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katsukistofu · 4 months ago

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ikea meatballs before marriage?

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ your fiancé and you get a little too into playing house when you’re supposed to be furniture shopping for your new apartment.

“you’re home early.” touya smirks. an apron you’re ninety-nine percent sure he stole from the aisle showcasing the ovens with ‘i cook as good as i look’ printed on it is tied around his waist.

“i’m home!” you say cheerfully, playing along with him.

you take a moment to study “your” kitchen and droop in disappointment.

it was a bit too dim for your liking, the lighting.

there’s no way you could read the recipe books rei had gifted you without touya having to stand there and hold a flashlight while you did.

but the deep forest green accented cabinets, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were beautiful.

perfect for storing fuyumi’s leftover snacks that her students gifted her yesterday.

she had complained to you over the phone about how there was no space at home since all the cupboards were full of soba noodles, courtesy of your fiancé and little brother-in-law.

touya nervously watches, until he sees as you visibly brighten up, and he lets a little huff out, half in pride, half in relief.

he knew his pick couldn’t be that bad.

then you spot the fake plant hanging from overhead, and grimace as you see a cluster of even more potted plants under it near the toaster.

cute in theory, but definitely a fire hazard.

touya notices the little way your eyebrows furrow with doubt, and casually leans against the edge of the sink to distract you from making any more keen observations.

you giggle at the way he almost knocks off the price tag on it in the process, too busy staring at you to bother noticing.

“how was work?” your favorite fire hazard asks, reaching out a hand to gently brush a stray lash you didn’t notice from your cheek.

your face always feels hotter than usual when touya pulls away, even after all this time.

“ugh, so exhausting,” you fan yourself a bit, let out an exaggerated sigh. “the printer blew up and got toner all over my clothes, can you believe it?”

“aw.” there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes as touya innocently frowns in sugary sweet sympathy. “want me to run a bath for you later?”

you can feel your cheeks start to burn. you just took one with him yesterday!

but of course you find yourself stuttering out, “oh, um sure.”

the memory of his fingers softly massaging your scalp as he helped you wash your hair. the gentlest of touches on your skin as he lathered you in suds, pressing a kiss to your forehead between rinses flood back to you.

you remember trying to wash his hair one time, but he quickly stopped you by trapping you in his lap, insisting that he wanted to do yours first. like he does during every bath he runs for you when you stay over at the todoroki house.

and he would take just as good care of you, your heart knows, in your cozy new apartment that was waiting for you back in shizuoka too.

not too far from home, so that everyone could still visit, but not too close either, so the both of you had your own space.

touya grins as a shy expression suddenly crosses over your face, knowing exactly what you’re thinking about.

with amusement, he watches as you reach over to set your purse on the white marble counter.

a pair of strong hands claim their usual spot on your waist, holding you in place, and then you’re pulled away until your back bumps against a familiar, firm chest.

“uh-uh, mrs. todoroki.” he murmurs softly in your ear. “i just cleaned that for you before you got home.”

your breath catches. mrs. todoroki?

“my bad,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

his nose tickles your cheek in response and you giggle at the feeling of his piercings, cold and soothing against your warm skin.

“so. what do you want for dinner today?” touya says, leaning over you to open the fridge. he scans its empty contents with a face so serious that you have to bite back a laugh.

“what do we have?”

“stale air—i mean,” touya coughs. “uh, salad.”

“that’s it? just salad?” you point an accusatory finger at him, and he snorts at the way you force your eyebrows to scrunch together to make an angry face. so cute.

“oh, you think this is funny? take that apron off right now, you big phony.”

“yes ma’am.” he laughs airily, reaching behind him to undo the tie when his hands stop.

touya turns to you with a pout. “can you do it for me? my fingers hurt from cooking and cleaning all day.”

he makes it so hard to stay mad at him, even as a joke.

you bite your lip to suppress the fond grin growing on your face, but it's too late, touya’s already seen it and he knows you’ll give into him soon enough.

“aw, my poor husband all alone in the house, cooking air and salad. it must’ve been so hard for you.”

he pouts even more. “it really was.”

the giggle you’ve been holding back finally spills from your mouth. he was ridiculous, and you loved him for it. “okay you big baby, i’ll untie it for you.” you move to stand behind him, hands reaching for the back of his waist to untie the neat bow he did for himself earlier.

“i think you mean your big strong husband.” touya leans his weight back into you.

not enough to hurt you or make you fall, but just enough to give you a hard time undoing the knot of his apron.

“sewing machine was acting up like crazy today, had to teach it some manners.”

“i’m sure you did.” you fight back another laugh, which turns into a whine as his broad back leans into your face even more.

“touya stop it! do you want this apron off of you or not?”

you can practically hear him smirk from in front of you.

“i’m okay with anything as long as it keeps your hands on me.”

you step away from him and he lets out a ‘oof!’ as his back thuds against the hard floor of the ikea showroom, taking down a fake plant with him.

touya is donning a new apron when the two of you find yourselves outside of another kitchen showroom.

“‘relax, i’ll feed you bitches.’ it read in bold.

you giggle hysterically as he stands there, hands on his hips and looking way too proud of his find, as you snap a pic to send to the groupchat with his siblings.

i’d rather eat poison, natsuo texts back.

his message is hearted by fuyumi and shoto a few moments later.

a miffed touya reaches over your shoulder to steal your phone, which you easily let go of and surrender like usual with a laugh.

his chin rests on your head, your back pressed to his chest as he perches his upper arms on your shoulders to text back.

after he hits send with a satisfied smirk, the both of you walk onto the set.

the kitchen this time was one with a less colorful theme, yet you hear a sharp intake of breath from touya and you feel your own breath catch in your throat.

the tall windows and generous lighting more than made up for it.

framed paintings of cranes were hung on the slate gray wall behind the dining table, and the refrigerator was much, much larger than the one you saw touya open before.

familiar indigo petals catch your eye. there was a beautiful painting of rindou flowers next to the window in the kitchen, and you can’t help but stare.

“mom would love those.” touya murmurs from beside you. your fingers lace through his as you smile softly in agreement.

“she would.”

still in the second showroom, touya’s rummaging inside the cabinets while you study the spice rack.

imagine all the goodies you could fit in there, from sesame seeds to shichimi togarashi.

you drool thinking about all the miso soups and sweet potatoes you could put them on when he suddenly turns to you.

“i’ve been working on my cocktails while you were at work, by the way.” touya grins, handing you an empty, plastic wine glass from where you’re perched on the granite countertop. “wanna try?”

you raise it to your lips and take a delicate sip of nothing.

“oh yum! what’d you put in it?”

“kale juice.” he snickers behind his hand. “your favorite.”

you make a disgusted face. “well that’d explain the kick to it.”

“right? i really, really think fuyumi and natsuo would like it.”

“touya todoroki, don’t you dare.”

“hey.” he raises both hands in innocence. “a little kale never hurt anyone.”

“you say that but you hate kale.”

“a little kale never hurt anyone unless it’s me.”

you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. touya’s hands smoothly guide your legs to hug his waist, bringing you closer to him from where you’re sitting on the counter. he stays standing, towering over you.

“can’t believe i’m marrying a hypocrite.” your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he laughs.

suddenly, you gasp and point at the sink. “touya!”

his eyes widen at your raised voice, instinctively looking behind him for bugs to kill because that’s the only time your tone would sound that alarmed.

touya hugs you closer to him protectively.

you can’t help but melt as his arms wrap even tighter around you, his serious turquoise eyes still scanning around the kitchen for any threats to you.

no bugs.

no tacky “live, laugh, love”-esque sayings framed on the wall.

which he knows is your biggest interior design pet peeve after binging an insane amount of those house flipping shows with you.

“...what is it?” touya finally asks after a moment of hesitation.

you giggle at the ticklish feeling of the cold silver of his lip piercing brushing against your forehead as he speaks.

“the dishes aren’t in alphabetical order!”

touya breathes a sigh of relief, then laughs into your neck.

he pulls away to roll his eyes at you. “you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“what, why?” you laugh, fluttering your lashes at him. so utterly adorable, that he resists the urge to bite you.

touya fights back a blush and averts his eyes from your face, remembering his protective actions. they had been purely instinctive. he reaches up to cover his face with one hand.

“touuu!” you can’t help but laugh harder, reaching up to pry his fingers away from his face. “come on, look at me!”

touya shyly slides his gaze back to you, and lets you take his hand away from his face.

you lace your fingers through his and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, which only makes him blush even harder. the chill of the ikea air conditioning did nothing to help.

his eyes trail in the direction of the spice rack you were dreamily looking at earlier.

“why is this crooked?” he frowns, reaching behind you to straighten it.

“pfft is it bothering you?” you take a glance at it. looked okay enough to you.

“yeah it is.” touya’s hands are on the shelf, trying to readjust it into the right position when suddenly—

snap!

the both of your eyes widen at the sound.

the shelf was upright and more centered than before.

except now it had a clean split down the middle of it.

of course, touya chooses to focus on the most important part.

“well at least it looks better now.”

and all he can think about as you laugh into his shoulder is that he can’t wait to stand hip to hip with you in your actual kitchen.

sunshine peeking through the curtains as the two of you make soups, bake each other’s favorite pastries, and indulge in your random middle of the night cravings.

from now until forever.

after lunch in the restaurant, touya adds ikea meatballs to his list of favorite foods.

you’re pretty sure that’s only because you fed them to him.

because while you adore him to pieces, he is an unbelievably picky eater, much to fuyumi’s chagrin.

luckily, he’ll eat anything as long as you’re the one giving it to him.

your sister-in-law thanks you for her lack of headaches when she makes dinner.

in the third kitchen showroom of today, you squint out the window behind the sink.

“i don’t know if i like it.”

“don’t know if you like what?” touya’s still washing his hand in the imaginary water under the faucet that’s clearly never going to start running. his silly self has been there for the past five minutes, at least.

you hold back a laugh at how meticulous he is about it.

“the view.”

he looks up and snorts at the wistful gaze you throw out the obviously fake window.

it had a picture of city scenery taped on the wall outside of it, and the circular shape of a familiar building catches his eye. he recognizes it.

the meguro sky garden in tokyo.

the first place he ever took you out on a date to.

with a fond twitch of his lips, he remembers the way he almost tripped over his feet under the cherry blossom trees when you had suddenly pecked him on the cheek. all those years ago.

touya turns the faucet off, and comes up behind you to lean his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. his eyes soften as you nuzzle against his chin.

he knows that you know he can’t feel any sensations there anymore.

but god, does touya love that you still touch him in the places where he can’t feel.

the way you litter soft kisses under his eyes, stroke his forearms as you guide them to your waist. like they’re still a part of him, like he’s not broken.

like he’s always been whole to you, never any less.

“but sweetheart,” touya muses. “think about how close it's close to the best schools.”

your face heats up as you realize what he’s talking about. like you haven’t thought about it a million times before.

a kid. with him.

his and your kid.

as if the universe read your mind, a very chubby baby being pushed in a cart passes by the opposite side of the window, covering the picture of tokyo’s scenery.

and it stares at touya and you with the judgiest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

the two of you glance sideways at each other and burst out laughing.

“nevermind,” you giggle, feeling small and safe tucked in his strong arms. “maybe the view isn’t so bad.”

looking softly down at you, the beautiful color of your eyes meets his, and his heartbeat quickens.

touya can’t help but agree.

a familiar weight softly rests on your shoulder when you groggily open your eyes, and your fiancé is close to follow as he stirs beside you.

you flip around to face him from where he was spooning you, giggling at the little trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth as you watch his eyes flutter open.

you feel your breath catch in your throat as you gaze upon him.

his hair is starlight in the morning.

touya, still half-asleep, snuggles against you, completely drunk on your warmth. the soft feeling of your skin against his.

he doesn’t even try to resist it.

the little giddy smile that tugs at his lips whenever the cool feeling silver of your sapphire embedded ring sparkles under the sunlight pooling through the curtains of your shared bedroom as he laces his fingers through yours.

his own ring softly clinking against the one he gave you.

after moving into the privacy of the apartment, with no prying eyes or nosy siblings randomly bursting into his room, touya loves to sleep with his lips just barely grazing your neck.

whenever you wake up from a nightmare, he’s already kissing the nape of it, the protective hand he has on your hip smoothing circles into your bare skin.

when he wakes from his, you’re already quietly cradling him in your arms, running your hands through his midnight black hair.

you really have no idea how hard you make it for him to get up.

but the idea of seeing you happily smile because of him is what gives him the final push to wriggle out of your embrace, and the adorable little pout you give him almost breaks his heart.

“where you going, tou?”

he grins cheekily, placing a finger on his lips. “it’s a secret.”

there's a grumble from you in response and he smooths the crinkle between your furrowed brows with a gentle kiss.

“i’'ll be back soon, i promise.”

“you better or i’m eating your last pocky.”

he laughs at your threat, as if he wouldn’t give it up to you the moment you asked.

at the sight of your eyes already starting to droop, touya presses another kiss to your forehead. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“no.” you pout as his socks pad against the floor when he leaves the room with another laugh.

huddled up in your floral patterned blankets, you drink in the faint scent of sweet cologne that lingers on them.

it still smells like him. warm like him, too.

there’s an old photo of touya framed on your nightstand. you love to look at when you fold his and your clothes.

rei had slipped it out of the family album for you to keep the moment she saw how much you liked it.

it’s the one where he’s holding a baby shoto like a football in his arms. there’s an easy grin on his face.

you look at it for a little longer, letting a sleepy, content smile spread across your lips.

until five more minutes pass, and you’re starting to feel impatient.

“shoto!” you call out the doorway in the direction of the guest room you set up for him the day before he came to visit. “what’s your brother doing?”

“cooking.” comes shoto’s soft voice floating down the hallway.

and that’s all it takes for you to get up and rush to the kitchen at lightning speed.

thankfully, the fire alarm hasn’t gone off yet by the time you get there.

you find touya slicing peaches on the counter, in front of the painting of rindou flowers. there’s a plate of neatly assorted fruit next to him, and your eyes widen as you admire the rose-shaped strawberries. how’d he do that?

“hey.” touya’s eyes narrow playfully when he notices you, putting down the knife. “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

you place your hands on your hips.

“and you’re supposed to not be burning our new apartment down.”

throwing a cautious glance at the unmanned pancakes sizzling in the pan beside you, you add on. “with your little brother in it.”

he breathes a laugh and saunters over where you’re standing by the fridge, cornering you to the counter.

your fiancé grins at your stammers when he leans closer. he can practically feel the heat from your cheeks from here, and touya thinks the tiny house plant overhead grows an inch taller from the sheer warmth you’re radiating.

“stove’s off, sweetheart. they’re not gonna burn.”

“o-oh.” you sigh in relief.

“you worry too much.” touya murmurs softly as holds you in place by the waist to hold up a spoonful of blueberries he forgot to add to the batter.

your lips reluctantly part to let him feed you, and his heart skips a beat at the hint of a smile on your face.

“mmph!”

suddenly, touya’s lips are on yours and you taste the sweet tartness of the peach he must’ve had before you came over.

the cold piercing of his tongue teases your mouth and he corners you even further against the cool marble of the counter to make out, just as you hear a pot start to boil and your eyes snap open.

you’re breathless as you muster all your willpower and break away from him.

“touya, the pot!”

“oops.” he glances at it, still caging you against the counter with his arms.

“forgot about that.”

“found your necklace that fell behind the bed last week.” touya says later after breakfast. you’re both sitting on cushions fuyumi and natsuo gifted you at the coffee table in front of the tv, watching ponyo as sunlight seeps into the living room.

it swings it back and forth on his finger and your eyes widen in relief.

“i was looking everywhere for that to wear to shoto’s class party!”

“i know.” he grins, and you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. of course he did.

touya reaches around your neck to securely clasp the back of the necklace’s chain, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“i think i deserve a little reward.”

you giggle, he was so cute.

“thanks touya.” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he pouts.

“not there.”

“where then?” you smooth your hands against his bedhead and he almost whines when this time, you press a kiss to his forehead. “here?”

always such a tease, and he adores you for it.

touya looks like a desperate puppy as he huffs, nudging your nose with his.

like you didn’t spoil him with kisses yesterday when he fixed the washing machine that was acting up.

you’re still not totally sure how he did it, but that was probably because you zoned out while he was explaining it to you.

too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he fixed the pipes behind it and when he’d take whatever wrench or screwdriver he asked you to hand him from the toolbox.

finally, finally your lips find his and you kiss him, soft and sweet.

a cool breeze blows through the open window, and the both of you breathe it in, smelling dewdrops on grass from the rain last night and hints of sunshine.

touya smiles against your mouth, arms pulling you into his lap so he can taste you better.

you’re stuck with him.

from now until forever.

“or maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when you’re at your worst.”

— danagray

#div cr v6que #pink touya cr @me LOL #domestic touya is so special to me #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #mha x reader #dabi x you #bnha x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #dabi fluff

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julietsf1 · 1 month ago

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Hurricane - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: When a hurricane leaves Y/N stranded at Charles’s Monaco apartment with a few of his friends, Y/N has to navigate both the storm outside and the one brewing inside. (5k words)

AN: The absolute confusion I had when I saw a hurricane warning from my government yesterday (I live in south of France); they later changed it to a regular storm warning, as it was a mistake but it did inspire me to write a lil something :) Hope you all have a lovely day cuties <3

__________________________________________

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the wide-open balcony doors, casting a golden hue over Charles’s perfectly pristine Monaco apartment. I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, sipping wine and admiring the explosion of shopping bags Alexandra and I had managed to accumulate during our day out. Monte Carlo had definitely been kind to us, and the light buzz from the wine wasn’t hurting either.

“I swear, you have this insane ability to sniff out the best deals,” I said, holding up a silk scarf I knew I’d never wear but had bought anyway. “How do you do it?”

Alexandra, always composed, gave me a sly smile from where she lounged on the couch, a glass of wine cradled effortlessly in her hand. “It’s all about instinct. Plus, I had to keep up with you. You were like a woman possessed.”

“Possessed by a very stylish demon,” I quipped, draping the scarf over my shoulder dramatically before laughing. The kind of laughter that happens when you’re a bit tipsy and surrounded by a friend who knows all your quirks.

“I still can’t believe we’ve kept this monthly tradition alive,” Alexandra mused, swirling her wine. “Feels like just yesterday we were running around Paris pretending to understand every art piece in the Louvre.”

I smirked, raising my glass. “Fake it till you make it, right? Look at us now — two very sophisticated, responsible young women.”

Alexandra burst into laughter at that, nearly spilling her drink. “Yes, responsible. Totally why we blew our budgets in today.”

“Hey, this is what reunions are for. Besides, Charles is always dragging you to fancy dinners — we need to keep up appearances.”

“Cheers to that,” Alexandra laughed. These reunions had become a tradition ever since they both left Paris. Shopping, gossiping, and generally pretending they had their lives together for a few days before returning to reality.

“I do wish I could stay longer,” Y/N said, glancing at her watch. “But I’ve got a flight back to tonight.”

Alexandra pouted in a way that could have convinced anyone to cancel their plans. “Come on, just stay for dinner.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I really can’t,” Y/N replied, laughing. “I don’t have a private jet. Air France is not going to wait for me.”

As if on cue, the front door swung open, and there was Charles, as effortlessly polished as ever, with a smile that seemed to say, I’m trying not to stress but also, I’m probably going to stress.

“Bonsoir, ladies,” he greeted, dropping his keys on the counter. “Good day of shopping, I assume?”

“The best,” I grinned, waving a hand over the spread of bags surrounding us. “Your appartment is stunning by the way.”

He smiled, giving a mock bow. “I do what I can You should stay for a bit, a few people are coming over tonight — nothing too crazy. Just some of the guys.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The guys?”

“Yeah, nothing too big. Just Lando, George, Max, and Franco. A little pre-birthday thing before we head out later.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Alexandra, who was already giving me her classic stay for dinner look. Before I could protest, the apartment door swung open again, and in walked George, looking as composed and proper as ever. His eyes scanned the apartment critically before zeroing in on Charles.

“I still think hiring a private chef is a bit over the top,” George began, without so much as a greeting. “We could’ve managed something ourselves, you know. Is this private chef going to stick to traditional recipes? I’m just saying, none of that modern fusion nonsense. I don’t want to find some deconstructed tartare on my plate. It should be classic and-”

“Hi, George,” I cut in, giving him a pointed look.

He blinked, suddenly remembering that Alexandra and I were present. “Oh, Y/N, Alexandra. Didn’t see you there. Apologies, m’ladies.” He gave a polite nod before turning back to Charles. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

“George, we’ve got it covered,” Charles sighed, looking like he was already regretting inviting his overly particular friend.

Before George could launch into another monologue about culinary disasters, the door swung open again, and Lando breezed in with his signature chaotic energy. He didn’t just walk into a room, he practically exploded into it.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I have arrived!” Lando declared, grinning widely as if he’d just been announced at a royal ball. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me and Alexandra. “Ah, the usual suspects. So, what’s the plan? Dinner, drinks, maybe a little dancing after?”

“That’s the idea,” Alexandra said, raising an eyebrow. “But Y/N is trying to bail for her flight.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in exaggerated shock. “What? Absolutely not. We’re not letting you leave before you at least see how this chef performs under George’s expert critique.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “You’re all ridiculous. I really do need to catch that flight.”

“You’ll miss the best part of the night!” Lando said, leaning back with a knowing grin. “But fine, if you have to go, you have to go.”

As if on cue, the door opened again, and in walked Max — no dramatic entrance, no greetings. He headed straight for the bar, poured himself a gin and tonic, and turned to the group with a small nod, holding up his glass.

“Evening,” he said, like this was all completely normal.

“Hi, Max,” I replied, grinning at his predictable, casual demeanor.

“Y/N. Alexandra,” Max greeted, raising his glass in acknowledgment before taking a long sip, completely unfazed by Lando’s lingering excitement or George’s quiet simmer of judgment.

It didn’t take long for everyone to fall into their usual rhythms. Charles, now somewhat resigned to the chaos, was behind the counter mixing drinks. George, still hovering like a concerned parent, muttered under his breath about the chef’s qualifications. Meanwhile, Lando was already plotting mischief, and Max was sipping his gin as if nothing in the world could faze him.

I found myself laughing at how these gatherings always followed the same unpredictable-yet-predictable pattern. It was hectic, but in the best way. As much as I hated to admit it, I would probably miss it if I left for Paris tonight. But I already had my ticket, urging me to start packing.

As I sat there, mentally preparing to say my goodbyes, the door opened again. In walked someone I didn’t recognize. He moved with a relaxed, almost casual confidence, and instantly, the energy in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t need to announce himself or make a grand entrance like Lando had — his presence was subtle but noticeable.

His hair was slightly tousled, the kind that looked soft and effortlessly styled in that perfectly imperfect way. The moment he smiled, a warm, very cute grin, I felt a brief flicker of something, my heart beating a little faster in my chest. There was something disarming about him. He had the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d known him forever, even though I’d never seen him before.

He stepped closer, his green eyes flicking to me. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and pleasant as he extended a hand.

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the easy charm he exuded. It wasn’t forced or showy, just... natural. Recovering quickly, I shook his hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Franco,” He held onto my gaze for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”

“All good things, I hope,” I replied, trying not to be too obvious as I shot a quick glance at Alexandra, who was absolutely soaking up this moment.

“Always,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes before releasing my hand.

Alexandra didn’t waste a second before giving me that knowing look, the one that practically screamed I told you you should stay. I elbowed her lightly, trying to suppress my smile and the butterflies that were fluttering in my stomach.

Before I could continue the conversation or ask Franco who exactly had been talking about me, Charles’s phone buzzed loudly from across the room. As he glanced down, and the expression on his face shifted so fast it was almost comical — the laid-back vibe of the evening vanished instantly.

“Oh no.”

“What is it?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

Charles stared at his phone, his brow furrowed. “It’s a hurricane alert.”

“A hurricane?” Lando immediately perked up, jumping off the couch as if the word itself had given him a burst of energy. “In Monte Carlo?”

Charles nodded, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Whole south of France. All flights are grounded, transportation is suspended and residents must stay inside.”

My stomach sank. “My flight…”

Alexandra, not missing a beat and clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding, sipped her wine and smirked. “Looks like you’re not going anywhere.”

Lando, ever the opportunist, grabbed Charles’s phone from him and squinted at the screen. “Ouragan? That’s the French word for hurricane? That’s got to be a joke.” He wrinkled his nose, making it sound even more absurd than it already did.

Max, sitting comfortably and sipping his gin, raised an eyebrow laughing. “That’s why I live in the Italian speaking part.”

“Lando, right now is not the moment to be critical of the French.” George said, looking concerned.

Charles let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, now visibly stressed. “Everything’s closed down. We’re stuck here for the night.”

Franco, now fully settled into a chair beside me, shrugged casually. “There are worse places to be stuck,” he said, his voice light, as if we weren’t all just stranded.

I glanced over at him, and he smiled again, that same easy warmth that seemed to make everything feel a little less chaotic. The thought of being stuck suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

Lando, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled. “Guess we’re having a proper night in!” He clapped his hands together, already mentally planning the night ahead.

Meanwhile, George, who had been standing to the side, immediately shifted into problem-solving mode. “We need to secure the windows, check supplies, make sure we have—”

“George, mate,” Max cut in, raising his glass without looking up, “it’s a little hurricane, not the end of the world. We’re fine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the ridiculousness of the situation beginning to sink in. As subtly as I could, I turned to sneak another glance at the guy next to me. His presence, along with that gentle, easy smile, had a way of making everything else feel a little less chaotic. For a brief moment, the reality of being stuck in here didn’t seem so bad.

It didn’t take long for the mood in the apartment to shift, Lando, of course, was the first to act, bouncing off the couch and making a beeline for the Bluetooth speaker.

“If we’re stuck here, we might as well make it fun!” he declared, pulling out his phone and connecting it to the speaker. Within seconds, upbeat music filled the room as Lando scrolled through his playlist, queuing up tracks to keep the vibe alive. “Max, you in?”

Max, who had been lazily sipping his gin and tonic, grinned and gave a small nod. “Always.”

With the music pumping, it was clear that Lando and Max were determined to turn the situation into a party, despite the looming hurricane. I glanced at Alexandra, who simply shook her head, amused.

Meanwhile, Charles was pacing near the kitchen, still on the phone with the now-stranded private chef. His frustration was evident in the deep sighs he kept letting out. “Yes, I get it. But seriously? Not even a chance? Yeah, okay. Fine. Thanks,” he muttered, hanging up with an exasperated expression. “The chef can’t make it. We’re on our own.”

“That’s our cue,” Alexandra said, standing up and rolling her sleeves. “Y/N, you ready to help me chef it up?”

“Lead the way,” I replied, following her into the kitchen. The ingredients we had weren’t extensive, but Alexandra was already surveying the options with a critical eye, assessing what we could make work. “How about a classic tarte tatin to start and coq au vin for the main course?” she suggested, her eyes gleaming with the challenge.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re feeling ambitious.”

She smirked. “We’re in Monte Carlo, aren’t we? Let’s do this properly.”

We quickly got to work, but as we gathered ingredients, I could feel someone hovering. Sure enough, George had appeared at the edge of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching us with that critical, calculating look. He looked ready to swoop in at any moment.

“I just want to make sure everything’s going according to plan,” George said, his tone a little too intense for a casual night stuck in a storm. “Are you sure you want to sauté those vegetables at that heat? I mean, it’s important we get the timing just right…”

Alexandra and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us trying not to laugh but also feeling the mounting pressure of George’s constant observations. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but his looming presence was starting to make things awkward.

Before either of us could respond, Franco, who had been leaning against the counter, stepped in with perfect timing. “You know, George, you’re really the only one here who knows how to handle a hurricane situation properly. I mean, I wouldn’t know the first thing about securing an apartment for a storm like this,” Franco said, his voice sincere but with a hint of playful exaggeration.

George, caught off guard, turned to Franco with a raised brow. “Well, thank you for noticing! Finally someone who takes my expertise to heart.”

Franco nodded, widening his eyes slightly as if he were genuinely impressed. “Yes! You’ve got to come up with gameplan, George.”

George’s posture shifted, the critical kitchen gaze giving way to the more pressing issue of hurricane preparedness. “Well, I suppose someone should check the windows… and the doors. And make sure we have everything we need in case it gets worse.”

Franco smiled, giving him a reassuring nod. “Exactly, and you’re the best person for that. Don’t worry about us in here. I’ll make sure everything’s under control while you handle the important stuff.”

George stood a little taller, clearly feeling validated. “Right. I’ll get to it, then.” With that, he turned on his heel and started making his way toward the windows, leaving the kitchen — and us — in peace.

I let out a quiet breath of relief as Franco turned back toward us with a mischievous grin.

Alexandra chuckled, tossing him a knife. “Not bad. We owe you for that one.”

Franco caught the knife easily, giving a mock bow. “Happy to be of service. Need any help? Shall I chop something? Stir?”

I exchanged a glance with Franco, who had already rolled up his sleeves and was looking at the ingredients with a playful grin. “You any good at this?” I asked,

“I’ve got some skills,” he said, flashing that same warm smile from earlier. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it.”

I blushed a little, which Franco seemed to notice. He let out a soft chuckle, brushing his hand over my lower back as he walked to the other side of the kitchen to grab a cutting board.

As we got deeper into the cooking, Franco’s talkative side started to show. He moved smoothly through the kitchen, cutting vegetables, making jokes, and occasionally breaking into exaggerated commentary about our process.

