#so i'm splitting them up into four posts

[hawkinslibrary]

The Weirdo on Maple Street Soundtrack (1/2)

01. Bad Girls | Peter Howarth 02. Go Nowhere | Reagan Youth 03. Should I Stay or Should I Go | The Clash 04. Deck the Halls | Chicks With Hits 05. Jingle Bells | The Canterbury Choir 06. Dark Stars | Mark Glass 07. I'm Taking Off (Shield Your Eyes) | Space Knife

[justashamwithwastedpotential]

OC Crossover Event

Quick bit of background info is that all of Skylar's animals are weird in some way (expect maybe Mitchy the Ostrich who's just a regularly mean bird). They're typically found by other adventurers or members of the ministry and handed over to Magnus for study. But Magnus doesn't know how to take care of animals very well so he hands them off to Skylar instead. Lord Baron (the ¿goat?) and Kouta (a ¿¿cow??) in particular both have a unique ability to control plant growth and make portals. Kouta is generally more peaceful. Only bringing in strange fruits that Skylar attempts to grab for study, but Lord Baron sometimes causes a bit more havoc.

For the sake of this, we're saying that Lord Baron is the cause of my other ocs getting stuck in the Stardew universe. It started with Parker, then Jade, then Sol, and Skylar is trying their damned hardest to figure out how to get everyone BACK to their worlds because they're kind of getting sick of all these people in their house.

Sol

Overview

Life in the Valley

Jade

Overview

Life in the Valley (Coming Soon)

Parker

Overview (Coming Soon)

Life in the Valley (Coming Soon)

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[knifearo]

hey can you fuck off actually. nobody asked nobody cares and i encourage you to go discover the sweet pure joy of making your Own Fucking Post instead of putting this shit in my notifications. if you're gonna condescendingly police how aspec people use their own damn labels then you could at least have the decency to keep your stupid unwarranted opinions in a space where i don't have to fucking look at them. christ

daily gentle reminder that the words we use to describe ourselves are labels. they're not immutable states of being, they're not all-encompassing, they're not permanent, they're not universal; labels are just words that we use to indicate something about our experience that we find important enough to communicate to others. if your experience with attraction is significantly different enough from a typical allo experience then aspec labels are there for you to use as long as you want them; and conversely, what aspec labels communicate is just that someone's experience is aligned enough with what we describe as aromanticism/asexuality to warrant telling people about it. you never need a label, you never need to keep a label, you never need to justify a label, and you never need to use a label for anything besides what you want it for. it's not a contract. it's an adjective that you can choose to use or not to use. all it needs to do is be useful for you. 💚🖤

[the-ancient-dragons]

The last Overcomplicated Pantalan tribe; LeafWings!

You know how it goes. I'm just me and Joy and Tui are awesome and amazing.

Details and explanation below.

Otherwise, next week is something new! You'll get to meet one of my fantribes >:)

More overcomplicated dragons.

With the LeafWing, I struggled to decide what approach to take. Should I do something closer to canon or go crazy and do 100% my go-to headcanon?

Because my go-to headcanon is that LeafWings should have four wings. I found it odd that they and SilkWings both come from Pyrrhia, but SilkWings (technically BeetleWings) were the only tribe that evolved four wings? I hesitated to even mention this in my HiveWing post because idk how popular this opinion is, but even the fact that Clearsight's arrival somehow split the BeetheWings into two WILDLY different tribes is astounding, with how long dragons live.

But that's not the point of this post. We're here for LeafWings and buckle up, it's a doozy.

So first of all, the reason I justified a four-winged LeafWing is to help it camouflage as a plant better. I'll eventually provide a sheet of this, but it would have two main defence modes, the first being a single-leaf version where they lie flat on the ground or stand still with their wings drooping, creating the silhouette of a single leaf, or a version where they hang on the end of a branch and hold their wings and tail out.

It isn't just their wings that creates this look. I took the original single sail and split it in two, based on the ribs of a draco lizard, and had them run along the sides of its neck. When spread, they are a part of the single-leaf camouflage and bridge the gap between the head and shoulders. They would also have more similar frills on their front and back legs in case they need to camouflage standing up. They could use this for hunting or hiding...

Continuing with the bug-avian beak mix, I referenced african parrot species and leafcutter ants. The highly altered head is based on horned frogs and leaf geckos, and I obviously based the colouration and patterning on leaf insects (though the lighting kind of hides it on the back of the head, lol). Last but not least, I wanted to preserve and enhance the leaf cell design Joy used for the scattered body scales (at least, I'm 90% sure it's for that purpose, it seems most obvious). So, like any sane human, I found photos of plant cells under microscopes and used the rectangular-ish shapes for the main body scales.

I had so much fun making this series. It seems like a lot of people enjoyed it as much as I did. I learned a lot about external anatomy and mixing different creatures to achieve unified designs.

School is doing its best to murder me (I can't do big pieces) so from now on I'll have to stick to loose sketches I can do in-class or doodle within an hour. But once we learn more about bones and muscles I'll be able to take a crack at analyzing the full bodies of some of the tribes. I'll go in whatever order I see fit.

In the meantime, I've got some Fantribes for you, starting next week! See you then!

[raguiras]

Music Weeks at NRC!

A Twisted Wonderland fan event

For a big event, Night Raven College splits into four large music groups, each with their own unique style and aesthetic. Follow the beat of your heart and create something miraculous!

These are just some quick sketches, but I'm pretty happy with them!

SHARING IS SUPER APPRECIATED!!! ♡♡♡

DEADLINE: none :) // My other ongoing event (ship art trades)

ALL INFO BELOW THE CUT!

☆ LORE ☆

RAGU Entertainment, an up-and-rising music company focusing on young talents, has offered Night Raven College a sponsorship and cooperation! The student body is being split into four large music groups, each with their own aesthetic and style. For every song made by the students, Night Raven College is rewarded with both exposure and money in exchange for promoting the company through the students' music. Some of the teens chose their groups themselves, others were assigned to one; some are performers, others work behind the scenes. Additionally, everyone is turning the music weeks into an unofficial battle — who makes the best, most well-received songs?

The NRC faculty members supervise the groups themselves, and Allen, the Ramshackle student known for his lyrical talent, organization skills and passion for music, is in charge of supervising the event's quality while simultaneously also working as the co-leader of his own group.

☆ GROUP INTROS ☆

Hazard/Riff: hip hop/rock fusion // street style aesthetic // leader: Deuce (+ Allen)

PASTEL BXMB!: bubblegum/dance pop fusion // pastel aesthetic // leader: Kalim

GLOWCHAIN: k-pop/EDM fusion //sparkly, mature aesthetic // leader: Vil

lonely lantern: indie/soft pop fusion // light academia/cottagecore // leader: Silver

The descriptions are rather vague so there's more room for you to be creative.

You obviously aren't limited to these pictures and can expand on the aesthetic as long as it's still similar! Draw your OC in whatever clothes you consider to be fitting.

☆ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ☆

Pick one of the four groups for your OC. Which one suits them best?

Use said group's designated background (scroll down in this post to find them) and make a TWST event card for your OC!

Write some voicelines, such as gacha or homescreen ones.

OPTIONAL: Make a GROOVY version portraying your OC in a music video scene (may be posted separately).

OPTIONAL: Include a few fun doodles or outfit-related stuff.

Post it with the hashtag ragu music weeks, tag (@) me so I can see it, and link this post in it!

I will link your OC's card in the official lineup section of this post.

Writing a fic, drawing something other than a card, or just doing anything creative in general is also allowed! You can obviously mix multiple of these things, too.

I'm looking forward to ALL types of entries.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ RULES ☆

No NSFW.

All types of NRC student OCs are allowed (except for fan children/another generation)! Faculty OCs are also allowed, but as supervisors instead of performers.

Your student OCs can be anything: a vocalist, rapper, dancer, instrumentalist, producer, lyricist, makeup artist, stage designer, director, choreographer, whatever! Just don't make them a co-leader without my approval.

You can obviously enter with multiple OCs!

Making cards of canon characters is technically allowed, but the event is supposed to focus on OCs. (I will draw Deuce's OFFICIAL card and maybe also some others.)

There are no canon ships (other than Deuce x Allen, which is only canon/extremely implied because Deuce's planned event lore is heavily dependent on his relationship with Allen), so please don't bash anyone for implying that their OC is dating/crushing on the same canon character as yours.

Don't make your OC beef with other people's OCs unless they've given you permission to do so.

Don't move a canon character into a different group. The official lineups can be found below.

☆ CARD BACKGROUNDS ☆

Hazard/Riff -> PASTEL BXMB! -> GLOWCHAIN -> lonely lantern

☆ OUR LINEUPS ☆

[Your OC will be added here with a link!]

Hazard/Riff (supervised by Vargas)

DEUCE, Allen, EPEL, ACE, LEONA, RUGGIE, FLOYD, Zian, Estella, Iyad, Estelle, Yuhua

PASTEL BXMB! (supervised by Sam)

KALIM, LILIA, IDIA, ORTHO, SEBEK, Carla, Bonbon, Astrid, Romeo, Fiend, Yumi, Yuya, Forsythea, Ben, Ruby, Victor (links will be added once I've regained them... they got removed 😭)

GLOWCHAIN (supervised by Crewel)

VIL, TREY, CATER, AZUL, JAMIL, MALLEUS, Ryuuni, Viviroe, Stephanie, Erin, Kyoi, Aurinelle

lonely lantern (supervised by Trein)

SILVER, JADE, RIDDLE, JACK, ROOK, Jinx, Cass, Yorrana, Illysabeth

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OUR LEADERS ☆

DEUCE: Having adapted music as an outlet for his delinquent tendencies from Allen and enjoying himself with this form of self-expression, Deuce is the born leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only have his vocals and especially his rap greatly improved by now, but he also writes lyrics together with Allen.

KALIM: Spread joy! Despite it being different from his usual aesthetics, Kalim immediately felt intrigued by the concept of PASTEL BXMB! and knew that this was the group he wanted to join. Through his naturally positive aura and ability to bring people together, he fits them incredibly well, and serves as a vocalist as well as the main dancer.

VIL: GLOWCHAIN has a mature, elegant sparkly aesthetic — it was a no-brainer that Vil would be its leader. The ambitious, talented artist makes sure that the group stands out and draws people in with his preexisting popularity and charisma. He is a vocalist as well as the visual of the group.

SILVER: Being calm, kind and well-liked, Silver is a fitting leader for lonely lanterns, an indie group welcoming to all kinds of personalities and skill levels. With his soothing vocals, good looks and somewhat odd aesthetic, he became the face of the group.

(ALLEN: Being the person who introduced music as a coping mechanism to Deuce, Allen is the co-leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only is he a talented producer and rapper as well as an exceptional lyricist, but he also has a blind understanding with Deuce, and the two spend tons of time together. When it comes to the group, Allen is perfectionistic but enthusiastic.)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ GROUP FOCUSES ☆

Hazard/Riff: Partial usage of instruments. Focuses on rap, rock vocals, and meaningful lyrics.

PASTEL BXMB!: No usage of instruments. Focuses on positivity, good vibes and dance.

GLOWCHAIN: No usage of instruments. Focuses on aesthetics, elegance and good vocals.

lonely lantern: Partial usage of instruments. Has no focus and is the most open-minded group.

☆ INSPIRATION PLAYLISTS ☆

Hazard/Riff — PASTEL BXMB! — GLOWCHAIN — lonely lantern

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OTHER EVENT NOTES ☆

You're very much allowed to include my designs, Allen (his profile is linked in the leader section), or the Deuce x Allen ship (they have duo magic too!) in your OC's card's groovy version. No need to ask for my permission!

Interactions between your OC and Allen are very much encouraged! Feel free to mention him in your OC's voicelines, too.

I'll make a card for Allen, and I'll also make Deuce's OFFICIAL card. If the mood strikes me, I'll possibly also draw official cards for some other canon characters.

I'll reblog every entry on my reblog blog and also link all entries in this post!

If this event ends up being well-received, I'll do a second part someday! So far, the idea is that it would be vkei/electro swing/weirdcore/Europop.

All resources were found on and downloaded from Pinterest, then edited. The event art was drawn by me.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment!

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 3 - He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here Masterlist

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

“Be'jaa, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer, or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life. 

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track, and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Be'jaa wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed, and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you. 

Speaking of him, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Be'jaa?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark, or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Be'jaa?”

And again.

“Be–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to instill that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up. 

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on. 

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant. 

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately, a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat. 

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that. 

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything. 

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip. 

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein. 

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear. 

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition. 

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward, towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, and rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader. 

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you. 

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up, and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He looped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt. 

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear. 

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him. 

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human-like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound. 

“Be'jaa!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Be'jaa turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Be'jaa, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand. 

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein. 

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did. 

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started. 

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too. 

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey, and kill it. 

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee, and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course, I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain, and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him, you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing, and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table, and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between them at what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, and down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

continue with the fourth part He Shall Prevail

[heck-theo]

Okokokokok- ignore how rough and messy some of these redraws/sketches are - but it's apparently also dinosaur month?? (WHY did no one ever tell me it's Jurassic June? I love dinosaurs) And like. What if Rise but dinosaurs?!

I don't often post such loose sketches but I wanted to show these off cause I really like some of this.

Design choices and dino species + the reasons I picked them bellow (looking for potential Donnie dino suggestions):

Clothes: Without the shell they really need clothes. They'd all have pretty much the same pants to keep some unity, except maybe Mikey (I decided they should all have the same pants after I finished the Mikey sketches, not sure if I'll keep the shorts or change to pants). Accessories are a mix of pre and post finale.

Raph - I think would keep it simple and practical but would also wear nice jackets and stuff when in casual situations. I need to work on giving him an alternative outfit and tweak his accessories a bit.

Donnie - An oversized pull-over hoodie cause we already know he loves that shit. We see him wearing it all the time. Easy enough. He wears a comfortable singlet underneath so the straps of his battle sail don't rub. Nice soft fabric, tight fit so it doesn't move around, tucks it into his pants, etc. When he wears the battle sail he won't overheat so he can wear hoodies basically all year round.

Leo - He's in one of those shirts with obnoxiously large arm holes and make it cropped cause 1. I think he would 2. I want it to be different from Raph and Donnie's singlets. He usually wears the shoulder strap off his shoulder but pulls it up when he needs to. He has some of the black bandages over his mid drift atm but I might just make his pants super high waisted in the final version. He'd probably wear a bomber jacket (also cropped?) over the top for cool weather, but doesn't like to hide his feathers.

Mikey - I think he'd mostly wear hand me downs when he's younger. He definitely goes through a stage of rebelling and wanting to pick his own and would find a middle ground of appreciating sharing some of his brother's clothes and modifying them, as long as he has the choice of his own available. Not sure if that would be before or after this design. At the moment he's got Raph's old shorts (from a loooong time ago), Leo's old shirt, and Donnie's old zip up hoodie. He does have his own accessories though, including pins instead of stickers.

Dinosaurs: I kept them all as non-avian dinosaurs, AKA not including animals that are colloquially considered dinos but aren't (like pterosaurs). I wanted to keep an even split of herbivore vs carnivore just so one wasn't the odd one out. I wanted to keep most of their body structure, colours and distinguishing features the same as canon. Obviously I added tails cause, yeah, of course haha. I did want them to be recognisable as different species of dino using distinct characteristics that their species is known for. I did ignore a lot of differences though, like size and bipedal vs quadruped (although the quadrupeds might be more likely to go to all fours, especially when fighting or afraid). Leo and Donnie are carnivores so have sharper teeth and claws.

Raph - Some kind of Ceratopsian (likely Triceratops or something very similar) and he was the first idea I had for this and I'm really happy with it. I think it just suits him. Trike Raph just came to me in an unprecedented moment of genius. His spikey frill replicates his spikey shell. His sturdiness, protectiveness and willingness to kick ass when needed, all scream trike to me.

