the spot over and over again he had me releasing in no time. He followed shortly after, once again filling my oversensitive pussy with his cum.

Unlike the first time we just stayed in this position for a while. We stayed connected like this for as long as we could. Neither one wanted to break this magically-seeming moment. We would have had we not started to get hard again, while still inside me. The sensation, while amazing, was too painful after 4 orgasms. He pulled himself out of me and grabbed my dress from the floor and began to clean me then himself off. When he was done he tossed the dress back on the ground and just stood there staring at me. Not sure what to say after suddenly feeling self conscious, “You can leave if you want now.” I say it almost as a test, but really it is just me outwardly thinking my biggest fear, that he lied and he was just playing me. He smiled and joined me in bed. “I wasn’t lying, y/n. I want you and only you.” He places a kiss on my forehead and he tucks us under the comforter. For the first time in months, I was finally able to sleep all through the night.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 

--

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 

“And someone is responsible.” 

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 

“Saints.” 

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

--

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