“You know, this tarte tatin is already looking better than any I’ve ever seen. Michelin-star level for sure,” he said with a grin, watching as I arranged the caramelized apples in the pan.

“Oh, absolutely,” Alexandra chimed in with a teasing tone. “I’m sure we’ll have food critics knocking down the door any minute now.”

Franco raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Hey, I’m just saying, if this racing thing doesn’t work out, I now got a backup plan.”

The smell of the coq au vin simmering away filled the apartment, a comforting aroma that seemed to blend perfectly with the upbeat music still playing from Lando’s speaker. Max, now fully entertained by Lando’s ridiculous dance moves, was swaying along with him, both of them taking occasional breaks to sip their drinks and laugh at each other.

I glanced back at Franco as he finished chopping, handing the neatly diced vegetables to Alex. “You’re a natural,” I said, impressed by how quickly he picked up the rhythm of the kitchen.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” he replied with a wink, and I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks despite myself.

I couldn’t help but smile at that, the stress of the hurricane melting away little by little as we worked. Franco was good at keeping things light, his constant chatter and easygoing attitude making the cooking feel more like fun than an obligation.

After placing the tarte tatin in the oven, I wiped my hands and glanced out toward the rest of the apartment. George was now in full storm-prep mode, diligently checking windows, making sure everything was locked tight, and muttering under his breath about emergency plans. Charles, though still somewhat stressed, had at least stopped pacing and was leaning against the counter, sipping a drink as he watched Lando and Max’s antics.

“Not bad for a last-minute Plan B, huh?” Franco said, standing beside me as he washed his hands at the sink.

“Not bad at all,” I replied, feeling a warm sense of accomplishment as the scents filled the apartment.

Dinner was a success, much to the delight of everyone in the apartment. The tarte tatin had been perfect, golden and crisp, and the coq au vin rich and flavorful, enough to win over even George, who begrudgingly admitted that “for a last-minute dinner, it wasn’t bad at all.”

The energy in the apartment was buzzing, and the storm outside seemed like a distant hum. With Lando’s playlist still thumping in the background, we settled in the living room, everyone lounging comfortably after the meal. But George, predictably, couldn’t handle the idea of sitting idle for too long.

“Right,” George announced, standing up and clapping his hands together. “Now that we’ve eaten, how about some games? We could do something like charades or—”

Max, already sprawled out with his drink in hand, rolled his eyes. “Boring,” he drawled. “Let’s play something fun, like a drinking game.”

Lando’s face lit up immediately. “Now that’s more like it!”

George looked appalled. “A drinking game? We just had dinner!”

“That’s exactly why,” Max said, raising his glass. “Got to flush it down for dessert.”

Lando, grinning ear to ear, was already hopping off the couch. “Alright, but it has to be something chaotic. Max, what’s that one game we talked about? The one from New Girl?”

“True American,” Max replied, slouching further into his chair with a smirk. “That’s the one.”

George frowned. “What in the world is True American?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s a drinking game, but with no clear rules, lots of chaos, and a touch of American history thrown in for fun.”

“And the floor is lava,” Lando added, already rearranging the room, pushing chairs and cushions into strategic positions.

“The floor is… lava?” George echoed, still looking deeply confused.

“Yep! So you have to move from piece of furniture to piece of furniture without touching the ground,” I explained, grinning as I grabbed some throw pillows to use as extra stepping stones.

Franco chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “Sounds like absolute madness.”

“Exactly,” I said, laughing. “You’ll love it.”

Max, now fully invested, sat up slightly. “Also, there are random trivia questions, mostly American history. And whenever someone shouts, ‘JFK!’ you have to drink.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “None of us are American. Can’t we do a British variant instead?”

“That wouldn’t be fair, mate,” Lando chuckled, stretching out his arms as if preparing for the chaos that was about to unfold. “You’re practically the lovechild of David Attenborough and the Encyclopaedia Britannica.”

“Yeah, at least let’s pick something where we all have an equal chance of winning,” Alexandra added, already on her feet and moving chairs around with an excited bounce. “Let’s call it True F1.”

Charles, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the couch, finally chimed in with a grin. “I’d actually love to see how you guys twist F1 trivia into a drinking game.”

Lando, never one to waste a good opportunity, was already hopping between the coffee table and the armrest of the nearest chair. “Alright! Here’s how it works: the floor is still lava, obviously. But instead of random American history facts, you shout out random F1 facts — the weirder, the better. If someone calls out a track name, you have to switch ‘circuits’, aka furniture, without touching the floor. Got it?”

Max smirked, finishing off his drink. “Sounds ridiculous. I’m in.”

Within minutes, the living room had been transformed into a messy obstacle course of chairs, pillows, and random objects. Lando, the unofficial captain of chaos, had already hopped onto the coffee table, gesturing for everyone to join him.

The game quickly descended into the same kind of chaos that Lando had promised. Max and Charles were the first to yell out random facts.

“Did you know Toto’s real first name is Totoro?” Max announced confidently, clearly just making things up for the fun of it, earning a glare from George.

“Very funny, mate,” Lando called back, leaping onto a chair. “But did you know Michael Schumacher once raced a kangaroo in Australia?”

Charles, balancing on the armrest of the couch, raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen.”

George, meanwhile, looked completely bewildered. “Wait, what? Is any of this true?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Lando shot back, moving to a footstool.

I found myself laughing uncontrollably, trying to maintain my balance as I stood on the armrest of a chair. Franco, standing nearby on the coffee table, reached out a hand to help me jump to the next ‘circuit’ — in this case, a cushion on the floor.

“Careful,” he teased, his hand steadying me. “You don’t want to fall into ‘Turn 13 at Monaco.’ It’s a tricky one.”

“Monaco? I thought we were in Silverstone,” I replied with a grin as I took his hand.

Franco chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s a complicated circuit.”

As I jumped, I almost lost my balance, wobbling slightly. Franco, quick to react, caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist to steady me. His touch was warm, and as our eyes met, the playful atmosphere between us shifted, feeling suddenlya bit more charged.

“You good?” he asked softly, his smile still warm but with a little more weight behind it.

“Yeah,” I breathed, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “Thanks.”

I honestly didn’t mind standing like this. For a second, it felt like the rest of the game had faded into the background, the noise dimming around us. But then, just as quickly, Charles shouted from across the room, “Spa-Francorchamps!”

The spell broke. Franco let go, and I hopped onto the next chair, trying to suppress the grin that was forming on my face.

The game continued with more nonsensical facts. Max tried to convince George that Fernando Alonso once moonlit as a matador, while Lando made up a story about Kimi Räikkönen secretly being Oscar Piastri’s dad.

Meanwhile, Alexandra, acrobatically clinging a nearby bookshelf, caught my eye, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “T’as capté? Il te lâche pas du tout.” (Did you catch that? He can’t stop looking at you.)

I laughed, shaking my head. “Arrête…” (Stop…)

She raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “T’inquiète, ma puce, j’dirai rien... mais c’est cramé!” (Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t say anything… but it’s so obvious!)

We giggled, and across the room, Charles, who had clearly understood the exchange, raised an eyebrow, amused. He didn’t say anything, but his knowing look said enough.

Lando, noticing the laughter but missing the French, put his hands on his hips dramatically. “Oi! What’s going on over there? You two plotting in French again? That’s not fair!”

Alexandra and I burst into laughter, but before I could explain, Lando waved a hand dramatically. “Fine! You know what? Max! We’ll speak Dutch and leave them out.”

Max raised his glass, thoroughly entertained. “Go ahead, mate.”

Lando nodded, puffing up with mock determination. “Absolutely. Let’s go!”

Max leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Alright, your turn.”

Lando furrowed his brow in concentration and attempted his best Dutch. “Uhh… Ik… spreek beetje Nederland… ja?”

Max nearly choked on his gin. “That’s… good effort.”

Undeterred, Lando kept at it, much to Max’s amusement. “Lekker... uh… ja?”

Max waved him off, laughing. “Stop. You’re embarrassing the language.”

The game continued late into the evening, with everyone’s laughter filling the room. Despite the storm outside, the chaos, and the completely nonsensical F1 trivia, it felt like we’d turned the night into something unexpectedly fun.

The night had wound down after hours of conversation, laughter, and chaotic games. The storm outside was still relentless, but inside the apartment, everything felt warm and comfortable. Conversations had softened, and people were beginning to yawn, signaling the end of the night.

Alexandra and Charles were the first to head off, exchanging quiet goodnights before disappearing into their room. The rest of us remained scattered around the living room, tired but still riding the wave of the evening’s energy.

Max, who had been slowly sinking into the armchair with his sixth gin and tonic, stood up, stretched, and made a beeline for the guest room without a word. It was clear he was done for the night. Lando was half-asleep on the larger couch, sprawled out in his usual dramatic fashion, leaving little room for George, who had claimed the other side.

Franco, who had been lounging on the small two-seater sofa, stretched his arms and looked over at me. “Looks like this is my spot for the night,” he said with a grin, patting the cushion beside him. “Not much room, except between Lando and George. You might as well join me.”

I hesitated for a second, but the way he said it — so casual and light, yet with that playful spark in his eyes — made it clear that the offer wasn’t just about space. The tension between us was undeniable.

I smirked, feigning reluctance. “Alright, but if you take up all the room, I’m kicking you off.”

Franco chuckled softly, shifting over to make space for me. “Deal.”

I sat down next to him, the proximity between us much closer than I had anticipated. The couch was small, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, being close to Franco felt easy, natural. His arm rested across the back of the sofa, and as we settled in, his fingers lightly brushed my shoulder.

We sat there for a moment in silence, the only sounds coming from the soft rumble of the storm outside and the occasional rustling from Lando’s half-asleep movements on the other couch. The apartment had gone from a chaotic whirlwind of noise and laughter to a quiet, almost serene atmosphere.

Franco shifted slightly, his fingers moving gently to stroke my hair. The movement was soft and rhythmic, calming, and I felt my heart skip a beat. I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His touch was tender, each stroke of his hand sending a warm shiver through me as I relaxed into the closeness between us.

We didn’t need to say anything. The silence between us spoke volumes, and as the storm continued to rage outside, I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire. Franco’s presence next to me, his fingers softly tracing through my hair, was all the comfort I needed.

As we lay there, my eyes growing heavy, Franco leaned down just slightly, his breath warm against my hair. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

I smiled, closing my eyes. “You too.”

And with that, the storm outside became nothing more than a distant hum as I drifted off, cocooned in the warmth of Franco’s embrace, his hand still softly stroking my hair.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the apartment. The storm had passed, leaving only the gentle patter of rain ticking against the window. stirred slightly, realizing that Franco’s arm was still wrapped around me, and my head rested comfortably against his chest. It might sound a bit odd but waking up like this — still wrapped up in his embrace — felt surprisingly natural.

Franco shifted beneath me, his arm tightening briefly before he blinked awake, his eyes meeting mine with a soft, sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still low and heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, matching his smile.

Neither of us moved for a few moments, letting the quiet of the morning linger between us. I could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen, the telltale signs of someone already up and making breakfast. I lifted my head slightly, glancing over toward the kitchen, and saw Lando and George huddled near the stove, clearly trying not to be obvious as they watched us.

Lando, with his ever-present grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally awake.”

George, more restrained but no less amused, added, “Breakfast is almost ready... in case you’re interested.”

I sat up, reluctantly pulling myself away from Franco’s embrace, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks under their teasing gazes. Franco, however, seemed completely unbothered, sitting up with a lazy stretch and flashing them a grin. “You guys couldn’t give us a few more minutes?”

Lando flipped a pancake with dramatic flair. “Mate, I’ve been up for hours. Go do that lovey dovey stuff some other time.”

Before I could respond, more footsteps approached from the hallway, and soon enough, Max and Charles appeared, both looking groggy but curious. Charles raised an eyebrow when he saw Franco and me, but he said nothing, just exchanged a knowing glance with Alexandra, who had wandered into the room with a smile.

She looked between Franco and me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Leaning in, she whispered, “Je vois que tu as passé une très bonne nuit… “(I see you had a very good night...)

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking my head at her teasing. Franco glanced between us, clearly picking up on the tone but not the words. “What did she say this time?”

“Just more girl talk,” I replied with a grin, standing up.

The kitchen smelled of pancakes, coffee, and eggs as everyone gathered around the table for breakfast. The atmosphere was relaxed. Even Max, still hungover, managed a grin as the lighthearted banter continued.

After breakfast, as everyone began packing up and getting ready to leave, Franco pulled me aside. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “So... I was thinking.”

I turned to him, curious. “About what?”

He hesitated for just a second, but then smiled. “I live in Madrid, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me for a few extra days. It’d be nice to spend some more time together... before you head back to Paris.”

Hearing it made my heart flutter. Madrid. A few extra days with Franco. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“I’ve had a lot of fun and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. If you let me, of course.”

“I’d love that,” I replied softly.

Franco’s grin widened, the excitement clear on his face. “Perfect.”

Before I could say anything else, Lando’s voice cut through the room. “Oi! What’s this about Madrid? You two planning a romantic getaway?”

Franco didn’t miss a beat. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, and then turned to Lando with a mischievous grin. “Jealous?”

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “A little bit, yeah! Where’s my invite?”

Everyone laughed, even Max managed a small chuckle behind his coffee cup. The teasing flowed easily as we packed up, and the mood in the apartment was as bright as the morning outside. Whatever had started between Franco and me felt natural, fun, and as I grabbed my things, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about what was next. I wasn’t nervous, just excited —a new adventure waiting to unfold.

#f1 x reader #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic

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daycourtofficial · 5 months ago

Text

And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you

Pairing: Cassian x reader | WC: 1.7k | warnings: none

Summary: after spending your birthday forgotten by your best friend, you try to grapple with the fact that his affections definitely lie outside of you

Author’s note: happy (early) birthday @sarawritestories 🥳🥳 this was fun and I hope you have a great birthday, try not to get overloaded with fics!!

You closed your eyes, wanting to drown out the noise of the clock that kept ticking, every chime from it another punch to the gut. It was a quiet evening, the only noise was the wind howling outside. You looked down at the lone cupcake on your coffee table, the unlit candle nestled within the frosting.

You sighed, looking from the clock to the door once more, the clock reading that it was a new day. Your birthday was over and your best friend blew you off. You sighed, lighting the candle by yourself, looking into the flame before blowing it out, a wish in your thoughts.

You had been contemplating the wish since last week when Cassian had brought it up. Every year, you make some variation of the same wish - that Cassian would fall in love with you, that he was your mate, that he would declare his undying love for you.

This year had to be different. You had to be different. You blink back your tears, inhaling a breath, letting your thoughts go somewhere before exhaling, the breath extinguishing the flame.

I wish Cassian would see what he’s missing.

You woke the next day, sluggishly preparing for work before opening your door to find a bouquet and a white box on your welcome mat. You brought the bouquet in, smelling them as you plucked the card from the top of them.

Sorry I missed your birthday, hope you had fun anyway. Azriel.

You brought the flowers and the box of pastries inside, opening the lid to find your favorite doughnuts and turnovers. Cassian may have sucked, but his brothers were incredibly thoughtful. You knew Azriel had been away on a mission all week, and a part of you wished your heart yearned for the shadowsinger instead of Cassian.

At least Azriel wouldn’t ditch you for Cauldron knows what.

You sighed out of your nose. You were three hundred and fifty two, for Mother’s sake. Cassian was a stupid male. A beautiful one, but a stupid one. If he forgot your plans, you can respond maturely by forgetting him.

An easier said than done plan when the next time you saw him later that afternoon, he made an immediate beeline towards you, a massive smile on his face as he maneuvered through the crowded streets of Velaris.

“Hey, doll.”

You kept walking, determined to make it through the streets of Velaris without paying him any heed, except Cassian doesn’t quite get what you’re not saying.

“How are ya, buttercup? Haven’t seen you for a few days, you okay?”

He had to be joking. Was he really this obtuse?

“Fine.”

His smile faltered at your clipped tone, and he rushed to keep up with you as you slipped through the crowd.

His massive body kept bumping into random patrons, his wings nearly toppling over an entire table in his attempts at keeping up with you.

“Yesterday, Nes and I found this-“

“You were with Nesta yesterday?”

You stopped in your tracks and whipped your head around so quickly Cassian backsteps. You felt your eye twitch at Cassian’s revelation, but he seemed unfazed, albeit a bit confused.

“Uh, yeah. Is something wrong?”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep in your tears. You started counting your breaths, checking your bags, ensuring you have everything you came with. “It’s fine, Cass. I have to- I gotta go. I’m late.”

You spat your words out before looking down at the ground, missing the way his face softened at your words.

“Sweetheart, wait-“

Despite Cassian’s protests, you slipped through the crowd and you could hear his heavy steps follow after you, but once you were far enough from the crowd, you winnow away, leaving Cassian alone and confused on the streets of Velaris.

You landed in your apartment, your knees hitting the floor as you fell apart completely. You could handle a half assed excuse, but the fact he had no idea he blew you off for Nesta?

You were indifferent about Nesta - she was a force to be reckoned with, she stood up for herself, and she took shit from no one. You would even like her if it weren’t for Cassian.

You could understand why Cassian would be obsessed with her, why his eyes have hardly left her since she showed up into your lives months ago.

But it didn’t lessen the punch to the gut you felt every time you had to be subjected to it.

You decided to avoid Cassian and everyone else for several days, opting instead to stay home and try to figure out just how to move on, preferring some space to sort out your feelings.

Four days after your birthday, around midnight, loud incessant knocking woke you in the middle of the night. The soft pitter patter of rain had lulled you to sleep a few hours prior, but now a raging storm was going on outside, the harsh rain colliding with your window.

The knocking started again and you crossed your house trying to figure out who would be at your door at this hour.

“Sweetheart?”

Cassian’s voice stopped you cold in your tracks a few feet away from the door.

“Sweetheart, open the damn door before I kick it in.”

You knew he would too, which was exactly why you decided to open the door with no warning, causing him to stare as he saw you.

He was drenched. It was raining so hard outside, the water poured down his face, soaking his clothes entirely, his hair undone around his shoulders. He was breathing hard, and he likely took a hard and turbulent flight to get here.

The rain bounced off his wings, his hair was limp from the water, the trellises of hair curling at the ends. He looked devastatingly handsome on your doorstep.

He looked like a marble statue of a long forgotten god.

“Sweetheart I- can I come in?”

“No.” You shouted over the rain, and you were not sure why you’re being so petty. Does he really deserve this treatment for what - falling in love with someone who wasn’t you?

Yes, you decided, he does. Because you weren’t being petty about him being in love with Nesta, you were upset about him forgetting your birthday and blowing you off, not even a half assed apology from him.

“No?”

“No. Whatever you have to say, you can say it from there.”

You pointed at the doorstep. He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to clear the water from it but the action did very little to help. His smile was blinding as he laughed, but you saw a mixture of sorrow, annoyance, and amusement all dance across his face.

“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.”

You wanted to slam the door in his face, wanted to lock him outside in the rain forever. But you couldn’t.

He was your Cassian.

And his foot was in the doorway, a precaution he took the moment you opened your door.

Bastard.

“Ever since I got back from the continent I haven’t been keeping track of my days well. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t- nothing would be more important.”

You scoff, “are you sure about that? Not even fucking Nesta is more important?”

He took a step back, shocked at your words, and you take the moment to try to shut the door, but his hand stops you.

“Nesta? What does she have to do with this?”

“What do you mean what does she have to do with this? Don’t be an idiot, Cass.”

He barked back at you, “I’m not being an idiot, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

The two of you were now shouting to be heard over the rain, and you opened your door wide, moving towards him. The rain started falling on you, your doorstep not having an awning to protect you from the weather.

The rain soaked your nightgown, making it cling to you like a second skin, but your anger was making you so hot that you didn't even notice.

“You are being an idiot! Because I’m in love with you! And you’re in love with her! And you forgot me on my birthday!”

You pushed his shoulders, annoyance seeping from every pore. His face quirks in confusion, but he squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest to you.

“No, you’re the one being an idiot because I’m in love with you!”

Your heart stopped, but you weren’t sure if you heard him right. You stood up taller, getting in his face. “Oh yeah? Well, if you’re in love with me, why were you fucking Nesta on my birthday?”

He towered over you, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

“Fucking Nesta? Nesta was helping me plan things for your birthday. I knew I couldn’t ask Rhysand because he can’t keep secrets from you, Azriel’s been hard to catch the past few weeks, so I asked Nesta to help me pick out some jewelry for you!”

Your chest heaved, throat burning from yelling.

“So you love me?”

A crackle of thunder could be heard, causing you to flinch slightly. Cassian’s hands reached your arms, and it’s then that the chill of the rain started to seep into your bones.

“Of course I do! You’re the nicest, most beautiful, most caring female I’ve ever met!”

His words were lovely, but he was still shouting at you, a juxtaposition if you’ve ever seen one.

You scoffed, and you watched as it made him angrier. “Of course I fucking love you, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, because Nesta’s hot?”

He threw his hands up in the air, running his hands down his face. “I thought you’d never want me. Nesta was helping me get the courage to tell you how I felt! She kept threatening me that she would do it if I didn’t and I suck with words, but gods damnit-“

His words cut off there as his hands roughly grabbed your face, pulling you into him. The kiss was magical, and your hands grabbed his shoulders to pull him in closer.

Despite the rain, he was so warm. The water cascaded down both of your faces, making it a little hard to breathe, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

He was the perfect mix of rough and gentle, the feeling of his hands and lips was so Cassian you wanted to laugh and scream. He was both so familiar and so new all at once, it was everything you ever thought he would be.

Your lungs eventually pulled you back, desperately clawing for air. The two of you looked at each other, Cassian’s thumb swiping across your jaw, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Can I come in now?”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites

Thanks for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #cassian x y/n #cassian angst #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian

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sardonic-the-writer · 9 months ago

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𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: hells greatest dad—various artists

↳ notes: this turned out way longer than expected. reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• What you did with your spare time outside the hotel had never been a problem

• Everyone blew off steam in different ways. Husk gambled is days away at dinghy bars, Vaggie practiced sparing, and Sir Pentious dreamed up designs for his retired war machines. The important thing was that everyone knew better than to ask the other about it

• So your friendship with Lucifer never come up. At least, not until Charlie decided to invite her dad over one day

• You were well aware of the strange relationship you had with the king of hell. He was all powerful ,and technically your ruler, sure, but it was hard to view him that way after you caught him babying a small army of rubber ducks

• It had been such a long time since you’d first met him, honestly you were still surprised you’d remembered it

• Back when you still worked as a part time package deliverer for the UPS equivalent of hell, you’d been tasked with handing off a rather heavy, and rather odd shaped box. The label didn’t give an address, rather a small drawing of an apple with a snake curled around it

• It took you a while, and way too many u-turns, to arrive at a pair of tall metal gates

• An uncertain push of a button had been delivered to a nearby buzzer, and you briefly wondered if you had been sent on a dead end errand. Your boss liked to do that; said it kept his employees on their toes. You just thought that he enjoyed seeing the pissed off looks of returnees

• Nothing longer than a minute passed before you were answered with an overjoyed voice, sounding rushed and getting father away from the mic as he proclaimed ‘I’ll be right down Terrance!!’

• It was only when Lucifer himself had opened the gates to allow you in, that his face fell from an excited grin into one of confusion

• “Oh. You’re not my normal guy.” He frowned, looking up at you slightly. “Are you sure you have my package.”

• You simply showed him the address label’s drawing, and he nodded

• “Yeah that’s it alright.” A little bit of the enthusiasm he had shown at the sight of his delivery reappeared before you. It didn’t take long after that before he remembered that you were both still standing outside the towering stature of his house, and quickly invited you inside so you could help him move the package where he wanted it

• “So! Is Terrance sick or something? I could have sworn it was just yesterday that he was where you are now. Or a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Alright it’s been a while, but can you blame me. Do you know who I’m talking about? Long horns, red splotches, and a weird amount of hands. He always had the funniest jokes to tell though— “

• The first impression of him you got was weird. For the ruler of hell at least. But as time went on, and you kept delivering packages to his house with each passing month, he just struck you as lonely. His house, while big, was always empty. You would go as far as to say that you were the only steady interaction he had. Even if you were technically required to visit him

• Eventually, you quit your job. It had been a long time coming, and you were looking forward to a different take on life away from packing peanuts and scotch tape. Yet, for some reason, you didn’t stop showing up at Lucifers place. And he didn’t stop letting you in

• “You know—“ The devil approached you one hot afternoon in his work room. It was actually quite cold outside, but the fire breathing duck in his hands had heated up the room something fierce upon demonstration. “If you ever need someplace to stay, my daughter has a passion project that she wont stop talking about. It’s pretty sparse in souls, and I’m sure she’d let you stay there as long as you went along with her plan that she has!”

• You tilted your head with a small hum that day, choosing not to mention the far away look in Lucifers eyes as he talked about his daughter

• “Sounds better than where I’m currently living.” You shrugged, handing him a spare bolt off of the floor when it rolled off his work desk. “Where is the place?”

• So you’d shown up on the Hazbin Hotel’s doorstep, then still known as the Happy Hotel, with a bag or two in had and asking for a room

• You hadn’t told Charlie that Lucifer had mentioned it to you. You didn’t want her to feel like you were only there because he dad had named dropped it, but you guessed that she had her suspicions. You didn’t seem very taken with her title as princess of hell after all

• You were there nearly as long as Angel Dust; the likes of which showed up in the room next to yours a week after the move

• That means you were present for the embarrassing news interview, and in turn, the introduction of Alastor as a new patron

• He had been annoyed by you at first. Unlike Charlie’s slight nervousness at his appearance, or Vaggie’s outright aggression, you practically ignored his spectacular entrance, save for a few quick comments

• That had bugged Alastor. You’d hardly reacted when he’d shown just a sliver of his powers. Your lackluster once over as he pulled the darling Nifty from a fireplace had given him nothing to go on. Nothing!

• “Now what’s your role here, my friend!” The Radio Demon practically sang to you on that same afternoon. He waltzed over to your position in a corner, and his smile thinned slightly as you barely spared a glance at him. You found yourself much more enthralled with the sight of Husk fending off Angel’s advances over at the bar

• “I’m a tenant.” You mumbled, looking right through him. You didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed down at you in an unreadable emotion that day

• He took to annoying you for the remainder of his stay following his debut. With every day, he increased his pestering, and you continued to remain the same

• Neither of you made a breakthrough with the other for quite a while. Months passed, and he found you looking as disinterested as ever with his display of powers. At this point he was sure you were purposely giving him nothing just to see his smile crack at the edges. And he was getting frustrated, for a lack of better words

• It wasn’t until you’d wandered into his recording studio by mistake that something changed

• Alastor felt a disturbance in the air the moment you stepped foot in his little alcove. Territorial demons such as himself could always tell when somebody was trespassing on their land, especially when having as much power as he did, and you were no exception to this rule

• He materialized behind you almost instantly. His limbs were already beginning to crack and stretch in size, a glowing smile casting wild shadows all throughout the room as he searched for what was sure to be your cowering form as you dropped whatever item you were attempting to steal

• Instead, he found you kneeling to the side of his polished desk, blinking up at him as your hands sat frozen in the motion of flipping through a record basket. His record basket

• “And what, pray tell—” Alastor’s distorted voice sounded like an screeching echo. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the hotel could hear it from downstairs “—are you doing here my dear?”

• You didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched as your eyes flickered to this symbols floating around him, then back down to his face

• “I was looking for some good music. Sorry to intrude” You eventually pull out of your weird staring match with him. Dusting the seat of your pants off, you rise to walk past him and towards the door

• Alastor’s mouth opens to say something, but stops when you pause in the doorframe

• “Nice antlers by the way.” You shrug. He doesn’t have to look up to know your talking about the honey structures protruding from his forehead. They really only come out when he starts to take on his true demonic form, and never before has he had someone compliment them

• Before he can get a better read on you, you’re gone

• Turns out, you weren’t exactly unimpressed with him. Just wary in your own way. It was a slight hit to the overlords ego that he hadn’t been able to pick up on that so quick, but he’d never admit it. Instead he took to your new attitude with rigorous mischief

• Music and murder had been the thing to bridge the gap between the two of you. When Alastor discovered you were particularly fascinated by his time period, he laughed heartily

• “Why my dear, you should have told me you had such good taste!” He wrapped a tight arm around your shoulders. “What is it you wish to know about the darling 1920’s?”

• “Did you really feed your victims to alligators?”

• “Hah! That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” He said while flicking your nose. You just hummed with a scrunch of your eyebrows and wriggled out of his grip. Alastor laughed at that

• You wouldn’t classify the two of you as friends necessarily, but Husk did mention one day that the fact he didn’t kill you that day in his recording studio stood for something

• “He’s murdered demons for less.” The grumpy cat told you. You chose not to respond

• Everything came to a head the day Lucifer showed up at the request of his daughter

• He didn’t notice you right away, instead doing a little dance with Razzle and Dazzle as the rest of the hotel watched on confused. Angel tossed you a look and you just shrugged

• Lucifer eventually spotted you standing by the scrappy welcome table. With the same exuberance that you'd seen time and time again before, he hugged you almost immediately

• “Good to see you again too, Luce. Heard you were coming over.” You exhaled after he set you down. You chose to ignore Alastor as he stepped out of his shadows and stood behind you ominously. You could almost feel his gaze burning a hole in the back of your head

• “Ah so this is his majesty! You’re a bit shorter than I expected.” Alastor’s voice was a bit more grating than you recalled. His grip on his cane tightened as you raised your eyebrow at him

• “Uh, excuse me. Exactly who are you? Lucifer gave the overlord a once over, looking very bored as he did so

• An eye twitch

• “Why the Radio Demon of course! Manager to this very fine establishment, and a—!”