Donnie - Spinosaurus but looking for other species recommendations. More details below: So I wanted to figure out a way for him to have tech with a similar function to his battle shell (in the sense that it's something that helped him in day to day life) and so I went with spino cause one possible theory about a function of spinosaurus' sail is temperature regulation. So his battle sail has heating/cooling systems as well as other tech. A spino's sail was probably not fragile but the battle sail would also help protect it from being targeted during fights or crushed during extreme impacts. It was also thought to be used for display, and what's more of a display than a battle sail? The only problem I have with this is that it's lacking part of what makes Donnie's battle shell so great, which is that it is essentially a prosthetic. Not quite the same as how prosthetics are used in people of course, just in the sense that it is replicating the functionality of a body part that he doesn't have (I can't think of a better word). Well he does have a shell but it doesn't function in the same way that his brothers shells do, which leaves him with less defense than they have, hence a big reason for the battle shell (I hope I explained this well, it was hard to try and word properly). I can't think of a good way to do this with dinos. I was thinking of a carno or something with tiny arms, then Donnie could have tech enhanced arms but I'm pretty much ignoring body structure in the others so it would be weird to have just Donnie be affected by a difference in limb structure/functionality. I was thinking prosthetic tail but every non avian dinosaur had a pretty substantial tail. Except therizinosaurus but even they hade pretty obvious tails. I'm open to suggestions for this one if anyone has ideas. It does have to be an extinct non-avian dinosaur (anything not in Avialae), preferably carnivore but if someone suggests a really good herbivore or omnivore then I can try and swap Mikey for a carnivore. I want there to be an even split. I also wanted to give him something different on his face, like his brothers, and that could only be a little spino crest and it crowds the top of his head but I can't put it anywhere else...

Leo - A type of Dromaeosaur. I was tossing up between this and a dilophosaur where his red stripes were part of the dilo's crest, cause I wasn't sure about giving him feathers. But dilo Leo was so plain compared to the rest and the crests were hard to get looking right so I went back to raptor Leo. I can definitely imagine him literally and metaphorically preening his feathers too. You can't really see it but he does also have that big raptor claw. Raptors were smart, tactical and worked in packs so I think that suits him. I wasn't specifically referencing how some artists draw Leo's stripes coming off his face (I was just trying to replicate his stripes somehow, even though it doesn't make a huge amount of sense) but I realised afterwards that it kinda looks like that and might have been subconsciously inspired by it.

Mikey - Is an Ankylosaur. I'm pretty happy with the species but I need to work out the design of his armour plating so that it looks interesting, cool and protective but isn't too chunky, too pointy or super lumpy looking. I went with an anky cause Mikey is often hiding in his shell and he can't do the same here but he could curl up in a defensive ball. Plus I could imagine him using his tail club in his razzmatazz fighting style. A little like his kusari-fundo or nunchacku/nunchucks (not sure on proper wording).

[chocosvt]

HER | part two.

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

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

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.  

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

 “Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

 “Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”           

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.  

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.  

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically. 

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Donnie Tech Part 1/?

After many moons here are the promised observations of the cartoon shtick logic of Donnie's weapons for season one!! Will link a season two and movie version Eventually, but keep in mind I can't explain in depth how each bit of tech works, rather that I can pinpoint the functions for the visual bit. Keep in mind that Donnie's tech can pretty much do any ridiculous thing you can put your mind to, and that it can also backfire in any ridiculous way you can put your mind to.

Tech Bo:

Collapsible, can become a shorter version of itself easily stored

Shoot a grappling hook AND function as a zip line

Can form a rocket from either end (usually at the same time, resulting in the bo spinning)

Is equipped to be a fire extinguisher

Can shoot out lasers

Has a button that activates the "Shopping Cart Protocol" to lock the Turtle Tank if it goes outside a set perimeter

Top can turn into a rocket powered fist

Turn into a giant drill

Turn into a saw

Turn into a tranquilizer

Turn into a tennis ball shooter

Turn into a selfie stick

Top can turn into a disco ball of "multidimensional reflective orb neutralizer"

Battle Shell:

Has rotary engines (think jet turbine or computer fan) that help him fly around. He calls them "rotors" for short

Can transform into a seat so April can sit on his back

Can split up into a DJ set up in "music mode"

Jet Pack Shell:

His fastest mode of transportation

Not much is shown, but April had a significant difficulty controlling it

Spider Shell:

Has four arms with three fingers

Arms can turn into saws

Has a seemingly endless toolkit inside that includes basic things like hammers and wrenches, but also blowtorches

Goggles:

Has night vision

Can function as binoculars

Is able to summon is tech ("communicates with microwave transceiver with class c encryption protocols")

Read mystic energy signatures after adding the crystal they found in Draxum's lab

Gauntlet:

Has an app that can tap into every security camera in NY

Bug Slapper:

Has a green Mad Dogs sticker on the side

Compacts itself into a metal suitcase and then expand back into a vehicle

So far only uses Big Mama's webbing material as projectiles

Shelldon:

Began as an automated smart lair designed with the intent as a cleaning assistant

Has a "disposal unit" which unlocks several of Donnie's weapons such as: guns, pinchers, drills, and flamethrowers

Can carry at least two turtles (Mikey and Donnie)

Is nicknamed "Cyber Bishop" by Donnie

Uses surfer dude slang: “dude”, “gnarly”, “buzzkill”, “okey dokey”, “dawg”, “you beefed it”, “brohounds"

As a smart lair has clear favoritism towards Donnie until tampered with. As a drone they share more of a familial or pet like relationship, and Shelldon has room to sometimes poke at Donnie's faults as well

In conclusion there's not much to worry about breaking canon, the physics of our reality, or understanding complicated tech and science to write about Donnie's tech. He can do whatever he wants as long as it's silly, overly dramatic, and includes an unnecessary amount of purple guns. His tech bo is especially flexible with breaking the rules even before we get to his ninpo powers.

I'm keeping the Turtle Tank separate, because it also deserves its own post. Happy writing!

[ryywyd]

HYFR

Wnba!Paige bueckers x black!Oc

Nsfw smut w/ plot, they went to scissor city ;) Author notes. This is my first time posting on tumblr #retiredwattpadgirly but my drafts are full so I’m finally posting. This might have two more parts (idk haven’t decided yet.) oh! And this ain’t proofread sorry

The restaurant lights dimmed the room as the low chatter from the surrounding guess filed the rest of the space, in corner set Saida and Paige both low eyed looking at each other with nothing but lust.

The girl sitting in front of Paige had transformed entirely from the person she had known fours years prior. Her once bare skin was now adorned with black ink and piercings. The change did not bother Paige; in fact, it turned her on more than she expected.

The two had sent a year together at UConn becoming more than acquainted before Saida transferred to ucla, the two wasn't in a relationship but they had an understanding but Paige wanted more than that On the other hand, Saida, influenced by her strict religious upbringing, she couldn't bring herself to it, which led them ending things ,.

And Finally reconnecting with each other– bring them here now, after Paige spotted Saida sitting court side at one of her games. Pulling her back in making her realize why she wanted all of those years ago.

"I'm sorry, what was you saying ?" Paige spoke shaking her head, she had completely tuned out everything Saida had said, she was more focused on how the light hit Saida brown skin that made the black link pop out and how the swoop from her straighten hair fell in her face.

"I said it's nice we could do this." Saida repeated as her eyes fell onto Paige's lips. ' y'know with how i ended everything.. I'm sorry again.,

"You don't gotta' keep apologizing, I'm not holding it against you " She husked her voice low 'we good now.,

"So.. was that your girlfriend ?, Paige questioned changing the subject and breaking the uncomfortable silence between them  "at the game with you ?"

"Something like that?it's more of a situationship, I don't know It's complicated." Saida shrugged pushing her straw around, her eyes roaming over Paige.

"If you gotta' girlfriend..what you doing here with me" Paige tried to push down the jealousy that was starting to show.

Saida shook her head biting the corner of her lip motioning for Paige to lean in,lifting up from your seat meeting her halfway whispering into her ear ' because I want you so bad p;

"We can get this shit to go, you gotta prove it to me ma;

In the span of thirty minutes the two had already made it back to Saida apartment and they couldn't keep their hands off of each other particularly ripping each others clothes off. Stumbling into the room, four years away apart felt like a decade and they were feining  for each other.

Paige gripped her jaw making her mouth open slightly "Open." She demanded as she watched her open up her mouth some more sticking her tongue out

Her split dripped in Saida mouth before she pulled her in, sucking on her tongue "I'm bout' to fuck you so good." She mumbled against her as she moved lips back to hers. As she roughly pulled the skirt Saida wore down rubbing her through the thin lace.

" w-wait, I wanna eat you first." She whimpered out feeling her apply more pressure against her wet cunt, she hummed not hearing ignoring what she said.

"You wanna make me feel good?" Paige asked softly watching as her breaths got heavier as she rubbed between her wet slit "tell me how much you want me."

"Please." Saida plead, she was all over the place she didn't know if the pleads were for Paige to keep touching her or for Paige to let her taste her.

"Get on your knees."

Paige lift her bottom half of the bed, pulling her jeans down along with her boxers repositioning herself at the edge of the bed. Spreading her legs wider; crawling in between her legs kissing the inside of her thighs Paige buckled her hips moving her wet cunt closer.

"Don't tease." Paige breathe out gripping saida's cheeks moving her face into, latching her mouth onto Paige moan softly against the blonde.

"Fuck! You so nasty baby." Paige amused moving her hands into saida's hair pulling her closer than she already was grinding into her face.

Saida was restless more eager to get the blonde to come on her tongue than anything, the vibration from her moans sent Paige over the edge

"Come for me p; make a mess in my mouth." Pulling back enough for Paige to hear her. Her hand creep up sliding a finger into her leaking hole with ease. Attaching her mouth back onto her clit sucking as her fingers move

her fingers curled against the blonde g spot. Paige let out weak moan as her hand flew up gripping the back of her neck, nails digging into her skin as she arched her back.

"Don't stop" the girl panted as she tangled her free hand into the dark hair and tugged. Paige whimpered, feeling her slip back inside of her. She didn't even know that she had done that. It didn't matter though, because it felt amazing. She couldn't hold back, her high finally hitting her.

Saida grinned as she felt the girl's pussy clench around her fingers. Her cum flooded her mouth, her sweet taste making her moan.

"I'm boutta cum, fuck sai right there." Paige whimpered gripping the girl hair harder, moving her her closer holding her head down riding out her orgasm,

finally letting go letting the girl up for air pulling her up by her hair pulling her into a sloppy kiss. Paige tilt her head back Opening her mouth signaling for Saida to spit in her mouth "You gon' let me fuck you now ?"

Paige questioned pulling the girl onto her lap, roughly pulling the thin lace to side flipping them over' let me hear you baby,

"Fuck me please."

Paige shot up, straddling Saida right thigh then lifting her left leg up letting it rest on her broad shoulder. She rolled her hips forward, meeting the girl's sloppy cunt with her own. They both were so wet, arousal dripping onto both of their thighs.

You feel so fucking good, fuck." The younger girl groaned, her head falling back onto the mattress, mouth agape. Paige's hands ran over the girl's smooth legs, fingers dancing over the girl's pussy. Her thumb circled her clit, teasing it.

"Paige.." she breathed out, her hips thrusting up trying to meet the blonde touch.

"Look at that making a fuckin’ mess." Paige cooed her eyes focused on where her pussy gushes onto the girls moving her hips to get the perfect angle.

"D-don't stop baby please." Saida whimper as Paige spreader her legs wider with a strong grip on her thigh fucking herself into the bed making the headboard hit against the wall repeatedly.

Paige let out a groan grinding into the girl faster than she was before , this time the headboard bangs against the wall louder than it already was , covering the filthy sounds of your pussys wetness mixing together.

"oh fuck p- Paige Paige !" Saida frantically chant her name over and over her hands moving all over her before landing on her forearms and digging her nails into them.

"you like when I fuck you like this? Like it when my pussy makes a mess all over yours hm?" She breathlessly whispered, her hips stutter and her nails digging into the girl skin

Such a fuckin’ slut i'm gonna cum all over that pussy" she breathlessly whispers. her hips stutter and her hands grip your thighs harshly.

"Cum all over me baby " Saida whine, not breaking eye contact as her hips jerk forward as she desperately chased after her orgasm

"fuck, fuck, oh god-!" she gasps, eyes squeezing shut as she cums. A mixture of both of the girls hot strings of thick cum landed on Saida lower stomach, dripping down and onto both of their folds. it's all too much. Paige can feel her body tense against saida’s , her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

Paige rolled off the girl, gently placing tender kisses along her shoulder and up to her jawline. She raised her hand to softly trace the love make she had left scattered around her neck.

“You can’t leave me ever again.”

Author note #2. I hope yall liked this fr, I gave up towards the end.

[moonscriptsx]

Daylight || 01 (M)

PART 2

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

SYNOPSIS:  Between the endless flirty banter or secret looks of longing, the line between you and your boss had always been slightly blurred. But when a night out with friends has you and your boss meeting for the first time outside of the workplace, that line starts to become nonexistent as mutual feelings are brought to light.

PAIRING: CEO!Wonwoo x Assistant!Reader [with appearances by Mingyu (a self-proclaimed Cupid extraordinaire), Soonyoung & Joshua as supportive besties, Seungkwan & Seokmin as the life of the party, Seungcheol (a menace), and a brief glimpse of Chan.]

GENRE: Coworkers→Friends→Lovers!AU – Fluff + Smut [minors dni]

WORDS: The entirety of both parts is 27.1k. Part 1 is 15.4k and part 2 is 11.6k.

WARNINGS: Slowburn, pining from both ends. Reader is constantly in a silent crisis when it comes to feelings, and Wonwoo is possessive (both in and out of the bedroom). Mentions of alcohol, cursing, and grinding on the dancefloor. Wonwoo is a slightly hard!dom but talks you through it so sweetly it'll make you melt. Oral (both recieving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), messy orgasms. Slight choking, dirty talk, alludes to squirting. Wonwoo is a pussy fiend.

A/N: Shoutout to the plethora of billionaire CEO books that I've been reading recently that ended up inspiring this piece and subsequently pulled me out of a three, almost four, year writing drought. But now I'm finding out that Tumblr has this stupid fucking character block limit that's not letting me post the fic in its entirety so it'll be split into two parts. Annoying ass rule. Anyway, It's good to be back! 🫶🏻

PLAYLIST: daylight by taylor swift // poison ivy by hemi moore // violet chemistry by miley cyrus // play with fire by sam tinnesz // ruin my life by zara larsson // tonight by zayn // middle of the night by elley duhe // worst behavior by ariana grande. // so it goes by taylor swift

The bustling street of people has you grumbling underneath your breath as you weave in and out of the crowd, the soles of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk the last two blocks to get to your office. The early morning traffic of business men and women alike are already getting on your nerves as they take their time getting to their own jobs, taking strides small and slow enough that you’re ready to wring every single one of their necks as you bypass them while juggling the carrier of coffee in your hand.

A string of obscenities is falling from your mouth as you stumble inside the office building, clutching onto the coffees for dear life as you manage to make your way to the elevators without spilling the cups. Pressing the top floor, you’re heaving a sigh of relief as the elevator ‘dings’, a grumble escaping you as your heels click against the floor with each stride you take. Scattered murmurs around the office have you straining to hear the morning gossip, your eyes curiously peering around at the worried faces of your coworkers.

“He’s miserable today.”

Whirring around, you meet the wide smile of Mingyu, the head of finance and Wonwoo’s right hand man. You roll your eyes at his words before grabbing a coffee from the carrier and handing it to the man.

“When is he not miserable?” You counter, making Mingyu chuckle.

“When he’s around you,” he teases, making your face flush.

“Shut up,” you hiss, glaring at him. “He’s always miserable around me. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he hated me.”

He scoffs at your words before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh please,” he grinned. “You bring order and excitement to his life. Two things which he desperately needs.”

You shoot Mingyu a pointed look as you grip the last two coffees in the carrier, your head gesturing towards his office as your spin on your heel.

“Get back to work, Mingyu.”

The taller man grumbles, his lips forming into a pout as he calls behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Ignoring his response, you make your way towards your desk. Placing the carrier down, you set your laptop bag onto your desk before unwrapping your purse from around you and setting it on your chair. Grabbing your coffee in one hand, you grab the remaining one in the carrier with your other hand before turning towards the open door behind your desk. He hasn’t noticed your presence yet, the man still immersed in the papers he’s reading.

Leaning against the doorframe, you let a smirk grace your lips as you gazed at your unsuspecting boss. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and he’s frowning as he reads over the words on the paper. Along with his serious and reserved nature, he was devastatingly handsome. Sharp eyes, high bridged nose, and lips that curled into a feline smirk when he was feeling cocky enough. His looks paired with the strong build and tall statue made him look nothing less than a god.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you break yourself out of analyzing your boss as you announce your presence.

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to smile every now and again.”

The sound of your voice has the man’s head snapping up to look at you, sharp eyes shooting you a pointed look as you grinned at your boss. Pushing yourself off of the doorframe, you walk over to him and place the other coffee cup down onto his desk, biting back a laugh as he stares at you with a blank look on his face.

“Now I understand why women get annoyed when people tell them to smile.”

His deadpan response only makes your smile grow wider as you take a seat in one of the chairs in front of him, your own cup of coffee nestled in your hands as you take a sip.

“I’m just saying,” you hold a hand up in defense. “If you keep frowning, your face is going to get stuck like that. And you’ll get wrinkles”

“Maybe then people will leave me alone,” he grumbled.

“Unfortunately, you’re a CEO, Mr. Jeon,” you point out. “You’re going to have to meet with people whether you want to or not.”

Wonwoo hums before he leans forward to grab his coffee.

Thick rimmed glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, his sharp eyes devoid of any amusement.

“If I asked you to cancel all of my meetings for today, would you?”

You splutter into your coffee cup at his question, eyes widening at the serious look on his face.

“Please don’t tell me you’re serious,” you whined, shoulders slumping in defeat. “It’s already eight thirty and your first meeting is in half an hour!”

Wonwoo purses his lips, eyes glinting under the fluorescents.

“I’m sure they would understand,” he reassures.

It’s then you catch him biting back a small smile, realization washing over you as your lips part in surprise.

“Are - are you – making a joke?”

Wonwoo shrugs, this time letting his lips curl into a feline-like smirk.

“Not a very good one, apparently,” he chuckles, making you let out a laugh of surprise.

“Look at you, Mr. Jeon,” you beam. “You can smile every once in a while.”

Shaking his head at your words, Wonwoo folds his hands on his desk before leaning comfortably against the back of his chair.

“Were you able to set up the meeting with Seungcheol?”

You nod, crossing your legs as you adjust your posture on the chair.

“He’ll be meeting us in two weeks,” you informed. “Mingyu and I are already working on the numbers and stats as well as putting together the powerpoint to present.”

Wonwoo nods in acknowledgement, his glasses slightly sliding down the bridge of his nose at the movement, and you try to ignore the muscles in his arm as you watch him push them back up.

“Good,” he praises. “I expect nothing less than perfect with the two of you.”

You swallow thickly at the praise, adjusting your legs once more as you try not to shrink under his gaze.

“Right,” you murmur, avoiding his eyes. “I should get to work.”

Smoothing out your skirt as you stand up, you turn to walk away from Wonwoo when he calls out our name, your head turning back to look at him as he gestures towards the coffee.

“Thank you,” he calls out. “For the drink.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not quite sure why he chose now of all the times to thank you for the drink you bring him everyday.

“You’re welcome.”

Pushing aside the confusion, you turn back around and get started on your day.

“(Y/N)!”

Soonyoung’s whine reverberates from the speaker as you wince, masking it with a smile as you look at your friend on the screen.

With your busy work schedule, you haven't had much time to see or hang out with your friends, gaining you whines and groans of ‘We miss you’s!’ from the group whenever you have a chance to Facetime them.

“Hi Soonie,” you greet, beaming with a small wave. “Happy almost birthday!”

Soonyoung’s grin widens at your words, the blonde bouncing happily on the other side of the screen.

“Thank you, honey!” He responds. “I was actually calling about that. We’re going to the HYBE Club on Friday for my birthday and I wanted to see if you were able to go.”

Pursing your lips, you perch your phone up against the corner of your computer screen as you toggle around the apps, pulling up your calendar and scanning over the dates. The empty space for Friday’s date stares back at you and you almost want to cry out of relief at the sight of a rare day off, your lips curving into a bright smile as you peer down at Soonyoung’s face on the screen.

“Believe it or not,” you started, grinning at your friend. “I’m off.”

A joyous cheer escapes the blonde, muffled shouts in the background indicating that your friends had heard the whole thing and were collectively celebrating at the fact that you were able to join them. Soonyoung beams at the camera.

“We’re going to have a blast, (Y/N)!” He says, excitedly. “Meet us at HYBE Club around five! We’re going to start out with dinner and drinks!”

“And dancing!”

Dokyeom’s shout echoes in your airpod and you can’t help but to giggle as he and Soonyoung wrestle over the phone, the former’s bright smile coming into view as he grins at you through the phone.

“Hi (Y/N)!” He greets, his infectious smile making you beam back at him.

“Hi ‘Kyeomie.” you coo, blowing him a kiss. “I miss you!”

“We miss you too!” He whines, pouting. “You’ve been working too hard lately.”

“I know I have,” you frown. “But I’m excited to be able to have a night with you guys.”

“We can’t wait (Y/N)!”

Joshua and Seungkwan shout from the background and you can’t help but to laugh as the four of them wrestle over the phone. You were so preoccupied in watching the chaos unfold amongst your friends that you hadn’t noticed the presence that stood behind you, the deep timbre almost making you jump out of your skin.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You’re clambering to hit the end button, heat flooding your cheeks as you place the phone face down on your desk as you swivel your chair to face Wonwoo, your boss standing behind you with his arms folded over his chest. Butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach as you catch the playful glint in his eyes as he leans against the doorway.

“N – not at all, Mr. Jeon,” you stuttered out. “I was just finishing my lunch break.”

Wonwoo nods, a small frown on his face as his gaze trails over you.

“Ah,” he responds, and you catch the slight slump of his shoulders at your words. “I was actually coming to see if you wanted to grab lunch with me.”

Your heart stilled, the butterflies multiplying tenfold as you mirror his frown.

“Oh,” you mutter, dejectedly. “I’m sorry, sir. If I had known –”

“It’s alright, (Y/N),” he brushes off your apology with a wave of his hand. “Now I know for next time to catch you a little sooner.”

Offering you a small smile, he bows his head in your direction before walking off to the elevators. You’re still frowning as you watch his retreating form, your heart tugging regretfully in your chest, a small sigh escaping you as you slump back defeated in your chair.

“Yikes,” a voice chimes from behind you. “Break his heart, why don’t you?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare as your head snapped to look at a smirking Mingyu, his tall stature leaning against your desk.

“Shut up, Mingyu,” you bite out, making the man laugh.

“The man just wanted to treat you to a nice meal and you turned him down,” he tuts, shaking his head. “That’s cold.”

“I already ate!” You defended. “I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch him eat.”

Mingyu purses his lips, shoulders shrugging in thought.

“Maybe he likes that,” he grins. “Maybe he just wanted to be in your company.”

You roll your eyes at his words, waving him off as you turn to your computer.

“I’m in his company enough,” you muttered, making Mingyu snicker.

“Maybe he wants more than your company.”

Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows at you teasingly, chortling with laughter as you chuck a pen in his direction.

“Leave me alone, Gyu!”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, holding his hands up in defense. “It’s something to think about.”

“It’s nothing to think about,” you grumbled. “Go back to your office and mind your business.”

Mingyu’s laugh follows him as he walks away, leaving you to mull over his words as your mind fills with the image of you laying in your boss’s arms, heat flooding between your legs at the thought of your bare body pressed against his silk sheets.

Ignoring your increased heart rate, you’re turning back to the computer and grumbling under your breath.

Go to hell, Kim Mingyu.

Tongues and teeth clash together in a bruising kiss as you’re clambering to sit on the desk, a whimper falling from your lips as hands rip open your blouse, buttons flying everywhere as your chest becomes exposed. There’s a growl against your lips, teeth clamping down onto your bottom one as greedy hands encase themselves around your covered breasts. If the bruising kiss hadn’t left you breathless, it was the rough kneading to your bra-clad mounds that had your lips parting in ecstasy. Frenzied lips leave a hot trail down the expanse of your neck as you’re perched on the desk, legs wrapping around lean hips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grits out, tongue sweeping over the valley between your breasts. “Perfect for me and only me. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You moan at his words, back arching into his touch as he reaches behind to unclasp your bra.

“Only you, Mr. Jeon.”

A salacious smirk crosses his lips as he peers up at you from between your breasts, glasses haphazardly sitting on the bridge of his nose, and he’s tonguing at your flesh as he slides your bra straps down your arms, mouth ghosting over a pert nipple before taking it fully in his mouth –

And then chimes are going off.

There’s an obnoxious ring filling the air as you bolt upright in bed, heat pooling in between your legs as you try to grip onto your surroundings.

Much to your dismay, you’re in your apartment – alone – filled with nothing but the remnants of your burning arousal. Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration, a string of curses falling from your lips as you’re fishing around for the obnoxious ringtone that had disturbed your scandalous dream. Peering down at the screen, you glare at the caller, mentally condemning them into next week as you press the answer button.

“You’re a dead man.”

Your words are harsh as you answer the call, a whine falling from the receiving end as you glare into the empty room.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu apologizes, making you scoff. “But it’s an emergency.”

You grit your teeth as he speaks, your body refusing to get up from the bed as sleep and arousal still swirls in the pit of your stomach.

“I swear to god, Mingyu, if someone is not dying –”

“The presentation got pushed up.”

Your threat falls short, lips parting in shock as your eyes widen in alarm.

“You’re joking.”

“It’s bad, (Y/N),” he says quietly into the phone. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

A heavy sigh falls from you as you gnaw at the inside of your lip.

“Does he want anything?” You ask softly. “Coffee? Breakfast? A hammer to destroy his office?”

Mingyu chuckles on the other end.

“Coffee is always good for him,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “A blowjob might work too.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, and Mingyu bursts out laughing at your response. “Give me an hour to get ready and I’ll be in.”

“Hurry, please,” he whines. “He’s doing that thing where he stares catatonically into nothing and it’s starting to scare me.”

You snort at that, shaking your head at Mingyu.

“Just give him encouraging pats on the back,” you joked, grinning. “And tell him he’s doing a great job.”

“He’s not going to like it if I do it,” Mingyu grumbles. “He only likes you.”

“Suck it up you big baby,” you tease. “You’ll be fine.”

Not waiting to hear his response, you end the call with a huff as you flop back down onto your pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The intense burn that had ignited between your thighs had simmered to a dull ache, the arousal from the very vivid dream a now distant memory. Clenching your thighs together to soothe the remnants of your desire, you ran a hand over your face before reluctantly rolling out of bed.

On a normal day, most of your coworkers would have still been half asleep, dragging their feet around the office as they fought off the remnants of slumber. The morning hours were usually somber, few words spoken between each other as they tried to finish their morning coffees.

Today was not one of those days.

The second you step out of the elevator, you’re met with utter chaos of chatter and frantic pacing — almost like they were chickens with their heads cut off. You’re frozen to the spot as you watch the group around you shove papers into each other's hands and point in the direction of the copier, demands upon demands being yelled at to one another.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

Clutching the carrier of coffee in your hand, you weave in between the frazzled group as you make your way straight to Wonwoo’s office, not even bothering to drop your stuff on your desk as you push his door open. Mingyu sits with his back to you, head snapping up to look at you with a sigh of relief as you make your way into the office. Across from him sits your boss who, true to Mingyu’s word, was staring into the abyss with his hands folded on his desk.

Cautiously you’re walking over to Wonwoo and placing a gentle hand on his back, your other one putting the coffee on his desk as you offer a soothing pat to his broad stature. Wonwoo had abandoned his glasses, the specs splayed out carelessly in front of him, and his sharp eyes are settling on you as you rubbed his back. As your gaze met his, you were reminded of the dream you had before Mingyu had so rudely interrupted it.

The image of Wonwoo laying you out on this very desk, mouth on your breasts and hands resting somewhere a boss’s hands shouldn’t be on their assistant. Heat fills your body as you watch him lean into your touch, his stern expression softening, and he’s graciously taking the coffee from you as he grabs your hand in his.

“Thank you for this,” he accepts, graciously. “You always seem to know when I need it.”

From out of the corner of your eye, you see the smug smirk on Mingyu’s face and you fight back the urge to kick him in the shin as you offer your boss a small smile.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” you reply, squeezing his hand in reassurement before pulling away. “I am your assistant, after all. It’s my job to know these things.”

The brief softened gaze on his face hardens once more at your words and he’s watching in silence as you move to the opposite side of the desk to take a seat next to Mingyu. His sharp gaze falls over the two of you, eyes scrutinizing your every move, and you push away the heat blooming in between your legs as you cross them.

Mingyu peers between the two of you, an eyebrow quirked attentively before he’s leaning forward in his chair.

“Do you want to break the news or should I?”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched, his expression stony as he looks at you.

“Seungcheol asked me to push up the deadline,” he pauses, and you catch him gritting his teeth in aggravation.

“How soon?” You ask, nervously taking a sip of your coffee. Wonwoo doesn’t miss a beat.

“This Friday.”

The coffee almost splutters from your mouth as you choke in surprise, eyes widening as you look between the two men.

“That’s in three days!” You exclaim. “Not to mention I’m off that day!”

Mingyu offers you a pitiful expression while Wonwoo remains stoic, the difference between them comparable to night and day.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” Wonwoo denies, and you feel your heart clench. “We need you here.”

Resentment begins to build in your body as you shoot your boss an incredulous look, anger boiling in your veins.

“Why did you even agree to this?” You asked harshly, making Wonwoo tense up. “You could’ve asked him to give you until at least Monday.”

Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line and you just know he’s holding back from scolding you in front of Mingyu.

“It was out of my control,” he shrugs, and the nonchalant response has you rising out of your seat as the anger inside of you bubbles.

“Bullshit!” You bite back, and Wonwoo’s face hardens.

“Watch yourself, (Y/N),” he warns, making you scoff.

“I’m allowed to be angry, Mr. Jeon,” you point out. “Very rarely do I get a day off and the one time I do, you make the decision to take that away from me.”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched are your words, his sharp eyes glinting with fury as he looks down the bridge of his nose at you.

“You are my assistant, Ms. (L/N),” he bites out. “When I’m here, you’re here.”

You were certain that if you had been a cartoon character, steam would’ve been emitting from your ears as you glare at the man in front of you.

“I have plans,” you grit harshly. Wonwoo doesn’t bat an eye.

“Reschedule them.”

Mingyu can only watch the two of you with an open mouth, utterly shocked at the exchange happening before him.

In your last attempt to make him change his mind, you grit your teeth as you shoot your boss a look of fury.

“I have a date.”

The air between the three of you stilled.

You watched as Wonwoo’s shoulders tensed, a flash of jealousy in his eyes as he glowered at you from his desk. Mingyu’s eyes bugged out of his head, the businessman immediately pushing himself out his seat as he held his hands up in defense.

“I — I don’t think this concerns me,” he excuses himself, brown eyes glimmering in worry as he shoots you a look. “Come find me later when you’re both ready to talk about the presentation.”

You and Wonwoo stay silent as Mingyu walks out of the office, the door slamming shut behind him, and it’s then that Wonwoo stands up from his desk. His tall stature towering over the wood, a move he made with clients when he was trying to intimidate them — a move you’ve watched him make with everyone but you.

“I’m sure whoever it is will understand that your job comes first,” he pauses, his voice cold. “That I come first.”

You stand your ground, your furious gaze borrowing into his.

“Are you insisting that I don’t deserve a personal life?”

Wonwoo doesn’t back down in the slightest.

“I’m saying that this is your job,” he reiterates. “You’re my assistant. I’m your priority. When I’m needed, you’re needed.”

“So you’re telling me that any plans I make or have planned already have to be flexible so that I can accommodate you?”

“Precisely.”

A sharp inhale comes from you, angry tears threatening to spill over your cheeks as you fight them back. Your fists clench at your sides as you send your boss a menacing glare. You knew there was no way around this, you knew that no matter how much you defended yourself Wonwoo wasn’t going to back down.

You exhale slowly, keeping the tears at bay.

“It seems I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You concede, trying to stabilize your shaky voice.

Clutching your coffee in your hand, you move to walk away from him when his warm hand encloses around yours, the hardened gaze he had kept focused on you softening as he caught sight of the tears pooling in your eyes.

“(Y/N)…”

Ripping your hand away from him, you shoot daggers towards him as you walk towards the door.

“I’m taking a walk,” you spat, voice quivering with emotion. “Don’t come after me.”

With that, you’re storming out of his office, making sure to slam the door behind you.

Hot tears are spilling over your cheeks as you frantically press the elevator button, your head hung low as you try to mask the sight of you crying as you wait for the doors to open, your body trembling with angry sobs as you bite them back, gritting your teeth in anger as the elevator dings. Stepping inside, you turn to face the lobby and catch the sight of a concerned Mingyu watching you as you press the close button.

As soon as the doors closed and you’re heading down, you’re pulling your phone from your pocket and dialing Soonyoung’s number, the blonde almost immediately answering the FaceTime call with a shocked look on his face.

“(Y/N), honey? What’s going on?”

His caring tone draws a fresh batch of tears in your eyes as you step outside of the elevator and walk into the lobby, making a beeline for the bathroom as you lock yourself in a stall. Defeated sobs wrack your body as you try to catch your breath.

“Soonie,” you cried, hastily wiping your tears. “I’m sorry I’m calling you like this.”

Soonyoung shakes his head, concern in his eyes as he stares back at you through the screen.

“Don’t apologize baby,” he reassured, softly. “We’ve all had bad days.”

Wiping your nose, you sniffle quietly as you nod, acknowledging his words.

“What happened, honey?”

“I think I’m going to have to miss out on your birthday, Soonie,” you say quietly, making Soonyoung whine.