• “Nope. Never heard of you. Sorry.” Lucifer cut Alastor off and smiled tensely from next to you, not sounding sorry at all

• It became apparent very quickly that the two of them didn’t mix. If a competitive musical number didn’t convince you of that, the way the both of them wouldn’t let go of your arms sure did. By the end point of Lucifer’s visit, you were sure a bruise or two had formed on your forearms

• “You know you should really come visit me more!” Lucifer adjusted his hat as he spoke, sending you a sharp toothed smile as he prepared to step out the door. “I’m sure you get tired of this hotel sometimes. Or at least the people—“

• “I’m sure you’ll find they are perfectly happy with their arrangement!” Alastor didn’t let Lucifer finish his thought. His shadows were getting restless at this point, stretching in the three of yours direction as if attempting to push Lucifer out. At this point Charlie and Vaggie had stopped paying attention to the weird power play between the two of them, instead talking about their upcoming trip to heaven together, so you were all alone. Save for two of your friends that were acting really weird

• "You know maybe the two of you shouldn't hang out."

• "Agreed."

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cygnus-rex · 18 days ago

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We got boat boys! 🎶

From Tango’s stream yesterday (starts at about 46 minutes in)!

A summary of the clips:

Doc asks what the new shop is, and Etho answers that it’s Joel’s new slime shop

Tango leaves Joel a sign by his slime shop that Etho says will rile Joel up

Joel complains in Tango’s chat that no one wants to buy his stuff, and Etho says, “Awww,” and that Joel should stand outside his shop and sing songs to draw people in

Etho tells Joel people need slime blocks because they keep asking to use his frog coins for slime blocks

Etho gets lost on the way to Joel’s base, Joel doesn’t see him come in so Etho makes Joel notice him by punching him off the ledge. Then they both dance and head-bang to Joel’s XP song.

Joel doesn’t like his cobweb permit, and Etho’s like, “Cobwebs are good though!”

Etho tells Joel he bought a lot of his glow ink

Etho gets excited when he sees Joel’s slime farm working

Joel has placed lots of frog lights and says it’s not diamonds he spends in Etho’s shop

Etho: “Those Canadians are pretty cool though.” Joel: “Debatable.” Then Etho spam opens and closes a shulker box Joel is standing on, and Joel tells him it’s annoying and to stop it.

Joel tells everyone he blew himself up in his latest episode and lost everything, and Etho says, “Noooo!”

Etho likes Joel’s doorbell

Left some of the smaller things in since I thought they were still cute, but there are still other smaller things that would’ve made the video too long for tumblr so had to leave out. I’d recommend watching that whole bit of the video from where Joel joins—really fun!

#boat boys #smalletho #smallishbeans #ethoslab #hermitcraft #tangotek #my clips

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buttercupblu · 4 months ago

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God is Fair|The Lore

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: ever since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he came into your life like a storm and grew closer no matter how distant you seemed. he swelled and captured your heart every time he was near. so why did you keep fighting him? w.c: 12.7k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two the rest (god bless) tags: fem!reader, mostly angsty….pretty much 90% angst for part 1, repressed feelings, jealousy, lingering lips and fingers, a little bit of self-depreciation at the end but pick that crown up love, reader gets a little violent at the end 😳|if i missed anything, pls comment or DM ☺️ angel’s note: this story started as one thing and ended up as another—so goes the way of life. PSA: most of the good, filthy, mack-nasty shyt is in part 2/3, but you’ve gotta wade through the fire first to get it. It’s always worth it|thanks for reading 🖤 earworm 🐛: Chihiro|Billie Eilish

Over time, you became perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender fingers grip and drown under his raven locks, barely saving you from the shallow breaths you must take to stay alive.

You’re just above water, and he steals your air, spelling poetry with his tongue over your folding petals.

Broken coos spill from your puffy lips—his favorite melody to ever grace his ears.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or forever—you fall—in and in and even deeper into his grasp. Under the waves and trapped in his ocean—he gently pulls you under—your lungs yearning for air, but you never want out.

And the way he dives in, drowning to taste every drop, every sweet, delectable sip of your nectar like he could live the rest of his life without oxygen—tells you that he doesn’t either.

You learned to love each other’s oceans and came to mix seas. Both treaded rough waters but learned to float with calm bodies.

Now you lie hand in hand, limbs weaved like vines through each other’s arms, as you cuddle. Completely spent from another night in each other’s depths. Grateful. Grateful for his love—his patience.

And wondering how on Earth you thought it’d be possible to exist without someone you swore you despised.

Suguru has always been the best—the best at being good, the best at being kind, the best at being quiet—the best at being better than you.

When you were eight years old, he made his quiet introduction into your quaint little neighborhood, arriving in a flashy Mercedes-Benz followed by two moving trucks that pulled right into the driveway directly across the street from your humble home. Heels painted with red bottoms adorning stocking-covered legs were the first things you saw as you watched from your bedroom window.

The sound of movers drew your attention. No one ever came to your city, let alone your cul-de-sac. You felt a shift. A change was coming.

A tall woman, her long, sleek ponytail blowing in the wind, stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing large couture shades that took up most of her face. The overhanging forecast made everything bleak and gray, but the sunglasses stayed. A man exited the passenger seat and came to the woman’s side. He gingerly took her hand and looked around with a small smile, gently rubbing her arm. She slightly grimaced and handed him what looked like one of those small, overpriced designer bags.

They looked so…out of place.

They had to smell like money.

What the heck were they doing here?

In a city like yours, one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everybody's business, you instantly knew that this couple would be the talk of the town. At least with the adults.

You blew air into your bangs. You weren’t expecting new neighbors, but they could have at least come with a kid—someone who might actually want you around.

“Hey, Bug,” your dad called from the garden.

He always left the back door open so he could hear you in case you needed him. He must have heard the rumbling of their heavy trucks now being unloaded with elegant furniture. Would all of that even fit in there? Their house was bigger than yours but not by much. “Sounds like we’ve got new neighbors. Might go by later and say hi if you want to come.”

“No thanks.”

You turned back to the window, resting your head on your arms. Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Richy Rich didn't sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day.

For once, you wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised with something you wouldn’t expect, like hitting the jackpot or whatever.

And then you saw him.

Inky black hair drawn into a short ponytail, emerging from the back seat of the fancy car and clutching a book thicker than his torso. His starched white-collar shirt and beige shorts reminded you of school. He kept his chin tucked and looked like the wind just might knock him over if the book wasn’t keeping him upright.

He and the woman were near twins. Definitely mother and son. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and put on a genuine smile for him. The man draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he took in the neighborhood. Slow and sheepish. You thought his eyes caught yours when he looked behind him and you ducked under the window sill.

Sh—

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time, Bug,” your dad called again. It sounded like he might be wrapping up. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You inched back up to the window and peered over the edge. The boy looked like he was just as lost as to why he was there.

Anxious. Reserved. Kind of boring.

Not your speed.

You blew a raspberry and turned away. So much for that. You wouldn’t be missing much.

In your neighborhood, all the kids walked freely to each other’s houses to see if anyone was home. This was before everyone had cell phones to save time and figure it out for them.

You watched it happen with the other kids all the time. They’d visit each other and either stay inside (super rare) or gather the rest of the neighborhood to play in the cul-de-sac or park.

But you were never quite given a direct invitation.

The few friends you were close with moved away about a year ago, and the thought of making new ones who would eventually do the same kept you emotionally at arm's length. To make it worse, you swore the group you were left with undoubtedly hated you.

Why?

Because you had a history of sucking.

Everyone else in the neighborhood was naturally good at something. Anything. Everything.

But you?

You had to try.

Mess up. And try again. At almost anything you could name.

Basketball? Trash.

Tag? You were slow.

Football? Pssssh. As if—like you’d let yourself get hurt? You sat out every time.

So, the kids stopped inviting you or always picked you last. Both were grimy slaps in the face. Because you always knew you could be better. Delulu was the solulu if they’d only give you a chance. Or two. Or a few. But damn, you were trying.

At least you weren’t the only one being left out.

It’d been weeks since you saw the new kid on the block—not like you thought about him much after you dismissed him. But slowly, as the sounds of Spring beckoned him outside, he reminded you that the new “rich” neighbors did indeed have a kid.

It started with the curtains in his living room window gently ruffling before he’d peek out, scanning the scene for signs of life. Then eventually upgraded to gracing the neighborhood with his presence to sit outside. For hours, he watched from his front porch as the neighborhood kids dashed past your houses to play in the cul-de-sac.

It kind of made you jealous—the amount of space and freedom on their porch that his parents clearly weren’t taking advantage of. Only two plastic chairs and a small table occupied the space, and they weren’t nearly as lovely as the things you saw go into the home on move-in day. If it were up to you, you’d string up one of those hammocks big enough for two like you’d seen on TV and just float in the breeze under the overhang. It had been a frequent daydream of yours long before they moved in.

Instead, a gawking boy with too much time on his hands made it his home. Watching. Fiddling with his fingers and leaning on the rail. Watching. Always seeming too afraid to approach.

He had what you thought was the best house in the neighborhood (and probably the most money), and still, he looked so lonely.

With the background he seemed to come from, you thought he’d be more ballsy.

One day, you were, and you walked right up there, took the hand of the wide-eyed kid, and led him to the rest of the kids down at the park. His dad watched the whole thing go down from the kitchen window as he did the dishes, silently laughing as the boy stumbled behind you without saying a word.

This was your chance. You were so tired of the other kids being better than you. With him being the new kid, you thought he’d at least be somewhat on your level or maybe even a bit worse. Anything was better than being the odd one out.

You and the boy just a few inches shorter than you crashed the party right before the next game started. You beamed at the group like you had caught a prized fish.

“Guys, this is um…um…” Then you realize you hadn’t asked his name. And he was still holding your hand.

You dropped it and nudged him. “Suguru,” he said softly, seeming to avoid eye contact.

Suguru hadn’t seen that many kids in a group like this outside of school. He didn’t mean to look so anxious, but he wasn’t used to being in a neighborhood full of kids his age. He instantly felt like an outsider seeing how comfortable everyone was with each other, apart from you by his side. While soft smiles offered him a glimmer of acceptance, the stares made him self-conscious. He wondered if he could ever fit in.

You repeated his name in case no one heard him. Suguru. It naturally rolled off your tongue. Soft and sweet. Like the boy. He fidgeted with his fingers, but hearing his name felt reassuring. You looked at him and grinned. It was time to see what he’s got.

Tee-ball was the game. One you hated the most. Running was not your sport, and you certainly didn’t have an arm, so it never hurt your feelings too much when you weren’t picked for teams. But you made sure Suguru was. You wanted to see him in action.

Last summer, you guys found an old traffic cone to use as the tee and placed sticks around the field for bases.

You didn’t expect much from Suguru when it was time to bat because…look at him. He was so small and timid. The bat borrowed from someone’s dad was almost the same size as him, and you swore you saw his feet lift a few times during his practice swings. Too much of that and he’d be airborne. You prepared to give him a “job well done” pat on the back once he hit the ball a few feet.

Suguru squared up at the tee—on his way to join you at the bottom of the barrel.

And wouldn’t you know it?

He knocked the ball clear out of the park and didn’t even skim the cone.

Your mouth fell open before you remembered you were the designated retriever since you weren’t playing the game. You grumbled the whole walk and search for it.

And then he did it again. And again. And again.

And surprise, surprise, he excelled at every game he played after. Everyone wanted Suguru on their team.

You gaped at the feat—so much power, strength, and coordination in such an unassuming body.

And instantly hated him.

Not because he was the best or braggy about it.

It was the complete opposite.

He barely seemed to acknowledge it—not in an arrogant, dismissive way, but more like he was just happy to be involved and doing something. He was sheepish with compliments and even seemed nervous to receive them. He’d rub his head and give a little close-eyed smile before returning to the game.

And peer over to you on the sidelines for approval.

Every swing, every hit, and every game after, his purple eyes would find yours whenever he thought he’d done something worthwhile.

You tried to hide the jealous scowl, returning his shy smile with a nod and told him to keep his head in the game.

But he noticed.

He saw it. He knew you were unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to help.

So after that, you kind of mirrored each other.

The kids always saw you as a try-hard—constantly on repeat, trying to make yourself valid and stand out. You’d grab failure by the throat and wring its neck, determined to make it forget your name. Not because you were attention-seeking; you only wanted to be counted in.

And so the student became the teacher. Suguru began to slip you little nods as if saying he saw you—just like you saw him all those times on his front porch. It’d annoy you at first, what you thought could’ve been pity, but it felt nice to finally be acknowledged by someone.

And so gradually, you looked to him as a spectator, earning silent yeses and nos until you finally worked up the courage to do what you were afraid of most. Ask him to be a friend.

To help you perfect your skills, of course.

But the friendship blossomed like the Spring, and you and Suguru actually grew really close—instantly drawn to each other. Pop-ups to his house were the norm as you had the most advantage out of everyone in the neighborhood by living right across from him. And you both were always brought up by one another’s parents.

Turns out Suguru’s dad was a lot like yours and they got on really well. They’re both funny, kind. But your dad’s a little bit different. He’s got rebellion in his bones, as he often talked about when he told you stories about his youth and take-no-shit hippie days.

“I’m serious, Bug. So, there we were, strapped to the tree. Shackled, really.”

He mimicked the story with his arms in between laughs.

“So, so we’re all chained up, right? And this bulldozer is coming right at our heads, ya? I look over to Stanley,” your even crazier God-father who showered you with gifts every time he visited, “I say, ‘Stanley, toughen up. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.’ And he goes, ‘I’m not scared. I forgot to go before we locked ourselves in.’”

Your dad roared with laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes like he hadn’t told that story a million times. Like he was going around trying to collect little activists. But Suguru almost fell over, leaning into his every word. He was such a shy laugher, always creasing his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he did. It made your dad feel like the funniest guy alive when Suguru entertained his jokes.

“You were so brave,” and Suguru called your dad by his nickname just like your dad told him to. “I want to be that brave when I’m older.”

Your dad winked at you—you stuck out your tongue. Suguru was a good kid, he thought and reminded him a bit of himself.

Those days, your dad was mostly the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live a quaint and peaceful life. He’d talk your ear off about activism, travel, and stories about your mom who passed when you were born. You never got to “meet” her, but you always felt like you knew exactly who she was. And she was totally different from Suguru’s mom, who you learned was a hard-working corporate baddie. Red bottom heels. Makes sense.

By the end of that first summer, your families were practically joined at the hip. You and Suguru even more so. Outside of house calls and playing games with the rest of the neighborhood, the two of you also made frequent trips to the makeshift pier. Almost everything in your neighborhood and the surrounding area was walkable, including a small, wobbly, probably dangerous dock that sat over the small lake in town. You’d play a little alphabet game you made up on the walk down and constantly challenge him. Only for him to literally beat you at your own game nine times out of ten.

“Angels shop at—” You skipped down the dirt path.

“Blessed boutiques,” Suguru finished, “Beautiful coats—”

“Can clothe their wings. Dashing dolls—”

“Eat every sweet. Forks will find—”

“Giant…giant,” you thought and thought and thought, “Giant—”

“Geese!”’ Suguru tagged you and ran down the dock, deeming you the loser of that round. You strolled down to meet him near the water reflecting the sunset. A pout took up your face. He patted the deck, motioning for you to sit. “You’re gonna miss the fireflies.”

Watching them pop up one by one and glow on the water as the sun went down became a ritual. And one of your favorite memories of summer.

The following school year, you were even more inseparable. And when the end of fifth grade rolled around the year after, you knew it was fate when you found out you’d be attending the same middle school.

You were overjoyed. So was Suguru, but for different reasons. To you, now it was on.

Academics was an area where you had a fair shot at flourishing. You were studious, attentive, and almost the perfect student. And while you didn’t have bad grades, you always felt like you could be better. And you know why. Because everything came naturally to Suguru, of course.

Thank goodness for extracurriculars, though. The two of you didn’t need to do everything together, and you both benefited from the time and separation to do your own thing and discover your own interests. The Newspaper club caught your eye and was more interesting than you thought it would be—the first hobby to make you fall in love with words.

Suguru took an interest in robotics and, surprisingly, Yearbook. He was pretty crafty with a camera and made sure to snap the best photos of you during your events.

But the two of you rarely spoke of school or after-school activities. You never wanted him to know if you were struggling or needed help with anything and tried not to rely on him so much those days, so everything with you was always good.

It had to be.

He was still the competition, after all.

And you had to appear just as flawless.

Instead, you enjoyed late-night phone calls that went way past both of your bedtimes as you grew into middle schoolers. Pretending to be asleep and slipping the phone under your pillow without moving a muscle when your parents checked in was a sport, but it couldn’t be helped. The books you were reading, shows you were watching, and thoughts on what high school would be like were too good not to talk about into the late-night hours—even when your eyelids got too tired to stay open. Falling asleep with your cellphones in hand or occupying a space on your pillows was the norm.

“What’d ya think about the movie?”

“I mean, the book is always better, right? But like,” you sighed happily into the phone, “they made their lives look so…amazing.”

The two of you watched The Great Gatsby 1979 version on DVD at Suguru’s house right after school that day before you had to scurry off to help your dad in the garden. Suguru finished the book a few days ago, and after catching him with it during lunch and poking him enough to get him to spill some of the details, you were sold.

A glamorous romance about a life of luxury and passion?

Say less.

And because you couldn’t resist, you told him you’d finish it in less time than he did.

Suguru thought the movie was pretty true to the book, but man, what a sad story. You, however, were in love with the lifestyle.

“What about Daisy?” he asked.

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her life she had been spoiled, something you were a total stranger to but didn’t make a point to say—only dismissed her frivolous ways and called her a coward. “Just the money and parties would be enough for me,” you said in a daydream. “It’d be too happy to be that shallow.”

Suguru laughed and said that wasn’t the point of the book. “Money can't always buy happiness. She could’ve had love. It was right there.” He sounded so sophisticated when he said it, much too wise and sappy for a 13-year-old.

You sucked your teeth. “That’s easy for you to say.” And you reminded him that he has a nicer house, clothes, car. “And when are y’all getting the Benz back?”

Lately, you and Suguru had been getting picked up by his dad in a major downgrade of a car. It’d been at least two months, and you were missing the feel of luxury against your skin.

The phone went quiet for a second, and Suguru scratched his head. “Uh, we actually don’t have it anymore.”

Your eyes widened as if he'd just told you someone died. Borderline devastation set in like it was your family losing one of its greatest displays of wealth. But Suguru didn’t sound the least bit sad when he told you that his dad referred to the “new car” as a “cash car” because they needed something quick.

And then it clicked, and you realized why you’d been noticing that furniture and things had also been disappearing in his house when you came over. And why he had to switch to the free lunch program you were also on at school. And why his dad mentioned looking for a second job the other day.

Suguru’s family had been hit by the recession.

And that’s how he became your neighbor.

Most of everything Suguru grew up with in his previous family home was placed in storage when they first moved into your neighborhood. His mom thought their stay would be temporary; she had been demoted at work but didn’t think it was a big deal, and things would quickly be back to normal—maybe even come with a promotion if she worked hard enough.

But it wasn’t her skills that was the problem. The economy was in shambles, and her company was running out of money. After two years of hoping for a miracle, she and over 40% of her company were laid off.

They kept all of this from Suguru until only a few weeks ago. He was much too young to understand what it all meant when it first happened—he was just a kid. But now, he was older, smarter, way less naïve. They couldn’t keep lying to him about why the car was away at the shop or why the family heirloom dining table went missing, among other things.

When they told him that he’d have to slow down on his growing book collection and only get one gift for his birthday that year, that’s when he started asking questions—not that either of those things meant much to him. He was more than happy to frequent the school library, and you noticed that he’d been spending a lot more time there than usual during breaks.

What bothered Suguru the most was the looks his parents gave him when they told him everything. Like they were delivering the worst news in the world. Like they were so worried that they’d be disappointing him. Like they should be ashamed.

It hurt him more to know that they felt like they had failed him.

“My dad just looks so tired all of the time now.”

Mr. Geto, who had been a stay-at-home work-from-home employee since before Suguru was born, had to get a part-time job working overnight to help bridge the widening gap between their old and new lifestyle.

Now, Suguru doesn’t get to see him as much except to make breakfast and kiss Suguru goodbye with a sluggish smile on his face before school.

He really missed his dad. And it made you feel like shit for momentarily being a Daisy.

For the rest of the night, you just listened to Suguru tell stories about back home—what his parents were like, the things they used to do, the trips they would take, and the time they spent together. Little memories from a place you’ve never been but could clearly see as he talked through the night.

Never once did Suguru mention missing the things he used to have or wanted now. The people in his life were what he cared about most.

“My dad got a new antenna for the TV to surprise my mom with so she can still watch her favorite channels from back home,” he laughed. “It’s so big. I hadn’t seen one before, so it was kinda funny to look at, but I’m glad it’ll make her happy.”

You solemnly smiled and propped up on your arm. “Do you ever miss home? Like being back there?”

He mentioned that he thought about it sometimes: the plush green grass in his front and backyard that he’d lay in for hours, the much sunnier skies compared to the frequently gray and cloudy ones, and humid air here in your rainy city, the few friends and family members he had to leave behind.

But he liked it here better and surprised the hell out of you by saying so.

Anywhere was better than being here.

Even though his family was going through a hard time, they still managed to get the nicest house in the neighborhood. You could only imagine what his childhood home looked like compared to the one bedroom and living room your dad made into his own space.

You asked why. What could possibly make this place any better than where he came from?

You could hear him shrug through the phone as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just something about this place.”

You still think about that conversation sometimes.

The end of middle school came in a blaze, and so did puberty.

Suddenly, you became aware that it was time to start caring about what you looked like.

Some nights, you would call it early with Suguru in favor of spending hours on YouTube watching videos and learning how to wear makeup. You put more thought into how you dressed and tried your best to style the little clothes you had into mostly decent outfits.

Every morning, you’d beam when you entered the kitchen to grab breakfast and say goodbye to your dad. He’d try his best not to cry, watching his little Bug grow up before his eyes.

Suguru did some growing, too.

The summer of 7th grade, he got a little taller, and when your final year started, you guys were finally neck and neck. He was beginning to be able to see the top of your head when he lifted his chin, and he would make little jokes about it in his prepubescent boy voice that was starting to crack. You’d push the too-big glasses that he got at the start of middle school up the bridge of his nose and tell him not to get too cocky. This was the tallest he would get, you’d tease. He may have been good at everything, but he’d always be a pip-squeak.

When you weren’t going back and forth with Suguru, you were hanging out with the new gal pals you made at school. Your little trio started spending more time together, window shopping at the mall, attending football games after school, and talking each other’s ears off about anything in between throughout your last year. You couldn’t tell Suguru everything, of course—there are some things that guys will simply never be able to relate to or understand.

And one day, while the three of you sat at lunch together while Suguru was off with his robotics team, one of your gals leaned over the cafeteria table to poke you with a devious smile and ask the age-old question: who do you like in school?

Your brain had the audacity to picture Suguru first.

Your friends squealed watching your face blush beet red, but you turned away and never answered the question—only said that you were more focused on school and extracurriculars to help you in college more than anything else.

But where the hell did that come from?

Suguru was, debatably, your best friend, but that was it.

Not that you needed to convince anyone else of that. Just…yourself?

Before that day, you never really thought of Suguru in that light. He was this quiet, nerdy, prodigy of a boy who was great at everything and gave you another reason to want to be just as good. You secretly looked up to him, if you wanted to call it that, but you certainly didn’t like him.

He was just the boy next door.

The boy next door who was challenging you once again: to push the little hints of affection that had been blossoming aside and dismiss them.

Bury them down, keep your eyes on the prize, and finally be rewarded for your efforts.

To keep up with him, not fall in love with him.

On a rare sunny Saturday, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, the two of you sat on his beloved front porch with the future on your minds.

Suguru picked at the grass growing between the wooden boards. “Thinking about trying something new next year?”

You popped another sugary blackberry from your backyard into your mouth while stretched out on Suguru’s favorite quilt. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you looked, drinking up the warm sunbeams on your skin.

“I don’t know,” your arms folded behind your head as you stared at the ceiling, “I love Newspaper, but…I don’t know. I think I wanna branch out.”

You just weren’t sure how yet. You had done some research on the high school you’d both be attending next year and ran down the list looking for something to jump out at you. Something you could really put yourself into. You still loved writing and expressing yourself, but there was nothing else besides repeating Newspaper or trying Yearbook (Sugu’s territory). The rest of your options weren’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“How about volleyball?”

“Nah.”

“Art club?”

“Mmm-mm.”

He leaned against the wooden railing. “Hmmm, choir?”

You laughed and didn’t even bother to respond to what was clearly a joke.

He sighed and pensively licked the sugar from his fingers before asking if maybe you’d want to do something together.

You looked at him and squinted. “What?” he shrugged.

“You know what.” And he shook his head all innocent-like.

Always innocent that Suguru. Effortlessly wrapping everyone around his finger. Your dad, his teachers. Even your trio mentioned him from time to time about how helpful he was. With all the times he went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even you were starting to let your guard down. Watching him now as his ponytail blew softly in the wind, looking so naïve as to what you meant but still wanting to understand, made you blush sick.

Not having much of a reason to actually be so guarded, you made one up. “You tryna go toe to toe with me, Geto?.”

Your brow cocked, and you used his last name because you knew it’d get to him. He was fully aware that you only say it when you’re serious, and it’s mostly blurted when you guys go at it on Mario Kart.

“Just because I said we should do something together?”

“Yeah, so you can one-up me.”

If there was a hobby or favorite pastime that you really enjoyed and might actually be better than good at, you knew it was best to keep it out of Suguru’s reach. Academic and recreational competitions needed to remain separate if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Suguru took a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t bother competing with you at, it was arguing. He knew you wouldn't back down if he just sat here and tried to convince you; you’d poke a hole in every counter until he simply gave up.

So, instead, he pandered to your inflated ego, chewing his lip before telling the truth. “C’mon, Twin. I promise I won’t. Do it for me.”

His soft purple gaze landed on you, and you got a funny feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t felt before.

He was serious.

He really wanted to be at your side trying something new—exploring together—helping each other find yourselves.

The shy teen who was as quiet as a mouse and yet a beast of a kid wanted to be right there with you. And he wasn’t afraid to say it.

You cleared your throat and averted his gaze. “Fine,” you agreed, but on one condition, “It stays a hobby, no competing.” And it sounded like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But valedictorian? That’s mine.” And you tossed another blackberry into the air and caught it perfectly in your mouth, making Suguru raise his eyebrows.

“That’s a bet,” he said, reaching over to wipe a bit of sugar from the corner of your lips. You swat away his hand and punch his shoulder, but damn him if the gesture didn’t make you feel all weird inside. He faked an “Ow” and rubbed his arm before joining you on the quilt to soak in the sun. You closed your eyes and pretended to float in the breeze whistling through the railing. Even without the hammock, it kind of felt like you were.

“Sooo, what do you wanna do this summer?” And the possibilities felt endless.

Who knew this core memory of each other’s youth, the moment you finally let his fingers inch across the blanket and softly brush yours without pulling back, would be one of your last?

Two weeks before break started, after all of your plans for the summer and the following school year had been planned out, it happened.

To this day, you question the timing of your worst nightmare—just when you thought you were living the dream—coming true.

The Geto’s were moving on up.

For years, Suguru watched his mom grind in corporate America. It wasn’t new to him; she had one of the hardest work ethics he’d ever seen, but it was on a different level after his family moved to your city.

Something in her had changed—the thought of instability.

She knew Suguru was used to not seeing her due to long hours at work, but when it started to affect her husband, when it began to shift the family’s dynamic, she knew she had to figure something out, and fast.

She could sacrifice her time for the family. She couldn’t sacrifice Suguru’s time with his dad.

All these years, Suguru’s family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps while Suguru was lost in the bliss of friendship. Mrs. Geto’s hard work paid off, and she got a promotion—on the opposite end of the country.

The day was bright and sunny when he left, the exact opposite of how you felt watching the beat-up car that had grown on you drive out of the neighborhood.

You looked on from your window because you didn’t want him to see you crying, watching, or caring.

You had been right from the first time you saw him.

And were back to square one.

Alone.

You guys tried to stay in touch, you really did, but being in totally different time zones made keeping up with each other a little harder. New apps for your phones, like Snapchat and Instagram, helped a little, but they didn't compare to the late-night phone calls you missed so much.

At first, Suguru would Snap you about how he was getting on in his new city, neighborhood, and places his family would explore over the summer.

The thought of him being someone’s new boy-next-door made your stomach twist.

When school rolled around, he’d send Snaps and joke about his preppy new uniform that came with a vibrant red tie and over-starched navy pants. His mom got him into a fancy private school because, of course she would, but they were really strict with phones, so you weren't able to talk to him until he got home. By the time he did, the sun had already gone down for you, and you’d be too tired from your own after-school activities to keep your eyes open.

You missed Suguru—even your dad missed him and his family terribly.

You missed him so much that you began to resent him—his new life, fancy school, and new “friends”. Jealousy reared its ugly head, forcing you to put your walls up again.

Another friend, gone, moved on to bigger and better things. Leaving you behind once again.

You had finally found a friend, a real friend, who never made you feel bad—someone you could tell almost all of your secrets to.