“What?! Why?!”

“That big presentation that wasn’t due for two more weeks got pushed up to this Friday instead.”

“Oh, what the fuck?!” He groaned. “Aren’t you supposed to be off anyways?”

A bitter laugh escapes you at that, your teeth gritting together in anger as you nod.

“Keyword is supposed to,” you bite out, rolling your eyes. “But my boss said that I now have to come in. Actually — he pretty much said that I’m not entitled to a personal life.”

Soonyoung’s mouth opens in shock at that, his eyes widening.

“Are you fucking serious?” He asks, flabbergasted.

“I wish I wasn’t,” you affirm, sadly. “He said that since I’m his assistant – anywhere he is, I have to be right next to him. Plans or no plans, off of work or not.”

The blonde scoffs, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“That’s bullshit,” he spat, and you can’t help but to laugh without humor.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I said the same thing.”

You watch as Soonyoung purses his lips in thoughts, a hopeful look crossing his features as he looks at you through the phone.

“The presentation shouldn’t take that long, right?” He asks. “Like you can skip the dinner and then just meet us right at the club instead!”

Your sullen expression morphs into a hopeful one as you consider his words, your head slowly nodding in acknowledgement as you offer the blonde a bright smile.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he teases, making you scoff playfully.

“Whatever you say, Soonie,” you jest, making him laugh. “I should get back upstairs…”

Soonyoung smiles at you through the phone, offering you a gesture of encouragement as he grins.

“Deep breaths, honey!” He chimes. “Don’t let that asshole get to you.”

Smiling at him, you both exchange your goodbye before hanging up. A heavy sigh escapes you as you take a deep breath to compose yourself once more before unlocking the stall and walking to the sink. The pitiful expression that rested on your features made you want to sink down to the floor in embarrassment, your gaze flickering over the mascara that had streaked your cheeks from the waterfall of tears. Grumbling to yourself, you reach for some paper towels before wetting it under the sink and cleaning off the remnants of your breakdown, mentally cursing Wonwoo into oblivion.

Once you were set, you took an extra minute to collect your thoughts, trying to settle your still enraged mind as you made a silent vow to ignore the man you called your boss for the remainder of the week.

Should be easy, right?

Wrong.

With the silent vow in place, you had walked into the office the next day with every intention of ignoring him.

Until you catch sight of the vase of roses that sat on your desk.

The beautiful red petals bloomed in the crystal casing, the fragrance filling your senses as you leaned down to smell them. A solemn expression crosses your features as you pluck the card from between the petals, lips pursing in thought as you stare down at the writing.

‘I can’t do this without you.’

Your heart feels like it’s tearing at the seams as you look down at his handwriting, the messy scrawl of his admittance sending your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and you’re peering into his opened office door to see his sharp gaze awaiting your reaction. The gesture was sweet, sure, but you were also human – a human with feelings and a life. So instead of thanking him, you’re pushing away those damned butterflies and turning your head away from him as you silently set up your desk.

You didn’t look back at him once.

Despite other numerous attempts to gain your attention, you had successfully managed to give Wonwoo radio silence until it came time to get the presentation together. And, even then, you still sat tight-lipped as he and Mingyu went over the details of what’s to come within the next few hours as the three of you awaited Seungcheol’s arrival.

Your pen glides over your notepad as you jot down last minute ideas and thoughts, your tongue sticking out of the side of your mouth in concentration as you work quietly at the table. From the left of you, Mingyu types away at his laptop, quietly cursing at the powerpoint in front of him as he fixes the last minute details. To the right of you, you can already feel the pointed gaze in your direction from your boss as he sits silently beside the two of you, sharp eyes lingering on both yours and Mingyu’s forms as the two of you work diligently.

Wonwoo purses his lips, trying to bite back the amusement as he looks over at you two.

“I think this is the hardest I’ve ever seen you two work.”

Simultaneously, yours and Mingyu’s heads snap over to look at your boss, your eyes narrowed in an accusing glare while Mingyu’s twinkle with humor.

“We wouldn’t be working so hard if you hadn’t agreed to pushing up this damned meeting.”

Your voice comes out harsher than you intend to, but it doesn’t deter Wonwoo one bit.

“Ah,” he smirks. “She speaks.”

A menacing glare is shot towards him as you scoot your chair closer to Mingyu, trying to shift your attention back towards your notes, but you’re frozen in shock as Wonwoo grabs the back of your chair to slide you back closer to his side, sharp eyes gazing sadly at you.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and you hear Mingyu cough awkwardly, trying not to watch the two of you as he types away at his laptop. “(Y/N), please.”

As much as you wanted to make him grovel a bit longer, you knew from the gifts and gestures he’d been giving you the past two days had been enough of an apology. So, reluctantly, you’re lifting your eyes to meet his brown ones, your breath catching in your throat as you hold his softened gaze. You can feel the butterflies begin to awaken in the pit of your stomach as your heart sped up in your chest, lips parting slightly as you stared at the devastatingly handsome man.

Reaching over, he’s gently grabbing your hand in his, all the while keeping his eyes on you.

“I’m sorry for making you come in on your day off,” he apologized, quietly. “I’m sorry for never giving you one to begin with.”

Wonwoo’s teeth grit as he tries to keep his expression neutral, his thumb gently soothes over the back of your hand.

“And I’m sorry for making you miss your… date.”

Date..? Oh – oh.

Your hardened gaze softens into one of understanding and you’re offering your boss a small smile, your hand turning in his as you clutch it.

“I forgive you,” you relent, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “And - I, uh, didn’t actually have a date.”

From out of the corner of your eye you see Mingyu’s head snap towards you, eyes wide as he looks between you and Wonwoo. The latter keeps his gaze on yours, the corners of his lips quivering ever so slightly as his sharp eyes trace for any sort of fabrication he can find. And then he laughs – a full, throwing his head back and cackling kind of laugh. One that sends your heart into overdrive as he grins widely.

“So you just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet by yourself?” He asks, teasingly.

“No,” you deny, frowning. “I really did have plans, or rather, I still do after this. I’m going out for my friend’s birthday.”

Wonwoo’s eyes shine playfully as he pats your hand.

“It’s okay,” he grins. “As long as you forgive me and we get this presentation over and done with, you’ll be out of here in no time.”

As Wonwoo finishes speaking, the conference door all but flies open, a mass of blonde hair and a dimpled smile coming into view as Seungcheol walks through the door. The three of you stand simultaneously, nervous but warm smiles plastered on your faces as you greet the businessman. Wonwoo stands glued to the spot next to you as you watch Seungcheol greet Mingyu, the two shaking hands as they joke amongst themselves. It’s then that the severity and importance of this meeting finally hits you, your palms growing clammy with nerves as your brain clutters with what ifs and possible negative outcomes if everything fails between the two companies.

From behind you, Wonwoo must’ve noticed the sudden tension in your stature as he leans forward, a gentle hand placing itself on the small of your back as he leans in to brush his lips against your ear.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly, his other hand reaching to squeeze yours in reassurance. “It’s going to be fine.”

Yet the warmth of his breath and the close proximity of his body pressing to yours as his cologne fills your senses does absolutely nothing to help your nerves. You squeeze his hand back in silent acknowledgement before dropping it as Seungcheol rounds on you, a bright smile on the blonde’s face as he offers you a hand.

“Ms. (Y/N),” he greets, beaming. “It’s always lovely to see you, beautiful.”

You can feel Wonwoo tense at the compliment and you fight the urge to rip your hand from his as you shake it, a tight-lipped smile being sent his way as he bowed your head.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Choi,” you greet. Seungcheol’s gaze falls between you and the man standing behind you, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

“Wonwoo you have yourself a dime here,” he compliments, smirking. “She has been nothing but amazing when it comes to the communication aspect. Not to mention she’s brilliant.”

Wonwoo keeps his hand on the small of your back while his other is outstretched towards his friend, the two shaking hands with a fierce grip as Wonwoo’s gaze hardens at the blonde.

“That she is,” he agreed. “I’m lucky to have her.”

Heat floods your cheeks at the competitive compliments between the two businessmen, a pleading look that screams ‘Help me’ is being sent towards Mingyu who stands behind Seungcheol with a puppy-like grin at the exchange, the taller man laughing quietly at your expense. Rolling your eyes, you break the silent competition between the two CEOs as you gesture towards the table.

“Shall we get started?”

Five hours. The presentation lasted for five fucking hours.

Between the glitches happening within the powerpoint and the constant stutter of your voice, you were positive that Seungcheol was going to stop the three of you halfway and just walk out – but he didn’t. Instead the blonde sat with a grin of amusement as you and Mingyu presented the possible numbers and outcomes of the two companies coming together for the project. Wonwoo sat stoic beside him, sharp eyes glued to you as you closed out of the final slide, anxiously awaiting his friend’s response as you clasped your hands together behind your back.

Seungcheol is beaming at you, dimples protruding from his cheeks, and he’s turning towards Wonwoo as he points in your direction.

“I like her,” he begins. “She’s got a strong head on her shoulders.”

Turning back towards you, Seungcheol leans on his elbows as he gestures towards the presentation.

“Despite the small hiccups from the technology, you did great, (Y/N),” he continues, praising you. “Both you and Mingyu did so well putting all of this together. I appreciate the dedication and hard work you’ve done for this, truly. Both of you would be an incredible asset to my company and I would absolutely be a fool to turn down the offer of working with both my friend and his amazing team.”

Surprise floods your features as you and Mingyu shoot each other identical looks of shock.

“Is – is that a yes for the project?”

Seungcheol laughs, nodding his head in affirmation.

“That’s a definite yes,” he beams. “It was a yes from the very first email you had sent me, if I’m honest. I just wanted to see what ideas you all had in mind – and I wanted to see this one sweat it out a little bit.”

You stifle a laugh as the blonde points to the stoic man behind him, Wonwoo grumbling under his breath as he rolls his eyes at his friend.

“So you just wanted to see me suffer?” Wonwoo asks, no emotion in his voice.

“Pretty much,” Seungcheol beams with amusement.

Wonwoo shakes his head as he stands up from his chair, his broad stature cracking with the release of tension as he stretches from sitting for so long.

“That’ll be it for today,” he dismisses, shooting Seungcheol a pointed look. “I think we’ve all been tortured enough.”

A wave of relief washes over you as your shoulders slump slightly, the tension being released from your body as you clean up the remnants of the presentation. From beside you, Mingyu is shooting you a thumbs up, silently praising your efforts before he’s packing up his laptop and zooming out of the room. As you zip up your bag and turn to leave, Seungcheol is gently grabbing your wrist to stop you, a playful look in his eyes as he offers you a small smile.

“You’re an extraordinary woman, Ms. (Y/N),” he compliments, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you fight to keep eye contact. “I have half a mind to steal you from Wonwoo and make you my own assistant.”

You open your mouth to retort when you feel the warmth of your boss press behind you, and you don’t even have to look up at him to know that he’s glaring daggers at the blonde.

“She would never leave me,” he dismisses, voice cold. “If there’s one thing I admire the most about Ms. (Y/N), it’s that she’s loyal to those around her.”

Wonwoo never breaks eye contact with Seungcheol, the two glaring daggers at one another as they stand tall and proud.

“Right, sweetheart?”

You swallow thickly, rolling your eyes at the ego exchange between the two of them, and you playfully hit Wonwoo’s shoulder before grabbing your things.

“Both of you need to relax,” you jest, playfully. “Mr. Choi, I appreciate the compliment but I fear that this one needs me the most.”

Seungcheol smirks at that, a knowing look in his eyes as he looks between you and Wonwoo.

“I’m starting to see that,” he responds, coolly.

Wonwoo stays silent as you make your way to the door, a weary glance thrown between the two of them before you’re opening it with a call over your shoulder.

“Try not to let your ego’s get the best of the two of you while I’m gone, please.”

And with that, you’re out the door before you can see Seungcheol wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Wonwoo, the latter sending a glare of warning at the blonde who now caught on to the situation.

“(Y/N)!”

Your gaze lands on a beaming Soonyoung as you make your way through the crowd of bodies, a matching grin dancing across your lips as you reach where he stood. His arm lazily drapes around your shoulder in a half hug, the man’s infectious giggle ringing over the blaring music. Returning the embrace, you hug him in greeting before breaking apart. You can feel your friend vibrating with excitement as he grabs your hand and pulls you over to the roped off section where the rest of your friends were occupying. As soon as you cross the threshold, there’s a glass of champagne being placed in your hand and Soonyoung is tugging you towards the group.

“Look who finally showed up!”

Happy cheers of your name echoes amongst your group of friends, glasses being lifted in your direction as they greet you in unison. Lifting your glass in response, you beam at the group before downing the glass, warmth filling your body from the alcohol. From beside you Soonyoung cheers as you chug, the man wasting no time before shoving another drink into your now empty hand before scurrying off to the others. A chuckle falls from you as you watch him pull a half wasted Dokyeom to the dance floor, Seungkwan hot on their heels as the trio pulls out an abrupt dance routine.

Shaking your head at their antics, you take a seat next to Joshua at the table, the man offering you a gentle smile as he scoots to make room.

“It’s good to see you, (Y/N),” he greets. “It’s been too long since the last time you’ve come out with us.”

“I know,” you agree, regret washing over your features. “Work has been crazy lately. I haven’t really had much time to do anything else besides be at the office or trying to get some sleep.”

A look of sympathy flashes in his eyes, Joshua nodding in understanding.

“I get it,” he reassured you with a bright smile. “It sucks being an adult sometimes, doesn’t it?”

You laugh at his words before taking a sip of whatever it was that Soonyoung had given you.

“That it does, Shua. I sometimes wish we were kids again without a care in the world. No bills, no schedules — nothing but free time to do whatever we want.”

“Or until we get caught drinking in the school parking lot at midnight,” he points out, laughing.

“That’s different!” You say, taking another sip of your drink. “We would’ve never gotten caught had Soonyoung not brought out the Bluetooth microphone and started singing.”

Joshua’s head rolls back as he laughs louder, shaking his head at the memory.

“He really tried to get the cops to fall for his serenade,” he chortled. “We almost got locked in a cell for that one had it not been for me.”

You smile at the memory, gently tapping your glass against Shua’s.

“Thank god one of us had a brain that night,” you grin. “Otherwise we would’ve been screwed.”

Amusement twinkles in Joshua’s eyes and the brunette opens his mouth to speak before his gaze falls on a figure behind you, a deep voice cutting off his train of thought.

“Sorry we’re late, everyone.”

Your hand tightens around your glass at the voice, eyes widening in shock as your head snaps to look at the two figures towering over your table. The two familiar faces are night and day; one stands with a beaming smile, eyes shining and body bouncing to the beat of the music like an energetic puppy. The other is stoic, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks while a pointed gaze rests underneath the thick rims of his glasses, his intense gaze sweeping over the group until it lands on your shocked ones.

Your lips part in disbelief, a string of curses tumbling incoherently from your mouth, and you straighten your posture as your boss stares back at you, dark eyes glinting with curiosity.

“You made it!”

Soonyoung’s boisterous voice booms over the loud music, the blonde drunkenly placing a glass of champagne in each of their hands before wrapping both of his arms around their shoulders and hugging them into him. From his right, Mingyu laughs boisterously, leaning into the embrace as he hugs his friend back.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he apologized. “We were finishing up at the office.”

From the left of Soonyoung, Wonwoo stays silent, his piercing gaze locked on yours, and you catch the briefest sight of his jaw clenching as Soonyoung gestures towards you.

“I’m not sure if you’ve ever met her before,” he begins, beaming from ear to ear. “But this is (Y/N), my best friend since we were in diapers.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the beat echoing in your ears and drowning out the music as you stare at your colleagues. Mingyu’s face falls into pleasant surprise before he’s letting out a laugh, muscular arms crossing over his broad stature.

“Small world,” he comments, shooting a look between you and your boss. Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a weary glance swept over the three of you.

“What do you mean?” The blonde asks curiously.

The scrutinizing gaze of your boss has you wanting to sink into the cushions of the booth and disappear, heat flaming your cheeks as the already too tight dress you were wearing somehow feels as if it’s melting into your skin, and you try to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat as Mingyu spoke once more.

“We work together,” he clarifies, a knowing smirk on his face. “She’s Wonwoo’s assistant.”

There’s a brief pause, realization sinking into Soonyoung’s features, before he’s turning towards the man on his left and smacking him on the shoulder.

“You’re her boss?!” He asks incredulously. “You’re the asshole who’s never giving her time off for a personal life?!”

Your eyes widened at his words, hands raising in defense as you move to kick Soonyoung in the shin.

“Soonyoung,” you hiss, glaring at the blonde.