Who got whisked away.

Who you’d give anything to see again and go back to the way things were.

Though it’d only been five years, you felt like you’d known him your entire life.

But what you thought was fate, turned out to be folly.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes I fall But still, I rise To the skies high above In the clouds my ego Will go where no one knows

Why I am here

And why I try

To defy what I believe What it means to succeed To be won

To be one

To be “the one”

A smoking gun.

“Thank you.”

The cafe filled with snapping fingers as you walked off the stage, heart pounding and a smile plastered on your ducking head.

Look at you now. Performing in cafes, libraries, open-mics, wherever you could be that called for an audience. Still a little shy, but letting it motivate you and pour out on the floor to be soaked up by the listeners. It was an adrenaline rush, finally finding something you knew belonged to you and being damned good at it.

No one was better than you at telling the world how you felt while simultaneously mesmerizing an audience with your soliloquy and speech. Words still had a hold on you; you just figured it was better to say them out loud than keep them written down.

“Good job, Bug.” Your dad handed you a hot cup of tea fresh from the counter with your nickname scribbled in big cursive letters across the cup.

“Dad, please stop calling me that.”

He frowned. “But you’re my little bug.” He threw an arm around you, almost making you spill the hot liquid.

You groaned and protested. “I’m not a kid anymore.” And took a sip too soon, burning the tip of your tongue. You held it in and swallowed, looking around to see if anyone else saw the scorned look on your face.

You thought of 15 as one of your prime years and kept yourself busy to prove it. Just a sophomore in high school, Baby had a new hobby: dominating slam poetry. You had taken over the scene in your city with expansion heavy on your mind.

Though it was hard for your dad to hear, you were right; you weren’t a kid anymore. But you knew he was just proud of you. More than you could ever know. It made him happy to see you had something no one could take from you.

With a tsk, you leaned into his hug. You should be thanking him more. When the idea of doing slam poetry first crossed your mind, you were a hot mess (surprise, surprise) at being confident (BIG surprise)—your stage presence was lacking, to be specific.

On the page, your poems were like water in a desert, but opening your mouth and performing it with your whole chest was…different.

Fixating on your lines and rhythm made you want to pull your hair out. It was hard making sure your words sounded like you and would be understood. You needed to be understood.

You’d practice your performances in front of your dad until you were blue in the face. A show was put on for anyone who would listen. And secretly, you missed Suguru’s presence because he’d be perfect for it.

But you didn’t need him. You were on your way to competing in your first official local competition. All your practice around the city and long hours at home agonizing over your talent for slam poetry built up to that moment—the time to show the world what you had to offer.

Nothing felt better than holding the gold 1st place medallion between your fingers afterward. Regionals came next, and nothing could have validated your talent more than the medals you took home on top of the prize money your dad stashed away for college.

It was time to travel, and Nationals was your next target.

You couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being outside your city. The thought of being beyond the walls of home once felt like a hopeless dream. New cities, new friends, new organizations, and new styles of poetry were within your reach. The exhilarating travel that worried your dad put a thrill in your heart. You wanted to see everything—be heard everywhere. Life was full of opportunity and everything it had to offer.

“So you’re gonna do the group piece and then an individual one, maybe?”

You leaned against the cool bus window as you and your teammates winded down the road to your next hotel. Over the summer, you traveled with your state’s top slam poetry organization to compete in regional cities around the coast. All of this was practice for the Nationals coming up that August before school started. The day was coming faster than you could imagine.

“I don’t know about a solo,” you wondered.

You looked out the window and chewed your bottom lip. Your team lead had been pushing you to do a stand-alone piece for the Nationals for weeks, but you felt far from ready. You were strong in a group, but on your own, looking out into a crowd of people while demanding their attention on an empty stage, the thought made you queasy.

This wasn’t your local library or a small regional contest. Nationals is where you tell the country who you are and why you matter.

“Hey,” a hand rested on your shoulder, calling you back. “You’ve got this. You deserve this.”

And you did deserve it. You’d worked too hard and advanced so far in such a short amount of time. You didn’t think you’d get here so fast, but here you were, on a double-decker bus full of others who were just as talented as you, in a place where you belonged. In a place where you didn’t have to try so hard or look for that slight nod of approval to let you know you were seen.

August was in a hurry to put you on the stage because, before you knew it, it was time to head to California for the Nationals. What better place to begin to live your dreams than in the place where they all come true? Sunny skies, sandy beaches, and the aura of art and performance lingered in the air. It was the complete opposite of where you came from. It felt like home. You could see how Suguru could get easily lost in all.

You always wanted to visit the West Coast and see how he was living.

It’d be so funny to randomly Snap him after all this time and tell him you were so close, but you decided against it.

Cali was HUGE; there’s no way the competition would just happen to be in his city for you to casually bump into him.

Plus, imagine that awkward reunion after a few years of radio silence.

You two could be completely different people now.

He probably wouldn’t even want to see you.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

So many great things happened since his family packed up and left. In fact, without Suguru around, you found yourself excelling more naturally at anything and everything than ever before. Comparisons were a thing of the past, and you knew you had something no one else could take away from you.

Except maybe the competitor going on before you at the Nationals.

The audience was loud and clearly approving of his killer performance as they ate him up with whistles and snapping fingers.

Who needed a mic when you had a voice like that?

Easily projecting across the entire venue with every rhythmic pop, beat, and enunciation of his words.

You might have met your match or worse.

For the first time in your poetic career, you thought you just might lose your winning streak.

Anxiety convinced you to head back to the holding area. You just needed to run through the lines of your solo only a few more times.

You’ve got this.

He was nothing.

This was nothing.

You were taking home first place—absolutely positive that success was literally on the tip of your tongue. Until you saw him.

The boy with the raven hair.

Unmistakable and stopping you dead in your tracks as you saw him in the flesh for the first time in 2 years, standing long and tall in the venue.

Not in the audience.

Not as a stagehand.

But in another team’s holding room.

As a competitor.

Your heart plummeted into your ass.

What in the fuck was he doing here???

You swiftly ducked behind the wall leading to your team’s holding area, hand flying to your chest to still the thunderous beating.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. DEEP B R E A T H S.

Suddenly, your mouth was desert dry.

The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—how you would suppress the urge to call him, think about him, or wonder where he would be when you were here.

You covered all of the bases.

But here he was in a place you least expected.

In a place you now knew you’d dread seeing him the most.

The boy you had become a ghost to was haunting you, but somehow, you knew this would happen.

You only got a quick glance at him before you vanished, but it was enough of a glimpse to notice the chances.

And God, were there changes.

As teenagers do, you both had grown out of your prepubescent bodies and into your young adult ones. And while you thought you looked relatively the same with a few upgrades here and there, Suguru had gone through a full-blown glow-up that set yours on fire.

“Almost ready?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your teammate followed your line of sight and smirked. “Know him?”

You shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and said you thought he looked familiar but didn’t. “Shame,” she rested her shoulder on the wall with a dreamy gaze. “He looks like a dream.”

You turned away before you threw up and realized that you were about to be called up next. The frazzled look on your team lead’s face let you know she’d been looking for you, and you took a synced deep breath when she spotted you. Her hands fell on your shoulders before you went up the stairs to the stage. “You’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. . . . You don’t got this.

Your legs felt like Jell-O walking up the short set of stairs to the black platform in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t been on one this big, in a venue so large, with an audience so vast and eyes in the hundreds. The row of judges sat below you, yet looked so intimidating. Heat engulfed you from the lights above—a literal deer playing the lion in the headlights.

Sight zeroed in on the judges, you avoided the audience. Hoping that he wasn't still there because you knew seeing him WOULD freak you out.

In the silence Between the shattered and oppressed dreams I found, I tore The roar Of my own voice Reclaiming the night

Your lines flowed out of you more naturally than water, eyes closed, unfocused, or hazy as you transformed your surroundings into the scene of your story—the journey from struggle to empowerment—the story of why you deserved to be here. In that moment, there was no one else—not even the judges—just you, the stage, and the song that belonged to you, even if it mattered to no one else.

But it mattered to him.

And you didn’t see him until near the end of your set.

The familiarity of your voice called him to confirm it for himself. To make sure it was you. He couldn’t believe it. You looked so…powerful. Fully fledged in your adulthood, kicking ass and taking names. Fierce and poetic. The same attitude as the girl he grew up with but in its full realization.

Your voice cracked a little when you spotted him, completely awe-struck by you, but you played it off like it was part of your set. Damn the boy who had the same gawking eyes that used to watch the neighborhood kids—quiet and longing. You hoped it wasn’t obvious, but Suguru noticed. He knew. He still had some kind of effect on you. He could tell by how quickly you looked away. You still felt a way about him. He wasn’t just a nobody to you. But given the circumstances, he didn’t know whether to love or hate it by the time he took the stage.

The mic fit snuggly between his fingers. It was rare that someone fully approached it without starting their piece first. You wondered where he was going with this, why he looked a bit tense, why he kept his gaze low—if it could be because of you.

You held your breath and crossed your fingers. Once again, it was time to see him in action under the sweltering stage lights. And in seconds, you saw your gold medal fleeting.

You expected nothing less.

His voice was lined with melody—a sweet, ethereal flow and a melodious string of vocabulary that wrapped you in an envelope and swaddled you like a baby. He sounded so mature. He sounded so much better…than you.

The nerdy boy with too-big glasses and cracking voice had been replaced by a young man who towarded over the audience with a long side-bang and gauges in his ears. The red tie around his neck did look absolutely ridiculous like he said, but the rest of his navy blue uniform was tailored to perfection and fit like a glove.

He looked and sounded like where he came from. Money. But he was more than that. You found yourself hanging onto his every word as you watched from out of sight. He couldn’t see that he made your heart thump, but it was begging to fall out of your chest by the second.

This wasn’t about slam poetry anymore.

Suguru had entered your arena.

Shy, reserved, and knocking the ball out of the park.

Out of over 200 solo acts, you came in 6th. Suguru came in 5th.

And you couldn’t even feel good about it. Because you knew what this meant.

Regionals took over the remainder of your sophomore academic year, but when summer rolled back around, it was time to look Suguru in the face again at almost every out-of-state competition. The West Coast was once a dream—now you dreaded touring the area because you knew he would be there.

Performing.

Waiting to chew you up and spit you out.

Over the final two years of high school, you both spent most of your free time hopping around the nation and directly squaring off with each other.

Growing more apart as you did.

Silent hatred brewed and led the way every time you saw him—unmistakably written on your face.

He chalked it up to the fact that the two of you had changed over the years, and maybe you’d simply outgrown him. But he never thought someone he used to call his best friend could give him a look so cold. With no other choice but to follow your lead, he kept his distance and pretended you weren’t there.

But the way he racked up medal after medal, winning over judges and audiences alike, was loud and clear.

With him, you could only hope for second best. Though out-of-state competitions were just practice, losing to him in any capacity was a constant reminder that what was yours, wasn’t anymore.

If it ever was.

This time, anxiety burned through you instead of helping you.

During junior year, one of the most pivotal moments of your poetic careers, you met face-to-face again at the Nationals. Both of your organizations fought their way to the semifinals, but as you held your breath waiting for the judges to call his team’s name, silence swept both of you when you realized that neither of you made it to the finals.

Again.

By that summer, you were tired, good and tired of inching closer and closer to third place, then second, but never first in out-of-state competitions where Suguru was in the mix.

He was sucking the life out of you, but you couldn’t show it, especially when on stage where you knew he’d have his eyes glued to you.

Then, in August of your senior year, it finally happened; you returned to the Nationals, your final opportunity to win and go international. This time, it was close to your territory, in Georgia.

All bets were off.

The winner was a toss-up.

And what a slap in the face to finally win….and tie with Suguru.

You sulked on the inside the whole ride home while your teammates cheered and celebrated around you. To them, you’d just made history with your organization being the first in your state to go to the continental competition and have a shot at the World Poetry Slam Championship.

To you, your freedom of expression kept escaping you.

You felt yourself starting to mold into something outside of yourself.

Some nights, you lied in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats rack through your brain.

Analyzing them.

Judging them.

Mimicking them.

Wanting to be like the best.

Your foundation was shaking.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the continental competition. Winning wasn’t the point; only earning one of the top 10 high scores to be automatically qualified for the WPSC.

It was a dream come true.

But how come it tasted so sour when you stood on that stage, your teammates going absolutely insane in the crowd at the news of you advancing to the international championship, but once again with a score just shy of Suguru’s?

The two of you were declared the best in your country…and you were sulking.

It shouldn’t matter!

You're one of the top 40 poets in the WORLD, babe!

And, for Godsake, a free plane ticket and trip to leave the country was waiting for you with your name on it! Belgian waffles and fountains of chocolate are more than enough reasons to get over yourself and this one-sided beef.

But your dad still got an earful about it.

Weekly chats with him almost always centered around poetry and Suguru ever since you first saw him sophomore year.

The closer the world championship came, the sadder you sounded.

“What if I-”

Your dad stopped you. “Don’t even finish that sentence. What have I always said?”

You hugged the phone to your ear, rolling your suitcase back and forth between your legs in the airport terminal. “Bug,” your dad said after a moment’s silence.

You groaned. “We don’t say ‘what-ifs’. We say ‘what is’.”

“And what’s going to happen.”

You looked over to your team lead, soundly napping in the corner. It was the butt crack of dawn, and both of you had gotten to the airport way too early for your liking to make sure you didn’t miss your flight. Your first international flight. You actually had a passport, like???

So much had gone into getting you here.

Energy. Time. Effort. Trust. Encouragement.

People were rooting for you. They wanted to see you win. You wanted to see you win.

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“Then you’re already a winner, Bug.”

God, your dad was gushy. And God, you loved him for it.

You didn’t feel so bad by the time you watched the sunrise in full bloom through your airplane window.

Pink, orange, and yellow washed over your face, making you feel so small. It wasn’t your first time in the sky, but definitely the most nervous you’d been.

Local papers, blogs, and newsletters featured your name—people knew you now; they had expectations.

A reputation had been made, and now you were in the fight of your life to keep it.

You sighed into your palm with your dad’s words in mind.

David was determined to take Goliath down.

Belgium.was.cold.

Like you hadn’t packed nearly thick enough coats type of cold.

You felt like an idiot.

You were a lyrical genius but couldn’t even put ‘Belgium in December’ and ‘it might be freezing’ together. But the lobby of your quaint little hotel with hot chocolate on tap was warm and inviting.

Your team lead handed you a cup, and you found yourself missing your teammates. They would have loved this and cheering you on at the top of their lungs.

The feeling was lonely—nerve-wracking.

You were in the beautiful country of Germany for a competition, not leisure, so you couldn’t even relish in the fact that you were overseas.

At least the food was good. Nervous eating made you binge until you felt sick the night before the competition, but a quick stroll in the brisk morning air made you feel better.

The bus ride to the venue felt like you were about to hop into a boxing ring. And the gloves were off.

Crossing the threshold into a space full of chosen people was like marveling at the diamonds of top-society. And you were one of them. Your team lead walked by and closed your gaping mouth with a smile. “Chin up, dear.” And disappeared into the crowd.

You'd never met a foreigner before and were thrust into a venue full of different skin tones, accents, languages, and ages. It would’ve been even more overwhelming had it not been for the smell of coffee wafting through the air, reminding you of your last safe space for poetry before you went pro. With half an hour left until the competition, you thought exploring a little wouldn’t be a bad idea.

The venue was dark and moody, perfect for setting the atmosphere and circulating the rising tension in your body. The main stage basked against the background of darkness under a single warm light that cast a circular glow.

Your final destination.

His burial sight.

Suguru was nowhere to be found, but by the looks of the thick crowd shuffling in to fill their seats, it was easy to get lost. You met back with your team lead to run your rhythms a few more times.

“Please don’t say it.” And she laughs, giving you a small nod and shoulder squeeze.

You still hear it in your head. You’ve got this.

But man, were these poets giving you a run for your money.

It was exhilarating and terrifying—a glaring reminder of why you were here among the best.

Translations were available on the screens behind the performers as you ping-ponged between their words and their expressions. Both demanded your attention and the crowd’s.

But so did you and Suguru when you both breezed through the semifinals.

For a second, you thought he hadn’t made it to the venue at all when you looked for him during your performance. But he let you and everyone else know he was in the building when he graced that stage. A hush fell over the space, and even you felt your face go soft while watching him.

He more than deserved that advance, but you weren’t done just yet.

After a brief intermission—the DJ wasn’t playing any games—you turned the corner to line up for the final round when you collided at 100mph with Suguru.

“Fu— oh.” You held your arm as you looked at him—really taking him in.

When he was on stage, you noticed he wasn’t in his usual uniform, but up close, the alternative was definitely a choice. The loose black tee ruffled as he smoothed his bang.

“Sorry.”

He rubbed his shoulder and kept his eyes low. His hands stuffed into his black cargos as he looked away, not wanting to upset you. Or see the look of resentment on your face.

You could tell he knew he made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how different he wished things could have been.

Hurt was written all over the face of your childhood best friend, and you never knew Suguru to be upset about anything.

You cleared your throat. “Good luck.”

His head drew back like he’d seen a ghost.

His lips parted.

Then he kind of smiled, leaning against the wall—looking at you for a moment.

You were so grown up and had accomplished so much.

Suguru was fully aware that you hated his guts and was so proud of you—even if you didn’t need him anymore.

He reached out to shake your hand. “Good luck, Twin.”

Your heart thumped—no one had called you that in 4 years—sweet and low from honeyed lips.

Suguru’s hand lingered in your air for a second before you gingerly took it.

Soft and warm.

Just like you remembered but stronger—firmer.

The gloves were off for him, too.

Things were done a bit differently for the final rounds. Instead of holding deliberations for the end of the rounds after everyone had gone, everyone got their votes front and center from five random audience members.

Paddles would fly in the air, displaying the scores to be tallied up and held until the end.

Thank God you could do quick math. Numbers were racking up—bone-chilling talent was on full display.

You were amazed, laughing, shocked. Every set was different from the last.

The crowd fell into a hush when one guy came on stage and laid straight down. Bareback to ground. Then fired off rhythmic jokes that made you laugh at some and ponder the seriousness of others.

Dark humor often has truth in it.

Most sets were in a completely different language yet spoken so beautifully that you dug your nails into your palms to keep from crying. Emotion was universal. And you were feeling a lot of them.

Suguru walking onto the stage snapped you out of it as you watched from the other side of it.

Though you’d just seen him a few minutes ago, this was a completely different light. Something had shifted.

Nice to meet you My name is Suguru Oh really? So is mine! It’s nice to meet you too.

Tell me what you’re like, what do you like to do? Lately, I’m not sure Was hoping for a breakthrough

In a world where masks are sticky and glue I’m lost in a maze with no clear view Doubt will cling like morning dew Caught in the storm of shifting hues

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Suguru was having a mental breakdown.

Your jaw tightened, clothes fidgeting between your fingers.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined. And this was just the beginning of the journey through his paradoxical mind.

His ship was sinking. And he was taking you all down with him.

…I wear many faces each one feels new, But none will fit like I want it to Left with a voice that's small and untrue Burying deep I don't know what to do

In this mirror, I’m searching for clues, But this reflection is oddly askew. You scream through the glass, “Stay real and stay true!” But if you’re me, then…who are you?

You could hear a pin drop.

Suguru stopped breathing.

He couldn’t believe that he actually did it. He had never been so vulnerable.

If you thought you knew him and what he was going through before, you were left stunned and corrected.

A few of his scores floated into the air, and though you couldn’t see them all, the few you did were perfect 10s.

It would’ve been hell to go directly after that—thankfully, you had a few more people before you.

Time crept closer and closer to your set—nervous sweats and fidgeting fingers kept you company.

So much for keeping a hobby a hobby, you thought, pacing backstage.

This wasn’t fun for you anymore; it was always supposed to be fun, easy, natural.

But this was no longer just about you.

It never was.

It was about proving anyone who ever doubted wrong.

When the host called your name, you made those 3 minutes on stage feel like your last.

Rain, rain don’t go away, You’re the only one who stays, Cross my heart and hope to die I promise that I will not cry

Build and build and There it goes! All for naught and just for show Hypnotize your guards to grave Leave the trust to fade away

This was your final plea to be heard by the world if you had ever made one.

A letter to those who ever dismissed, ignored, or left you.

Fire and brimstone poured from the pit of your soul—served up on a plate with the audience in mind but Suguru as the guest of honor.

You thought he’d be away in the dressing room or at least within earshot, but no. He stood tall and bright, leaning against the door frame that led out to the hall, backlit by the warm lights that framed his figure, watching.

Listening.

Knowing the poem was partially about him.

You hoped it hurt him as much to hear it as it did for you to write it.

Deep breaths kept your voice steady—he wouldn’t hear it crack this time as you powered through your trembles. Bold and brash. Unleashing your truth.

He saw it in your eyes and unconsciously did the only thing he knew to support you, the beginning of your connection—trust that blossomed into turmoil. The small nod of approval.

Years had passed.

Envy had pushed you to avoid him.

He accepted that you no longer saw him as a friend.

Yet he still wanted to show his support.

And it pissed you off.

…Lo and behold the savior's light Here to take another flight Take me by my desperate hand Lead me how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What I am. I am alone...

You walked off stage before you could see your final scores.

Whatever would be was now out of your hands—the relief felt agonizingly sweet.

Your team lead wrapped you in her arms as you silently cried. You didn’t know how long the tears had been building up, but the release was like a dam burst.

Crying on your first international trip to Belgium.

Nice.

A final intermission was left, and the scores were tallied. You guzzled down some water and took a few breaths before meeting the rest of the contestants. Finally, finally, you and Suguru stood side by side again on stage. Your entire history had built up to this moment—ready to declare a winner. Ready to determine whether you finally caught up.

His pinky brushed yours, sending sparks to your belly like that day on his porch.

Head down, you waited for a name to be called.

Any name, every name, would be better than—

“Suguru Geto.”

Naturally rolling off their tongue.

Suguru stiffened beside you like he couldn’t believe it himself as they motioned for him to come forward. In your mind, everything went quiet. You couldn’t feel anything but emptiness in the pit of your stomach. Not even anger.

Before he moved a muscle to claim the spotlight, he turned to you, daring to offer his hand again. But it felt less like a “Job well done!” and more like a pitiful “I’m sorry.” And you had had enough of condolences.

You turned away and left the stage in the midst of the raging applause for Suguru. No one else may have caught the cold shoulder, but to Suguru, it felt like he was trapped in ice. He could leave your life forever now for all you cared.

This was your one, final chance to make things even between you two.

But reality was a bitch.

You couldn’t get away from him quick enough.

Yes, you’ve gotten to travel the country. Yes, you got the opportunity of a lifetime to go overseas just off your hard work alone, but all of that meant nothing if you were only second best.

It was redundant.

What was even the point in trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

You brushed past your team lead, contestants—anyone trying to tell you how amazing you did. You couldn’t stand being bathed in lies and beelined out the back of the venue.

“Fuck this.” You choked back tears, breath escaping you as you pushed the door open.

The contrast of sharp, cold air whipped your face, making you realize you didn’t grab your jacket, but it was just what you needed to set the gravity of your situation in.

You were nothing.

You bawled your fists.

And foolish for trying.

Hyperventilating.

Look at what you came from. Look at what you get for trying to change that.

Hot, fat tears spilled down your face as you huddled in a corner of the building. You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to shield the icy winds, but you already felt dead inside. Pathetic and worthless. It was out of your hands to change that.

A voice called after you, belonging to the last person you wanted to see right now. That soft, angelic voice that swooned the world and made your insides boil. Why couldn’t he just get it?? Why couldn’t he stay the fuck away??

You thought you had hidden yourself well by putting a bit of distance between the exit and the corner you tucked into, but he found you in seconds, tears dried on your face, crouching into your knees.

He stood there gaping, completely overwhelmed by the state of you.

For once, he was out of words.

“Well??” It was hoarse and cracking.

“I-I’m—”

“Oh my God, pLEASE fucking save it!” You shook, burying your head into your arms.

It was enough that he got to bask in your pathetic breakdown with front-row seats. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it.

But Suguru was fed up with your bullshit and came looking to tell you about it. The final straw was leaving his extension of sympathy high and dry as you walked off stage. Giving him the ultimate “fuck you” in his moment of congratulations.

He never understood why you hated him—the resentment, what happened, what he’d done. But he was about to make you explain yourself.

“Get up.” Gentleness left his voice.

He came closer and towered over your petite frame, cornering you so you couldn’t run away. “You think I don’t know how much this meant to you?”

When you didn’t answer, he crouched down to your level.

“Hey.”

You buried yourself deeper.

“Hey.”

“Don’t touch me.” You brushed him away, pressing your back into the wall as you stood up, shivering in the wind.

But it felt like you had punched him in the gut.

He had never seen you so bothered before, and the revelation that you were pointing the finger and naming him the culprit made his chest feel tight. It felt worse attempting to bury your heart on your sleeve. But the extent of your scorn was on full display.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru.

Why you hated him. Couldn't stand to look at him. Avoided him.

Why you started all of this competitive bullshit in the first place.

The root of it was more painfully obvious to see than the daggers in your eyes. What else could it be?

“You’re jealous.”

And that set you off.

“HA!” It almost hurt to laugh. “Jealous?!”

People could probably hear you inside the venue. But Suguru knew just what to say to get you to talk.

“This whole time, I thought you were upset because I left, but…you’re just jealous.”

You snorted. “You’ve never worked hard a day in your life.”

“What? You don’t think I earned this?”

“Who knows? Mommy buys you everything.”

“Woah,” he held up a hand and laughed, “Is that what this is about?”

Your cheeks burned hot, but you had egg on your face and had just spilled the beans. But fire still raged in your chest.

“You could have had anything else. Anything! Anything in the world, but you just had to take this from me!”

“How was I supposed to know??” he cut you off, “You stopped talking to me.”

You felt a pang and fell silent—flurries of unread texts, unopened Snaps, and missed calls played in both of your minds.

“How was I supposed to know anything? How was I supposed to have anything without making you feel bad?”

“Me?” You scoffed. “Without me, you’d probably still be sitting on that dusty ass porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and fucking live life.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the blooming goosebumps on your arms.

“Whatever, you think I owe you or something? You want a ‘thank you’?”

His tone made you shift, but you puffed up your chest.

“No, I don’t need a thank you." Your eyes narrowed. “I’m just not that impressed.”

Oh?

He scoffed, backing away with a smirk, arms swinging as he looked away then back at you. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You were questioning his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies—but it was a shot at his reputation nonetheless.

His smirk faltered as he clasped his hands. “You wanna go?” And then he got closer. Your breath caught as he studied your face, his left arm shooting out to frame you, pinning you into the corner.

The heat radiating off his body should have been a comfort in the frosty air, but fuck, you also felt other things that raced your heart and made you hate yourself.

He leaned over you. “How would you like to eat your words? Fried? Or sautéed?”

His eyes bore into yours, daring you to buck up or back down. But just because he finally had the balls to challenge you and take up space didn't mean you were intimidated.

He was the same little boy he'd always been.

And you were quick to remind him.

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, capturing your lips in a way that shot electricity down your spine and stole the breath and shriek right out of your body.

In an instant, you swore your pupils morphed into hearts. For so long, he's wanted to do that—kiss your sweet, supple lips that ramble nonsense and shut you up—bridge the gap between your broken friendship to ask for more, to make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him.

Knees weak, you nearly staggered, scrambling for the walls to keep you up, but was saved by his hand cradling your hip to hold you. Keep you. Protect you. Your heart burst.

You pulled away, eyes heavy. Leaving a sliver of space between your lips to see your heated breaths mingling in the chilly air as he rested his forehead against yours. Softly, you cradled his face in your hand, feeling waves of longing swell through your body—his had already burst. Then you slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left.

extended angel's note: this story took a TOTALLY different turn from what i originally planned (thanks Mac Miller) but omg it's sO much better and kinda fits into all of the sugu angst i have planned (oh how i love to hurt myself so). this story in particular was supposed to be like all smut and no exposition but um…things happen 😅 sO, all of the low-angst, ‘enemies’ to lovers lives in part 1, with a focus on the resolution in part 2: lovers who give in and chose each other arc while remaining focused on my original goal of making a smut that spotlights and actualizes realistic sex. learning each other, listening, patiently growing, and choosing.

#bluuharem #God is Fair #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk poc reader #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru smut #jjk smut #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #anime fanfic

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chaimilkshake · 22 days ago

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Brother’s Best Friend - Nicholas Chavez x fem!reader

summary: you’re Cooper Koch’s sister, coming to visit him after his success in Monsters where you meet his co-star.

warnings: slightly suggestive at the end!

word count: 752

a/n: lmk if this needs a part two because i will write it.

Being the sibling of an actor wasn’t easy. Your older brother, Cooper, quickly became well known after Monsters blew up. To celebrate, you drove to LA to see him.

You had visited plenty of times before, living in California, but this time was different. Something in the air felt so wonderful as you drove, windows down, wind through your hair. Today was going to be good, you could feel it.

You pulled into the driveway of your brother’s house, noticing a couple of other cars, but not thinking anything of it. When you strolled up to the front door, you didn’t even get the chance to knock before the door flew open.

Cooper exclaimed your name, pulling you into a tight hug. “I didn’t know you were coming!” He said, hugging you still. You chuckled, hugging him back.

“That was the point!” The two of you stood on the porch, simply enjoying each other’s embrace for a minute before you whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

He relaxed at that, slowly pulling away to look at you properly. “Thank you.”