Mingyu howls with laughter at that, his tall frame doubling over as he laughs at his friend. You’re mentally cursing at Soonyoung three times over as Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line, the man sending a look of disapproval towards Mingyu who was holding his body up against Soonyoung, trying to calm himself down from the amusement. Your body grows hot with embarrassment as you run a hand over your face, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up.

“Yes,” Wonwoo finally says, deep voice rumbling with no amusement. “I’m the asshole boss.”

Soonyoung lands another playful tap against his friend’s chest, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Give her a break, Wonu. She needs a vacation,” he pauses, looking between the two of you. “You both do.”

With one last love tap from Soonyoung, the blonde all but bounces back to the dance floor, Mingyu and Joshua in tow – leaving you and Wonwoo alone.

The tension in the air makes your throat dry, your shoulders sinking in embarrassment as you offer your boss an apologetic look.

“Mr. Jeon –”

“Your asshole boss, huh?”

Wonwoo’s harsh tone makes you want to crawl under a rock, shame filling your body, and your gaze sinks to the floor as you guiltily break eye contact.

‘He’s gonna fire me…’ You thought to yourself, trying to keep the panic that was seeping through your body at bay. ‘He’s going to tell me to pack my desk up and to never step foot into the building after tomorrow. That he’ll find a better assistant - one more compliant and who doesn’t talk back. Someone who says yes with no questions asked –’

“I suppose I deserve that.” Your head snaps back up, eyes wide with surprise, and there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, brown eyes glinting in amusement. “Especially after all I’ve put you through this week.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, completely taken aback by the compliment, and you struggle to conjure a reply in your scattered brain as you stutter in response.

“I –” you flush, embarrassed at the lack of words you can conjure. “Mr. Jeon –”

“Wonwoo,” he corrects.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he takes a step closer to slide across from where you sat in the booth.

“At the office, I’m Mr. Jeon,” he smiles softly. “But when we’re outside of work or if it’s just you and I, it’s Wonwoo.”

Oh, fuck…

There’s heat pooling in your stomach at his words, thousands of tiny butterflies fluttering in its depths, and suddenly it’s a thousand degrees hotter in the club than it already was. Your palms are clammy, sweat beading at the nape of your neck, and you manage to send him back a small smile as you nod in acknowledgement.

“Okay,” you concede, lifting your glass to take a sip. “Wonwoo.”

There’s a sharp inhale on his end, broad shoulders stiffening for a millisecond, before he offers you a kind smile. You watch as he takes a sip of his champagne, his gaze never breaking from yours.

“So you’re the unfortunate one who’s had to deal with Soonyoung for all of these years,” he smirks, teasingly. You can’t help but to laugh at that before shaking your head at his words.

“He’s really not as bad as you think,” you defend. “In a way it’s almost as if I’m taking care of a child.”

A beautiful, melodic deep rumble escapes him and you’d be lying if you said that the low timbre of his voice didn’t send a wave of heat straight in between your legs, instinctively making you subtly shift to crossing them underneath the table.

“Perhaps that is enough reason to offer a compensation for your efforts,” he drawls. “Maybe even a raise.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, sending the man a playful glare.

“Don’t tease me,” you warn, grinning. “I might just take you up on that.”

Wonwoo smirks, butterflies erupting in your stomach as your eyes glanced down at his lips. A wave of desire rushes through you as a fleeting thought of what they would feel like against your skin runs through your mind, your throat going dry as an image of you and Wonwoo tangled in bedsheets flashed in your mind. Immediately you’re clearing your throat and tearing your gaze away, shame flaming your cheeks as you take a sip from your drink.

“How do you know Soonyoung?” You ask, making Wonwoo smile at the question.

“I had a project with his father in the past,” he explains. “Soonyoung was just starting out as his assistant and was learning the ropes of his father’s company. Naturally, I took him under my wing and became his business mentor. I know how hard it is to work in a company that’s family owned. Our fathers don’t go easy on us despite us being their sons.”

“From what it sounds like,” you began, smirking at him. “It seems to me as if you also need to be compensated as well for your efforts.”

Wonwoo laughs, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose slightly as he leans forward.

“Maybe Soonyoung’s right,” he grins. “Maybe we both need a vacation.”

Your eyebrow quirks at that, eyes glinting in curiosity as you peer at him.

“Are you offering me time off?”

“Maybe someday,” he teases, eyes shining mischievously. “The best I can offer you right now is a dance with me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the butterflies take flight once more, your eyes widening in surprise before you catch yourself. Clearing your throat, you take another sip of your drink before looking up at him teasingly.

“I didn’t realize you danced,” you jest.

Wonwoo pushes himself out of the booth before holding his hand out to you, silently offering. The warmth of his hand enveloping yours has electric shocks running down your spine as he helps you up, his hand cautiously placed on the small of your back as he leaned down towards you.

“I usually don’t,” he affirmed, a wild glint in his eye as he leaned closer to your ear. “But I can make an exception when it involves certain people.”

Had he not been guiding you, you were pretty sure your knees would’ve buckled from his comment, heat flooding your cheeks as you let him move you towards the dance floor. Playful banter and teasing comments had always been a part of the dynamic, given the frequent amount of time the two of you were around each other, harmless flirting here and there wasn’t unnatural. But this is the first time you were seeing him – that you were really looking at him – outside of an office setting.

The normal Wonwoo who was holed up in his office all day; barking orders and commands to his staff, the man who gives you endless tasks left and right, the man who sat rigidly by your side in countless board meetings and projects. The man who you thought was nothing but a ball of stress stuffed in a business suit now stood in front of you with nothing holding him back as he pulled your body flush against his. He’s carefree, a warm glow in his eyes, and he’s offering you the sweetest smile as the pair of you settle within the crowd. The usual long sleeves of his button down are rolled up neatly to his elbow, his broad frame nearly making the buttons protrude from the seams, and you’re silently wishing the heavens above to give you even the slightest peek of toned skin beneath the fabric.

His hand rests comfortably on your lower back, slender fingers almost gripping the fabric of your dress as the two of you danced amongst the crowd of people. The dim lighting casts his face in an exquisite shadow, the defined angular shape of his jaw accentuated in the low lights, making his sharp features appear even more striking beneath the thick rims of his glasses. He’s beautiful, almost godly like, and the heat of his toned body against yours is making your head spin.

For the first time, you’re seeing him.

Your hand is clasped in his as he twirls you out, then back into him, a devastatingly beautiful smile painted on his lips replacing the usual scowl he wore in the office. You can’t help but to mirror him, beaming in delight as the two of you dance.

“Who would’ve thought Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, big bad CEO, would be such a great dancer,” you tease him, relishing in the low rumble of his laugh. You watch as his nose crinkles with the action, your heart blooming in your chest as he leans in closer towards you.

“That’s not all I’m good at.”

If his words weren’t enough to send a flood of heat through your body, it was the goddamn wink he sent you that did it. You can’t even articulate words as Soonyoung beckons the two of you over to dance with the group, Wonwoo reluctantly letting you go as the two of you made your way over to them.

You weren’t sure when the exact moment was that the line between you and your boss had begun to shift into something else, something far beyond a workplace partnership — but after tonight, it was an inevitable change.

And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious to see where it went next.

You felt the presence before they had even uttered a word, your gaze shifting from your computer to the smirking face of the man in front of you as he leaned against your desk.

“So,” he began. “Are we going to talk about it?”

You gave him a blank stare.

“Talk about what?” You asked, even though you knew what he was hinting at.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Mingyu whines, standing upright to bounce on his feet. “We can’t not talk about what happened the other night.”

You purse your lips at his words as you rub your temples in annoyance. You knew you couldn’t avoid the situation in its entirety, but you also knew that addressing it would imply that there was something… there to begin with — and there wasn’t. At least, not yet.

“Nothing happened,” you reply curtly. “I was out with friends.”

Mingyu scoffs, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gives you an incredulous look.

“So we’re not going to talk about how the two of you were practically fucking on the dance floor.”

You blanched at that, eyes widening in surprise, and you’re casting a weary glance towards the open door behind you. Wonwoo sits idly in concentration at his desk, the man scribbling something down on his notepad.

“Lower your voice,” you hissed at Mingyu once you turned back towards him. “He’s right there.”

“You didn’t deny it,” Mingyu beams.

“We were just dancing!” You defended. “It was harmless. And innocent, contrary to popular belief.”

“Innocent?” He mocks, raising an eyebrow. “He doesn’t just dance with anyone, (Y/N). Especially not like that.”

You try to ignore the sudden presence of fluttering in the pit of your stomach, the butterflies flying freely through your body as your mind flashes back to the dance you had shared with your boss. The warmth of his body against yours, the gentle brush of his lips against your ear, the teasing words exchanged… It had all been too much to process in one night — and, yet in the same breath, not enough.

“Well whether it was or not, nothing’s going to come from it. Nothing can come from it.”

A look of sympathy flashes across Mingyu’s face at that, his round eyes narrowing with pity.

“You never know,” he reassured with a gentle smile. “There’s always a chance that something could happen.”

You scoff at that, rolling your eyes as you turn back to your computer.

“Not as long as he’s my boss,” you muttered.

Mingyu opened his mouth to retort when a throat clears from behind the two of you. Almost immediately you’re whipping around to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe of his office, an accusing glance being thrown towards you and Mingyu as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Is there a problem?”

Wonwoo’s voice is harsh, sharp eyes shifting between the two of you before he’s zeroing in on your gaze. His shoulders are straightened in a tension and you bite back a whimper as you watch the taut muscles of his chest strain against the confinements of his button down.

“N- no, sir,” you stuttered out, shaking your head. “Mingyu just had a question regarding the merger with Mr. Choi.”

Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his gaze shifts to Mingyu, the aforementioned man peeling himself from your desk as he straightens his posture.

“That’s right,” Mingyu agrees. “I had a quest —“

“The next time you have a question about anything regarding business matters you come see me,” Wonwoo cuts him off with a harsh glare. “Ms. (Y/N) has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need you bothering her too. Nor do I appreciate you distracting her from her work.”

There’s a brief flash of shock dancing across Mingyu’s face, his big eyes widening at his friend’s words, before realization takes its place and he’s grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

“Oh,” he beams. “I get it.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow in a scrutinizing gaze while you stare at your boss, mouth slightly ajar from his earlier statement.

“Mr. Jeon it’s really not a big deal —“

“You’re dismissed, Mingyu. (Y/N), my office. Now.”

The contrast between the Wonwoo you had seen at the club compared to the one that was in front of you now was like night and day. The other night he had been carefree, lively, and sweet. The man that stood in front of you now was cold. The playful twinkle in his eyes had completely vanished, instead, replaced by a harsh glare as he all but stomped back into his office.

You’re completely ridden speechless as you watch your boss’s retreating form, a painful tug at your heartstrings has a frown forming on your lips.

Mingyu lets out a low whistle.

“I seem to have awakened the beast.”

Your head snaps back to look at his smirking face, a knowing glint in his eyes as he nods his head in the direction of Wonwoo’s office.

“Maybe true love’s kiss can melt his cold heart.”

Without thinking you’re reaching for your pen before chucking it in Mingyu’s direction, a bark of a laugh escaping him as he’s running away. Grumbling under your breath, you make a mental note to get him back later when a shout comes from behind you.

“(Y/N)!”

Your blood runs cold at the harsh call of your name, worry flooding your body as you hastily push yourself from your desk to make your way to Wonwoo’s office, panic running through you as you cross the threshold.

“Close the door behind you,” he orders, head nodding in the direction of the door, and you’re on high alert as the open barrier becomes sealed, leaving the two of you in his office. Alone.

Nervously you’re taking a seat in front of him, your ankles crossing as you sit with your shoulders tensed up. Wonwoo’s stare makes you want to curl up into a ball and hide, the intensity of his gaze sending goosebumps of anxiety up the nape of your neck.

Wonwoo inhales a sharp breath, nostrils flaring as he exhales, and he’s gritting his jaw as his hands fold in front of him on his desk.

“Is Mingyu bothering you?”

Confusion sweeps over you as your eyebrows furrow.

“Bothering me?” You ask, and you watch as Wonwoo’s knuckles turn white from clenching his hands together.

“Bothering you,” he says again. “Flirting with you? Asking you on dates? All of the above?”

Your eyes widen at his questions, your hands coming up in defense as you shake your head.

“No!” You deny. “None of the above. Absolutely none of the above.”

There’s a slight release of tension in his shoulders but his stoic face remains the same.

“If he was you would tell me, right?” He asks, giving you a pointed look.

“Of course,” you affirm. “If anyone was bothering me I would let you know.”

Wonwoo’s gaze stays locked on you as he digests your words, the man slowly unclenching his hands before he nods in response.

“Good,” he relents. “I wouldn’t want to lose one of my best employee’s because he doesn’t know how to control himself.”

You can feel the heat dance across your cheeks at his implication, embarrassment filling your body as you sink into the chair further.

“It’s never been like that,” you reassure him. “Only friendly banter.”

Wonwoo nods, accepting your words.

“I believe you,” he reaffirmed.

A tense silence falls over the two of you, the air thickening around you as you swallow the nervous lump that had formed in your throat from when he had called you into his office. His intense stare has you breaking eye contact in an effort to gain your composure, a ragged breath escaping you as your gaze zeroes into a random plank of wood on his floor.

“Is that all you needed from me?” You ask meekly, not lifting your head to look at him.

There’s a brief silence before Wonwoo responds.

“How’s the project going?”

Right… the project, of course.

Straightening your posture, you reluctantly lifted your head from the floor and met Wonwoo’s gaze once more. Those damned butterflies return instantly when you see the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile.

“Good,” you breathed out. “I’m finishing up the presentation for our next monthly board meeting. We’ve been making a lot of progress since we met up with Mr. Choi —“

“Have you eaten yet?” Wonwoo cuts you off, making your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sudden question.

“Not yet,” you respond. “I was planning to work on a few more things before I took a break.”

“You should join me for lunch,” he offers a gentle smile, a complete contrast to the frown he had when you had first walked into the office.

“I — I have so much to do, Mr. Jeon —“

“I’m sure it can wait,” he reassures you. “Besides, you can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Pushing himself away from his desk, Wonwoo stands up and throws his blazer on as he nods his head in the direction of the door.

“As your boss, I’m requesting that you have lunch with me.”

You frown at that.

“That’s not fair,” you mutter. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Precisely,” Wonwoo grins as he helps you up from the chair.

Your lips pursed in thought as you stared at the man before you. Not even ten minutes ago he was a huffing and puffing mess, anger flaring in his cold dark eyes. Now he stood in front of you with that same mischievous glint in his irises like the other night. The constant back and forth between his emotions is giving you a metaphorical whiplash.

“Fine,” you concede. “But you’re buying.”

Wonwoo doesn’t smirk in response, nor does he wave you off. Instead he’s tipping his head back and letting out a hearty laugh, the deep rumble making your heart pound in your chest as you stare dumbfoundedly at the man in front of you.

“I can work with that,” he agreed, beaming. “We can discuss more about this presentation as well.”

The dimly lit restaurant you’re taken to does nothing to rid you of the untamable butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as you sit across from Wonwoo. You can feel the nervous jitters in your body as you try not to tremble beneath your boss’s gaze while you try to keep your attention focused on the menu, your teeth biting into your bottom lip as you stoically stare at the page.

The romantic ambience of the restaurant is telling of itself; low lighting, soft music playing, and a waiter filling a glass of wine for you — a glass of which Wonwoo approved for you to drink despite you being on the clock. A drink which, also, did absolutely nothing for your nerves.

“See anything you like?”

Wonwoo’s deep voice pulls you from your inner turmoil and you’re reluctantly breaking your gaze from the menu to look up at him. His glasses are perched comfortably on the bridge of his nose, his lips offering a gentle smile, a smile that you can’t help but to let your gaze fall on as you stare at the curve of his Cupid’s bow.

“A few things,” you murmur, nodding at him. “There’s so many options.”

“Well,” he pauses, gesturing towards the menu. “If you trust me, I’ll order for us.”

Your eyebrow piques in interest at that, a teasing look dancing in your eyes.

“Yeah?” You muse, humming softly. “You think you know me that well?”

Wonwoo smirks as he places his menu down, his sharp eyes giving you a once over that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“I’d like to think so,” he responds, giving you a knowing look.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you give him a playful look back as you lean against the cushion of the chair.

“What’s my favorite color?” You ask.

His smirk doesn’t falter at your question.

“Purple,” he answers. “More specifically, a light purple. Like lilac or lavender.”

You blanched at that, not expecting him to actually answer, let alone know the answer.

“Oh,” you said quietly, blinking in surprise.

“You mentioned to me once that the colors represent kindness and innocence. Two things which you felt represented both yourself and what you wanted people to gain from you.”

Your heart soared in your chest at his words, a feeling of gratitude sweeping over you as you offered him a shy smile.

“You remembered,” you murmured, making Wonwoo smile in response.

“I remember a lot of things about you.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. His response had rendered you speechless and you were utterly grateful for the waiter’s timing as he came back to your table to take your orders — which Wonwoo took care of. You could barely register what was exchanged between the two as you stared at your boss in admiration, completely melting on the spot from his response.

Your eyes are still locked on the beautiful man in front of you as the waiter takes both of the menus, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage as the two of you are left alone once more. The flickering flame of the candle casts a shadow along Wonwoo’s face, the dim lighting accentuating his strong jaw and sharp eyes as he leans forward on his elbows.

Blinking out of your daze, you swallow the lump of nervousness before clearing your throat.

“So the project is going well,” you began, taking a sip of your wine. “Mingyu has been working on the potential projections of the outcome and I’ve got the PowerPoint almost finished. We’re a little past the halfway point now.”

Wonwoo says nothing. He only offers you a small smile in response.

“I think we can really pull this off,” you continued. “Between your brilliant business mind and Mr. Choi’s ability to persuade pretty much anyone, the two of you are in the midst of creating something amazing.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Wonwoo’s eyes as he looks at you, the smile on his face not faltering once.

“You think I’m brilliant?”

You flush at his words before shifting nervously in your seat, lifting your glass of wine to your lips as you take another sip.

“I mean,” you purse your lips, giving him a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be the CEO if you weren’t.”

You spot the slightest clench in his jaw as his soft features harden at your words.

“I’m the CEO because my father stepped down,” he pointed out. You frown at that.

“Mr. Jeon —“

“Wonwoo,” he cuts you off sharply.

His brash tone deters you for a moment, hurt flashing in your eyes before you mask it with confusion.

“What?” You ask meekly.

“Do you remember what I said at the club?” He asks, the harsh tone still evident in his voice. “Do you remember anything from that night?”

“Of course I do,” you defended yourself. “I wasn’t even tipsy.”

Wonwoo’s jaw sets as he grits his teeth.

“Then you should remember that I said to call me by name when we’re alone.”

And just like that the butterflies are back with a vengeance — only to multiply tenfold when he leans across the table to grab your hand in his, lacing your fingers together before resting it back onto the table.

“Wonwoo…”

His name falls from your lips in a hushed voice, heat pooling in your stomach as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

“You’re nervous,” he points out, smirking. You frown at that.

“Can you blame me?” You ask incredulously, gesturing towards your linked hands. “I’m holding hands with my boss.”

“You’re holding hands with your friend,” he corrects. “A friend who just so happens to be your boss. A boss that you’re also on a date with.”

Your mouth slacks at that, eyes widening in shock as you make a move to draw back only for him to tighten his grip so you can’t move away from him. His thumb sweeps over the back of your hand in an effort to soothe you but it only makes the heat in your belly spread to your lower body, your thighs clenching in response as you look away bashfully.

“I thought this was a business lunch,” you mutter, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Wonwoo lets out a low chuckle.

“Did you not want this to be a date?”

Your face falls at that.

“It’s not that I don’t want this to be a date,” you reassure him. “It’s that… this can’t be a date.”

“And why not?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You blink at him.

“You’re my boss,” you reiterate. “Whether we’re friends outside of work or not you’re still my boss, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo stares back with a blank look on his face.

“I fail to see your point, (Y/N).”

Before you could reply, the waiter had returned with both of your plates of food, placing them in front of each of you before refilling your wine glass. Wonwoo’s sharp gaze is still locked on yours, his grip on your hand refusing to let go, and he watches intently as you take a long swig of the alcohol. Your nerves are completely shot, mind going haywire from the conversation, and the wine is only intensifying the heat between your legs as you try to collect yourself.

And then he’s bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin. Your breath hitches and Wonwoo catches it, smirking in response.

“Eat your food, sweetheart. It’s going to get cold.”

The bustling diner is thriving with patrons as you sit with Soonyoung and Joshua in a booth at the corner of the room, the two of them engaging in an animated conversation as you sit idly across from them, your mind completely far off from where you were currently at.

Ever since the night of Soonyoung’s party it’s like your world has been flipped upside down and spinning on its axis. Wonwoo has gotten more brazen in his advances; leaving you flowers on your desk, buying you lunch, fleeting touches of hands brushing as you pass each other in the hallway. The actions are subtle, most of the other employee’s not seeming to catch onto the attraction between the two of you, all except Mingyu who has decided to make it his life mission to get the two of you together.

After finding out that Wonwoo had taken you out to lunch (and called it a date) or much less, finding out that his boss had subtly confessed his feelings to you, he’s taken it upon himself to play Cupid — much to your dismay. Because even though your feelings for Wonwoo were strong, and grew more and more with each romantic gesture, the fact of the matter is, he's still your boss.

A heavy sigh breaks your friends from their conversation, two pairs of concerned eyes looking at you from across the table. Joshua frowns, Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow. The former leans across the table to place a gentle hand on yours, and a part of you longed for it to have been Wonwoo’s in its place instead.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, (Y/N)?” Joshua asks softly, making you heave another sigh.

“I’m falling in love with somebody I can’t have,” you muttered, making Soonyoung’s eyes widen.

“Honey…” Joshua coos, rubbing your hand in soothing circles.

Your heart twinges with hurt as your face falls, shoulders slumped as a frown forms on your lips.

“I don’t even know how this happened,” you began, pouting. “One day he was my boss… the next he’s the man I want to come home to every night.”

Realization sweeps over Soonyoung’s face at your words, his lips parting in surprise.

“Wonwoo?” He asks, making Joshua’s eyebrows furrow in question. “You’re in love with Wonwoo?”

“How do you know it’s Wonwoo?” Joshua counters, but the look on your face is enough confirmation.

“Wonwoo is my boss,” you clarify. “I didn’t know he was friends with Soonyoung until he showed up to his party.”

“Oh,” Joshua mutters.

“And I’m not in love with him,” you glared at Soonyoung. “Not yet, at least. Although if he keeps getting me flowers and buying me food it’ll be a different story.”

“He’s what?!” Soonyoung gapes, open mouthed.

A wave of heat washes over your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your body as you bashfully look down at the table.

“He’s been getting me gifts,” you admitted softly. “I’ll come into the office in the morning to either a bouquet of flowers or a nice warm meal waiting for me. Sometimes both if he’s in a good mood.”

Soonyoung’s shock doesn’t falter, Joshua gives you a knowing look.

“Sounds like the feelings are mutual,” Joshua points out. “Maybe you should give him a chance —“

“He’s my boss, Shua,” you counter. “That’s a line I’m not allowed to cross.”

“Maybe you should cross it,” Soonyoung cuts in.

“I can’t —“

“(Y/N), I love you. We’ve been friends since we were in diapers, I wouldn’t steer you wrong. So believe me when I say that in the years that I’ve known Wonwoo, not once has he ever gotten a woman a gift, let alone tried to pursue one willingly.”

You freeze at that.

Knowing how invested he is with his job, it makes sense that Wonwoo wouldn’t have time to date nor be able to court a woman. But, in the same token, nobody that gorgeous and down to earth couldn’t have had someone he was the least bit interested in.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” you mutter. “Have you seen him? There’s gotta be women wanting him from every corner of the world.”

“Women may want him, honey, but he wants nothing to do with them,” Soonyoung pauses, a knowing look on his face. “Unless it’s you, apparently.”

Joshua chuckles at that, a reassuring smile on his face as he reaches over to place a hand on yours.

“Just think about it,” he suggests, encouragingly. “Weigh out the pro’s and con’s and go from there.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, you opted to stay silent and focus on the menu instead, pushing away any thought of your boss and his feelings towards you as you ignore those damned butterflies in your stomach.

PROS:

Despite his rigid appearance, he’s quite kind

He listens to me when I have ideas and encourages me to speak up in board meetings despite my lack of status

He remembers things about me – which is still utterly baffling

He’s patient

He’s handsome (unfairly so)

Gift giving as a love language… along with words of affirmation (both a plus for me - dating or not)

CONS:

He’s my boss

The list stares at you with a daunting realization that, yes, the pro’s absolutely outweighed the single con that you could come up with – and, yet, in the same token, so much was at stake if you made the decision to further your relationship with your boss. With every pro that you could list, the thought of ‘He’s my boss’ still outnumbered the choice that your heart had been dying for you to make.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you stare at the word document, lips pursed in thought as your mind flutters back to the conversation you had with Joshua and Soonyoung.

“Maybe you should cross it.”

The line between you and Wonwoo had always been slightly blurred. Between endless flirty compliments and comments and looks that a boss and his assistant should not have been giving to one another, you knew that it had never just been a workplace friendship between the two of you. Not when you would spend countless nights wondering what it would be like to have your boss laying next to you, broad muscly arms enveloping you in a warmth you never wanted to be free of.

And that was what scared you.

“What is that?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice behind you, a shriek escaping you as you click on your email app to pop up instead of the word document, heat flooding your cheeks with embarrassment as you turn to meet the curious gaze of your boss.

“My grocery list,” you reply, lying through your teeth. “I have to pick up a few things on my way home and I didn’t want to forget anything so I wrote it down.”

Wonwoo peers curiously, sharp eyes resting underneath the thick rims of his glasses, and there’s a smirk of amusement on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well I don’t think you have to worry about them tonight,” he replies, coolly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going out tonight,” he clarified, his smirk widening when surprise floods your face.

“Going… out?” You ask, dumbly. “Going out where?”

“Well, since Soonyoung found out that I’m your boss, he’s taken it upon himself to guilt trip me into not only going out tonight, but to bring you along as well.”

A groan escapes you at that, your hand running over your face with embarrassment as Wonwoo chuckles lightly.

“Oh, god,” you whined. “Mr. Jeon I’m sorry –”

“Wonwoo.”

Your gaze meets his amused one as you lifted your head to look at him.

“Wonwoo,” you corrected, looking around the empty office. “He doesn’t understand the term ‘boundaries’ sometimes.”

“I know,” he grins. “Which is why I told him we would both be there.”

You frown at that, looking back towards your computer as you stared at the word app, your mind fluttering to the list that you had been working on.

“I –” you paused, biting the inside of your lip. “I have so much work to do –”

“Sweetheart, I'm offering you a break,” he laughs quietly, looking at you with an expectant look. “Are you really going to turn that down?”

‘He’s your boss, (Y/N). Say no. You know what can happen if you’re stuck with him.’

“Fine,” you concede, sighing softly. “But I have to run home and get changed.”

If the thought of another night out with your boss didn’t already make your heart race, it was the words he whispered to you after that definitely made heat pool between your thighs.

“Why?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re beautiful already.”

Your eyes widened at his compliment, your throat tightening, and you swallowed the lump that had formed out of nervousness before waving him off.

“If you say so,” you dismissed, shutting down your computer. Wonwoo only beams, nose crinkling with happiness as he offers you his arm.

Wonwoo was glued to your side the moment the two of you had stepped into the club, his hand resting on your lower back as he carefully guided you through the crowd. Bodies were pressed against each other without a care in the world, the party goers dancing without thought as they enjoyed their night, and a part of you envied them — envying that they didn’t have to think about the man currently pressing you against him as he shuffles the two of you towards your friends.

The heat from Wonwoo’s body completely engulfs you as he pressed himself against you, the hand that was on your back now sliding to the dip of your hip as he pulls you into him. The scent of his cologne fills your senses and draws you to him, your body molding into his as he leans down to press his lips against your ear.

“Soonyoung is right there,” he points, gesturing towards the bubbly blonde now dancing with Seungkwan. “I’ll meet you over there. I’m getting us drinks.”

Before you can say anything, a chaste kiss is being pressed to your cheek. Your eyes widened as your boss slithered through the dancing bodies, shock filling you at the gentle brush of his lips on your skin as your mind tried to wrap around the fact that your boss had just kissed you. Butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach at the gesture, your heart speeding up in your chest, and you can only suck in the shyness of the blush now heating your cheeks before you’re making your way towards your group of friends.

Joyful cheers erupt from the bunch as you come into view, glasses being held up in a toast as they acknowledge your arrival. You’re met with Soonyoung’s beaming face as you take a seat beside him, the bubbly blonde wrapping an arm around you as he gives you a one armed hug.

“From now on I’m just going to force Wonwoo to hang out with me,” he says, jokingly. “That seems to be the only way I can get you here!”

A small laugh escapes you as you shake your head at your friend, rolling your eyes playfully.

“It was a low blow, Soonie,” you reprimand, giving him a look. “You can’t boss him around just so that we can accompany you while you’re out.”

Soonyoung pouts, batting his eyes.

“But you’re my friends,” he whines. “And the two of you work too much! It wouldn’t kill you to be somewhere that’s not the office or home every once in a while!”

“He’s got a point, honey,” Dokyeom interjects, looking distractedly behind you. “Wonwoo has you working crazy hours day in and day out. You need a break to decompress.”

“He’s right.”

The deep voice rumbling behind you makes you lift your head as your gaze falls on a smiling Wonwoo, the man placing your drink in front of you before sliding next to you in the booth. Your breath catches in your throat the moment his leg pressed against yours, the heat emanating off of him like he’s your own personal furnace. His sharp gaze is locked on yours as he reaches to lazily drape his arm around you, and you don’t have to look at Soonyoung to know that he’s sitting there smirking as he and Wonwoo lock eyes.

“Nice of you to join us, Wonu,” Soonyoung piped up. “I almost would’ve thought (Y/N) came here alone.”

“Now what kind of man would I be if I let my beautiful assistant come here by herself?”

A chorus of snorts falls upon the group, identical knowing looks on each one of their faces as they gazed upon you and Wonwoo. Heat floods your cheeks as you look down at the table bashfully, biting back a smile as Wonwoo pulls you into him.

Soonyoung can’t help but to smirk as he watches the two of you, a knowing glance being thrown towards your boss as he chuckles.

“I’ve never seen her so shy before,” he coos, making you groan in embarrassment. Wonwoo grins.

“Come to the office and you’ll see more of it,” he teases, and you playfully tap his shoulder in response.

“Stop,” you whined, pouting. “It’s not my fault you’re a shameless flirt.”

Wonwoo’s grin doesn’t falter, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Only with you, sweetheart.”

A unanimous coo falls from the group as they beamed at the two of you, taking in the flirty banter between you and your boss before deciding to give the two of you some time to yourselves. Soonyoung and Dokyeom are making a beeline for the dance floor while Joshua and Seungkwan head towards the bar, and you can already feel the nervous fluttering of those damned butterflies as Wonwoo’s soft gaze peers into yours.

A feline smirk is on his lips, his gaze resting underneath the thick rims of his glasses, and he’s leaning down towards your ear, lips brushing the outer shell and sending a wave of heat through your body.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

His voice is quiet, the low tone reverberating against your body, and you can’t help but to shiver as his breath fanned against your skin. You take a sip of your drink before turning your head to look at him, eyes shining playfully.

“You sure you don’t want to dance with anyone else?” You asked, half teasing half serious. “I’m sure there’s plenty of women who would gladly take you up on it.”

Wonwoo’s face hardens at your words, jaw clenching as he gives you a stern look.

“I don’t want anyone but you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at that, lips parting slightly in shock, and you peered into the earnestness of Wonwoo’s eyes as he reaches to grab your hand. The butterflies multiply tenfold as he lifts it to his lips, gently pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he’s wordlessly sliding out of the booth and pulling you up to him.

A protective arm wraps around your waist as your chest presses against his, his gaze never leaving yours as he rests his palm against your cheek.

“Dance with me.”

It’s a soft murmur rumbling from him and the intensity of his gaze can only make you nod in silence before allowing yourself to be willingly pulled to the dance floor.

Strong arms enveloped around your waist as you’re tugged into his broad chest, your arms looping around his neck, and the sultry song playing in the background does absolutely nothing for your nerves as your bodies move to the beat of the song. Wonwoo’s heated gaze is locked on yours, his sharp eyes framed underneath his glasses, and the intensity of him renders your mind thoughtless as a wave of heat flows straight to the pulsing core of your thighs as his body rolls into yours.

A soft mewl falls from you as you mirror his movements, your hands fisting in his hair as your hips swayed against his. Wonwoo grits his teeth as he leans down closer to you, his nose grazing yours as his hands clutched at the fabric of your shirt.

The heat between the two of you grows several degrees hotter as Wonwoo turns you in his arms, your back now flush against his chest, and his head dips to rest in the crook of your neck as your ass rolls into his groin. There’s a broken moan falling from him and he’s gripping onto you for dear life as he grinds his body into yours. Your hands are still fisted through his hair as his teeth graze against your skin, a whine falling from you as you tilt your neck to give him more access.