Before you could say anything else, your attention was drawn to the man standing at the doorway. It only took a second for you to recognize him.

“Oh! This is Nicholas. Nic, this is my sister,” Cooper said, stepping back to introduce you two.

You smiled, nodding at him.“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Nicholas nodded, although his eyes lingered over you a little bit longer than they should have.

Cooper cleared his throat, putting his hands together and smiling. “Okay, come in, come in!” He ushered, pulling you inside with them.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” you say as you walk into Cooper’s house, entering the living room.

“Oh, not at all. We were just hanging out,” Cooper explains, sitting on the couch and patting the spot next to him. You joined him, Nicholas taking the spot on the other side of you. “So. Fill me in. What’s new and exciting?” He asks, smiling at the cliche question and picking his drink up.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He knew how much you hated when your relatives would ask that after a long period of not seeing them. “Same old, same old. School, work, sleep, and repeat, y’know?”

“Nothing new at all? No new friends, more than friends?” Cooper teases, nudging you and sending a wink your way.

For some reason, the question makes your cheeks flush. You knew this was just Cooper being Cooper, but something about Nicholas sitting next to you made it awkward. “You’re acting like we haven’t spoken in months, I texted you yesterday,” you laughed, shaking your head. “You would already know.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “I know, I know, just teasing you. Do you want a drink?” He asks, moving to stand.

“Uh, maybe just water?” You ask, thanking him as he moves for the kitchen. Nicholas takes this opportunity to speak up.

“What school do you go to?” He asks, and it’s clear his eyes have been on you since he sat back down.

“Oh, University of California San Diego,” You nod, smiling at him. It was nice of him to fill the silence, because you know you wouldn’t have the courage to.

“Really? That’s cool. What do you do there?” He asks, sipping at his drink.

Fuck. You knew he’d ask that. You clear your throat, suddenly finding a loose thread in your shirt very interesting.

“I’m an anatomy major.”

Nicholas chokes on his drink, immediately bringing a hand up to his mouth. You can’t help but chuckle, seeing him struggle to swallow it. He laughs once he does, nodding and wiping his mouth.

“Anatomy, really?” He asks, the two of you chuckling again.

“Yup. Gonna do something in the medical field, not quite sure what yet.”

He nods slowly, putting his drink back down. “You gotta be pretty smart to do that, huh?” Nicholas asks, smiling at you.

It takes you a minute to respond, finding yourself hypnotized by him. His pretty smile, eyes, hair. Everything, really. Your smile sticks until you remember he asked you something. “Oh! Yeah. I mean, I guess. It’s not easy work,” you ramble, trying to recover from that awkward silence, feeling your face heat up again.

Nicholas laughs again, watching the color bleed into your cheeks. “Well, if you never need a reference, I’m here.”

#nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez fanfiction #cooper koch #fan fic #fan fiction

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sonicenvy · 1 year ago

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Let's have a chat about AO3

Hiya friends and loyal followers! My last post about AO3 blew up yesterday so I figured now would be a good time to continue the conversation about AO3.

As I mentioned in my previous post (and probably in multiple other previous posts):

AO3 is NOT a social media site. AO3 is an ARCHIVE.

So let's delve into that a bit more since people don't seem to be getting that. Fanfiction predates the internet, and was transmitted via the internet way before sites like AO3 and FF dot net. Relatively speaking, I am a fanfiction newcomer, as I first started reading fanfiction in ... 2011? or thereabouts. I say this to say that I obviously don't have as personal of a memory of a time before fanfiction archive sites (my bitty fan experiences were on teaspoon and lcfanfic), but I certainly know plenty of people via fandom online that absolutely do.

For the newest children to fanfiction please check out the following pieces of reading to get started on your fandom history education:

“Fanfiction.” Fanlore Wiki. Accessed June 15, 2023. https://fanlore.org/wiki/Fanfiction. Archived [https://archive.is/yJpOq].

“So I’m on AO3 and I See a Lot of People Who Put ‘I Do Not Own [Insert Fandom Here]’ before Their Story.” sonicenvy.tumblr.com, July 2, 2016. https://sonicenvy.tumblr.com/post/146818589611/mikkeneko-thepioden. Archived [https://archive.is/FRNCy]

ofhouseadama, Emily. “A Brief History of Fandom, for Those on Here Who Somehow Think Tumblr Invented Fandom.” sonicenvy.tumblr.com, May 21, 2014. https://sonicenvy.tumblr.com/post/131935827010/ofhouseadama-a-brief-history-of-fandom-for. Archived [http://archive.today/j2Rfq]

mizstorge, fantastic-nonsense, and fanculturesfancreativity. “The Places Fandom Dwells: A Cautionary Tale.” fantastic-nonsense.tumblr.com, June 29, 2017. https://fantastic-nonsense.tumblr.com/post/162395547190/the-places-fandom-dwells-a-cautionary-tale. Archived [https://archive.ph/QK2wI]

As you read through this stuff, three things should become apparent to you:

Fanworks have always existed in tenuous space -- that is, they have always been under threat of removal, or threat of loss, whether this loss was through events like the livejournal strikethrough, the loss of a fandom specific website, destruction of physical copies of the work, or C&D/legal action from original creators of the work.

Fandom has a long and colored history with many of the most defining events of early fandom history being related to threats to the community.

A need was ripe for a place to save and ARCHIVE fanworks and protect them from deletion, legal action, corporate sanitization efforts, site deaths due to the deaths of admins, etc etc.

Out of all of this, comes The Organization For Transformative Works (2007), and their brand new site Archive of Our Own (2008). The stated intention of Archive of Our Own (AO3) (bolding mine):

The Organization for Transformative Works (OTW) is a nonprofit organization, established by fans in 2007, to serve the interests of fans by providing access to and preserving the history of fanworks and fan culture in its myriad forms. We believe that fanworks are transformative and that transformative works are legitimate. We are proactive and innovative in protecting and defending our work from commercial exploitation and legal challenge. We preserve our fannish economy, values, and creative expression by protecting and nurturing our fellow fans, our work, our commentary, our history, and our identity while providing the broadest possible access to fannish activity for all fans. The Archive of Our Own offers a noncommercial and nonprofit central hosting place for fanworks using open-source archiving software.

Source: Works, Organization for Transformative. “Archive of Our Own Beta.” Archive of Our Own. Accessed June 15, 2023. https://archiveofourown.org/about. Archived [http://archive.today/QYtbM]

You may also want to check out the original LiveJournal Brainstorming sessions for AO3 by astolat as archived here [https://web.archive.org/web/20220627134339/https://astolat.livejournal.com/150556.html] if you need further clarity on this point.

Some neat stuff from astolat's original posts that I find are relevant:

making it easy for people to download stories or even the entire archive for offline reading (thus widely preserving the work in case some disaster does take it down)

code-wise able to support a huge archive of possibly millions of stories.

allowing ANYTHING -- het, slash, RPF, chan, kink, highly adult ...

As we can see both from the mission statement of OTW/AO3 and from astolat herself in the brainstorming sessions, AO3 is an ARCHIVE. It is a project that is meant to preserve and provide access to fanworks. Run for fans, by fans and meant to host any and all kind of content with none of the commercialization or censorship that fans found elsewhere. Before AO3 there were certainly numerous, disconnected, fandom specific archives for fanfiction or other fanworks. Many of these old sites have been archived (see we're getting that word again) via the opendoors project. Some, like teaspoon or lcfanfic still exists and are semi-active.

A common thread is that writers and readers weren't just using the archive site to connect. They were doing more connection through other sites like dreamwidth, livejournal, facebook, their emails and later tumblr or twitter. Archive sites were meant as a supplement to other fan spaces like message boards, blogs and journals.

So, dear friends, you might ask, what is an archive?

An archive is a place where documents, artifacts and records are kept and preserved for future reference, use and access. Archives help us maintain a better understanding of the past and protect objects, writings, documents, records and more in longevity. In the context of fanwork archiving, this means preserving fanworks in longevity/perpetuity so that fans can continue to access them for enjoyment and for historical purposes. Archiving fanwork is vital to preserving and, indeed creating fan culture and identity.

To read more about archives in general, check out this article from the American History Museum of the Smithsonian (https://americanhistory.si.edu/archives/about/what-are-archives) or this one from the US National Archives (https://www.archives.gov/about/info/whats-an-archives.html).

So AO3 is an archive. Why does this matter?

Oh, boy, I am about to get LIS nerdy on y'all. At this point in the post we can all agree that AO3 is and always has been an archive (it's in the name...). When we view and understand the site starting from this premise, a lot of, frankly stupid as fuck arguments that people have about AO3 look even dumber. Understanding AO3 primarily as an archive helps us understand:

The tagging system. Given AO3 is an archive, the tags for content on the site function exactly the same as headings in a library archive. They are designed to store information about the fic (that is, they are intended as metadata) which is then used to find the record of the fic in the archive. This is why it is important to tag what is in your fic, and to use tags properly, using the agreed meanings of particular tags.

The kinds of content that are permitted and excluded under TOS IV. The archive permits fanworks, which include: fanfiction, fanart, podfic, and fan videos. The archive thus excludes things that are not fanwork (records with no content (aka "placeholder fics"), posts asking for writing prompts or submissions, posts looking for fic, commerical promotions of ANY kind, original fiction with no relation to fan content, spam etc). Every library and archive has their own collections policies, and AO3 is not an exception. Collections Policies are generally guided by the mission statement(s) of the archiving party/library. As we saw above in both the official about page and the original brainstorming posts from astolat, AO3 is a library for fanworks, meant to preserve fanworks and is in opposition to advertising and commercialization. Therefore, if the thing you want to add to the library of AO3 is not a fanwork or contains commercialization, it does not qualify to be an object of the archive. Re: the "placeholder fic" post that I didn't know was going to blow up so much: imagine you go to the library to get a book and open it to find that it is empty or you get a DVD and play it only to find that it is the movie theater trailer for the movie. Doesn't that make no sense?

Why there is NO censoring of "adult" or other quote on quote "objectionable content". The archive does not chose to preserve works based on subjective quality or "moral purity" type standards. This is true in libraries and museums as well. We keep and save materials that people find objectionable as archiving and librarianship are and have always been diametrically opposed to censorship. As an archive AO3 follows this. Moreover, you can see in astolat's original post "allowing ANYTHING -- het, slash, RPF, chan, kink, highly adult" as a founding idea.

Why there is no advertising, and why this includes you adding your Ko-fi or paypal or whatever the fuck. Outside of the fact that doing this violates TOS and invalidates OTW lawyer arguments for the legal existence of fanworks under US Fair Use, AO3 as an archive is meant to be a keeper of fan records, not a space for promotions. Archives do keep records (and indeed some archives keep records of advertising) but they, themselves are not using their platform to advertise for anything else.

Why there is no "AO3 algorithm". The kinds of algorithmic feed generators that sites like the t*kt*ok or whatever use are antithetical to the mission of archiving stuff and providing access to it. In an archive you search for content based on terms and headings and self-select. I'm not on the t*kt*k or whatever and I actively block and disable all "suggestion" type things so I don't entirely understand what y'all are looking with this.

Ok, that's great, why are you telling us all of this?

There is a concerning trend of newcomers both young and older to fandom and fanfiction that have not taken off the social media brain filter before coming on board. Some excellent tags I've seen on The Post™ that spawned this one include:

#guys quit bringing the worst elements of capitalism to AO3 (via @watchtowersystem)

#algorithms have rotted people's brains i swear (via @pearly--rose)

#omg stop trying to social mediaify ao3 (via @greyduckgreygoose)

There were also some bangers on my reddit post on this topic as well, but the reddit I posted it on is (rightfully) on blackout at the moment.

I think the sociamediafying of fanfiction that a lot of these people are bringing has a few major negatives:

social mediafied fandom views fanwork soley as consumable content, creating more passive, entitled participants in fandom. For fanwork=content social media brain folks, the fact that fanwork is meant to be an active and engaging thing is lost. Fanwork is a gift from one fan to other fans, it is a point for discussion, a result of people's passion and creativity. It is transformative, out of the box and part of building a niche community. When you start to see it as "content" like a random object on a feed you stop valuing it, analyzing it, and interacting with it in the same way, and are more likely to passively consume what you see as content. Social media has made "content" out of everything, and everything becomes something to scroll past in a few seconds, always looking for more stuff, the newest stuff, etc etc. It's obviously very tied to the experience of social media being used to sell you shit, but that's another conversation I think.

fanwork=content social media brain also allows some of these people to post incredibly demanding comments for "more content" on fancreators works or makes them think it's ok (and indeed creates the same result as what the writer is creating) to feed someone's incomplete fic into an ai to get a "completion".

fanwork=content social media brain also means that when these folks start creating content they feel entitled to views, hits, kudos, etc etc, and feel like it is ok to do things that they see as "gaming" the system to get their fics to be at the top of the pack. They begin to care too much about posting to get their "content" the most views because that's how things work on social media.

fanwork=content social media brain also makes some of these people think that "fic" that is "written" by an ai is acceptable fanwork, because they do not view fanwork as artwork/writing with merit, as much as an entertainment property to be consumed. How the meat gets made becomes irrelevant, because the end result is the only thing that is important.

social mediafying of fandom is something that has helped a lot of advertising and commercialization sneak its way into our spaces, which actively hurts our chances of building good communities.

social mediafying of fandom turns fanwork creation and fandom into popularity contests, which is bad for all fan spaces. The point is that we're being weird together. I've seen new, young authors post on reddit about how they feel so bad about their fic because it doesn't have 1000s of hits or because they feel incapable of writing things (even things they might want to explore) because "no one will read it, and it will not become popular". This makes me very sad.

social mediafying of fanwork also turns right around into .... wait ... you guessed it .... censorship! people are now practising self-censorship that is utterly unnecessary and completely sad to me because they are afraid of getting deleted from anywhere for "objectionable content". This carries over into new users on AO3 doing things like using leet speech for curse words, sexual content and more in the TAGS or the body of their AO3 fics. Stop Don't. You can say fuck, dead, kill, murder, cunt, cock, and whatever the fucking hell you want on AO3. That was the whole goddamn point.

These people are trying to bring fanwork=content social media brain to places like AO3. I'm not entirely sure why.

tldr; AO3 isn't a social media site for talking with your following or posting about ideas that you've had. It isn't a popularity contest. It isn't a place where there will be no inappropriate content. It isn't a place for advertising or commerical promotion. It is an ARCHIVE OF FANWORKS meant to be "allowing ANYTHING -- het, slash, RPF, chan, kink, highly adult."

Anyone of you fans older, wiser, more well versed in fan history, and more articulate than me, please feel free to add to this. Ditto on any of you other funky LIS friends out here on tumblr dot hell.

#AO3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #fandom #fandumb #fan history #fandom history #long post for ts

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cobaltperun · 6 months ago

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Genius (6) - Genius

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next part

Word count: 2.2k

-Won't you tell me all your secrets about how you exploit their weakness, I think you're a fucking genius,-

Cairo sat in her garden, with her legs lifted onto the second chair. She had her eyes closed as the soft wind blew in her face. She was smiling, happier than she’s been in a long time.

She was seen. You were seeing her, the real her, and you were starting to see her trauma as well, all the things she wished she could get over, or tell you about, yet didn’t. She caressed the spine of Jules Verne’s book, she remembered how captivated the two of you were by it, by the simple idea of traveling the world. Of leaving this place and seeing everything, absolutely everything the world had to offer. Would she be able to do it? That was one of her dreams, fulfilling the trip around the world in eighty days, well, she doubted she could see everything in eighty days, but start from one trip around the world and then pick another route.

Would you be willing to go with her? Did you love her? You came after her, you went out to look for her, well so did Winnie. You went back into the forest and brought the roses to her backyard and she opened her eyes to look at them. It’s been one day since you brought the pots and planted them, hoping they would sprout roots.

If a wild rose could be moved, if it could be released from the roots that kept it tied to a place that wouldn’t let it grow and blossom, maybe she could do the same. Was it too late to stop whatever was going on with Miller? Did she already cross a line? Did he have expectations of her right now? She still desired the love he described, that madman’s love that she felt she’s been missing her whole life, but now that she thought about it she thought about your arms around her yesterday, when you finished working with the roses.

Was that her madman’s love? How did you feel about her? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped, and if she wanted to be fought for, she would fight for you as well. She got up, and went inside, heading right for her room where her laptop was. She got comfortable, opened a blank word document and began typing. She put all of her feelings, all of her desires on the page, releasing the feelings she otherwise wasn’t sure how to handle. How would you act if you knew how much she wanted you right now? How much she craved to feel your arms around her again? And in the midst of all of those thoughts she dared to let her mind wander to how your touch would feel on her bare skin. How mad could you drive her? How passionate were you? How about her? She’s never done it, she’s only read about it, how assertive would she be? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out with you.

~X~

You sat in your bedroom, your guitar in your arms as you played the acoustic cover of ‘She is’ by The Fray, you didn’t know why that song came to your mind out of blue, but you knew who you wanted to play it for.

“She is everything I need, that I never knew I wanted,” you sang softly, closing your eyes and pulling the notes and lyrics from memory. How long has it even been since you’ve listened to that song? Yet you still remembered it down to the smallest details.

The shakiness of Cairo’s breath as the two of you hugged, the slightest tremor in her voice, the soft whisper, you couldn’t get it out of your head, any of it. She was intoxicating and it was maddening how much of an affect an innocent night of nothing but reading made you notice all the things you weren’t sure you were meant to notice.

She was your childhood friend. You were trying to rebuild that friendship.

“This is going to bring me to my knees, I just want to hold you close to me,” yet you still sang, still knew full well that your heart was beyond reason, that you could no longer see her as a friend. Your mind demanded control over your feelings, demanded that you stop and reconsider, that you take into consideration how fast this was all going. You haven’t been back home for a month and already you were having a turmoil over your feelings for your childhood best friend.

But your heart overpowered your mind and the thoughts of Cairo brought forth a melody you were hearing for the first time, one coming from your heart, filled with longing, desire, all the emotions you still weren’t sure you should share with Cairo.

Would she accept them? Or would she deny the pull she had on you and demand to stay friends?

“Break me down, shape me into something just for us,” you tried adding lyrics to the tune you were creating.

~X~

The next morning you arrived at school a bit earlier than you were supposed to, you just had a bit too much energy this morning and figured you might as well wait for the classes to start at the school instead of at home. You got off your motorcycle and began taking the protective gear off. The school was close, but, you knew better than to take unnecessary risks on the motorcycle. It doesn’t matter how short the ride is, but if you get into an accident or not, and you can always get into an accident, no matter how careful you are. Not all drivers were as careful and that made protective gear mandatory to you.

“Y/N! Hey,” you heard Winnie yelling and looked behind you to see her and Cairo walking across the parking lot. Knowing them they were going to grab a bite.

“Hey!” you took your helmet off and grinned at her before you turned to Cairo, your grin morphing into a softer smile. “Welcome back, Cairo,” you skipped school on Tuesday, but you went yesterday, unlike her.

“I’d say it’s good to be back, but I’d be lying,” she smiled back, shifting her weight so she was leaning more on her left foot and raising her right knee up a bit for a moment, all the while keeping a hand resting on her hip. She dressed a bit different than what you were used to, thigh highs, a shorter skirt and the sweater she had on hugged her body almost a bit too perfectly and you resorted to imagining rather unappealing things to keep your mind from wandering because no, you were not about to become a horny teenager now. No! You wanted none of those thoughts right now!

No matter how attractive Cairo was regardless of what she was wearing.

“You okay, Y/N?” Winnie almost sang, she knew exactly what was on your mind, or what you were trying to keep from being on your mind and she had no intentions of helping you.

“Yup! Perfectly okay, thanks for asking,” you coughed to cover up a slight crack in your voice. ‘Damn it, Cairo, have mercy,’ you thought when you noticed the smile on Cairo’s lips turning into a small smirk.

“If you say so. It’s totally okay if you aren’t fine, you know?” Winnie reassured you and closed the distance so she could pat you on the back. “Wanna go grab a bite with us?” she offered and there was no way you’d accept. You’d be in for a teasing of your life and you still weren’t entirely sure Cairo dressed up like that for anyone, let alone you.

“I’ll skip, I don’t have the first period off,” which was true as well. Going with Cairo and Winnie would mean skipping class, and you kinda needed to listen to this one, otherwise you’d fail it miserably.

“Aw, and I looked forward to teasing you,” Winnie pouted, as if she was actually that disappointed. Actually, she might be just that disappointed.

“Right, I was really looking forward to that,” you said blankly and then turned your attention back to Cairo. “So, wanna ditch the village with me on Saturday?” you asked, a bit too hopefully for your own taste.

“Of course,” Cairo nodded, she approached you and fixed the collar of your jacket a bit. “I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing,” she admitted, lifting her chin up while you were looking down. Just a few inches separated her lips from yours and you swallowed hard.

“Really?” you managed to speak up, your throat suddenly felt really dry.

“Yeah, I wanted you to take me on a trip, just the two of us,” she admitted, and you nodded.

“I will, I promise you,” you whispered, for a moment forgetting Winnie was even there.

“Ooh, can I come and watch?” Winnie suddenly broke whatever bubble you and Cairo created and you took a step back as Cairo glared at Winnie. The shit-eating grin on Winnie’s face told both of you she deemed the interruption and the potential consequences of it worthy.

You cleared your throat and took a few more steps away from Cairo. “Right, I’ll see you two later,” you waved at them and headed toward the school, unaware of what was about to transpire.

~X~

Cairo watched you go, a small smile on her face gave her away, but then she heard Winnie chuckling and raised an eyebrow. She already had a bad feeling as Winnie approached her with a teasing smile on her face.

“Oh no,” she sighed, not sure what to expect from her best friend. Whatever it was, the mischievous look in her eyes made Cairo more than a little worried.

“Oh, Y/N, I can’t wait for you to take me,” Winnie moaned sensually and pushed her breasts up, her lips parted as she went down a bit only to slowly, with her hips swaying slightly straighten up.

Cairo blushed furiously. “I didn’t say that, and especially not like that,” she looked back toward the direction you went in and felt relief at you not being anywhere in sight. “And take me on a trip, not take me,” she muttered as Winnie smirked at her.

“Mhm,” Winnie didn’t believe her, that was clear and much to Cairo’s horror she got on your motorcycle. “Yes, Y/N, fuck me on your bike! Yes, Baby, get that engine purring!” she was leaning forward, jokingly raising her hips up and winking at Cairo.

“You need to get off her motorcycle!” she pleaded, already embarrassed enough. “And I don’t want that!” even if she did, you were very protective of your motorcycle, there was no way you’d bend her over it and fuck her.

“Maybe, but you thought about it,” Winnie finally got off your motorcycle but the teasing certainly wasn’t over.

“I didn’t,” Cairo denied it a bit too quickly, and maybe the thought did cross her mind, but again, you wouldn’t agree to it, so it didn’t matter. “And weren’t you all for wagyu beef?” she tried to remind Winnie that you weren’t the one she was supposed to seduce, even though she remembered Winnie changed her mind, but she needed something to get Winnie’s mind off you and Cairo fucking on your motorcycle.

Winnie waved her off with a playful scoff. “That’s in the past. You, my Sweet darling, need someone young and owning a bike,” she teased, brushing her fingers over the handles of your motorcycle and then pretending to rev it up. “This bike in particular, just so we’re clear,” she smirked.

Cairo rolled her eyes at that. “Let’s just go and eat,” she hoped the promise of food would make Winnie stop already, seeing as nothing else was working.

“You’re paying this time,” Winnie nudged her.

“Only if you stop teasing me about Y/N,” Cairo felt hopeful, she should have known better.

Winnie looked through her bag and fished out her wallet. “Would you look at that, looks like you’re out of luck.”

This was hell. She had no doubt about that.

~X~

That day after the classes she dropped by the post office and looked around for the mailman assigned to her part of the village, meaning he also delivered to your place as well. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d be willing to do me a favor?” she said with a polite smile and two hundred dollars peaking right for him to see.

“Maybe,” he said slowly and she slid the money and an envelope across the table. “I need you to deliver this, not to the address written on the letter, but to another address instead,” she slipped another paper, this one with your address on it.

What would you do? Wait until Saturday and bring the letter to her at a convenient moment, or would you use the chance to come and see her? She wanted to see if you were as eager to spend time with her as she was to spend it with you. If you felt the madness she felt, or if you could resist it.

She hoped you wouldn’t be able to. She hoped you longed for her as much as she longed for you.

A/N: Well, a short one, but sometimes these happen as well. But, would you look at that, we're halfway done!

Taglist:@deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy

#cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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slamminslamminmcgill · 9 months ago

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hiiii uhhh joel drabble based on my daddy dick appointment yesterday

warning: rimming, intox (poppers and weed), oral, squirting, erectile dysfunction (real old man dick enjoyers know wassup), toys, overstimulation, daddy kink obvs

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, clit/cock/dick

It’s not that you had daddy issues.

Or that he had a framed picture of him and his daughter on the shelf.

Or a throw pillow with the word DAD sewn onto it, clutched against your chest as he messily ate you out on the leather sectional in his one bedroom apartment.

No, he was just hot. A hot older guy that hit you up on Grindr for the ol' smoke and poke, a quick hit of some blunt and cunt. That’s it. That’s all this was.

He was just a hot older guy, and nothing more.

Not a daddy.

The picture of his daughter was not staring you down while you blew him, much too rigorously for his liking.

“Easy, easy there, easy. Slow down, baby. I don’t wanna cum yet. Just- Just lick my balls for a little bit. Nice and slow, good boy.”

You did as he said, slithering your tongue across and smothering your face in his massive balls, trying and failing to fit even just one in your mouth. You did not want to think about how that girl in the picture frame was once swimming around in them.

And you definitely were not wondering if his daughter’s mother ever ate his ass out like this. With how tense he was, you figured probably not, but he opened up beautifully once you lubed up your fingers. Hell, he even took that buttplug like a champ.

“Oh, Jesus Christ… Ngh…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good… Just gotta… Mmm, just gotta get used to it, sweetness.”

Maybe his ex was kinky. Maybe she’d been the first one to touch his prostate. Or maybe it was his doctor just a couple weeks ago. Maybe it’d been revelation, divine knowledge bestowed to him while bent over on the exam table, and he’d been experimenting ever since, trying to make lightning strike twice.

You were not trying to guess whether he was divorced, a widower, or a cheater. Hopefully not the third, because nothing will kill an orgasm faster than a vengeful spouse and a loaded handgun. But hey, that’s not your problem. Not yet, at least, and hopefully not ever.

Just a hot older guy. Decades of experience, and it showed. He surely knew his way around a pussy, liquid proof dripping from his mustache. He knelt down in front of you once more, hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, and yanked your butt off the edge of the couch.

“Got the poppers, bud? Y’wanna hold ‘em up for me?”

You uncapped and held the small bottle to his nostril and watched him take a five second inhale, then a breath, and another five second inhale.

Fuck, he was hot.

You barely had time to bring the poppers to your own face before his went down. His tongue pressed and flicked, swirled and licked your fattened clit. Two long fingers shoved up your pussy, and one snuck up your ass, all three reaching much deeper than you could do yourself. They pumped in time with his mouth, at first. Steady, deliberate motions intended to open you up for something more. He rose to his feet, bringing your legs up with him, and feverishly pumped his half-hard cock. Brows knit in unwavering focus as he tried to get it all the way up.

“Shit… won’t stay up. Hol’ on. Where’s the damn…?”

He grabbed a rubber ring off the coffee table and slid it onto his cock, tugging his heavy balls through the loop. You watched, entranced, having no frame of reference for what that might feel like. You tried to imagine it on your own cock: a tight pinch, forcing all that blood into it, all that pressure. It sounded heavenly on its own, but to be fair, you had much less dick to fill. The ring seemed to be doing the trick for him, though. He finally got it up, poked it against your cunt, and shoved it in. No time to waste, and no time to adjust before he started coring you out on the couch.

For about three thrusts, and then he fell out.

“Son of a… Fuck it.”

In a fit of sexual frustration, he fell to his knees and plunged his face into your pussy once more. All tact and any shred of restraint he had left was gone. He was an animal, and devoured you as such. He sucked your tiny dick up into his mouth, tugging at it like he was trying to tear it off. The three fingers went back into your holes as if they'd never left, finding your sweet spots in a matter of seconds. He jackhammered them, forcing you to bear a ruthless, brutal onslaught of pleasure. The speed had your entire body shaking, even down to your voice.

"F-F-F-u-u-u-u-u-c-k-k, o-o-h-h-h-h, y-y-y-e-e-e-e-e-s-s-s..."

It sounded like you were moaning into a desk fan, the sobs of ecstasy being intercepted by his hand. His wrist did not falter, not for a moment. Not even when every jab of his fingers got him splashed with cum. Every. Jab. You honestly didn't even know you could physically squirt this much. Hell, you couldn't stop squirting. Not that you'd want to, but still. He just took it on the chin, quite literally, snarling with sadistic satisfaction as he drank it all down. When his thirst was finally quenched, he pulled back, his face glistening with your juices.

"Sorry I couldn't get hard, darlin'. I dunno if it was the poppers or the pot or what... Usually doesn't happen to me."

The fuck? The man sucks your soul out of your body, gives you an industrial-strength orgasm, and the first word out of his mouth is sorry? Your cunt was still buzzing a good 30 seconds after he stopped and he thinks to apologize? Is this guy for real? You shut that shit down right away.

"No, no, no, oh my god, you're... you're fine, don't worry... Shit... That was... You're fucking amazing... Thank you..."

"Aw, pleasure's all mine, sugarplum. You taste fuckin' incredible, y'know. I could-"

*RING*

"Shit, it's my daughter. I gotta take this."

Saying the quiet part out loud, it seems.

#there's no fucking shot the dilf i boinked yesterday has tumblr let alone him finding my shit so i think im good #im good to just straight up plagiarize irl sex #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller #joel miller headcanon #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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vitaminkyeom · 1 month ago

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us, again || j.ww

“MAYBE NEXT TIME, IT WILL BE US, AGAIN”

PAIRING || Wonwoo x Female Reader

GENRES || Angst, Fluff, Strangers To Lovers AU (?), Reverse Chronology

SUMMARY || If crush at first sight was a thing then you were a fine example of it. How you were heads over heels with a man you had just met was beyond you but you all you knew was Jeon Wonwoo had occupied every bit of your mind and heart. But when you and him finally began dating, little did the two of you expect a your relationships to turn out this way.

Or, in which, you and Wonwoo unfortunately have a happily never after ending.

WARNINGS || none

WORD COUNT || 11.3k

A/N || This was so self indulgent that it almost hurt me to write this fic TT. Based on my interaction with the guy I liked it in college and no we did not end up together i really hate you @wonumatics for instigating me to write this but ngl, it was so so easy to write this and was a huge change for the crazy writers block my other fics have been facing :D. The story is written in a different way, sorry if it's too confusing but i just wanted to try out smth new for this.

TAGLIST || @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hrts4hanniehae @mnstxmnbb @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @escoupseu @asasilentreader @isabella29 @mrswonwooo @wonvsmile @nonononranghaee @cheolsboo @hoichi-02 @lanatheawesome @sana-is-ms-rmty @gaslysainz @sea-moon-star @dinossaurz @veriety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @iamawkwardandshy @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @gyuguys [if you want to be added to my taglist, fill in this form!]

30.09.2024

You stood on a familiar path, the autumn leaves decorating the path just like how it had when you and Wonwoo had walked through it years ago.

Cold wind blew against you but you were so numb with emotions that it didn’t even matter. You took out a photo from your pocket; it was the one you and Wonwoo had taken at the amusement park.

You smiled involuntarily at the memories; even though you had been very scared of the rides, Wonwoo made each ride as rideable as he could.

And you were thankful to him for that.

In fact you were thankful to him for many things. Especially loving you back and giving you his time.

But maybe this lifetime wasn’t meant for the both of you.

“Next time.” You muttered, folding the paper and slipping it back to your pocket. “Maybe next time, it will be us, again.”

30.06.2024

It had been six months since Wonwoo moved out and words couldn’t describe how much you missed him. Even though he was always running in your mind, there were certain times when you missed him even more.

Like now.

You were lying in bed all alone, the morning sun being up for hours. But you were too lazy to wake up, missing the warmth your boyfriend used to give you whenever you snuggled to him or the smell of food as he attempted to cook breakfast for you.

Honestly all you were doing was staring at the ceiling, the feeling of missing Wonwoo almost gnawing at your heart as you glanced at the missed call of his on your phone screen.

The first two months had gone really smoothly. You didn’t mind being woken up early or going to bed late just to talk to him and neither did he. But as the days progressed, you found yourself having to prioritise work or other things before him. And so did he.

Slowly, you two began missing each other’s calls, resorting to texts.

You both still texted a lot but it wasn’t like talking to him face to face. You missed seeing his face, hearing his voice and the tears pricked your eyes when you realised just how lonely you were feeling.

Or some days you were just too tired to stay awake and fell asleep.

Exactly what had happened yesterday night. And now the guilt along with the longing to be in his arms and bury your face into the crook of his neck to inhale his scent was eating you up.

You took the phone in your hand, wondering whether or not it was the right time to call him.

What if he was sleeping?

But it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot, right?

Thinking that, you hit the call button and waited for Wonwoo to pick it up. But even after multiple rings he didn’t pick up, and you sighed before throwing the phone beside you on the bed.

He was probably asleep.

You missed him so much. So, so much.

You weren’t sure how long you could go about living like this anymore. You had applied to be shifted to the same country as Wonwoo and you were still waiting for the approval.

But the wait was eating you up.

When was the last time the two of you talked? You couldn’t even remember.

What had gone wrong in the relationship? You weren’t sure. The two of you had promised each other that you won’t be like how you had begun to be whilst living together; missing dates, missing out on talking to each other etc but now it was worse. He was on a whole different continent and you had no way of reaching him even if you wanted to.

You thought of all the time the two of you argued, wondering why you even did that in the first place. Instead the two of you could have made better memories which you could have looked back at now.

And the more you thought of it, the more you realised that most of the arguments were started by you.

But all because you felt like a burden to him.

It was always you who had to do everything first. You were the first one to reach out to him, The first one to confess. The first one to kiss. The first one to always compliment him. And while you loved his introvertedness you realised with a jolt how that made you exhausted sometimes, being an introvert yourself.

Yet for him you always went out of the way. Trying your best to impress him and shower him with love even in ways you were never that comfortable in.

Shut up!

Why were you having such negative thoughts? Wonwoo loved you. And he always made sure you knew it. So why were you questioning it now?

But no matter how much you tried to shrug off the feeling, you couldn’t stop the pain blossoming in your heart.

Were you both really not meant for each other?

Was that why things had started going down during college itself?

Maybe everyone was right. Wonwoo and you were never meant to be with each other. The two of you might have loved each other, but you just weren’t meant for each other.

No, no, no! Stop these thoughts right now!

You thought of when Wonwoo had come back home three months agp, staying back for fifteen days to visit you, his family and friends.

Back then you had promised him that you would go out with him every single day to make up for all the time you had lost. Had promised the love of your life to give him every second you could.

But you couldn’t.

Right at that time an important project had popped up, nearly rendering you sleepless and breathless. You barely went back home, let alone get time to spend with him.

And before you knew it, it was time for him to leave. You cried so much on the day he left but no amount of tears would bring back the time you had lost and not managed to give him.

Maybe you both weren’t compatible.

Maybe this was your fate. To fall in love with someone who was never meant to be yours in the first place. Someone who deserved better.

Pushing yourself up from your bed, you sighed, making up your mind.

You just couldn’t live like this. Not anymore.

And you were going to put an end to it.

20.12.2023

“Hey,” You greeted him with a smile as you opened the door, taking in his tired appearance. “Long day?”

“Yeah.” He muttered, stepping into the house. You reached forward to help him shrug off his coat but instead, he pulled you into a hug.

You found yourself immediately melting into his warmth that encased you, hugging him back equally tight. “What’s wrong?” You asked, gently patting his back.

“What, I can’t hug my girlfriend?” He muttered into your hair, and you found yourself giggling at his actions. “Yeah, you totally can. Lean into me as much as you want, baby.”

After what felt like an eternity Wonwoo pulled away, finally grinning at you. “That felt great.”

You smiled back at him. “Good. Then how about you freshen up while I set up the table? I’m done making dinner.”

“No.” He whispered, suddenly sounding urgent. “We, uh, we need to- we need to talk.”

You look at him, confused as to why he was acting so serious. “About what? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“I- uh, I-” He stammered. Then lowering his head so that it was resting on your shoulders, he murmured. “I’m getting transferred.”

“What?” You asked, not sure if you heard him correctly. “What was that Woo?”

“I’m being transferred. Abroad.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, letting his words sink into you.

Transferred abroad.

Slowly, you pulled him away from you so that you could see his face. Wonwoo averted his eyes down and his grip on you tightened.

“You’re…what?” There was no way this was happening right? There was no way Wonwoo was moving away. A hollow sensation filled the pit of your stomach. How were you going to live without being able to be with him everyday?

“Moving abroad. It’s- it’s a better pay and I thought-”

“Wonwoo.” You said, smiling at him as you took his hands in yours. “Do you want to?”

“What?” He asked, sounding confused now. “Do you want to go abroad?” You repeated your question.

“Yeah, I-” He looked down at your intertwined hands. “I do.” He murmured, barely audible. “I do. It’s a great opportunity. But I don’t want to leave you. I can’t imagine-” he sucked in a breath before continuing, “-living without you.”

“Neither can I.” You muttered. “But, if you’re happy, then I’m happy. If moving out is what you want to do, I will wholeheartedly support you. Even if it makes me sad, it will make me sadder knowing I held you back.”

“So… you aren’t upset at all?” He asked. You smiled at him as sweetly as you could, feeling it wobble a little. “Nope.” You choked a bit. “I won’t miss you at all .”

Wonwoo chuckled, before sniffling and to your shock you saw a tear glide down his cheeks. “I love you so much. I’ll miss you so much.”

“Oh Woo.” You sobbed, you too crying as you gently rubbed away the tears from his cheeks with your thumb. Laughing a little as another sob escaped you, you pulled him into a hug.

Your hands dug into his back as you cried, letting the tears fall now. He too clutched you tightly, as though you might disappear if you let you go even a bit.

“Do you think we can do it?” He sniffled, to which you nodded.

“I know we’ve talked about how slowly everything is starting to feel like a chore now, and it’s no more like it used to be in college but I promise you, I’ll keep in touch. I’ll never ever let you go.” You whispered into his shoulder.

“Me too, love. Me too. I promise too.” He said. “I cannot even imagine breathing without you.”

“At least we won’t have missed birthdays or dates.” You joked, still crying. You felt Wonwoo chuckle, his chest rumbling. “Yeah. I’ll call you to greet you good morning and good night no matter the time or day and I expect you to do the same.”

“Right.” You sighed into his chest. “Should we start making a list right now?”

17.08.2023

Ding!

You jumped awake at the sound of the notification, searching for your phone in a daze.

9.30 pm.

Groaning, you stretched your hand over your head, trying to get the tiredness out of your system. Looking around with a sigh, you wondered why no one had bothered waking you up. Even though the office was sparsely populated at this time, you had thought some of your friends would have woken you up if they caught you falling asleep.

Unless they all had left before…

The last week had been an extremely busy week, with a new project coming up and Wonwoo’s surprise birthday party planning-

Oh no. Oh no.

Hurriedly, you grabbed back your phone, switching it on to check the date and time again. It couldn’t be today, could it-

You were greeted with at least twenty missed calls from your common friends, Mingyu and Wonwoo.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You muttered, quickly searching up Mingyu’s contact and hitting the call button.

After two rings, he picked it up.

“Hey, Y/N.” He said, sounding mildly annoyed. And Mingyu rarely got annoyed.

“Oh god, Gyu! I’m so, so sorry! I was so exhausted I fel asleep and completely lost track of time-”

“Well, you could have set an alarm since you knew today was an important day.”

“I know, I know.” You said, already packing your things up as quickly as you could. “It’s totally my fault. Where are you guys? It will take my just fifteen minutes to reach home if I run and then you can bring Wonwoo over-”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He cut you off. “We went to a bar instead and celebrated, but he wanted to leave early. He’s at Seungcheol’s now and he said would come over to the apartment once he was okay.”

You had been running out of the building by then but you stopped, pausing to swallow at what Mingyu had just told you. “Oh god, so he- so he doesn’t want to see me? I- I should call him and apologise-”

“Oh, he told me to tell you that you shouldn’t call him or text him for a while, not until he’s over this.”

You felt your knees buckle as you covered your face with your free hand to stop the tears from falling out. You felt so torn. And so heartbroken.

You had planned all day and night for this party. You wanted it to be special for him. Wanted it to be something that he would remember for a very long time.

But now even though he would remember it for a very long time, it would be for the wrong reasons.

“Listen Y/N. It’s okay. Work happens and I know it's terrible forgetting someone’s birthday and being forgotten on your birthday but I’m pretty sure you both will be able to work it out.” Mingyu said.

“Yeah.” You sniffled, feeling like the world had just come crashing down. “I’ll let him call me.”

You heard Mingyu cut the call and stayed in the same position for some time, trying to control your emotions. You had been feeling so overwhelmed this week but you had really wanted to give Wonwoo the best birthday party you could.

But all your efforts had gone down the drain and also your boyfriend was mad at you.

You couldn’t imagine how Wonwoo felt and that made it worse.

This wasn’t the first time either of you were forgetting a date. Ever since the two of you started working it was like all the free time of your life had been sucked out. Which was why you both had decided to move together in the first place. So that even if it wasn’t possible to go on dates you would at least see each other and be close to one another.

But forgetting his special day was… on a whole different level.

The first rain drop hit your head at the same time you finally shed a tear, unable to hold back anymore. You sobbed heavily as it started raining, feeling the rain wash away your tears even before you felt them.

With a jolt you realised you had left your umbrella back in the office in a hurry to leave, and by that time it was too late. You were already drenched as you got up slowly, feeling the rain hit every bit of your wet skin now.

Sighing once more, you slowly trudged towards your apartment. You remembered how Wonwoo always used to pick you up whenever it rained whether or not you had an umbrella.

Maybe you deserved the rain.

13.06.2022

“I could get used to this.” Wonwoo muttered, before edging closer to you to peep into your answer. Flushing in the face, you hastily closed the book shut before shooting your boyfriend a glare.

“What?” He asked, sounding hurt.

“Don’t- don’t look at my answers!” You said, looking down in embarrassment. “They’re all wrong probably.”

The truth was, you were terrible at gas propulsion and had asked Wonwoo to do a group study in hopes that you would be able to understand something from him at least. And so far you hadn’t even asked him to show you how to solve even one problem, feeling embarrassed that he would think you’re an idiot if you did.

Which was funny because it was almost three years that the two of you had been dating and yet you still felt embarrassed and shy around him. (You were not sure at this point if it was a good thing or a bad thing.)

“As if. You’re not that bad.” Wonwoo huffed, gently reaching out to grab the book from your hand.

“That’s right. I’m terrible.” You muttered, accepting defeat and letting him open your book. Wonwoo didn’t say anything as he stared at your almost empty page and you were sure he was snickering inside.

Instead, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were not getting these sums?”

“I, uh.” You looked down, feeling your cheeks heat up. Suddenly you felt his finger grip your chin and angle your head up, so that you were forced to look at him. “Look at me, baby.”

You felt your cheeks flush even more.

“Yeah, uh yeah. Sorry.” You muttered, unable to tear away your eyes from his intense yet soft ones. “I, uh, didn’t want to bother you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m always here to help.” He said, before leaning in to press his lips against yours. Your mouth automatically parted as his breath hit yours, feeling soft lips encase yours.

“I just don’t want to look stupid in front of you.” You muttered, your lips brushing against his. “Don’t want to burden you.”

“First of all, you’re not stupid. Just because you don’t get a subject doesn’t mean you are stupid. Second of all, you are not a burden to me. You never were and you never will be. So don’t you dare think that again” Wonwoo said, frowning at you.

You leaned back to look at your boyfriend who was still looking at you slightly angrily, as though you had just insulted him. You felt a smile tug at the corner of your lip.

“I love you so much Wonwoo.” You whispered, taking his hand in yours. Wonwoo’s cheeks turned a dusty pink as he smiled back at you, placing another peck on your lips.

“I love you so much, too. Now come here while I explain these sums to you.” He said, sitting at the spot on the sofa right next to him.

“By the way.” You said, crawling over to him. He wrapped an arm around your back so that the two of you were cuddling, and he placed the book on your lap. “What did you mean by ‘I could get used to this’”?

“Oh I just meant that I could get used to coming over and studying with you.”

“Aren’t you romantic?” You joked, scrunching up your nose in fake disgust. “Are these study sessions replacements of our dates?”

“Hey at least we’re together and I’m not ditching you like the shitty boyfriend I was.”

“You weren’t shitty-” You began before he cut you off.

“No, I was. I could have at least informed you. You were always so understanding if I cancelled it even at the last minute even though you always kept your promises. So I’m determined to make changes now.”

“Wow.” You said, placing a kiss on his cheeks as you melted at his touch even more. He was always so warm and comforting and that always calmed you down. “I’m really beginning to enjoy my final year of college.”

“I have loved college since the very first day when I laid my eyes on you.”

Your cheeks heated up more quickly than you had wanted it to and you smacked him on the face lightly.

Which he dodged by turning his face at the last minute, kissing your fingers instead.

“Woo!”

“But seriously.” He continued, his voice dropping lower as a serious look masked his face. “I liked you so much but I never knew how to tell you that so I was over the moon when you confessed to me.”

“And I was so sure you would not like me back ever that I was jealous of you and Sohye when I first saw her.”

“Awww.” He cooed, causing you to glare at him. “My baby was jealous?”

“Not that jealous. Don’t get yourself too ahead Mr. Handsome.”

“And wow! You think I’m handsome too?”

You laughed at his antics, wondering for the millionth time how you were so lucky to end up with him.

“It’s okay baby, I think you’re pretty too.”

18.09.2021

“I waited for an hour!” You snapped at the phone, before inhaling sharply to calm yourself down. You did not want to get mad at Wonwoo but this time, he had taken things too far.

“It’s the third date in a row!” You hissed into the phone as you kicked the door of your shared apartment open, striding in angrily after throwing your shoes towards the shoe rack. “Do you not respect my time?”

“Baby.” You heard Wonwoo inhale too, as though trying not to raise his voice at you. As calm as Wonwoo always was, you always knew when he was angry. And with how dangerously low his voice had dipped right now, you could tell he was fuming at you too. “Try to understand. I’m not doing this on purpose-”

“But you’re not the only one with an internship, Jeon Wonwoo!” You interrupted him, finally losing it all. “I’m doing my internship and managing my outings too. I always put away my time for you Wonwoo. When you ask to go on a date, I always manage to squeeze time.”

“First of all, I rarely ask to go on a date because I know you’re busy. Second of all… well I’m sorry my internship is not as flexible as yours but do you really not care about my internship-”

“You could have called and told me!” You screamed, throwing the phone on to the bed before crashing into it, tired. tears pricked your eyes. “You could have told me Wonwoo. I wouldn’t have been mad. I would have understood. Instead you made me sit there like a fool and all because you completely forgot about me.”

“Baby?” Wonwoo sounded panicked. “Are you- are you crying?”

“No.” You sniffled, aggressively rubbing away your tears. “I’m not.”

“Shit, sorry baby.” Wonwoo said. “I'm so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you at all. It’s just that this stupid internship just randomly throws in dates to do the work.

“I know.” You muttered, letting the tears fall smoothly now. You felt so hurt. You were mad at him for not even telling you that he wouldn’t be able to make it. The both of you were barely able to meet up with each other even though it was summer break and you had begun to miss him more than you had expected.

But what hurt more was that Wonwoo never informed you if he was not able to make it to the date, and you felt like a burden to him. Like he was only agreeing to them in the first place because you asked to go on dates.

“My work gets over at 3 pm today.” Wonwoo said softly. You kept quiet, silently asking him to go on as you had no idea what he was trying to suggest. “So if you want I could get some takeout and drop by your apartment by four to watch a movie. How does that sound?”

You sucked in a breath harshly. “Really?” You asked, sounding a bit sceptical. “You mean it?”

“We could rewatch frozen if you want to?”

“Really?” This time you exclaimed, almost jumping out of the bed in happiness. You felt yourself fall in love with Wonwoo all over again at his efforts to make up for the failed dates.

“Yeah baby. I promise I’ll be there.” He said.

“Well, you even promised that you would come today-”

“Hush. No, I won't repeat that ever again. I’ll never make a promise that I can’t keep from now on. Ever.”

“Promise?” You giggled, already stepping into the shower freshen up.

“Promise.” He said.

23.11.2020

“So your parents aren’t home?” Wonwoo asked as you carefully balanced the bowl of popcorn in one hand and nachos in the other, eyebrows scrunched in confusion before placing them on the tea table in front of him. Then, sitting down beside him on the sofa you nodded to his question. “Correct. So no funny business, okay? They lectured me for an hour about trust and responsibility before leaving.”

“No funny business, huh?” He muttered, eyes flicking over you lazily, causing your cheeks to heat up like it did every time he did that. He tilted his head and smirked at you, before suddenly grabbing you by your waist and jerking you towards him. You let out a yelp as your back hit his chest but before you could wiggle out of this position, he tightened his grip on you.

“I wonder what funny business they could be talking about. “ He whispered, thumb gently rubbing small circles over your stomach, the thin fabric of your t-shirt letting his warmth seep into your skin.

“You know what they mean.” You muttered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you stared at his arm wrapped around your body. You always loved his arms for some reason. Loved the way his muscles flexed every time he cuddled a kitten, loved the way his veins slightly popped out when he held your hands in his.

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly know what they mean, right?”

“Wonwoo.” You groaned, leaning back a little so that your head was resting against his shoulder. He chuckled in response, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Sorry it’s just…you’re so adorable when you’re so flustered.”

“Says you when you were the one who looked scandalous after Mingyu kissed his girlfriend.”

“That’s because he is only allowed to kiss me.”

You turned back to give him a dry look, but all you got from him was a laugh (much to your delight though).

“I hate you so much.” You said before looking away, still leaning back so you were sitting comfortably against his chest.

“And I love you so much.” He muttered, his deep voice rumbling behind you. A second passed before his words finally settled in, causing the two of you to freeze. You tensed up in his arms and felt him too still behind you.

I love you so much.

Love. He loved you.

And it was like Wonwoo’s words had broken down the dam in your heart because as the river came down crashing, you felt a surge of emotions flow through you, hitting you with a realisation.

You were in love.

You were in love with Jeon Wonwoo.

Slowly, you turned back to look at him, blinking at him a little as he too stared back at you with a shocked expression.

“I’m- I’m-” He stammered, unable to meet your eyes anymore. You could hear your heart hammering in your ears as you asked softly. “Wonwoo? Did you mean that?”

Slowly, he looked back up at your face, cheeks flushed before giving you a small nod. “Yeah.” he muttered. “I love you.”

You felt your mouth fall open slightly, as you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh, Woo.” You whispered, gently cupping his face. “I love you too. I love you so much.”

Wonwoo blinked at you for a few seconds before breaking into a shy smile. You too felt your cheeks heat up again, before looking away, unable to maintain eye contact anymore. Your hand slipped off his cheek onto your lap but he immediately reached out to grab it in his, bringing it closer to him so that it was resting on his lap.

Silence engulfed the two of you like many other times and like all them, it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could still feel your heart hammering loudly at your chest as you tried not squeezing Wonwoo’s hand too tightly out of the little sparks of excitement you were feeling.

After some time, you heard Wonwoo speak. “Well…that was sudden.”

“Yeah.” You giggled, unable to contain yourself anymore. “You would think we just started dating. Who would think it's been almost a year?”

“It doesn’t feel like a year. And I love the fact I still get butterflies in my stomach when I look at you or even think of you.” He whispered.

You wondered if couples who were ‘comfortable’ with each other still felt this shy still but you pushed away that thought from your head. People still felt butterflies years into their marriage right? Which meant they were still nervous even after all these years.

“Me too.” You whispered back, before snuggling into his body. Wonwoo immediately wrapped his arms around you and you melted into his touch, finally turning your concentration back to the movie.

03.05.2020

“Should we leave?” Wonwoo asked, sliding his fingers into yours as he came and sat down on the empty chair beside you. You tore your attention away from what you were talking with Sohye and her small group of friends towards your new boyfriend.

The party was still going on but as soon as your eyes landed on him everything, including the dazzling lights seemed to dim away despite having spent the majority of the evening with him.

His eyes seemed to be shining behind the glasses as his lips curled into those soft smiles that always had your heart racing at a thousand kilometres per hour. You stared back at him as his lips moved slowly, nearly melting in his beautiful brown eyes, your heart squeezing painfully.

“Earth to Y/N?” Sohye’s voice brought you back to the present, causing you to jerk as you looked at her in surprise just as she let out a laugh. You looked around the group in embarrassment as the other girls too giggled, trying to figure out what they were talking about.

“Oh god Sohye.” Dahyeon giggled, “Why did you stop the love birds?”

“Shut up.” You muttered, breaking eye contact to glare at the girls. You heard Wonwoo chuckle beside you, causing your cheeks to heat up more as you felt his voice rumble in your chest too.

“We’ll be bidding our goodbyes then.” The chair beside you scraped as Wonwoo got up, causing you to look up at him. He extended his hand to you and you lightly placed your hand over it, not expecting him to grip it tightly and pull you up. You managed to mask your look of surprise with a sudden laughter, waving goodbyes to everyone as you allowed Wonwoo to pull you through the crowd.

Even though it was hot at the party, especially with your heavy makeup and large earrings that you chose to wear, you could still feel the heat of Wonwoo’s palms searing through your skin. You were very conscious of his soft skin against yours, but you decided to ignore it for now as you stumbled through the crowd and finally made your way out.

The cold wind hit you almost immediately and you found yourself gasping in relief, not realising just how suffocating the house had been. It wasn’t like you weren’t enjoying yourself, but too much social interaction had drained out your battery completely.

“Are you okay?” You heard Wonwoo ask and you nodded, unable to meet his eyes for some reason. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You muttered, turning to face him but looked over his shoulder instead.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your wrist that caused you to finally look at him. “Look at me.”

“I am.” You squeaked, and then cleared your throat and spoke normally again, “I am.”

Wonwoo smiled softly at you, causing your knees to go wobbly again. “Now you are. What’s wrong? Did Sohye make you feel uncomfortable? Did one of the girls say something-

“What? Oh no, Woo!” You cut him off in surprise. “No no no. Sohye was amazing! And so were the other girls.”

You hadn’t realised how tense Wonwoo was until right now, as he relaxed his shoulders and let out a breath.

“Thank god. I was worried for a second. Then what’s bothering you?”

You bit your lips, unsure how to go about it. “Well, I kind of hoped- kind of thought we would get to hang out with each other more. It’s the first time we saw each other face to face after I… after we confessed. So yeah, I had hoped to spend more time with you.

“Oh.” Wonwoo looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise- I didn’t think- Oh shit I’m so sorry. I was excited to see you but I thought you wouldn’t want to see me or would want to hang out with the girls.”

You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Why would I not want to see you?”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to meet your eyes now. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.

“It's okay.” You said, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t want to make things awkward at the very beginning of your relationship itself so you decided to let the topic go instead. Besides, Wonwoo was on the quieter side. Maybe he didn’t know how to communicate it with you.

Just as you were about to step out of your house the first droplet of water hit your shoes, and Wonwoo immediately pulled you back into the veranda where the two of you had been standing. Within two seconds it started pouring, getting you both stuck there.

“Do you want to go in?” You asked Wonwoo, wondering if you both should take shelter back in the house. The rain wasn’t falling on either of you but you wondered if he would rather use this time to talk to his friends than you.

“Are you cold?”

“Um, no.”

“Then I’m okay here. I didn’t spend time with my beautiful girlfriend and now she’s rightfully upset with me.”

Heat rushed up your cheek and you playfully hit his shoulder. “Don’t- don’t throw around that word just like that!”

He grinned at you, stepping closer so that you could feel his body heat radiate off his skin and causing goosebumps to form on your arms due to the cold. “What words?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes at him. “You’ll be the end of me Jeon Wonwoo. Please don’t make me flustered.”

“Aw, but you look so cute doing that!” He pointed out, his words making your stomach jump again. You glared at him.

“You did it again!”

“I’ll do it a thousand times more if it means getting to see you this way.”

You turned her head away from him so that he couldn’t see you flushing like that when you felt his knuckles brush against yours. You took this opportunity to wrap your hand around his. His palms were still warm and comforting and it made you realise just how cold you were because of the rain.

He gave your hand a squeeze which caused you to look at him again. Wonwoo smiled at you, turning his head a little to the side as he gazed at you softly.

“Hi.” He whispered.

“Hi.” You giggled back.

“You look beautiful today. Did I tell you that before?”

“Only seven times before right now.” You laughed.

“Right. That’s because you look gorgeous everyday-”

You were not sure from where the sudden urge or courage came, but hearing him compliment you for the millionth time that day broke something in you and you found yourself leaning up to smash your lips against his. As soon as his lips touched yours you felt sparks go off in your heart, causing you to close your eyes shut and enjoy the tingling sensation you felt all over your body.

But two seconds later, you realised what you were doing and with a gasp you jerked back.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

Your sentence was cut off as Wonwoo captured your mouth in his, enveloping your lips in warmth. Your eyes fluttered close when you felt an arm go around your waist and you clutched his shoulder to steady yourself.

Your stomach kept somersaulting every time Wonwoo moved against your lips, every single second feeling electrifying. Slowly, you cupped his warm cheeks with your hands, kissing him back with everything you had.

Because you felt like you were in heaven. His searing mouth on yours felt like heaven. Every bit of skin his other hand touched left a shock at its wake and you felt like you were going to combust there and there.

After what felt like an eternity and you were nearly out of breath, you broke apart, gasping for breath. Your cheeks were on fire and you could still feel his breath on your lashes, making you unable to look at him.

“Y/N.” Wonwoo whispered, his voice sounding a bit hoarse.

Slowly, you looked up to meet his eyes. Your knees nearly went weak and you were glad he was holding on to you as soon as your eyes met his soft, dark ones. They were filled with so much emotion that you felt your heart would burst.

He leaned in until your foreheads were touching, and you felt yourself smile at the gesture.

“Hi.” He whispered, his lips brushing against yours slightly.

“Hi.” You whispered back.

27.07.2019

“I ordered your favourite cake.”

Wonwoo greeted you with a smile as you practically ran into the cafe, breathing very hard as you tried to catch your breath. You smiled back weakly at him before sitting down on the chair opposite to him, fanning yourself lightly, praying that you weren’t sweating too badly.

“Thank you.” You whispered in between breaths and he just smiled more widely at you, the familiar spark shooting up your stomach. “I’m so, so sorry that I’m late. I completely miscalculated how much time it would take me to reach here and the traffic was so bad that-”

“Hey.” He whispered, reaching forward to hold your hand in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze that shut you up completely, looking down at both of your intertwined hands. “Don’t stress about it. I just saw that your favourite flavour was there but it looked like a lot of people were buying it so I wanted to get it before it went out of stock. I’m not upset that you are late. Traffic can be really stressful.”

You stared at him for a second, heart swelling at his sweet gesture before you remembered to respond. “Still, thanks a lot. I just feel bad because I asked us to meet here and then I was super late.”

“Well, in that case.” Wonwoo leaned back and folded his arms, his muscles flexing underneath the cardigan he had worn, easily showing how well built he was. Oh to have those arms wrapped around you- Not now Y/N! “You can let me treat you this time.”

“What? No way! I invited you over!” You complained, getting up to pick you both of your orders before he could. Wonwoo laughed at the way you darted towards the counter with your phone already in your hand, as though afraid that he might pay instead. The sound of his laughter was so endearing that you felt your cheeks heat up, glad that your back was facing him now.

His laughter. You loved hearing him laugh. You loved being able to make him laugh. And you wanted to be one of the reasons he smiled and laughed.

“Here.” You said, placing his cake and drink in front of him before sitting back on your seat, sipping on your drink nervously as you mulled the question you’ve been dying to ask in your head.

“What's wrong?” Wonwoo asked and you said, “Nothing.” a bit too quickly.

“Hmmm. What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything right?” He said, reaching out for your hand once again. The look of concern on his face was enough to melt you into a puddle but for the sake of your dignity, you held on, pretending that him rubbing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb was not doing things to you.

“Yeah. I know.” But how can I talk to you about you?

“It’s just that…” You began, trying to rephrase the question that was the main reason you had asked to see him. “I wanted to ask- I wanted to know if you- if you want to go out with-”

“Wonwoo?” A voice cut you off from behind and you turned to see who it was, eyes meeting with a girl of your age beaming at the two of you- no, at him, brightly.

You blinked in surprise as you felt the small courage you had managed to build to ask him out break, turning back to look at Wonwoo as his smile widened as recognition dawned on his face.

“Sohye?” Wonwoo asked, standing up to greet her. You too stood up and that’s when she finally noticed you, smiling at you equally gracefully. As you beamed back at her, you felt something move lightly against your lips and with horror you realised you had some cream stuck on to it.

“Hi.” Sohye greeted you sweetly, as you waved a hi at her, the napkins that you had hurriedly grabbed still in your hand. “I’m Sohye.”

“She’s my neighbour.” Wonwoo explained, still smiling sweetly at her.

Had he ever smiled at you like that?

You winced at your own thoughts when you realised how pathetic you sounded, letting the green eyed monster take control of your thoughts.

“And this is Y/N.” Wonwoo said, pointing at you.

“Ah, so you’re the Y/N?” She asked, eyes widening in amusement as she looked between you and Wonwoo. You laughed at her statement politely, unsure about what she was talking about. What was that supposed to mean? Maybe you shouldn’t have read too much into your friendship and assumed that he might like you in a more than a friend way. Maybe you-

Your eyes fell onto the tote bag she was carrying and you felt your stomach drop.

Oh.

They were in the same technical club. So she wasn’t just his neighbour, then? This meant that they were really, really close friends. And you knew how hard it was to get into that club so she must have been really brilliant.

So Sohye was Wonwoo’s pretty and smart neighbour, friend and now even possibly his love interest? Because the way he was looking at her with those soft, smiley eyes, there was no way he saw her as a friend only.

There was no way you stood a chance.

What were you even thinking? There was no way you ever stood with someone like Wonwoo. Someone as sweet, as nice, as funny (in his own ways, though Seungkwan would disagree), as handsome, as beautiful, as caring and as kind as him.

“He talks about you all the time.” She added, nudging his chest lightly and your ears perked up. What?

“Hey! You promised!” He gasped, crossing his arms over his chest in faux betrayal.

Sohye rolled her eyes at him. “Promised what?”

“You know…” He began, before locking eyes with her. The two of them seemed to silently converse about something before she shrugged, patting him gently as though she understood what he was implying at.

Great, now you were feeling like a complete idiot. Apparently he talked about you but one could talk various things about someone all the time, including their bad qualities. So what was it that Wonwoo talked about you to Sohye all the time?

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. I need to leave now but don’t forget about this Saturday’s party Wonwoo.” At this, he let out a groan and flopped onto his seat, earning a giggle from you because you had never seen him this fed up about something. You saw the corner of his lips quirk up as his eyes flicked to yours, causing your cheeks to flush up like they usually did whenever he looked at you like that. Then turning to you, she winked, before adding. “Oh, you’re invited too. Just that you need to have a date. So make sure you ask someone out, okay? Sometimes, men are just so dense that you need to be the one who…ah, takes the initiative for everything.”

You blinked at her, trying to process what she had just said. Did she mean Wonwoo. No way right? But then-

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Wonwoo asked as he watched Sohye walk out of the door before turning to look back at you. She gave you a thumbs up and everything sunk in finally. “She’s really-”

“Do you want to go out with me?” You blurted out, with a sudden surge of confidence given by Sohye, and unable to contain the question anymore. Wonwoo froze, staring at you with his mouth open, not even blinking as though he was completely dumbfounded by your question.

Immediately you felt dread fill the pit of your stomach as you almost heard your heart shatter, an ugly, nauseating pain beginning to clutch your throat and chest. Wonwoo blinked at you, opened his mouth once and closed it, and you felt tears stinging at the corner of your eyes.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay! Don’t just cry, okay?

Your nails dug into your skin, leaving crescent moons on it as you gave him a weak smile, trying your very best not to burst into tears because of how dejected and hurt you felt right now. Why did you listen to Sohye, a complete stranger?

“Ignore me.” You said, your voice coming out more choked than you had expected it to. You could actually feel yourself choking, the pain almost unbearable and you quickly reached forward to swallow down your drink in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“Wait!” Wonwoo yelped, jerking forward to grab your hand so suddenly that you almost flinched back in surprise. You looked at him in bewilderment, and he stared back at you, as though equally surprised by his actions.

Both of your eyes flicked to your hands, and then back to each other, before Wonwoo looked away first, his cheeks completely flushed. “Careful.” He muttered, gently taking the mug out of your hand. “It’s hot. You’ll burn yourself if you drink it.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say. He still wasn’t meeting your eyes and you could feel the urge to cry slowly ebbing away. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you said, “Uhm, I’m sorry. The question must have thrown you-”

“I would love to go out with you.”

This time, you froze, blinking at Wonwoo, who was finally looking at you, trying to process what he had just said.

“What?” You asked, and he flushed even more, looking away once again. But this time, he turned to face you almost immediately, a look of determination on his face. “Yeah. I’ll go out with you.”

You felt the tears sting your eyes once again but Wonwoo was faster this time. He practically jumped out of his seat and dragged his chair right next to yours, gently grasping both of your hands in his.

“Don’t cry, Y/N. It really hurts me when you cry. Especially if it’s because of me.” He whispered softly, causing you to break down more instead.

“I’m not- I’m actually- Oh my god.” Was all you could say before he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as you almost melted into his touch. You buried your face into the crook of his neck and tried to control your sniffling, clutching his sweater with both of your hands as though he might disappear if you let go.

“I won’t let you go.” He whispered, gently rubbing circles on your back. “I promise.”

14.03.3019

“I really like autumn, you know.” Wonwoo muttered and you looked up, feeling your breath being taken away for the millionth time that day. The cold wind blowing had ruffled his hair slightly but he looked really cute as he stared at the orange foliage overhead, with a small smile on his face.

“Is that so?” You asked, and he turned back to look at you, giving you a small nod. Smirking at him, you asked again, “Why? Is it because it’s cold and you can have an excuse to stay inside and play games the whole day?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened, chuckling lightly at your joke. “Maybe?”

You rolled your eyes at him before giving him a light push. “You could have answered it with something more productive like finishing your assignments, you know.”

“Yeah, or like texting you.”

The statement caught you so off guard that you nearly tripped on your own feet, and to make the situation worse, Wonwoo grabbed your arm to stop you from stumbling.

“Hey, be careful.” He said, slight concern lacing his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You muttered, unable to meet his eyes as you cursed yourself for being clumsy enough to trip on your own feet. You could feel your cheeks burning from his gaze and you wondered for a second why you were still so awkward and shy around him, despite being friends with him for almost three months.

If you could call your relationship with him as friends, that is.

You had hoped that your crush on him would go away after hanging out with him for a while (he had to have a flaw in him, right?) but if anything it grew more and more with passing time. Wonwoo made it worse by his completely sweet demeanour and mannerism towards you, reducing you to shambles each and every time. No matter how much you tried to compress the fluttering of your heart or the flushing of your cheeks, Wonwoo had to ruin everything by doing something that completely floored you always.

And that was the worst part of it. You had never thought you would like someone as quiet as him, always having liked outgoing guys with good humour. But there was something about Wonwoo’s introvertedness that was really comforting to you. It wasn’t like he always sat silent when next to you, it was just that he knew exactly what to say and when. He was a great listener and always listened to you with such rapt attention that sometimes it even surprised you.

It made you feel…important. Wanted. Loved.

Though most of the time it was you who had to initiate the conversation, you didn’t mind because Wonwoo would always continue with it, never leaving you hanging or ignoring it.

“Hey.” You heard Wonwoo call you softly, and you finally looked up at him. He took a step close so that your shoulders were brushing, feeling his body warmth seep into you through your touching arms. You felt an urge to throw yourself into his arms but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. “Are you actually okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t say that.” Wonwoo was frowning at you, and you panicked, wondering if you had said the wrong thing. “How can I not worry about you? You’re so clumsy. Seriously, what would you do without me?”

Gulping slowly to calm down your racing heart, you felt your cheeks automatically pull into a smile. “Fall onto my face and embarrass myself?”

Wonwoo snorted at your sentence, wrapping an arm around your waist as he began walking again. “Not a chance under my watch. You aren’t Mingyu.”

“Poor Gyu.” You whispered, looking down so he wouldn’t see how much your eyes were gleaming.

“Poor me, you mean. I’ve given up trying to save his ass every time he trips.”

You laughed as he went on complaining about his best friend, and all the embarrassment that you had been feeling from before was gone as you relaxed into his touch. You loved being with Wonwoo. You really loved spending time with him. Even though there were still traces of awkwardness between the two of you (from your side more than his), you hoped that one day all of that would be gone and he would see you the same way you looked at him.

And then one day, you would finally ask him out. One day.

05.12.2018

The second time you met Wonwoo, or rather were with Wonwoo, was during a break period, when all your classmates had left the classroom for various purposes but you had decided to stay back and study.

At first, you didn’t realise he was there too because you thought everyone had left. When you turned back to pull out a notebook from your bag, both of your eyes met from across the classroom and you found yourself immediately turning away, wincing a second later at your action.

Slowly, you turned back and to your relief, he was still looking at you. Trying to not look as flustered as you felt, you gave him a small wave, the quiet whisper of a ‘hi’ almost dying in your throat.

Wonwoo smiled back at you and waved back, before getting up and walking towards your table.

Oh no. Oh no. Act normal. Act normal.

“Hey.” He said, his deep voice causing your stomach to drop a little. “Uh, did you do the maths homework? The one he gave in the last class?”

“Uhm, maths? You mean, uh, this one?” You asked, pointing at the half done sum in front of you. Crap, what if he wants my help? Why didn’t I do this before at home? Why didn't I think of studying this part beforehand?

“Oh, even you didn’t get it?” He asked, sitting himself down beside you. You could get a hint of his cologne and you swallowed hard, hoping your cheeks weren’t as flushed as you thought it was. “Do you want to solve it together? I think we can get it if we try together.”

“Yeah sure!” You said, a bit too enthusiastically. “I mean, yeah, of course. Let’s do it together.”

The two of you then began to work on the problem, but to your disappointment, you both barely talked. You were able to solve the problem on your own within the second try, and so was Wonwoo because so far the only other thing he had said was “You got it? So did I.”

The classroom once again lapped into silence and you could feel your nerves becoming jittery, because you wanted to say something to him, wanted to strike a conversation with him but you just couldn’t. What if what you said sounded so dumb that he decided not to talk to you ever again?

Also Wonwoo looked like he had no problem with the quiet atmosphere, though you were feeling more and more awkward with each passing second, once again hyper aware of your actions as you sat next to him.

“So, uh,” You began after clearing your throat, so that you wouldn’t startle him. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Wonwoo looked up at you from his notebook, blinking at you as though trying to process your question a bit. How does one look this cute just by blinking?

“Yeah, I like gaming.” He said, smiling at you. If he kept smiling at you like that any longer, you were sure you would have difficulty meeting his eyes next.

“Gaming? That’s cool.” You said with a bigger smile. Internally though, you were screaming. You had next to no idea about gaming, what games were played on laptops or even the types of games out there. So you said the most intelligent (and probably the stupidest) thing you could come up with. “I play mobile games. Sometimes.”

At this, Wonwoo chuckled, a deep sound that was enough to cause your heart to flutter. “Mobile games? That’s cute.”

“Uh, thank you.” You muttered, averting your eyes back to your notebook. “What- What about you? What games do you play?”

“I play a lot of games to be honest. I’ve played Visage, Genshin Impact, League of Legends…yeah I’ve played a lot to be honest.” He said, going back to solving his problems too.

“Oh, I see…” You said, not even sure what these games were about but you still pretended that you had at least some idea about what he was saying.

Once again the two of you relapsed into silence, and you were finding it difficult to begin any conversation. It wasn’t that Wonwoo was making things difficult. You had noticed that he was a fairly quiet guy so you supposed he had no problem with this and was in fact comfortable with the silence between the two of you.

Letting out a sigh, you reached out for your water bottle, wanting to calm yourself down from the way Wonwoo was making you feel.

You must have inhaled while you were drinking because all of a sudden you felt water hit your windpipe, blocking your air passage immediately. You made a choking sound as you spluttered, trying to cough out the water from your windpipe.

“Y/N!” You heard Wonwoo call your name but it sounded so far away. Your mind was in a state of frenzy as you realised that you couldn’t breathe, you just couldn’t breathe and the water wasn’t coming out-

“Cough it out.” You felt an arm wrap around your front as Wonwoo thumped your back hard, making you cough harder. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just cough it out.”

You coughed once more and took in a shuddering breath, causing you to cough again as your senses finally returned to you slowly. You were shivering, and your chest hurt as small coughs kept bubbling up in an attempt to regain your normal breath.

“It’s okay. Just breathe slowly. I’ve got you. Breath, okay?” Wonwoo muttered, rubbing soft circles on your back. Still shivering in his arms, you looked up to see his face. His face was just inches apart and even through your teary eyes, you could see how handsome he was.

Then, you realised with horror how pathetic you must be looking. Your eyes were brimming with tears and you could feel the saliva all over your chin. And to make matters worse, you could feel that your nose had begun to run too.

“Uh,” you started, slowly pushing yourself away from Wonwoo’s grasp as you hastily searched for a tissue or napkin.

“Wait here.” Wonwoo said, before running back to his bench and then coming back to you, offering you some tissues he had got. “Here.”

“Thank you.” You muttered, feeling embarrassed as you slowly wiped away the spit on your face. “Thank you for…helping me.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Wonwoo asked, walking over to stand in front of you. You looked down at your lap and nodded, unable to look at him anymore. Of all the times you had to choke on your drink, it had to be in front of him.

“Hey, look at me.” You heard him whisper. You looked up just as he leaned down so that he was at your level now. You felt your breath catch in your throat as he looked at you, an expression of concern on his face.

“Are you actually feeling okay? Because you are still shivering.” Looking down, you saw your hands clenching the tissue tightly. True to his words, you were still shivering and you took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I just- I was just caught off guard that’s all.”

Wonwoo glanced at the clock on the classroom wall before reaching down and picking up your bag. You looked up at him in surprise as he walked over to get his bag, and then stood in front of the class door.

“What are you- Where are you going?” You asked, standing up.

Wonwoo looked at you in surprise. “Don’t you want to have lunch? It’s lunch time.”

“Yeah…but my bag? You don’t have to-”

“I don’t.” He said, smiling at you. “I want to.”

You felt your heart explode as you fought back the urge to smile, almost jumping from your bench to catch up with him. Maybe, maybe accidentally choking on your drink wasn’t a bad thing after all.

01.10.2018

“Are we still in the same seminar hall?” You asked, peeping into your friend’s (if she could be called that considering the fact you met her only an hour ago) phone as she searched the timetable up.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess. I think we should just walk in and see to be honest. If not, we can ask around.” Yubin said, closing her phone and slipping it into her jeans pocket, before taking a deep breath and pushing open the seminar hall doors.

The hall was almost crowded and you were glad that you were behind Yubin, so all you had to do was follow her as she tried finding two empty seats.

Finally, you both sat down on the three empty seats at the end of the third row, glad that you got decent enough seats, if not good, because of how late you both were (it had to be your unfortunate luck that the seminar hall was at one end of the campus and the canteen was at another end). Removing your bag, you lifted it to place it on the empty seat next to you because you were sure no one would take a single empty seat when you heard someone ask, “Is this seat taken?”

You looked up to see who it was and immediately felt the air almost knock out of your lungs. Your cheeks heated up as you blinked at the student standing in front of you, all coherent words thrown out of your head because he was just so, so handsome.

He looked so good with his square framed glasses, unbuttoned chequered shirt over a casual t-shirt and dark blue jeans. In fact, he looked like any other of the countless averagely dressed college students you had seen on campus so far and yet, he looked so attractive that you were having a hard time formulating a simple sentence.

“Uh,” You began, staring at him as you tried to rack your brains for an appropriate response. What was the question?

“Nope!” Yubin said, reaching out to grab your bag and place it on your lap. “No one’s sitting here so you can sit if you want to!”

He gave you (the two of you actually but you hoped it was just you) a small smile before sitting down and you slowly turned towards your now grinning friend, frowning slightly as you just tried to process what had just happened.

He was sitting next to you. He was sitting next to you. The guy, who caught your eyes within a few milliseconds of your encounter was actually sitting next to you.

‘You think he is cute?’ Yubin mouthed to you, to which you could only exhale and look back at the presentation that was about to start in front of you, unable to think clearly still.

Cute was an understatement for the guy next to you. He was handsome. Ethereal. Beautiful. Someone who made your heart stutter just by looking at them and made you hyper aware of your each and every action, just like now as you carefully slid out your notebook from your bag.

Your cheeks felt like they were still on fire, and you tried to act nonchalant as you cleared your throat and flipped through the pages, trying to find an empty page when your pen fell from your hand.

Brilliant.

Just brilliant. You mentally cursed yourself as you bit your lips. bending down to pick it up but he was much faster than you, the pen already in his hand as he offered it to you.

“Uh, thank you.” You mumbled, trying to give him a small smile but of course your flushed cheeks had to act up at this moment itself and you were pretty sure you ended up giving him a lopsided one instead.

He just nodded back at you, before turning his attention back to the presentation and so did you, but it was like you could still feel his gaze on you.

The rest of the session passed in a blur, as you tried your level best to concentrate on what was being explained but it was just so hard doing that when each second seemed to drag on for hours and you were painfully aware of what he was doing and how embarrassing you were acting.

Finally, after what felt like years, the students started getting up and leaving the auditorium. Your mind was in a whirlwind as he too started packing up his things. Now’s the time, Y/N. It’s now or never. Just ask him-

“I didn’t catch your name!” You squeaked just as he got up, causing him to pause and look at you confused. You immediately cringed at your voice, sinking into your seat a little before clearing your throat and repeating your sentence. “Your name? I didn’t catch it.”

“Oh.” He said, his face softening a little as he pushed his specs back up his nose. Okay, now that was hot. “It’s Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. And you are?”

“Wonwoo…” You muttered, the name rolling off your tongue before you realised he had asked yours. “Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N. L/N Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N. I hope we can be friends.” Wonwoo smiled at you, almost causing you to forget your second question.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course! Also, uh, can I have your number? Because, you know, uh-” You stuttered but luckily Wonwoo cut you off.

“Sure.” He said, extending out his hand. As quickly as you could (without dropping anything or appearing clumsy) you handed him your phone and he took it, typing out his number. Oh wow, he has really pretty hands.

“Here.” He said, handing it over to you. “Give me a missed call okay? So that I can save your number too.”

“Yeah…yeah I will.” You said, giving him another smile. He gave you a small goodbye before walking away, and you continued staring at him until he split out of the door. Even then you were just standing, frozen at your place as you tried processing what had just happened, until Yubin gave you a nudge.

“Are we going to go for lunch or are you gonna keep dreaming about lover boy?” She joked, causing you to snap out of your reverie.

“What? He’s not- It’s nothing like that. He’s just cute.” You said defensively, picking up your bag as you followed her out.

“He’s just cute.” Yubin said, mimicking you and you hissed at her. “Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Yeah, and you were definitely not drooling over him.”

“I was not drooling over him!” You gasped.

“Okay sure. Just the next time you both sit together, I’ll make sure I’m not next to you. Actually I’ll make sure no one is next to you both so that you can have your alone time together.”

“Yeah,” You muttered, as you saw Wonwoo walk in front of the two of you, laughing and talking with two other boys. You felt your heart give an odd squeeze when he turned back and your eyes met, smiling at you warmly. “I wonder if it will ever be just us, again.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

#fics.#us again.#svthub #caratlibrary #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #jeon wonwoo angst #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst

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vidavalor · 7 months ago

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Tip Top, Thank You. Ticketyboo!

Did you all know that "tip top" is MLE slang for a blowjob?

Now that I have your attention lol, some etymological meta on The Ineffables' rather tip top use of slang and wordplay and just what it means to offer to say "thank you" in Ineffable Husbands Speak under the cut. It's absolutely ticketyboo...

When we humans who speak English refer to oral sex performed on a penis, the most common slang we use for this today is to call it "giving a blowjob." Linguistically-speaking, this term is actually relatively new and how it came to be is a truly muddled bit of etymological history. As recently as the early 1950s, the American military was innocently referring to their war planes in different publications as "blow jobs"-- meaning that the planes were well-equipped to carry out destruction. This-- and other instances like this at the time-- shows that the meaning of "blowjob" as slang for oral sex performed on someone with a penis either had not yet really evolved at all or had not yet penetrated the mainstream enough for any of the people involved in these articles (journalists, editors, four-star generals lol...) to suggest that, perhaps, a different term be used to describe these planes.

Whether or not the slang term "blowjob" is actually derived from the military... as soldiers appropriating the language of war to turn it into the language of sex has been happening since the beginning of time... or whether it arose in a different way, is still unknown. The earliest documentation of something like "blowjob" comes from sex workers in the 1930s who referred to what we call giving a blowjob as "blowing someone off." This is obviously funny now from a language evolution perspective, considering that when we use that phrase today, what we mean is that we dodged an interaction with someone, as in "I was supposed to grab coffee with my friend yesterday but I was tired so I blew him off." If you said that sentence to a Mrs. Sandwich in 1935, she'd have several follow up questions...

Further complicating the history of the term is that since the origin of "blowjob" as a term is murky, no one has ever really been very clear on which kind of "blow" is being addressed in it or if it refers to multiple kinds at once. Is it a "blowjob" because of aspects of the act of it or is it a "blowjob" because the end result is, as the military influence might suggest, that the recipient "blows", meaning comes apart/ejaculates? Either way, it's the most common way you refer to this type of oral sex in English but, as we know, different groups of people have additional slang to refer to it as well. Crowley and Aziraphale are shown in S1 to have picked up the MLE slang term for it of tip top.

MLE stands for Multicultural London English and it is what is known as a sociolect. A sociolect is a dialect that's built more out of being a part of a certain social class or group. MLE is also a multiethnolect, which means that it is a dialect derived from the influence of people of different ethnicities and backgrounds. It is the language spoken by a diverse group of working-class people, most of them younger, who live and/or work in London, and has mostly emerged since the 1980s. One of its slang words is the use of tip top to mean a blowjob. It is sometimes shortened just to top, if context in the sentence allows for the meaning to be understood as a blowjob and to not be confused with other sexual meanings around the word "top."

Tip top is an example of different dialects crossing and interweaving. MLE uses "side ting", for example, to describe sleeping with someone other than one's partner which, just like its American counterpart of "side piece", is derived from the British English phrase "bit on the side", which we also hear Nina and Crowley use in S2. In S1, Aziraphale used ticketyboo, which is Victorian-era slang that is also thought to be an example of different dialects crossing. Theories on its etymology involve a Hindi saying, a British one, and a bit of French intermixing. It is an example of Crowley and Aziraphale's interest in the ongoing evolution of language and how they weave that into their wordplay. We'll come back to ticketyboo later on. Tip top and saying thank you are up first...

Tip top is originally a British English-rooted expression meaning someone is feeling excellent or that something is in excellent shape. It refers to the tip of the top-- the highest of peaks. There is then a fun sense of humor to it being adopted from its endearing but potentially kind of stuffy British use ("How are you, my good man?"/"I am tip top, old chap! Right as rain!" lol) to becoming slang for oral sex in a dialect used by predominantly non-white, younger Londoners, many of whom emigrated to England or who come from immigrant families, particularly from countries that either still are part of or were formerly part of The British Empire. There's a top shelf, droll trolling of the colonizing British Empire happening there in the language evolution and it's also a good example of how when different cultures overlap, so too do their languages.

Crowley and Aziraphale always have to choose words that are able to remain hidden beneath the surface layer of their conversation. One of their wordplay kinks that we've observed are words that have multiple different meanings, as we looked at in other metas. Their favorites are ones with hilariously contradictory meanings that they can use to create sentences that have one meaning on the surface with one interpretation of the definitions used of the words and another entirely if the other meanings of those same words are used. They get off a bit on using common words in Ineffable Husbands Speak when speaking to others-- particularly angels and demons-- who have no idea what they're talking about because they only understand one level of meaning of the words being used and assume the context implying that one level of meaning is correct. Examples of these types of scenes: the Aziraphale one in Heaven that I'll mention again below, Aziraphale in Hell in 1.06 and then telling Crowley "I asked them for a rubber duck" to make him laugh afterwards, Crowley's "can I get a wahoo?" and what he says to Gabriel before getting into the fire in 1.06 having a different meaning in Ineffable Husbands Speak, as well as almost everything Crowley said to Muriel in the second half of S2 (the handcuff innuendo; "extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz", etc..)

We've seen that some of their favorite words like this are wily (meaning sly, tricky, crafty on one level but also alluring, magically attractive, sexy on another), smitten (to be attacked by an angel with the righteous fury of God but also to be struck down with love and infatuation), and thwart (to oppose and stop but also to cross from one side to the other.)

Aziraphale called Crowley a "wily adversary" to the angels in Heaven and could barely keep a straight face because when he and Crowley say "wily" to one another, they mean it as "sexy." (As in, "he was a wily old serpent and I was technically on apple tree duty.") Crowley used "thwart" multiple times in the same scene in 1.01 as an euphemism for "fucking", as in:

(I also love that, out of all the different names the thing has, Crowley and Aziraphale call it "The Divine Plan" while flirting in this scene, since divine means "of God" or "like God" but it also is used just to mean "delightful" or "delicious," as in "the wedding was lovely-- we had a divine time!" or "mmm, gah, this cake is divine..."

Additionally, another meaning of thwart is that it's the term for the seat in a rowboat that someone would sit on to row a boat and, like we looked at in the Fish meta, Crowley and Aziraphale have their whole we-got-oysters-the-first-night-we-slept-together-so-now-everything-related-to-fish-and-the-sea-is-a-sexual-euphemism-or-metaphor thing happening. Wahoo to that sushi but anyway we're talking about blowjobs, so... *redirects self*...)

As we were talking about at the start of this meta, calling oral sex on a penis a "blowjob" is a relatively new thing but different euphemisms for it have existed forever. By the above measure for words used in Ineffable Husbands Speak, though, tip top is a tip top choice for a blowjob euphemism, old chaps, as there is just a lot of word nerdy wordplay potential there. One of the reasons why Crowley and Aziraphale use it is also one of the reasons why it has likely evolved to mean a blowjob in MLE in the first place and that is because of the innuendo inherent in a phrase involving "tip", as in the sensitive tip of the penis, which is especially humorous when added into the fact that "tip top" means "excellent." You're just hitting the tippity top when you get a tip top, no? Just reaching the highest of those climatic peaks...

The first time we hear Aziraphale use tip top is in the paintball scene at Tadfield Manor in S1. Crowley and Aziraphale are hit with the paint, Crowley shapeshifts into a roaring snake and causes a guy to pass out and his already high levels of horniness increases until he's doing the lip bite and the cute nose scrunch that screams 'do me':

Meanwhile, Aziraphale sounds all innocent (it's faux-innocent, as it often is lol) and is going on about the paint on his coat and he says that he's "kept this coat in tip top condition for over 200 years" and starts to pout.

Crowley and Aziraphale are supernatural humanoid beings with feathers and Crowley is also a snake. They have a seemingly never-ending list of comparisons to other creatures of Earth happening and some of it trips over into their innuendo. A coat, on one level, is the coat that Aziraphale is wearing in the scene that was splattered in blue paint but... it's also a word used to describe the fur or hair of an animal.

Aziraphale has kept his coat-- the beige outer layer of his clothes-- in tip top condition-- so, in well-maintained, excellent condition-- for more than the last 200 years. Euphemistically-speaking, though... Aziraphale is referring to the apparently historically well-groomed state of his hair-- specifically, his pubic hair-- which he's always got lookin' fine and zhushed for visitors. Aziraphale keeps his coat in tip top condition because loves him the highest peaks of the tippity tops does the angel...

(Sidenote but Aziraphale has massive pubic hair thing happening, as this is not the only scene he's referred to it euphemistically. In S2, as we looked at in the meta about his dirty French, he used "plume" in its "feathered" sense to euphemistically refer to missing quality time with Lady Crowley's natural garden box.)

Is now a good time to mention Mr. Fell and the blowjob's formal name of fellatio? Fellation and fellatio are rooted in the Latin verb fellare, which means "to suck", though "to fellate" and "fellatio" became words relating to oral sex only as relatively recently as during the 1800s. The Latin verb, though, has existed basically for forever and considering Aziraphale's kind of cheeky use of Fell as his surname in reference to how while he might not have fallen to Hell in the angel/demon sense of it, he's "fallen" into "sin" of the Adam-and-Eve, food-and-sex sense of the term, one of the reasons behind choosing Fell as his surname then could be tied to the verb fellare and his penchant for giving and receiving oral sex. (And how do we know that it wasn't, say, Crowley in the 1800s who got the ball rolling on using that Latin verb to refer to a blowjob? lol) At minimum, it's too funny for Crowley and Aziraphale to have never made a joke about it at some point. Back to the paintball scene...

Crowley knows what tip top means in this scene and it's clearly already existed in Ineffable Husbands Speak for some time. His mending of Aziraphale's coat is then in an exaggerated manner involving some (magically unnecessary) blowing, visually referencing the tip top/blowjob wordplay that Aziraphale was doing to suggest that they get up to that activity soon:

But tip top is far from the only blowjob-related term in this scene...

While this scene takes place in the 2019 present of S1, recall that I mentioned above that MLE is not that old as sociolects go. It's definitely old enough and close enough to Crowley and Aziraphale for them to know it-- and the above illustrates them using it-- but what about before MLE emerged to give them the tip top slang option? What did Crowley and Aziraphale call a blowjob in their language before the 1980s/1990s?

The paintball scene then sees them show us another euphemism for it that other scenes in the series show us that they've been using for at least a few hundred years. Let's talk about the etymology of 'thank' and what they mean when they offer to say 'thank you.'

The word thank is etymologically tied to the same root words as both thought and think... which are, of course, things you do with your head. They are all rooted in the Latin tongere. The word tongue is rooted to both tongere and the Latin lingua, for languages. As a result, the words tongue, think, and thank are all linked together in their histories and, as an added bonus, are also tied to words related to languages and wordplay, which makes it all a little extra funny from hidden language/innuendo standpoint.

The other common euphemism for giving a blowjob is to refer to it as "giving head." You think with your head and use your tongue to speak but... you also use your tongue when you've got your head in your partner's lap... You bow your head to pray, which is referred to as to 'give thanks' to God... and you bow your head to make your partner feel tip top...

Oh, hello, Blasphemy Kink, Our Old Friend... 😇

In the paintball scene, Aziraphale smiles dirtily and says "oh, thank you" after Crowley mends his coat, and gives Crowley that look that says that he wants to give him a proper thank you for his help. Mrs. Sandwich in S2 picks up on the seamstress/clothing innuendo theme when she's going on suggestively about her girls' ability and willingness to mend a gentlemen's shirt, nodding back to Crowley's hollowed-cheeked bit of magical seamstressing in S1.

If you look at Crowley in the above Aziraphale-saying-thank-you gif, you'll notice from the movement of his head, that Crowley replied-- with a humorous tone-- the standard response to someone verbally saying "thank you" which is, of course: "You're welcome."

"You're welcome" is every bit as funny and dirty as "thank you" in this context...

First, there's that "welcome" is homophonic for both "will come" and "we'll come." Aziraphale says he wants to give thanks and Crowley replies with the assured, well, outcomes of that outpouring of gratitude. 😂 But there's also the amazing history of "welcome"...

"Welcome" is derived from combining two words in Old English: the prefix wil-, which means "desire, pleasure" and the word cuman, which means "come." Together, they also formed the word in Old English that is the origin of "welcome"-- 'wilcuma'-- which meant (I kid you not) "a person whose coming is pleasing."

Aziraphale is always very welcome, as far as Crowley is concerned lol.

The spelling evolved into "welcome" over time, thought to be influenced by the Old Norse velkominn (which is from where the modern German "welcome" of "willkommen" is derived.) Mixed in the evolution of "welcome" is also the Old French "bien venu" (which has evolved into its modern form of "bienvenue"). "Bien" in French means "good" and "venu" is of the French verb venir, which means "to come."

Obviously, the original meaning of wilcuma/welcome is in reference to hospitality of a less sexual nature. If you go to a holiday party at your aunt's house in the modern era, your aunt still might say "oh, we're so happy you could come!" and she's not referring to your ability to achieve orgasm when she says that but your ability to be able to clear your schedule and travel to her house for a party. The "come" in that sense is the same "come" in welcome/wilcuma, in that it refers to an arrival at a usually planned destination. It's from this same sense of travel, though, that language has evolved to refer to having had an orgasm as having "come." The language around orgasm contains a sense of the experience of it being a journey and a climax being a sense of arrival at the end of that journey.

It's that aspect of use of "to come" in language history and evolution that Crowley and Aziraphale are using as innuendo where it overlaps with even some of the most common things we say all the time-- "thank you" and "you're welcome." They are also on a road trip in the paintball scene when they break out the innuendo around giving thanks, so the travel-related wordplay has another layer to it. They actually have a lot of innuendo around travel and forms of transportation and where those overlap in language related to sex that we could look at it in another meta that I'll probably inevitably end up calling 'Travel Sweets'... 😉

This is why, with the exception of the "thank you"/"you're welcome"s in the paintball scene-- when they're both already giving each other fuck me eyes all over the place-- the scenes in which we see either of them saying the words "thank you" to one another are, so far, always posed as questions regarding whether or not they should 'say thank you' in that moment instead of just saying the words 'thank you' aloud, which adds to the idea of 'thank you' being euphemistic. The scenes show them asking if thanks should be said instead of just saying it because when they ask if they should 'say thank you', they are really asking if the other wants a blowjob.

Such as, in 1793:

Aziraphale was legit going to blow Crowley right there but Crowley was looking to get the fuck out of the rapey torture cell first. I'm sure he was amenable to the angel giving thanks after some crepes, though... and 174 years later, in 1967:

This one is particularly interesting from an euphemistic standpoint because Aziraphale had just given Crowley Holy Water, which is a bit akin to Beez's fly in S2, in that it's something his body is capable of making. It's his holiness as an angel that allows him to bless water and turn it from water into Holy Water which is, ironically, a substance that could kill Crowley, who has otherwise been drinking Aziraphale's holy water for quite some time by 1967 and who then replies to Aziraphale giving him actual Holy Water with the suggestion that he bow his head and pray a little over his communion font of a partner.

The other bit of this is that, even though they're alone in this instance, they're speaking on multiple layers as if they are not, which they do not always do when they're alone but which we have seen that they've evolved into feeling more comfortable doing sometimes when it comes to more intense conversations. (2.06 is a great example of just how much more comfortable they are speaking in their own language because of how they both try to run to it within a minute of trying to abandon it. A conversation that starts out trying to be more plain-spoken has Crowley invoking nightingales code by the end of it.)

Crowley really is asking Aziraphale if he should say thank you in 1967-- if he should say the words-- as well as the euphemistic layer to what he's saying here because he's surprised and moved and he doesn't know what to say. The choice to phrase it like that, though, and to also include the euphemistic meaning of saying thank you, is also intentional. They keep it up throughout the whole conversation-- "I'll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go" and Aziraphale's "go for a picnic" and "dine at The Ritz" are as literal as they are euphemistic, as everything else in their language is.

There is one other scene where tip top returns, though, and it is during this moment here:

Crowley and Aziraphale have driven back from Tadfield. From conversation had in previous scenes on the way, Crowley might have been planning on staying at the bookshop for awhile when they got back and Aziraphale wanted that. But then, as he's getting out of The Bentley, Aziraphale spotted that Anathema had left Agnes Nutter's book in the backseat and then had his whole moment of trying to rush into the bookshop alone to read the book without telling Crowley what was going on. Crowley asked if he was alright and Aziraphale replied:

"Perfectly, yes. Uh, tip top. Absolutely tickety-boo! Mind how you go!"

Aziraphale is anxious to get inside and be alone with the book but his words, if stressed, are structured to try to sound reassuring to Crowley that, even if he seems outwardly anxious, he's not upset with Crowley himself over anything, even if he's basically telling him to go home when, most nights, the assumption would be that he could stay a bit. He's tossing bits of wordplay at Crowley while running for the door. Perfectly/Perfect is from the Latin perfectus, which is combined of per-, meaning "through; completely" and facere, meaning "do." Perfect, as a result, can mean "done completely" in etymologically-based innuendo. If Aziraphale is then also referencing tip top here again and adding in perfectly, the suggestion seems to be that they pulled over to say thank you on the way home from Tadfield. Aziraphale is using it as an excuse to not invite Crowley in for more by trying to say he's completely done as a result and needs to be alone and nothing to see here, Crowley, nothing unusual, not at all acting weird and out of the ordinary! Aziraphale is absolutely ticketyboo...

Ticketyboo is Victorian-era slang and, despite Aziraphale wearing clothes from the 1800s constantly, we don't actually hear him use a lot of slang from the Victorian era or the rest of the 1800s still in modern times, which is a bit surprising. (And also disappointing as Victorian slang is amazing.) Aziraphale is actually a lot more current with his language than he is with any other aspect of his life, which is pretty interesting from a characterization standpoint... but which also makes his use of ticketyboo more interesting, though, as a result.

Ticketyboo means "everything is great." Its etymology is a little uncertain but it is thought to be a mashup of the Hindi phrase "thik hai" and the British English saying "that's the ticket," with the two phrases crossing back and forth between dialects of British officers stationed in India and both the people in India with whom they interacted and people originally from India who emigrated to London and interacted with British people there.

"Thik hai" means "it's alright" while "that's the ticket" has a pair of positive meanings. It can reflect the good feeling when something that is morally right, just and good has either happened or been suggested, as in: "Jury selection has finally fucking begun in one of the 1400 Donald Trump criminal trials-- that's the ticket!" It also can be used as an expression of pleasure, as in: "Jury selection has finally--" (just kidding though I would also count that as pleasurable lol)... as in: you take a sip of coffee first thing in the morning after a difficult night sleeping and sigh "oh, that's the ticket"... or your partner gets that knot out from under your shoulder blade-- "ahh, that's the ticket..." It's something that feels right and good.

But there's one other part of ticketyboo to consider, and that's the 'boo' part. The etymology of this bit, in particular, is muddled but what is interesting here is that while the word became ticketyboo-- all one word-- it is thought to actually have originally been spoken as two words: "tickety, boo." The 'thik hai/that's the ticket' part refers to the 'tickety' part of the word... so, what about the 'boo' part?

The general idea to date is that 'boo' evolved from 'bo' and that 'bo' is mixed into it because of homophonic overlap with the French word from which it is thought to have evolved-- 'beau.' The reason why this is thought to be part of the history of ticketyboo is that MLE has some overlap with AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) in the United States and, since roughly sometime in the 1980s, "boo" has been a gender-neutral term of endearment for someone's partner that originated in AAVE, exists in MLE, and has since spilled over into mainstream American slang.

'Beau' means "handsome" in French and it is, as you probably know, also an old-fashioned term for a boyfriend or a male admirer. It referred to a suitor who was romantically pursuing a woman-- bringing her flowers (and chocolates, when she opened a bookshop in particular lol), picking her up in his car and taking her on dates... courting her, as it used to be called. You might have a boyfriend but your great or great-great grandmother would have had a beau.

It's from this term that the more modern "boo" has arisen. Someone's boo in our modern times is their romantic partner of any gender and not necessarily someone with whom you are still in a courtship stage but can also refer to a spouse or a partner with whom you are in a committed relationship.

As a result, the reason why Aziraphale might be using ticketyboo in 2019 when he has stopped most of the rest of the great Victorian slang he undoubtedly misses is not necessarily because he's randomly using fusty old language because he's stuck in the past. It could actually be because he is using old slang that Crowley also remembers in a modern way in their wordplay in the present, referencing where it overlaps with the more current slang with which it shares an origin.

Aziraphale is not so much just saying "ticketyboo" as much he's also saying its origins of "tickety, boo" and referencing boo/beau to both refer to Crowley as handsome and as his boyfriend/partner within the full history of the one word of "boo" that he says.

Aziraphale's response to Crowley asking if he's alright then becomes akin to basically this, from a wordplay standpoint:

Yes, perfectly! Just worn out from the day, am in tip top shape from that tip top though haha! Not at all looking cagey and nervous nope nothing to fret about everything is absolutely fine, not to worry, my weirdness right now is not about you! You're just the lovely ticket as you always are. Good night now, my handsome boo. Do be safe getting home.

Crowley was understandably, though, thoroughly confused by this because Aziraphale dropped ticketyboo while acting weird and not letting him come inside for a nightcap and at least a little canoodle but Aziraphale's weirdness was worth it for listening to Crowley sound out the term-- "TiCKeTyboo?"-- while trying to math out what had gotten into his angel. I think he called me his handsome boyfriend while having a nervous breakdown. Weird, but also probably in character...

On a darker note? Look at how much the ticketyboo scene is a more light-hearted version of the end of 2.06, in a way. Aziraphale sees the book that can stop the end of the world but he doesn't tell Crowley about it-- just as how Aziraphale learned of The Second Coming from "The Metatron" but instead of crossing the street to tell Crowley who, again, was standing beside The Bentley, Aziraphale keeps the information to himself and goes inside, shutting the door, leaving Crowley standing in the street for a moment before he gets in the car and drives off. Just an observation, not sure yet exactly how it would all fit together, but we'll see in S3...

I want to go back to talking about "giving thanks" for a moment because we have to look at one, other scene that's very relevant to this and it's this one:

In 1.01, we are reintroduced to Aziraphale after the scene on the wall in Eden and the time jump of thousands of years. The very first thing we ever see him do is thank his friend for preparing the sushi he was planning on enjoying with the delayed-by-Hell Crowley. We see Aziraphale bow his head over the food and say "arigato"-- Japanese for "thank you"-- before starting his meal. Ojigi-- the tradition of bowing out of a sign of respect in polite society in Japan-- is a sign of reverence and, in situations like the one in which Aziraphale bows, is an expression of gratitude. Here's Aziraphale showing a devout sense of reverence to the skills of the human chef who prepared for him a meal he's going to enjoy with a pleasure that overlaps with sexual pleasure and that is his form of prayer before the meal. He and Crowley worship more at the altar of humanity and in ways that tie closer to an Eastern sense of spirituality than in devotion to those of a monotheistic God.

Pagans of The Good Times, as a certain Irish God with a song on Crowley's official playlist calls it. Hungry work...

Because, in addition to the general sense of a definition of prayer being "to give thanks to God," there is also Grace, the traditional prayer said at the start of a meal to thank God for the blessings of the food on the table. Crowley and Aziraphale's hidden language when it comes to sex is entirely structured around food as a result of the apple, the ox ribs and, eventually, the oysters. Alcohol, bread, fish...they've got a real water-to-wine, loaves-and-fishes, and fuck- Leviticus-sideways thing going on lol... so it is deliciously dirty and very funny that they developed euphemisms for giving each other a blowjob that are related to saying grace by bowing their heads in prayer and giving thanks.

For the food they they about to eat in S3, may The Voice of Frances McDormand make them truly grateful. Amen.

#ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands speak #etymology

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xxkissesforchanniexx · 9 months ago

Note

What do we think about a enimies to lovers / academic rivals with Jeongin?? But It ends good.. Ive been thinking about and It cant get out of my mind

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairing: college student!Jeongin x fem!reader Word count: 2.8k Genre: Fluff 🥰💖 >.> in a sense & Smut 🔥❤️ Warning: enemies to lovers >.>, they in college don't be stupid use protection, use of y/n with you/your, baby bread is jealous, i think i got it all??

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, theres a lot to go through in my requests and my computer wasn't working yesterday so I'll try my best to get all the requests out soon. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! - Khxndle

"I can do better." were the words you had grown to dread over the years you'd known Yang Jeongin. It went all the way back to the third grade when you were top of your class, and then Jeongin appeared, and just like that, he was the "smart kid." It wasn't bad necessarily, you had someone to talk to about school, someone who understood, until it was bad, and Yang Jeongin drifted away from you in middle school. That wasn't when you started hating him though, it was that spelling bee of 8th grade year, you were so close, he swore to you it was an "I", it was a "Y" and you blew the competition.

"Bradykinesia." The teacher at the table asked you.

"Definition?" You asked.

"Slower or difficulty moving the limbs."

"Bradykinesia... B-R-A-D-I-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

"Incorrect. Yang Jeongin?"

He smiled, his thin eyes crinkling. "Bradykinesia. B-R-A-D-Y-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at Jeongin.

"Correct. Yang Jeongin will continue to the district competition."

You never really spoke to Jeongin after that.

You sighed deeply as you walked into you literature class, second year of college, it had been about four years since you had last seen Jeongin and even longer since you had a friendly interaction. As you sat down and the seats began to fill in the classroom you scanned the room for a bit. The sound of a notebook slamming down to your right made you jump, you turned to see a very cute boy with light brown hair and chubby cheeks.

"Oh, did I startle you?" He laughed lightly. "Sorry." He sat beside you, "I'm Jisung."

You nodded with a small smile, "y/n."

Jisung smiled brightly past you, "Jeongi-"

Your jaw dropped, Yang Jeongin stood at the door, he fixed his glasses and looked at you. "l/n y/n..." He smiled at you with all the care a chainsaw had to wood.

Jisung looked between you and Jeongin. "You know each other?"

Jeongin smiled as he sat on the other side of Jisung, "I know her very well."

It had been several weeks since the start of your literature class with Jeongin, and he was relentless. If you answered incorrectly, he was the first to correct you before the teacher could even say you were wrong, during learning games, it was always him a few points behind you, only to answer the final question faster just to watch your face fall as you placed 2nd. Jisung noticed after a while and asked what the problem was only for Jeongin to reply with a "She's the problem." and you to reply with a "The idiot to your right."

As if your life couldn't get any worse, Jeongin had a wondrous looking 98% on his 6th week report while you had a 97%.

"I can do better, I gave you ample room to pass me." he teased as he waved the paper in your face.

Jisung smiled sheepishly, showing his 74%.

You collected your things and checked your watch.

"Where are you going?" Jisung asked.

"Study date." You said.

"With who?" Jeongin raised a brow.

"Christopher from the theatre department." You picked up your bag.

"Does he even-" Jeongin started.

"He did literature last semester." you smiled. "Plus he's cute."

Jisung bounced his eyebrows comically.

Jeongin bit his lip. "Hm. Okay."

"Anyways, bye bye."

Jeongin looked at the desk for a minute, he could do better than Chris to help you study, who was Christopher anyway?

"Jeongin..." Jisung leaned in and smirked. "I smell the bitter scent of jealousy..."

"Huh-"

"You're mad she's going to ask Christopher for help studying,"

"What? No." Jeongin replied quickly,

"Why not just offer to help her?" Jisung tilted his head.

"Who in their right mind helps their rival?" Jeongin grabbed his things and started leaving.

"You know I'm right!" Jisung shouted after him.

"Nuh uh!" Jeongin shouted back.

Come the 12th week check, you and Jeongin were tied. He bristled as you proudly announced your 98% during lunch break, his grade hadn't changed.

"It's thanks to Chan." You smiled to yourself.

"Who is Chan?" Jeongin's brows furrowed.

"Christopher." Jisung said sipping his coffee.

"When did you start calling him Chan?" Jeongin stared at you.

"When did it become your business?" You shot back.

He sucked in a breath and huffed out hopelessly. It wasn't his business, but it bothered him that you were relying on some theatre major.

"Y'know, frat boys are having a party next weekend." Jisung looked at you, "Of course, being the such good friends, Chris and Felix are, I'm sure he's going."

You shrugged. "Don't have time for fra-" Your phone buzzed and you looked at it.

Channie😵‍💫 01:37pm My friend is gonna have a party, be my plus one?

You looked at Jisung. "I might just have time."

Jeongin glanced at your phone and his fist clenched. "I'm going." he said and looked at Jisung.

"Oh my!" Jisung smirked.

"Shut it." You rolled your eyes and smiled at your phone.

"You ready for the test tomorrow?" Jeongin nudged Jisung.

"What test?!" He practically shrieked.

"It's a miracle you have a C." You sighed.

"OH HELP ME STUDY!" He started pulling out books and vocabulary sheets.

"I'll he-" You started.

"Jisung, let me help you, I know the material better." Jeongin smiled at you.

You narrowed your eyes and looked at your phone, quickly replying to Chan:

You 01:43pm Sure :)

The test the following day was difficult, you even saw Jeongin looking confused, but you somehow finished with a 86%. As the students filed out of the class with the lunch bell you sighed.

Jeongin looked over your shoulder, "There isn't ever going to be a day you pass me is there?" He smirked.

You wanted to smack him. "I didn't study as much as I should've."

Jeongin's brows furrowed. "What were you doing with Chri-"

"As I said before, he's cute." You shoved the test into your bag and stood, Jeongin looked at you and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

You looked at him waiting for him to say anything and when he didn't you made a face and left him alone in the classroom. It was when he saw you joining the well built man with dark hair and that stupidly charming accent in the hallway, he knew he was screwed.

It was the night before the party and you were knee deep in clothes from your closet, searching for an outfit, any outfit.

"You could just go in jeans and tee." Jisung said from where he lie on his stomach on your bed in your apartment, looking up from his phone and kicking his legs.

"You could just look more masculine." You teased, intentionally throwing a hoodie over your shoulder to hit his face.

"Hey!" His eyes narrowed and you chuckled softly. He looked at his phone again and sat up, "I have to go."

"Already? You just got here." You glared at your friend. "Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?"

"Ask Hyunjin," he sighed, "I have to go see Minho anyway."

"Why?" You raised a brow.

"Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?" he retorted.

You threw another hoodie at him as he left. You sat on your bed and picked up your phone about to text, Hyunjin to come over when you heard a knock at your door.

You groaned thinking Jisung must've forgotten something, another knock. Who was at your door at 11pm on a Friday without texting you first? "I'm coming!" You shouted as you walked to the door.

You opened it and made a face at the man at the door, his eyes met yours and you started to close the door.

He put his foot between the door and the doorframe. "Can I talk to you?" Jeongin sighed.

"Sure let's talk." You opened the door and pulled out your phone scrolling for Jisung's contact.

He grabbed your phone. "Can you not talk to me without Jisung keeping the peace?"

"I'm being peaceful." You huffed grabbing for your phone.

"Why do you hate me so much?" He asked, holding the phone out of your reach.

"Is that even a question?" You jumped for your phone and he somehow managed to push you back into your apartment, closing the door behind him and keeping you from stumbling.

He stared down at you. "Is it that I have a better grade than you now?"

You pulled away and tried to get your phone again. "No."

"Is it that I annoy you too often?" He held the phone between two fingers as far away from you as he could.

"No." You jumped for it and he grabbed your hand.

"Is it that I'm always in your business?"

"Ooh!" You mocked shock, "You're getting warmer." You said rolling your eyes.

He made a face. "You can't seriously still be on about what happened in middle schoo-"

"So what if I am?!" You snapped.

"It was years ago, what are you five?!" He shouted.

"You know wha-" You started. "Wait! How the hell did you get my addre-" You remembered how quickly Jisung had insisted on leaving. "JISUNG IS IN ON THIS!"

"Listen." Jeongin sighed. "Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" You stared at him condescendingly, "That you love comparing yourself to me because I'm not as smart as you? That you were so desperate to be "the smartest" that you just had to lie to me and make me look like an idiot? That you just hate the fact that I'm so close to passing you after trying so hard?! No! I know, you really hate the fact that I'm not acting like everyone else and asking you to help me in litera-"

"Yes!" Jeongin yelled. "Why are you going to Christopher as if I can't help you?!"

"Why am I OBLIGATED to ask you for help!?"

"Because-" He hesitated and closed his mouth, breathing deeply for a moment. "Forget it."

"What?" You stared at him.

"I said 'forget it'." He handed you your phone.

You stared at the defeated look on his face and opened your mouth to say something.

He moved for the door before you could get the words out and you grabbed his arm. "Tell me."

He turned to look at you.

You felt your face getting hot as he spoke.

"Don't go with Chris."

"Why?" You muttered, taking a step back.

"If I tell you, will you still go?" He took a step toward you.

"Why?" You asked more persistent than before.

"Because I don't want you too." He whispered, walking closer.

You took another step back and you felt the wall against you back and tensed. "Why?"

"I don't want you to get involved with frats at all." Jeongin rested his hand on the wall beside your head. "I would prefer you sit and read "Things Fall Apart" with me. I would prefer you tell me about your day like you did in elementary school. I would prefer you talk to me, let me explain myself." He looked into your eyes. "I don't want you to get involved with those frats because I want you for myself."

You stared at him with wide eyes.

"I hate it that you would trust Christopher over me. I hate it that you would consider asking someone for help before me." He bit his lip. "Because I like you, I don't want you to be with anyone else."

You opened your mouth to speak.

"No, I'm not finished." He shushed you. "I was stupid in middle school, I was dumber in high school. But I want to try for you, because I know I can do better. I want you to be with me. I want to prove to you I can do better than Chri-"

His eyes widened as you kissed him gently. "You talk too much."

His cheeks went red. "I-"

You raised a brow. "What? I thought you were going to prove you were better than Chan."

Jeongin smiled and kissed you again. "I'm going to prove it. Let me enjoy myself for a minute."

You giggled as he peppered kisses all over you cheeks.

"I'm sorry for how much of an ass I've been."

"Prove it." You said looking up into his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sly grin on his face, "Come here." He swept you off your feet, "Where's your room?"

"First door on the left.." You whispered.

He carried you in and threw you gently onto the bed before climbing over you. "You're really pretty, you know that?"

You blushed as he leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue wrestling with yours before he finally gained entrance to your mouth, groaning softly at the taste of you. His lips moved from yours to your jaw where he bit gently.

You gasped softly.

He smiled against your skin and sat up, tugging at your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded and looked away as he removed the shirt. "Take off yours?" You gave him the most innocent doll eyes, he rolled his eyes and removed his shirt, before kissing your collar and chest, you squeezed your thighs together at the feeling.

His hands moved behind you. "Up please."

You lifted up a little and he quickly removed your bra, lowering you back down slowly, he took a moment to admire your chest before kissing your breast and working his way to your nipple before taking it into his mouth. You whimpered as he sucked at it, rolling the other between his fingers before switching. He smiled as he saw the way you rubbed your thighs together.

"Up." He grabbed the waistband of your pants as you lifted your hips and pulled them off your legs. He smirked down at you, "Chan ever see you like this?"

"N-no..." You stuttered, covering your mouth.

"Good." He sat got on his knees to admire your pantie clad sex for a moment, looking at the wet spot. "He doesn't ever get to see this, okay?" Jeongin looked at you.

"Okay." You nodded.

He smiled. "Take this off." He tugged at your underwear and you moved to help him remove it. He didn't give you a moment to prepare yourself before his mouth was on you, licking wide stripes of your cunt. You moaned and grabbed his hair. He hummed contentedly into you, the vibrations send sparks through you. He grabbed your thighs and kept them open as he started sucking at you clit, his eyes flicking up to see your face every few moments. He pushed a finger into you.

"Jeongin! Innie!" You squealed tugging at his hair. He moved his finger slowly and tentatively added a second

You moaned and squirmed. His mouth on your clit and his fingers was too much. "I'm going to-"

He pulled away. "No."

You whined. "Why would you do that?!"

"Wanted you to come on me, not in my mouth." He stood again and removed his pants.

Your already red face went redder as he moved over you.

He kissed your cheek gently. "I wanted you for so long..."

"You have me, what are you waiting for?" you muttered, looking down at him, he was decently thick, but he looked so long you felt your stomach turn.

"Oh, nothing." He leaned down to breathe in your ear. "Stop looking at my dick like you want to eat it or I might just make you."

You blushed furiously, "Yang Je-" You moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed into you.

He groaned softly into your neck, "So tight. I'm going to cum if I move..."

"Move." You hissed, opening your eyes to glare at him.

He sucked in a breathe before propping himself up on his elbows. He gave an experimental thrust and smiled as you moaned and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled out again and thrust into you a few more times, before he began moving into you confidently, kissing your throat and muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

"Chan can't do this can he?" He muttered against your lips before kissing you.

You moaned and nodded.

"Only I can make you look like this." He pulled back and gripped your hips, fucking into you harder. "You're not going to the party anymore?"

You shake your head, "N-no, I w-won't go."

He hummed happily and slammed into you faster.

"Innie! Innie! I'm coming!" You gasped out.

"Shit!" He moaned as his hips stuttered. "Can I come inside?"

You nodded mindlessly. "Come inside!"

"I love you." He whispered in your ear, he rubbed your clit and forced you over the edge, you moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, nails digging into his back. Jeongin followed close behind, he bit your shoulder to muffle his cry as he came inside you, his hips canting slowly before he fell onto you.

You held him for a moment and whispered. "I love you too."

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