“Wonwoo…”

The sound of his name falling from you sends your boss into a frenzy, his hands clutching your body to him as he rolls his clothed cock against your ass. His teeth bite down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he sucks the skin into his mouth, marking you with a soothing flick of his tongue.

“Be mine,” he murmurs against your skin, drawing you out of your lust-filled haze. A frown paints itself across your lips as you try to turn in his arms, only to have Wonwoo tighten his arms and lock you in place.

“I can’t…” you whisper, and Wonwoo shakes his head as he nips against your collarbone.

“Don’t think about tomorrow, sweetheart,” he responds. “Think about now. Think about how we’re two people who very clearly care about each other.”

Your brain is screaming at you to pull away, to not risk anything more than what has already happened, but when his hot breath is fanning across your skin and his hardening cock is pressing up against your ass it’s hard to pull away. So, instead, you’re gaining the strength to turn in his arms and pull his head back down to your neck, fishing your hands through his hair as you arch into his touch. Wonwoo growls against your skin as needy hands drop to the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh as your bodies grind to the beat of the music.

Everything around you all but disappears as the two of you melt into one another, not a care in the world as Wonwoo mouths hotly at your neck, tongue and teeth marking any visible inch of skin that he can latch onto.

‘Just for tonight,’ you thought to yourself. ‘I can indulge myself just for a night.’

If only it was ever that easy.

[fanofthings20]

Rio Vidal x Reader Angst Request

This was requested by @miraslittlecrow. I hope this story is what you were hoping for! Thank you for the request and the fun challenge, I'm sorry it took me so long to finally posted it and I do apologize if this is a complete disaster!!

All the promtps are highlighted in bold and were created by the amazing and talented @me-writes-prompts

Without further ado, after 14-hour days for 7 straight, internet issues, about 16 rewrites, and changing the prompts about three times here is the story. Until next time farewell and happy Agatha All Along episode 7 night!!

___________________________________________________________

It was after midnight when a bloody, beaten, and worn-down soul returned home. Trying their hardest to stay silent to not alert their wife now that they were finally home after being delayed for an additional two days than the original eight days that was originally expected. You would have been back two hours ago but you were determined to patch yourself up the best you could so your wife who would no doubt already be worried about the delay, it would only stress her to see injuries and put the lives you just risked everything for in grave danger from her wrath. This is the downside to having the job of a life guardian with protection witch abilities while your wife is Lady Death who is protective and quick to anger.

Turning into the living room has you feeling lightheaded and your using the back of the couch as a crutch to keep yourself upright. You waited for a few minutes till the feeling passed thinking it was safe managing to round to the front of the couch before feeling a wet sensation against your left hand that was holding your right side. Pulling your hand off your side you see that the stitches for that large gash had ripped again and you'd already lost so much blood you barely made it onto the couch before the rest of your strength left you.

Meanwhile, Rio had been forced to collect more souls in the last four days than she would have liked. She would much rather wait at home for y/n to return, given that they were already two days behind their return date. Unfortunately, Death waits for no one, and Rio was super-speeding the process intending to get home faster. Finally, arriving at the house for the last two souls that needed to be collected tonight it happened to be an elderly couple. Rio always enjoyed collecting elderly couples who passed together because it was well deserved. Even though she was in a rush to get home she took her time with this couple getting to know them while providing a smooth transition.

When she returned to the living world she felt a searing pain in her chest at the same time it felt like a soul was close to collection. The searing pain was from the bond with her wife that alone was concerning enough but in occurrence as the death call skyrocketed Rio’s panic and in her rush to get home she teleported to the wrong location twice before finally making it home. Running up the path barreling through the door, and using magic to close the door the house was dark no lights had been turned on. Rio was using their bond to range how close she was to y/n and her ability to adjust to the darkness to rush up the stairs to their bedroom.

Upon crossing the bedroom’s threshold she noticed the room was untouched. Stopping long enough to check the bathroom before she rushed back downstairs, she was on the way to their back porch which was your favorite spot had it not been for the weak whimpering sound you made on the couch from jostling your injury. The sound had her turned around and on her knees at your side in a split second using her magic she turned on the living room lamps which illuminated your state to her. Normally nothing would phase her but your bruised state and the extent of your injuries were unlike any you had ever bared before. She knew the insane risks of your job as a life guardian but had been managing until now but she could no longer put off the conversations she had been withholding from you anymore.

Your voice was so weak when you tried putting on the brave act of “It’s fine, I’m okay-“ but she was quick to gently cut you off with “No you’re not, you’re injured and it’s all their fault!”. She was so sick of the fools who lived without abandon and required a life guardian to keep living. If she could she’d gladly take all their souls in an instant to keep you from harm but she couldn’t break the cycle of life rules without major consequences. If you didn’t require her immediate attention and care to keep you from being the next soul she was forced to collect she would be out that door in a second to give the person you risked everything such a life-altering scare to keep them from needing you ever again.

But you needed her now, especially with the large gash that was gushing blood out. She took out her favorite curved knife to cut your shirt off so she could have full access to your injuries to heal them. When your shirt had been removed and the true extent of your injuries was revealed to her, she was scared that she couldn’t heal it. The gash went from your right side across your abdomen it was deep with significant blood loss your other symptoms included breathing faster than normal, feeling confused and weak, sweating, low body temperature, fast pulse and slowly losing consciousness.

Rio tried to be gentle but she could only go so far when she had to put her hands directly on your wounds to heal it with her magic. Putting pressure on your wounds and the magic closing them again, causing you immense pain that had your already exhausted body past its limit to where your whimpering increased along with your feeble attempts to get away from Rio’s hands. Your rational side knew Rio was helping but you were so confused by the pain and blood loss that you weren’t capable of seeing it as helping. Rio couldn’t take her hands away from your wounds yet so all she could currently offer you were words of love to try and ease your confusion and discomfort.

“Cara Mia, I know it hurts”

“Your going to be okay”

“It’s almost over mi amor”

“We are going to have a long conversation when this is all over”

Rio had finally finished healing your wounds and could take her hands off your abdomen. You had passed out when the wound was halfway through mending. After she checked your heartbeat and breathing status, she walked to the kitchen where she collected a bowl of water and a hand towel to wash both her hands and clean you off the best she could. When you were cleaned off Rio took a few minutes to lay her head over your abdomen to feel you breathing and leave a trail of kisses along where your newest scar lies trying to calm her racing heart and remind herself you were still here with her. There wasn’t much she could offer for blood loss but two potions, food, hydration, and rest.

When she left you this time it was a return trip to the kitchen to clean the bloody bowl and prepare the potions and food. Who knows how long you’ll be passed out for so it was a waiting game for Rio which gave her time to think about one of your earlier interactions and what she wanted to say to you after all these years of holding back. One of her favorite interactions was when you had presumably saved her from a booby-trapped section of the woods. You did not know that she was Death at the time, there had been many interactions between you both throughout the years. You thought she was alluring, irresistible, and you knew this section of the wood was trapped. She had stepped on a hidden pressure plate for the arrow bolt's release, but before one could hit her, she instantly knew it was you. Hell, yall had fucked so many times at this point that you could recognize each other instantly just by your bodies. “You saved me back there…you didn’t have to. You could’ve gotten yourself kille-” (Rio) “I’d always choose you over myself. You should be well aware of that by now, my dear.” (You).

It had caught her off guard how willing you were to always put her first over yourself. Dare she say that made you even sexier in her eyes and so much harder to deny feelings for you anymore. She almost lost you tonight in more ways than one, physically and she would have been forced to take your soul from the living world to the soul realm a place she could never enter. She finished making everything and kept the food warm with her magic going back into the living room carefully lifting your head and sliding in under you. She ran a hand through your hair while the other was holding your wrist keeping track of your heartbeat.

She knew you probably wouldn’t hear or remember this conversation but she needed to say it to you “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t always have to stand up for people. I worry that no one will stand up for you in return when the time comes, because they take you for granted. And I hate that.” “Let me help you, please. I can’t stand on the side, quietly staring at all the scars you carry.” She couldn’t stand by anymore in the shadows and let you do this alone, there were only so many years where she’d let you go but now if you ever fully recovered from this she would be at your side from now on.

[spideysbruh]

chicago

a/n I MISSED MAKING THESEEE

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 3,188,773 others

y/n 💕

view all 88,729 others

tchalamet forever and ever

liked by y/n

y/n and always

shawnyn god WHEN

wonkaswhore if they ever break up I'll kms

tchalamet just posted a story!

~~~

@ceoofynandtim tweeted- it's kinda been a while since they posted each other huh... im scared. I MISS THIS ERAAA

@teddyyn replied- DONT EVEN THINK THATTT

@girlyyn replied- am I the only one thinking they're engaged? 🤭

@aliveyn replied to @girlyyn- but why aren't they posting each other at all!??!?!? it's v unlike them...

~~

@celebnews just tweeted- BREAKING ‼️‼️Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n have broken up. Verified by a close source, the pair have split after four years together.

@phasesyn replied- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO💔💔💔💔💔💔💔😭😭😭😭😭

@wonkaswhore replied- love is dead.

@nightlyyn replied- no one touch me. my parents just got divorced

@ynxpaul replied- the way they spoke about each other... jesus how did this happen. never saw two people more in love.

@ronxyn replied- so we're all just believing this ?😭😭

@girlyyn replied- well. no reason to live now tbh

liked by dylanminnette, sabrinacarpenter and 2,817,278 others

y/n if it's real, then can you show me?

view all 87,288 comments

pepperyn omg. that song.

yourfriend you're too gorgeous

rachelzegler MY PRETTY BEST FRIEND

sabrinacarpenter my shirt looks good on you

biyn LESBIANS !?!?!

dystopiayn girl they are friends 😩💀 sab has a bf!

liked by florencepugh, billieeilish and 2,276,827 others

y/n trying to get in my horror era

view all 94,655 comments

rachelzegler the horrors persist but so do we!!

y/n I love you

ynscurtains you're already a scream queen !!

harryynpot im literally a child of divorce omg

modernyn Timothée fumbled omg

chalsyn they both fumbled 💀💀

@celebnews just tweeted- Y/n L/n in a recent interview talking about her split from Timothée Chalamet: "We had a few months before the whole world knew, so I got to kind of heal and process everything in private without people looking at and analyzing my every move. Breakups are rough no matter what, whether or not you're public about it. There are days that feel worse than others, and.. it is because I really, truly, thought i was forever done with that whole dating portion of my life."

replies have been turned off

@tchalametupdates just tweeted- Timothée seen recently greeting fans! When asked about his and Y/ns breakup he responded with, "Some things you just have to get through by yourself. I'm glad that you're all sending me love and support, but I'll be okay!"

@timschal replied- CRYINGGG 😭😭

@laurieslaurence replied- bro he seemed so sad 😭😭

@ynsstan replied to @laurieslaurence- well he broke up with her so idk why he's so hurt 🙄

@steelyn replied to @ynsstan- omg didn't know that you were part of their relationship too... dumbass

@ynxtimmy replied- I still think they're soulmates like they're gonna get back together watch !!!

liked by florencepugh, sabrinacarpenter and 4,188,938 others

y/n took myself out for valentines day this year. it was actually quite romantic

view all 99,927 comments

sabrinacarpenter beautiful girl

liked by y/n

rachelzegler we should've gone together

y/n next year 🤭

timmytimstan MAKE HIM REGRET IT

ynscurtains you're literally a timmy acc hello ? 😭😭

ynsheadphones kms cause their valentine posts were so cute

ynsshoes FRR their captions were always the cutest 😭😭💕

y/n just posted a story!

caption- single girl era 💕💕

@ynupdates just tweeted- While promoting her newest movie, Y/n was asked about Timothée, she expressed how she still has love for Timothée and doesn't hold anything against him. "He was the best person I've ever had the pleasure to love. I hold no negativity in my heart for him. Truly, I wish him nothing but the best forever and ever." She also went on to say that an Oscar win is definitely in his future.

@paulsyn replied- maybe they just need some time apart 💔💔💔💔

@lonesomeyn replied- 'forever and ever' KILL ME NOW

@ynscurtains replied- THEYRE SO NICE ABOUT EACH OTHER PLS LET THEM BE TOGETHERRRR

@ringsyn replied- I hope they stay friends 😭😭

~~~

*3 Years Later*

liked by florencepugh, tchalamet and 3,828,839 others

y/n and when im back in chicago 🎶

view all 92,288 comments

timmyyn remember when timmy and her would go to chicago like once a month 😭😭💔💔💔

vampireyn girl let it go

ynsheadphones UHHH TIMMY LIKED !?!?!?!?!!?????

coolyn BITCH I AM UPPP OMGGG

happilyyn do NOT get my hopes up omg

rachelzegler no invite ??

liked by y/n

@celebnews just tweeted- BREAKING ‼️ Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n were recently seen getting close with one another in Chicago. Apparently they were trying to remain unnoticed when someone asked for a photo.

@horroryn replied- GOD IS REALLLL

@chappellyn replied- THEY LOOK SO CUTEEEE MY LOWKEY PARENTSSS

@timmytimstan replied- bro I've been waiting for this news omg 😭😭

@rhodeyn replied- they're like justin and hailey 2.0 omgg

@laurieslaurence replied- the way they're literally matching. they used to coordinate their outfits alll the time and they're doing it again 😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶💕

@cutesyn replied- THE WAY SHES SITTING ON HIS LAP OH MY GODDD IM SO SINGLE

liked by tchalamet, melissabarrera and 4,188,838 others

y/n me when

view all 121,717 comments

ynslipgloss ARE THOSE NOT TIMOTHÉES FEET 😭😭😭

tchalamet I wish I could like this 200 times

liked by y/n

sabrinacarpenter pretty girl !!

liked by y/n

blankyn I bet timmy took these pics

ynsheadphones HIS COMMENT OH MY GODDD

florencepugh how are you so beautiful

y/n no way you're asking ME that 😭😭😭🫶

airyyn can yall just hard launch already 😩😭😭

y/n okay!

airyyn HELLO!??!!

slyyn WE'RE SO BACK

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- falling... falling... fell

@celebnews just tweeted- Timothée Chalamet spoke about him and Y/n L/n for the first time in three years, in a recent interview. "I'll never forgive myself for being away from her for that long. She is the most exceptional, divine person I have ever known. Being without her, while I did learn and mature a lot, was torture."

@bookyn replied- how I like my men

@timmyandynstan replied- they had to be apart to come back together 😭😭😭💔💔

@halfbloodyn replied- i cant wait for all the content we'll get of them 😭😭🩷💕

liked by tchalamet, dylanminnette and 7,277,838 others

y/n please please please!!!!!

comments have been limited

tchalamet my beautiful girl

tchalamet who needs an oscar when i have you

sabrinacarpenter felt

liked by y/n, zendaya and 10,982,277 others

tchalamet Je t'aime de toute mon âme

view all 132,828 comments

y/n how are you so perfect

liked by tchalamet

timmysgf ugh I thought we were free of her

huffleyn stfu 🖕 fuck off!!!

sabsyn DONT EMBARASS HER, MOTHERFUCKER

floralyn 😭😭😭💀

paulsdunes he didn't even embarass her the first time 🙄

sabsyn omg just play along, it's a song lyric

y/n my darling boy

tieyn remember when they broke up and she was saying how she thought she was done dating and now look 😭😭 back together FOR GOOD THIS TIME

wallowsyn MY PARENTS ARE BACKK

*

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Sussex Survivors Club

Tom Sykes of The Daily Beast dropped an article yesterday about the latest Sussex employee to bail out.

There's some good gossip in the article, such as:

For example, one photographer who was requested to pitch to work for their wedding told The Daily Beast: “It was incredibly exciting to be asked to present for the wedding. I had to go to Kensington Palace where I laid out several mood boards in what was then their office. Eventually, Meghan walked in, took one look at what I had prepared and said, in the meanest way possible, ‘No.’ Then she spun on her heel and walked out. I was left in tears. It was horrible.” Another contractor, a florist, The Daily Beast was told, was “monstered” by Meghan after posting an innocuous message on social media trying to source flowers for a bouquet Meghan had requested they make. The florist vowed never to work with Meghan again despite the prestige associated with such a client. Harry, by contrast, has generally been seen as a considerate and thoughtful boss. Another contractor who worked at his wedding told The Daily Beast how Harry helped set up one of the bars in a marquee before the event kicked off. 

There's also a couple eye-rolly moments like this one:

Reports this week, in the wake of Kettler’s departure, have claimed that 18 people have resigned or left Harry and Meghan Markle’s employ since she married Harry, with nine leaving since they moved to the USA. However, defenders of Harry and Meghan would be quick to point out that some staff, such as James Holt, who moved to America with the Sussexes, have remained in post for many years, and point out that there is plenty of churn in Prince William and Princess Kate’s office too, but they don’t get accused of being bad bosses every time a new hire doesn’t work out.

(Eye-rolly because why do we even need to drag William and Kate into this to begin with? Oh, I forgot. Because Tom needs his paycheck and Meghan needs her SEO.)

Anyway. I was going to do a deep dive into the photographer and florist to see if there's any more details there but...18 ex-staffers seems awfully low compared to all the stories that have trickled out over the years.

So let's count them!

Kensington Palace Survivors

Christian Jones. Meghan was papped taking him to lunch, causing many to believe she poached him from Burberry and he was working directly for her; however, when the household split, Christian stayed at KP with the Cambridges. I'm too lazy at the moment to check, but I think Christian was one of the four KP staffers that planned to testify in one of the lawsuits, and I'm fairly certain Meghan's pissed at him about something (or everything) because Endgame ended up being a hit job on Christian.

Amy Pickerill. She was formerly Harry's PA but transferred to staff Meghan during the engagement and was so closely trusted by Meghan that Amy was given the honorable task of...airport duty? (Amy was tapped to pick up Doria at the airport for the wedding.) Amy is suspected to be one of the two PAs that Meghan bullied, descriptions of which Jason Knauf included in his letter. Amy quit working for the Sussexes, went private for a little bit, but was then immediately hired by The Royal Foundation, where she became involved with Earthshot, where Kate was overheard greeting her with "Well done, Amy!" It's also believed that Amy is the PA whom William was once witnessed comforting while she was upset. Amy is also suspected of being the aide seen crying (after being yelled at by Meghan) by one of the royal reporters; the reporter chose not to print this incident when it happened because "privacy" but later admitted it sometime post-Oprah.

Melissa Toubati. Formerly Robbie William's PA, she joined KP during the engagement and was assigned to the Sussexes' staff, where she helped plan the wedding and the Australia tour. She quit after about six months or so after the Australia tour, where allegedly Meghan threw a cup of tea and/or a pair of scissors at her, which allegedly led to a handsome payoff by the BRF and a NDA. She is the aide that Valentine Low described as getting fired for something she didn’t do, suspected to be related to a disagreement over Meghan’s accepting of freebies. Harry then threw her under the bus in Spare, writing that he and Meghan turned her in to HR for taking freebies that were sent to Meghan. (Thanks for the correction, anon! Original text left below.) Melissa is thought to be the second of two PAs referenced in Jason's letter.

did get a shoutout from Harry in Spare, who said that Melissa and Meghan butted heads over Meghan wanting to keep all the clothes she was given while Melissa was in favor of following protocol (i.e., returning all the clothes or sending payment for each item received).

Samantha Cohen. She was a valued aide to Queen Elizabeth, given to the Sussexes to help Meghan learn the ropes and whip their staff into shape. Samantha the Panther famously accompanied Meghan on her first (only) engagement with The Queen - yes, the hatless toilet tank engagement - and to Australia. Sam's assignment to the Sussexes was just supposed to be a few weeks, but it stretched for well over a year. Samantha later made private remarks that have since become prophetic, that Meghan had no interest in getting along with anyone (or something to that effect) and she has also made comments that Meghan often screamed at the staff (including her) and pushed Samantha past her breaking limit.

Edward Lane Fox. He was Harry's valued aide, having worked for him for five years and is largely the brains behind Invictus Games. He announced his departure from the Sussexes' staff a few weeks before the wedding, allegedly citing Meghan as the reason why he was leaving. He continues to serve on Invictus Games' board. About six months before the wedding, Ed gave Meghan a 30-page dossier on being a member of the BRF, on everything from curtsey protocol to fashion tips to advice about walkabouts to information about charities and public life. Meghan apparently refused to read it.

Sonia Lane Fox. ELF’s wife. I can't find her name or many details about her, but she supposedly worked for Meghan during the engagement and couldn't take it anymore. She left soon after ELF did.

Edit: I’m getting asks from anons saying that ELF and Amy Pickerill are married but that’s not true - at least not in 2018-2019 when all this went down. I did some insomnia research and found this list of Sussex wedding guests, where ELF is mentioned as attending with his wife Sonia (and here is their engagement announcement). ELF and Sonia could very well be divorced now and Ed remarried to Amy (but still, I doubt that because there would be mentioned in some of the stories about former Sussex staff); however, since what is known about ELF’s wife working for the Sussexes is dated to the wedding, this means Sonia and she remains a separate entry.

Unnamed Assistant. Bower discusses this assistant in Revenge, saying this particular individual once had to call Meghan after hours for clarification, which led to Meghan screaming at her "you can't do anything right, I'll do it myself."

Sara Latham. Technically Sara didn't quit the Sussexes, the Sussexes quit her. She worked for the Sussexes all the way through Megxit, after which she was absorbed by Buckingham Palace.

Natalie Campbell. Natalie was a KP staffer mostly well known for the work she did with Meghan's Hubb Cookbook (aka I think Natalie did all the work and Meghan just posed for the photos). It's not clear what other work she may have done for the Sussexes (or the Cambridges) or how/on what terms she left the Sussexes' staff.

Clara Loughram. Clara's an interesting staffer. She initially came into the Sussexes' employ while working at KP. She helped with the wedding planning and was the woman who gave Meghan her flowers when she arrived at St. George's Chapel for the wedding. She stuck by the Sussexes' when the household split and lost her job through Megxit; however, the Sussexes later re-hired Clara as a freelancer for Archewell, who worked on their UK projects but Clara has since left the Sussexes' employment.

Edit: Apparently Clara established her own company that the Sussexes continue to contract for support planning their overseas work, according to some anons. I’ll still leave Clara in this list because she doesn’t technically work personally for the Sussexes anymore.

Jason Knauf. The big kahuna. Everyone knows Jason's story. He was the Communications guy for KP, working with William, Kate, Harry, and Meghan. When the household split, Jason stayed at KP with the Cambridges. He advised Meghan on her letter to Tom and poked a lot of holes in her testimony. He also wrote a damning letter about Meghan's behavior towards staff that led to the bullying investigation, which was DOA.

Katrina McKeever. She was part of the communications team at KP and was said to have also helped Meghan with the wedding planning. She quit just before the Australia trip, allegedly over Meghan's harsh criticism of how certain wedding plans were executed though Meghan denies criticizing anyone.

Melissa Crow. She used to be Madonna's assistant and allegedly worked for the Sussexes but quit abruptly. There's not a whole lot of information out there about her - it's totally possible that people confused her for Melissa Toubati, but I'm including her anyway on this list.

Unnamed Female RPO. This woman quit after (or in the middle of) the Sussexes' Australasia trip. Many suspect her to be the blonde RPO seen escorting Meghan through the terrifying Fiji market.

Staffer Who Quit In Africa. An unnamed staffer who quit the Sussexes' office - or pulled out of consideration for a Sussex position - after joining the team for the Sussexes' South Africa visit.

The Midnight Nanny. One of the nannies hired by Harry and Meghan after Archie was born allegedly quit mid-shift in the middle of the night over the Sussexes' behavior.

Another Unnamed Nanny. If I'm remembering the details correctly, the Sussexes went through several nannies before finding "the perfect fit." I think there were three nannies trialled, including the midnight nanny (see above).

Another Unnamed Assistant. I don't know if this is the same unnamed assistant as the one further up or if this is someone who's already been named, but there was a second assistant who Tom Bower claims Meghan threw under the bus with her freebies.

Let's take a break for a second. That's 18 known staffers that quit working for the Sussexes. (Okay, 17 because Sara Latham didn't technically quit.) Already we've blown Tom Sykes's estimation out of the water. Again, 18 people that quit their jobs in a span of 23 months. But sure, let's talk about the turnover in William and Kate's staff.

And we're not even counting the RPOs Meghan pissed off by treating like her personal servants!

Archewell Survivors

Ben Browning. He was the head of content for Archewell and worked the Netflix deal. He quit after the docuseries.

Bennett Levine. He was also involved in the Netflix deal with Archewell.

Catherine St-Laurent. She's the Gates Foundation poach. Didn't last very long, less than a year I think. Not really sure what her role was. I think she was supposed to be like a CEO or an Executive Officer to Archewell. Her quitting was the subject of a CDAN rumor alleging that no one actually likes the Sussexes, they're just working for the resume credit.

Josh Ketter. Harry's CEO-assistant who quit this week after only three months in the position. The Sussexes are spinning it as his employment was only temporary. Sure, Jan.

Fara Taylor. She was hired to do Archewell's marketing but lost her job when they "streamlined" the Archewell staff. (aka they didn't have money to pay their staff.)

Rebecca Sananes. She was on the Archewell Audio side of things and helped Meghan with the podcast. She quit (or was "let go" - it's not clear which) after Spotify failed to renew Archetypes for a season 2.

Mandana Dayani. She's the big kahuna of post-Megxit, and the staffer who worked the longest with Meghan. She served in a COO-type role for Archewell, overseeing much of the charity work and helping Meghan with her personal brand development. Mandana did accompany Meghan to Uvalde. Mandana allegedly abandoned Meghan, leaving her high and dry by creating American Riviera Orchard for Meghan but not doing any of the paperwork or developing any ideas for product.

Toya Holness. Archewell's press secretary. She was said to be a mini-Meghan or a "Meghan in suits" (something like that, which didn't make sense). She didn't last very long.

Now, Tom Sykes said there were 9 staffers who left the Sussexes after they moved to California. This is only 8 people. I'm not sure who the ninth is - maybe he's counting Clara, who was rehired by the Sussexes post-Megxit? If so:

Clara Loughram. Clara's an interesting staffer. She initially came into the Sussexes' employ while working at KP. She helped with the wedding planning and was the woman who gave Meghan her flowers when she arrived at St. George's Chapel for the wedding. She stuck by the Sussexes' when the household split and lost her job through Megxit; however, the Sussexes later re-hired Clara as a freelancer for Archewell, who worked on their UK projects but Clara has since left the Sussexes' employment.

Edit: Apparently Clara established her own company that the Sussexes continue to contract for support planning their overseas work, according to some anons. I’ll still leave Clara in this list because she doesn’t technically work personally for the Sussexes anymore.

So in sum. That's 26 known people who've quit working for the Sussexes. There's probably a few more that we don't know about, both from the KP side and the Archewell/post-Megxit side.

Tom Sykes can go ahead and shove his "let's talk about Kate not being able to keep a CEO" talk where the sun don't shine because 26 people quitting is not the same as 3 people quitting.

[brainrotbabe24]

Can you write something about Reader x Fili when Readers human friend braids their hair in a platonic way but the dwarves, due to their traditions, assume its romantic and Fili is like really sad cause he wanted to ask reader to court?? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hi! Thank you for your request! Fili is one of my favorites, so I had a lot of fun writing this one. 💖🎉

The Misread Braid: Part 1

Rating:fluff/angst/ sfw

Relationship: filixreader

Author note: For some reason, I keep getting errors when I try to post the whole thing, so I will have to split it into two posts

It had been a year since Erebor was reclaimed. The dwarves were slowly returning, the city was being rebuilt, and everyone's spirits were high—especially Fili's. He had fallen head over heels for you. The flirting, the lingering glances, and the late-night strolls made it clear to everyone that a royal wedding might be on the horizon. The feelings between you two were undeniable, and everyone, including you, could see it.

You even wrote to your friend from home, inviting them to visit for a month. You had a feeling Fili might soon ask to court you, and you wanted your friend's help to look your best. Erebor didn't have the amenities you were used to, so you asked your friend to bring as much as possible. You even asked them to bring a lovespoon, a courting tradition for your hometown. You weren't familiar with Dwarven courting rituals but were excited to see what Fili would do.

—------------

One day, Fili was out handling his daily duties when he spotted you standing on the ramparts overlooking Dale.

"Y/N?" he called out, a smile spreading across his face.

You turned and saw him. "Fili!" you exclaimed, running over to hug him.

You stayed in each other's embrace for a while. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, his arms lingering on yours. "It's freezing."

"I was just too excited," you replied. "My friend is coming to visit."

"That's right, they're coming today, aren't they?" he asked 

"Yes!" you squealed with excitement. "Oh, I'm so excited for you to meet them!

Fili chuckled. "I'm excited to meet them, too! I have a meeting with Thorin today, but find me later, and we can all have dinner together."

"Sounds perfect!" you agreed.

Fili smiled and waved goodbye, his heart light and his smile wide. He was planning to court you later that week and was on his way to talk to Thorin about it. Everything was going to be perfect! 

—------------

Later that evening, everyone gathered to meet your friend at the tavern. The air was filled with laughter and lively conversation as Fili walked in, eager to make a good impression.

"Fili, over here!" you called, waving him over.

Fili walked over and hugged you. "This is my friend," you said, introducing them.

"Nice to meet you," Fili said, shaking their hand. 

"So this is Fili," your friend said, elbowing you playfully. "What a dream boat, Y/N?"

"Stop it!" you giggled, playfully hitting their arm.

Fili was confused. "Dreamboat?" he thought.

"Come on, let's get some beer," you said, leaning on Fili's arm. You walked to the table, where everyone was still bombarding your friend with questions.

"Tell me," Dwalin asked, "how was the journey? Long?"

"Not too long, about four months—it would've been sooner, but it started to snow," your friend replied.

"Snow!" Bilbo exclaimed.

"Where are you staying?" Kili asked.

"With Y/N," your friend responded.

Fili started feeling a twinge of jealousy and confusion. He didn't know your friend was staying with you? He tried to dismiss his growing discomfort. "Calm down, Fili," he told himself. “It's just Y/N being nice to a friend, nothing more." He took a swig of his beer and forced a smile.

But as the evening went on, there were more moments when Fili could not shake the jealous feeling. Your friend bought you beer, touched your arm, and you even danced with them. Fili was all mixed up and even agreed to take you two to the Dale the next day! “How did that happen?” He thought. Maybe he was overreacting. There was no reason to be worked up; he just met them. But FIli's thoughts were interrupted.

"That dress really commands attention," your friend said. They leaned into you and touched your tunic. You wrapped your arms around them and laughed, blushing a little. 

Fili choked on his drink.  He didn't think the night could get worse. He felt horrible and wanted to just leave. Getting up, he went to the bar to close his tab. Kili and Bilbo were there getting more drinks for the table. 

"Leaving so soon?" Bilbo asked

"Yeah," Fili said shortly

"Why?" Kili asked. "It's not even that late."

Fili shrugged.

"Come on, stay a little longer. I bet y/n would want you to walk them home." Kili said.

"They have their friend, remember" Fili scoffed. 

"They're just friends; I wouldn't worry about it. Plus, Y/N told me they invited them for a special reason." Kili laughed

"Maybe y/n thinks something is going to happen… a royal courtship perhaps" Bilbo winked

Fili looked back at the table. Maybe he could stay. Fili had a feeling you knew he was going to ask. He smiled and shook his head. He was being silly. He was about to say something when he saw your friend lean down, whispering in your ear. You nodded, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Why did Y/N nod?" Fili muttered, a mix of confusion and jealousy creeping in.

"Are you sure it was a nod?" Kili asked.

"Maybe they are agreeing to something…like another dance," Bilbo suggested, adding to Fili's anxiety.

Your friend then stood up and moved behind you, lazily undoing your bun and letting your hair fall down your back. They picked up a strand and started to braid it.

Bilbo and Kili glanced at Fili, whose face had turned a deep crimson red. Throwing down some money, Fili stammered, "I-I can't watch this anymore," and made a beeline for the door.

"Oh shit," Kili muttered under his breath, realizing the situation.

Still trying to stay positive, Bilbo leaned in and whispered, "It might not have been a braid, right? Maybe it's just a... fancy knot?"

—------------

Consumed with the company of your friends, you stayed out until the wee hours of the morning, laughing and sharing stories. It wasn't until you woke up the next day that you remembered not seeing Fili after he abruptly left the table.

Concerned, you quickly got dressed and decided to go looking for him. Making your way through the busy halls of Erebor, your eyes scanned the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

You checked the usual spots—the training grounds, the forge, even the quiet corner of the library—but there was no sign of Fili. Growing more anxious, you asked a few dwarves if they had seen him, but they only shook their heads.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, you headed toward the ramparts, hoping to find him there. As you approached, you spotted a familiar figure standing alone, his back turned to you, shoulders tense. It was Fili.

"Fili," you said with a sigh of relief, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

Fili didn't look at you. 

"You left last night without saying goodbye. What was that about?"

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words—his heart ached as he noticed you still had the braid in.

"Fili," you said, concerned.

"Sorry, Y/N, I'm super busy. I can't talk right now," he said, clearing his throat.

"But we're supposed to go to Dale today."

"Plans changed," he said quickly 

"What does that mean?"

He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy.

"Are you—?" you trailed off, unsure.

"I gotta go, Y/N," he said, brushing past you, wiping a tear from his face.

----

Part 2: