#the girls get their six way magical phones

[maluceh]

they were girls together

[imaginespazzi]

Our Merry Eternity

And she swears that every Christmas season, it feels like they fall deeper and deeper in love with each other.

(In which a writer would like to argue that a day after Christmas, is a perfectly reasonable time to release a Christmas fic)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, fluff, fluff with some hurt/comfort and angst if you squint

Words: 9.4K (if I could write things shorter maybe y'all would get things faster but alas)

TW: Implied sexual content/suggestive content, mentions of divorce, mentions of injuries, swearing

A/N: MERRY (one day after) CHRISTMAS MY LOVIES <3 It seems like everyone wanted domestic fluff and who am I to deny the people what they want (even if it is a little later than I intended it to be) and I didn't realize how much I missed eternity-verse till I wrote this. I'mma keep this short and sweet and go through the basics. Such as the fact that I did not edit. I eventually will but for now, feel free to let me know about any grammar/spelling/formatting issues. And even though I haven't had the time to go through my inbox in a hot second, I promise I will soon so as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your holidays my angels <3

It’s beginning (to look a lot like Christmas) 

Paige isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas; she doesn’t dislike it by any means but she’s never understood the fascination everyone else seems to have with it. Perhaps it’s because when she was younger, Christmas had been her parents’ favorite holiday to try and one-up each other. They’d competed in everything, from how big the tree was to how evenly spread the icing on the cookies were. Eventually the excitement of getting a big expensive present from one parent that would only be rivaled by an even bigger, more expensive present from the other wore off and all that was left was this hollow feeling of being torn in two. Her parents have matured now -no longer in a constant battle for her approval now that they had other kids to focus on as well- but the magic of Christmas had long worn off and Paige hadn’t bothered trying to rediscover it. 

Until now. 

Because right now, watching -through a facetime call that’s been running for almost four hours now- Azzi run around Walmart, searching for decorations and presents with her exasperated family in tow, almost feels a little magical. The way the younger girl’s eyes twinkle when she finds the perfect gift, the way her dimples deepen when she triumphantly wins an argument against her mother for an ornament her tree needs, makes Paige think that it would be so easy to fall in love with Christmas, if she got to spend it with Azzi. 

And it’s like Azzi’s reading her mind because suddenly the younger girl’s face is filling all of Paige’s screen as she holds the phone close to her face, lips pouting in a way that has the blonde feelings decidedly unfriendly feelings toward a girl she’s barely known for six months, but feels like a best friend she’s known all her life. 

“I wish we could spend Christmas together,” Azzi says with a slight whine, “and then you could help me with all of this. They’re absolutely no help-” her last sentence is cut off by her family and Paige laughs as the Fudds break out into a series of indignant protests. 

“Oh so you just want me for manual labor or something huh?” Paige teases, leaning back against her bed and folding her arms across her chest, “and here I thought it’s cause you missed me.”

“I do miss you,” Azzi says matter-of-factly.

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head, “sounds like you just need another person to slave around for you.”

Azzi's mouth falls open at the accusation as the Fudds break into laughter behind her, the sound of it making something impossibly warm bloom in Paige’s chest. 

“I do not make people slave around for me.”

“Yeah you do. You’re the princess. You order us around and we do as we’re told.”

“Here, here-ow!” Jon’s noise of agreement is cut off by his sister elbowing him in the stomach, “do all that work and get rewarded by violence too.”

“I tell you I miss you and this is how you repay me?” Azzi asks, her voice tinged with drama. 

“Nah I still don’t believe you miss me,” it’s a lie; Paige is fully aware Azzi misses her -thinks that the younger girl has to feel at least a semblance of the emptiness she feels herself at the distance between them- but she likes making Azzi repeat it; likes the constant confirmation that Azzi misses her too. 

“Of course I miss you P, after all,” Azzi’s eyes glint with mischief, “we’re engaged aren’t we? A girl’s gotta miss her fiancé.”

The cavalier use of the tone of endearment makes Paige freeze. It’s a joke; a callback to the fact that Paige had practically threatened Azzi that she’d have to marry her if the younger girl won their little pop-a-shot competition last summer at the Minnesota State fair. Paige hadn’t been thinking, it had just slipped out but then Azzi had won the game and then there were rings being exchanged and somehow the whole thing had become one big running joke between the two of them. Except, the idea of forever with Azzi doesn’t feel much like a joke to Paige. It feels like a wish, a hope, a want, a need  something she’s not quite ready to admit to herself yet. 

“I miss you too Az,” Paige says softly as they grin at each other through the phone, “can’t wait to see my best friend soon.”

Thirteen days to be exact -they’d planned to spend the last half of winter break together- but it’s not like Paige is crossing the days off of her calendar or anything. 

“Fiancé,” Azzi corrects and Paige’s heart flutters despite her brain trying to remind her that this is just a bit they’re playing at. 

“Right, so fiancé,” the word tastes like sugar cookies and marshmallows on the tip of her tongue, “you get my present yet?”

“You know I have and before you ask,” Azzi gives her a knowing look when Paige excitedly opens her mouth, “no I won’t give you a hint about what it is.”

“But Azziiiiiii-”

“Absolutely not Paige,” Azzi says firmly, “presents are meant to be surprises.”

“Aren’t fiancés meant to tell each other everything?” Paige scrunches her nose. 

“Not this. Christmas presents are a sacred secret,” the younger girl replies gravely. 

“And who made you an expert on all things Christmas presents?”

“Santa did,” Azzi retorts haughtily. 

Paige snorts, “well Santa doesn’t ex-”

“PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS,” Azzi yells and the blonde can tell by the way she winces immediately that the younger girl’s little outburst had gotten her more than a couple of wary looks, “Paige Madison Bueckers,” she hisses again, her voice much quieter this time, “you take that back right now!”

“Az-”

“Take it back!”

“Bro you’re fifteen years old,” Paige argues. 

“Believing has no age,” Azzi hums airily, “now take it back.”

“Nope!”

“Take it back or I’ll end our engagement,” Azzi threatens and Paige blanches at ultimatum. 

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps. 

“Try me.”

Paige is sixteen and she’s only really just started to learn what love is, but she thinks, as she sits on her bed bickering on facetime over the most ridiculous of topics with a girl who makes her feel things she’s never felt before, that maybe love is just something as simple and crazy as pretending admitting Santa is real so she can prevent her fake engagement, that’s almost beginning to feel a little much like a real promise, from being called off.

2. With you (under the mistletoe)

The truth is that neither of them quite remember what started the fight or even really why it had continued after. All they know is that one minute everything had been fine and then the next minute, they were fuming at each other and their plane ride back to the DMV for Christmas had passed in uncharacteristic silence. They'd parted ways at the airport -glumly sauntering over to their waiting families while decidedly avoiding looking over in each other’s directions- with a dreadful mixture of regret, guilt and the feeling of missing each other. But despite the fact that they were both clearly miserable, Paige and Azzi were both too stubborn and too eager to prove which one of them could be more stubborn. This was their first true fight after they’d gotten together earlier this year, and they were both adamant that the other one would apologize first. 

But Azzi can feel the urge to cave in grow stronger and stronger by the minute as she feels Paige’s body against her own as the blonde reaches over the younger girl to grab something from the shelf. The contact is unnecessary and she knows Paige is doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction and it takes every inch of self-control Azzi has to not shiver as the older girl presses herself against her back, acting like whatever she’s grabbing isn’t right at the front of the shelf. Azzi tries to focus on the cookies she’s icing, tries to keep her hands still as she traces the outline of a star in royal icing, tries to do anything but focus on the way Paige’s warm breath is tickling against the back of her neck. 

It’s two days till Christmas and the Fudd family and friends have gathered to do their annual cookie baking and decorating tradition. And Katie had been clear that no matter what issues Paige and Azzi were having, they wouldn’t interfere with the open invitation that Paige had always had -since she’d moved to the DMV but even before that really- to join them throughout the Christmas festivities. Azzi had pretended to be a little miffed by it but secretly she’d been hoping that her girlfriend -god she still got such a thrill out of being able to call her that- would show up. They’d only really been apart for a day, but since they’d met, Paige and Azzi hadn’t gone often without talking to each other -whether it was in person or through text or on the phone- and so 24 hours had felt a little bit like 24 years and Azzi had spent every second missing the girl who’d long since become a part of her soul. And even though Paige had grunted about only being here for Drew’s sake, Azzi knows -by the way the blonde’s eyes had drunk in the sight of her when she’d let her into the house, by the way her stiff shoulders had relaxed just by being near her again- that Paige had missed her just as much. 

But neither of them are quite ready to admit it yet, and so, as they bustle around the confined space of the Fudd’s kitchen, Paige continues to find ways to light Azzi’s skin on fire and Azzi continues to pretend it isn’t making her burn with want. 

“Noooooooo,” a drawled out whine from the kitchen table has Azzi and Paige jumping away from each other as they both turn to look at Drew. 

Azzi’s eyes widen and Paige bursts into laughter as they take in the scene in front of them. Clearly the little boy had overestimated his strength and the piping bag had burst and now Drew stands by the table, his lips slightly parted in shock, as the red icing -originally intended for the Santa hat cookies- drips down the front of his shirt. Jon and José are doubled down in their chairs, tears practically streaming down their faces as the sound of their laughter echoes through the walls. 

“Oh my god,” Paige manages to get out between her giggles, “what did you do Drewskie.”

“Nothing,” her little brother immediately defends himself, “it literally burst out of nowhere.”

“Sure it did little Hulk, sure it did,” José teases as he swipes his finger over Drew’s ruined shirt and then licks the icing off of it, the casualness of it causing Jon and Paige to burst into another round of laughter while Azzi tries as hard as she can to keep her own giggles contained but a smile slips through the cracks. 

“It’s not funny,” Drew stomps his feet petulantly, “I’m all sticky and icky and gross. Azzi,” he looks at the brunette with imploring eyes, “tell them to stop- OH MY GOD ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME TOO.”

Azzi's eyes widen as she tries to protest, “no of course not. C’mon let’s get you a new-”

But before she can put her plan into action, clearly Drew has a different idea and before Azzi can stop it from happening, the little boy is grabbing another piping bag -this one with green icing- and aiming it straight at Jose. There’s a split second of silence as the green icing arcs through the air, almost in slow motion, before landing with a splat on Jose’s newly bought t-shirt. And then the room bursts into chaos as Drew immediately dives behind Azzi’s legs, Paige and Jon continue to lose their minds laughing and José lets out a loud scream. 

“WHAT THE FU-”

“José language,” both Paige and Azzi reprimand immediately and José glares at them but corrects himself anyways. 

“What the fudge dude,” José scowls at Drew, “this is a brand new shirt.”

For his part, the little boy shrugs, “I thought you liked eating icing off of shirts. I figured I’d make it easier and let you eat it off of your own shirt. 

If it’s possible this somehow makes Jon and Paige laugh harder and instead of focusing his wrath on Drew who’s still nestled behind Azzi’s legs, José turns on the two of them instead. 

“You guys think this is SO funny don’t you,” he says menacingly, grabbing for two more piping bags. 

“José no,” Paige is the first one to recover as she tries to turn away from the mess but it’s too late, and just as she’s trying to bolt out the door, she’s stopped by a glob of pink icing landing with a splat on the back of her plain white shirt. 

“Oh you’re so dead,” Paige whispers angrily as she turns around, grabbing another bag of icing and aiming it directly at José’s face. 

And then there’s no stopping anyone as Azzi watches as all the beautiful icing she’d painstakingly made and dyed into different colors begins to be thrown all over the kitchen, a rainbow painting itself all over the walls and floors. Drew darts out from behind her legs, joining into the mayhem as he starts to pelt Jon with all sorts of colors. 

Seeing them all distracted and knowing it’s only a matter of time before she gets sucked into all of it, Azzi slowly tiptoes backwards, wanting nothing to do with the mess, and she’s just about to turn around and run up the stairs when a low voice echoes behind her. 

“And where do you think you’re going,” because of course Paige had noticed her trying to escape; Paige always noticed when it came to Azzi. 

“Paige,” Azzi warns slowly, trying to move away from the other girl, her eyes fixated on the purple icing in the blonde’s hands, “please.”

Paige smirks as she takes another step towards Azzi, “this is a little unfair isn’t it?”

“Hey I didn’t start any of this,” Azzi puts her hands up in surrender, choosing to back away from the stairs and towards the living room instead, “go fight the people who did.”

Paige shakes her head as she takes another step, “I already got ‘em all. Amateurs,” she says cockily, “they think they can beat me in a food fight.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “is there anything you’re not arrogant about?”

“Can’t help that I’m good at everything,” Paige shrugs and Azzi’s about to come up with a snarky retort when the blonde’s eyes soften, “except I guess- I guess I’m not too great at apologizing.”

Gone is the air of overconfidence that had surrounded the older girl just a second before and in her place is that soft, vulnerable Paige that Azzi is so desperately in love with and she can’t help but take a step towards the blonde. 

“We should both probably apologize huh,” she says quietly, “think we both said some petty shit we didn’t mean.” 

It’s true; they’d known each other so long and so deeply that they knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons, how to say the exact wrong thing to rile each other up when they were frustrated. The fight had been inevitable; an explosion of all the angst that existed between two athletes who were both fighting injuries and watching their team struggle without them. It had started with something little that Azzi can’t quite remember but then they were yelling about other things -Paige’s grievances about how Azzi had an irritating habit of hovering and Azzi’s issues with Paige’s tendency to close herself off- and it had ended with both of them near tears as they’d frustratedly stomped into their rooms. 

“I’m sorry,” Paige says it first, as she loops her arm around Azzi’s waist, bringing the younger girl as close to her as she can, “I love you. I miss you.”

Azzi smiles, her hands finding their rightful place around Paige’s neck, not caring that the other girl is still covered in sticky icing,  “don’t gotta miss me baby. I’m right here,” she says softly, resting her forehead against the blonde’s, “I’m sorry too. I love you so much.”

“Look up,” Paige says softly, as she strokes Azzi’s cheek and the younger girl does as she’s told, laughing when she notices the mistletoe hanging above them. 

“Kissing under the mistletoe? You’re so cliché Bueckers.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason Az,” Paige hums faintly before she’s pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, holding her as tightly as she physically can. 

And yet Azzi still finds a way to tug her closer, trying to find a way to meld their bodies into one as she presses herself as close to Paige as possible. She’s just about to suggest they take this upstairs -because god has she missed being with Paige- when instead she feels the older girl pull away and before she can even react, she’s being hit in the face with a stream of bright purple icing. 

“PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK,”

“Sorry baby. Just couldn’t help myself,” Paige grins as she steps back into Azzi’s space, gently attaching her lips to Azzi’s cheeks as her tongue languidly licks away at the icing and this time the younger girl doesn’t even try to hide the way her body reacts to it, “I promise I’ll clean you up though.”

3. I’ll be home (for Christmas)

“I’m good I swear,” Azzi’s voice is raw and hoarse like it often gets when she’s been crying and despite the younger girl’s best efforts to put on a brave front, Paige can hear right through it. 

She cocks an eyebrow, shifting from her back onto her elbows and placing her phone -with the facetime call- against the headboard, “then why won’t you let me see your face?”

“It’s not me. Something’s up with my camera. I don’t know what,” and if it was anyone else, even someone else who also knew that Azzi had literally just gotten a new phone, maybe the attempted sincerity in the brunette’s voice would be enough to convince them that she was telling the truth. 

But Paige has every line of the Azzi Fudd façade memorized, knows exactly how to discern the little cadences in her girlfriend’s voice and read between the lines. She knows Azzi’s purposely refusing to show her face; knows that it’s probably because it would take Paige one glance at said beautiful, gorgeous, stunning face to know that there had been tears running down it just a little bit ago. 

The blonde sighs, choosing to let the lie go and instead focus on the precious few minutes she’s got to speak to her girlfriend in peace. This is the first time Paige and Azzi have truly been apart for an extended amount of time since the latter had gotten to UConn and somehow the past few weeks have felt worse than when they’d spent months and months apart. With Paige trying to lead an injury-riddled team and Azzi rehabbing another torn ACL, the opportunities to indulge in a proper facetimes call had been few and far between. And when they did finally find the team, it wasn’t just that they were physically tired; they were both emotionally drained too. It was hard recharging when their batteries -each other- were so far away and every call felt hollow; like something was missing. 

“I miss you,” Paige says finally, feet digging into her bed as she musters up a soft smile, wishing that she could see Azzi return it with one of her own instead of staring at a black screen with only her own face in the corner. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the younger girl says lightly and something uncomfortable churns in Paige’s stomach. 

“You uh- you haven’t said it back in a while,” she says slowly, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“Said what?”

Paige gulps, “that you miss me,” she gives Azzi a second to respond before her nerves have her speaking a mile per minute, “I mean not that you- not that you have to say it back or anything it’s just- you usually do- or like you always did and you just- you just haven’t said it back. And I mean I don’t say I miss you just so you’ll say it back or anything. I mean I do- you know- miss you and so that why I say it- because- because I miss you- I miss you so fucking much baby and I just- I just want you to know that but you haven’t- you haven’t said it back in a little bit and I just- Azzi,” her voice cracks as she tries not to let the tears slip through, “you do miss me don’t you?”

The other girl is quiet for so long that Paige thinks maybe she’s said too much; her mind rushes to the worst possibilities because what if Azzi really doesn’t miss her? What if her insecurities are right and the time apart has made Azzi realize that she wants something other than Paige?

“Of course I miss you Paige,” Azzi’s voice is thick with tears and all of Paige’s previous fears are replaced with worry instead, “god baby I miss you so fucking much. I miss you all the time and I’m sorry, fuck Paige, I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t but baby- I-,” she’s heaving through her tears and Paige wishes she was with her; wishes she could wipe away her tears and hold her forever. 

“Azzi-”

“I haven’t been saying it back because- because-” Azzi pushes on, still struggling to speak but determined to say her piece, “I can’t okay? I can’t keep saying it Paige- I can’t keep telling you I miss you and hearing that you miss me when we can’t do anything about it. And I get it- okay- I get it. I get that you have to be with the team and I have to be here and do my rehab and we can’t- we can’t be together right but fuck- I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again helplessly. 

She hates it too; hates that it’s so close to Christmas, so close to Azzi’s favorite holiday and her girlfriend is sobbing. 

“Shit. I’m being a terrible girlfriend aren’t I? You have a game in a couple of hours and here I am being a fucking selfish wet wipe instead of wishing you luck. Fucking hell,” Azzi curses and Paige can picture her frantically pulling herself together as she tries to change her tone. 

“You could never be a terrible girlfriend,” Paige reassures softly. 

Azzi ignores her, “besides, we’ll see each other soon right? You’re gonna fly home from Toronto to Connecticut tomorrow and then come home to me after right? Just a couple more days,” and it sounds like she’s saying it more to herself than Paige, “just a few more days- few more hours really. We can do this.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees but she can’t help but feel like even that’s too long and there’s a plan starting to form in her mind; a good use of all that NIL money she’s been earning. 

“I love you P,” Azzi says softly, and despite the heaviness from before, Paige can hear the smile in her voice, “see you soon baby.”

“I love you too Az. I’ll be home soon,” Paige replies, a large grin settling onto her face as she gets ready to bring her idea to fruition; knowing that for now, their soons don’t quite mean the same thing. 

***

Azzi thinks her parents and brother must have the patience of a saint. She’s acutely aware that she’s been a miserable grinch to be around; either ignoring them or answering them with tight one-word sentences. Since she’d come down to Virginia for her rehab, she’s kept herself holed down in her room, only coming out when absolutely necessary. The worst part of it, is that it’s her favorite time of the year and Azzi’s barely participated in all the little Christmas traditions -half of which had really been created by her- that she’d normally be excited to indulge in. 

She sighs, burrowing herself further into her pillows to block out the chatter of her family upstairs. In a couple of minutes, she’s sure one of them will come rushing downstairs, pleading for her to come join them as they make Christmas themed pancakes. And she’ll refuse -just as she has with every other fun little activity- and all though whoever’s been tasked with getting her out of her cave will persist a little longer, eventually they’ll give up, that awful look, tinged in both disappointment and pity, on their face as they go back upstairs with a promise to bring her a plate in a little bit. It’s a terrible routine that’s been on rinse and repeat and Azzi thinks she’d really like to break herself out of it, but it feels like she’s drowning in it instead, and there’s not a lifeboat in sight to pull her out of her misery. 

Turning on her side, Azzi reaches for her phone, flipping to Paige’s contact and her heart aches from their last conversation last night. God she’d been so selfish, venting like that knowing her girlfriend had a game in a couple of hours; knowing how stressful each game -no matter how easy the opponent- was with an injury-riddled team. But Paige had sounded so miserable when asking if Azzi still missed her that in a way it had been infectious and suddenly Azzi found herself letting her own hurt waterfall out of her lips. 

She scrunches her nose, eyebrows crinkling in confusion when she realizes that the last text she’d sent Paige before going to sleep  -a simple you did really good today baby, i’m proud of you right after the game- had gone unanswered. Azzi frowns, looking down at her phone as if her staring harder at it might just conjure up a message from her girlfriend. She’d fallen asleep almost right after sending it and it was unlike Paige to not have answered her by the time she woke up. Azzi rattles her brain, trying to remember if the blonde had mentioned any other plans -beyond a dinner with Aaliyah’s parents that wouldn’t have kept her from her phone- but she can’t remember anything. Briefly glancing at the time and knowing that Paige’s flight to Connectcut wasn’t supposed to leave for at least another three hours, Azzi hastily texts her girlfriend again, crossing her fingers behind her back in anticipation of a quick reply. 

Good morning Paigey <3 

She gives it exactly three minutes, stomach churning when she doesn’t get a reply. 

I miss you baby. 

Another four minutes and still no reply and Azzi starts to feel her head getting heavy with that familiar weight of over thinking. What if she’d overstepped last night? What if it was too much? What if Paige had decided that she couldn’t deal with Azzi and her crap anymore?

She can hear someone starting to hurry down the steps, the quickness making her think it’s probably one of her brother’s who’s been tasked with getting her out of her room this time. But Azzi keeps her focus on her phone, ready to reject whatever offer is about to be made. The door creaks open and she doesn’t look up, typing another message instead. 

I love you Paige. 

“I love you too Azzi.”

Azzi freezes at the sound of the oh so familiar voice, her gaze moving from her phone to the doorway in slow-motion. She blinks in disbelief, mouth falling open as she stares at the figure in her doorway, taking in the sight of a disheveled blonde ponytail, the custom UConn sweats draped on a body that’s radiating exhaustion but more than anything her eyes fixates on that smile, the one that’s always been just for her. 

“Paige,” she breathes out slowly, almost as if she’s scared that saying it will make the girl in front of her disappear like a dream. 

“Hi baby,” Paige says softly, casually pointing to her phone, “I got your message.”

“You’re here,” Azzi chokes out and then, louder, “you’re here oh my god, you’re really here,” she repeats, rushing to get out of bed, desperate to wrap her arms around Paige, to hold her and be held in return. 

“Hey, hey, hey wait baby careful,” Paige chides, her focus immediately on Azzi’s knee, “stay where you are-”

“What? Why?” Azzi pouts and that elicits a little laugh from Paige as she walks over to the brunette. 

“Because,” the older girl says quietly, as she crawls onto the bed and pulls Azzi onto her lap so the younger girl is straddling Paige’s hips, “I’m here.”

Azzi looks at her in awe, hand tracing the curves of Paige’s face like she still can’t quite believe this is real, “yeah,” she whispers, “you’re here.”

And then she’s kissing every inch of Paige’s skin that she can, memorizing the way it feels soft and smooth under her lips, trying to make up for all the lost time of the past few weeks and perhaps even for when she knows they’ll inevitably have to be separated again. Paige’s grip on her waist is tight, fingers gripping her like they’re scared to let go as she shivers under Azzi’s featherlight touch. 

“I’m here,” Paige repeats again before she guides Azzi’s lips onto her own into a feverish kiss that has both of them letting out a long-kept sigh of relief. 

It starts off innocent enough, the two of them savoring the moment, savoring the feeling of finally being in each other’s arms. But then Paige’s tongue is licking into Azzi’s mouth and the younger girl is grinding her hips in the way she knows will drive the blonde a little insane as Paige’s own hands find themselves roaming underneath Azzi’s pajama shirt, rubbing circles dangerously close to the edge of her sleep shorts. 

“Missed you- missed you so fucking much,” Azzi babbles as Paige’s mouth moves away from her lips to trail a series of kisses down her jaw, to her neck before nipping at her collarbone. 

“Me too- me fucking too,” Paige mutters between kisses as she soothes her tongue over the mark she’d just tattooed into Azzi’s skin with her teeth, eyes glazing over when it elicits a barely-concealed moan from the brunette’s lips. 

“Missed this,” Azzi groans, continuing to roll her body against Paige’s, and she thinks she could fall off the edge just like this, untouched and fully clothed. 

“I know, baby. I know,” Paige pants as she continues her assault on the young girl’s skin, “gonna take care of you. I swear. Gonna make up for everything tonight-”

“No now,” Azzi whines, hands tangling in Paige’s hair and pulling in a way that has the older girl groaning into the crook of her neck, “I need you now. I’ll be quiet, I swear. Paige please.”

“Fuck baby don’t say that. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Then don’t say no to me,” Azzi responds with a smirk, one hand trailing down to gently flick against Paige’s nipples causing the blonde to let out a conflicted noise somewhere between pure arousal and reluctant protest. 

“I can’t,” she says finally, resting her head against Azzi’s shoulder as she purposefully grips the younger girl’s waist to keep her still. 

Azzi pouts, “why not?”

When Paige finally looks up at her, there’s a sheepish look on her face, “I made a bet with your brothers.”

“What?” 

“They said they hadn’t been able to get you out of your room and I said I could do it in ten minutes and they said it would take me a lot longer,” Paige says, hands moving animatedly and Azzi can’t help the fond smile that flitters onto her face. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, “we haven’t seen each other in weeks, haven’t fucked,” she purposefully grinds her hips down onto the other girl, “in weeks and you wanna delay it longer because you wanna win a bet against my brothers?”

Paige has the decency to look at least a little ashamed as she nods before giving Azzi a goofy grin, “yes? I love you?”

Azzi rolls her eyes as she slips off of Paige’s lap, already missing the warmth of being on top of the other girl, “can’t believe you’d rather win a bet than fuck me.”

“Nah,” Paige smirks as she stands up, her hands immediately inching themselves around Azzi’s waist, “I’d rather win a bet, use that money to get us a hotel tonight and then fuck you.”

“You’ve really thought this through haven’t you?” Azzi shakes her head, trying to hide her excitement at the idea of being in a hotel room -being alone, just the two of them- with Paige tonight. 

“Ten steps ahead always baby,” Paige grins as she presses her lips against Azzi’s, ending it quicker than either of them would like, “now hurry up so I can win this bet.”

But Azzi doesn’t move, instead she pulls Paige back into her, resting their foreheads together as she breathes in the scent of her girlfriend. 

“I’m really glad you’re home P,” she whispers and Paige smiles, gently rubbing her back, “didn’t feel like Christmas season without you.”

4. You’re all I need (underneath the tree) 

Azzi’s just putting on the finishing touches to her outfit -dangly gold hoops that Paige had gotten her just because- when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her middle, a warm body being pressed against her chest. She smiles, letting herself melt into her wife’s -God she loves being able to say that- touch, leaning her head back against Paige’s shoulder. 

“You look so pretty in that dress,” the older woman whispers into her ear as she runs her hands up and down the velvety red material covering Azzi’s body, “but you sure we have to go to your parents’ right now? Cause I think you’d look even better out of it.”

Azzi giggles; they’ve been together for almost nine years -known each other for even longer-  and yet every time Paige gives her a compliment, she feels her insides swooning, cheeks going red like she’s still a teenager whose crush is flirting with her. And she thinks this feeling will never go away, that the halo-like glow Paige’s mere presence casts around her will never fade because this love -this all-consuming sense of you’re it for me between them- is going to last forever. She’s sure of it. 

“Do you ever think of anything but sex?” Azzi rolls her eyes as she turns around in Paige’s arms, fingers immediately reaching up to fix the collar of Paige’s matching red shirt. 

Paige grins, “nah cause I’m always thinking about you and so by default I’m always thinking about sex.”

“You’re insatiable,” Azzi shakes her head. 

“Can you blame me when my wife looks like that?” Paige makes a show of looking up and down Azzi’s body, letting out a low appreciative whistle at the way the dress hugs her figure, the neckline dipping just low enough to stay respectable yet sexy. 

“You look pretty good yourself Bueckers,” Azzi hums as she grazes her teeth lightly against Paige’s neck, making the older woman shudder. 

“Careful Az,” Paige warns, the sultry lilt in her voice saying the exact opposite, “I might start getting the wrong idea.”

Azzi shrugs cheekily, “and what idea would that be?”

Paige smirks, gently tugging at Azzi’s dress to expose a shoulder before she’s attaching her lips to the newly uncovered patch of skin, “that maybe you want us to be late. Or better yet, maybe you don’t want us to go at all.”

Keening under the softness of Paige’s touch, Azzi reluctantly pushes the older woman away, and that might be worse because now she can see her eyes and the lust swimming in them makes her want to give into temptation. But they’re already running late and she has no desire to give their brother’s any teasing material, so she settles on stealing another kiss from Paige’s lips. 

“Go warm up the car,” she mutters against the blonde’s lips, gently squeezing her waist before she detaches from Paige and starts to fix her dress, “I’mma just do a quick double check and then be out.”

“Yes your highness,” Paige teases with a slight roll of her eyes before she’s grabbing both her and Azzi’s packed overnight bags and heading towards the car.  

Azzi smiles as she watches her go. As much as they joked about not going at all, both of them loved spending Christmas with their families, especially considering how the Fudds, Bueckers and everything in between had melded into one big one. Despite the fact that living in the DMV now meant that they saw at least someone in their family once a week, the idea of having everyone under the same roof was still thrilling nonetheless. 

Life had a funny way of working out. The plan had been set in motion since Azzi had been drafted to DC and although Paige had been tempted to stay in Minnesota -after all being the hometown hero picked with the no.1 pick had served her and the. team well for her first four rookie years, considering she’d helped them return to their former championship glory- they had ultimately decided that with most of their family in the DMV area, it made more sense for Paige to ask for a trade to DC than it did for Azzi to move to Minnesota. It hadn’t been the smoothest transition -they’d had their fair share of fights while making the decision and then adjusting to it- but they’d figure it out. They always did. Because as good as Paige and Azzi were at fighting with each other, they were even better at fighting for each other. 

Quickly going through the to-do-list in her brain, Azzi nods to herself as she silently checks off everything. She does a quick glance of her room, making sure that they’re not leaving anything they’d need, before reaching to grab her phone, just to text her parents that they were on their own way. Instead her eyes catch on an email notification, her heart beating erratically when she reads the name of the sender. 

Fingers fidgeting with the heart necklace Paige had gotten her years ago, Azzi slowly clicks on the notification as anticipation burns throughout her whole body. She tries to steady her breathing as she scans through it, reading each line carefully and she almost drops her phone, large hot tears dripping down her cheeks as she reaches the end of it. Her chest feels heavy with an unknown feeling and she knows she needs to get to Paige, but her feet are rooted to their spot. 

“Baby,” she hears her wife call out, followed by the sound of Paige’s footsteps climbing up the stairs, “you ready yet? The car’s already- oh my god baby what’s wrong?”

Azzi looks up from her phone to find Paige standing in the doorway. Concern floods the older woman’s sharp features as she rushes over to her, hands running all over Azzi’s body as she tries to figure out what’s wrong. 

“Az? Baby? What’s going on? What happened,” Paige asks urgently, “baby please you’re scaring me. What’s wrong,” her eyes drop to the phone in Azzi’s hands as her voice gets desperate, “did someone say something? Do I need to go kill somebody? Fuck baby please don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong? I swear I’ll fix it but you gotta tell me baby. Please.”

Wordlessly, Azzi hands over her phone. Paige’s expression is confused and apprehensive -maybe even a little preemptively angry- as she takes the device from her wife’s hand. Azzi watches as recognition dawn of the blonde’s face when she spots the familiar e-mail address; watches as her wife goes through the same emotions she had reading through the email. When Paige finally looks back at her, her own eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Baby,” she says breathlessly, “this- I- we-,” she chokes back a sob, her voice so quiet in comparison to the loud enigma that is Paige Bueckers-Fudd, “we’re gonna be Moms?”

Azzi nods, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks as she finally manages to open her mouth, “yeah- yeah we are. Paige, we’re gonna have a baby. No two,” she corrects herself, remembering the exact words of the e-mail, “we’re gonna have two babies. Twins.”

And it’s unclear who moves first -it doesn’t really matter- but then they’re in each other’s arms, trying to hold each other as tightly as physically possible as their tears and smiles begin to blend into one. It had been a couple of months since they’d started the adoption process and they’d gone through every stage, slightly scared that something would go wrong. But they’d passed every background and family and personality check rather easily and it was this last part, the wait to hear about a child -well children- that needed them that had been the hardest of it. And now here it was, the last brushstroke that would complete the picture they’d started painting when they were fifteen. Two babies that would complete them. 

“You’re gonna be such a good Mom,” Paige mutters against Azzi’s hair, “god Azzi, baby I can’t wait to see you with our babies -fuck- our babies. Fuck baby I don’t know what you got me but I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be second best Christmas present I’m getting this year. 

Azzi laughs breathlessly, her face still buried in Paige’s neck, “think it’s gonna be the best Christmas present ever,” she slowly lifts her head so she can brush away the tears from under her wife’s eyes, “I love you. I wouldn’t wanna do this with anyone but you.”

Paige presses her lips against Azzi’s forehead, “me too baby. I love you so fucking much. You, me and our babies. It’s all I’m ever gonna want, all I’m ever gonna need.”

5. All I want (for Christmas is you) 

There’s a lot going on in her house right now -the chatter of family and friends mingling with the sounds of Christmas Carols blaring from the speakers, the mixed aroma of a well-cooked meal and freshly baked desserts, the twinkly lights strung all around the house blinking in different colors- but Paige’s entire attention is across the room where both of her two children are hanging off of her wife like baubles on a Christmas tree. Miles is situated on her lap, his head buried in his favorite place, between Azzi’s neck and shoulder. Sienna, always slightly more independent, has one hand wrapped around her mother’s ankle while she sits on the floor, her focus squarely on a princess coloring book. It’s a sight that will never stop making Paige’s heart swell with pride and happiness, her wife with their kids. 

Slowly excusing herself from the conversation she’d been having with a relative, Paige makes her way over to her family -to her whole world- with a soft smile on her face. She sits down next to her wife, placing a kiss to her temple that makes Azzi smile, before pressing one to her son’s forehead over the younger woman’s shoulder, before finally picking her daughter off the floor onto her lap and giving Sienna a kiss on her cheek. 

“Hi family,” she whispers and she thinks that if she could choose to have one picture ingrained in her mind forever, it would be a picture of the three smiles she gets in return. Miles’s is sleepy yet so sincere, Sienna’s is toothy and wide and Azzi’s- we’ll Azzi’s is exactly like it’s been since they were fifteen. It’s her Paige smile, one that is bright and beautiful and magnificent and filled with the promise of i’ll love you forever. 

“Mama look,” Sienna coos, shoving her picture in front of Paige’s face, “I color a p-incess.”

“It’s beautiful Si-Si,” Paige says warmly, “I think it should probably go on the fridge once everybody’s gone home yeah?”

Azzi snorts, her voice dropping so only her wife can hear, “baby, I don’t think there’s any more space left on the fridge considering you’ve been putting up every single thing they’ve ever colored or made.”

“I’ll make space,” Paige says haughtily, “everything they make is fridge-worthy.”

Azzi shakes her head fondly but Paige knows that despite her words, she’ll be right there by her side tonight to help her make space on their rather cluttered fridge so that they could hang Sienna’s new masterpiece somewhere on it. 

“Mi’s close to falling asleep,” Azzi gestures to the little boy in her arms who’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, “I think we should probably let them open their Christmas Eve presents now.”

Despite Azzi trying to keep her tone to a whisper, Sienna’s ears perk up at the word “present” and she turns on Paige’s lap to face her Moms with large, hopeful eyes, “it’s pwesent time?”

“Yeah sweetheart. It's present time, but only one okay?” Paige taps Sienna’s nose gently, laughing when the little girl nods diligently and then squeals with excitement, rushing off of her mother’s lap so she can tell anyone within earshot that it’s time to open presents. 

“I was gonna tell you to get everybody but I think she’s got it. She’s got your vocal chords for sure,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder teasingly before coaxing Miles’ head out her neck, “you ready to open a present Mi?”

Miles yawns and Paige can’t help but coo at how cute he looks as he stretches in his mother’s arms. It fascinates her, how despite being twins, Miles and Sienna sometimes feel like they’re years apart. And she knows they're only 3 years old, and she knows that they’ll both change over time but Paige thinks that the difference in their personalities makes them fit together even more beautifully. Sienna had a protective streak, always ready to shield her demure brother and Miles had a knack from calming Sienna down, always ready to comfort his boisterous sister. 

“MI,” Sienna yells as she tugs on her twin brother’s arm, having somehow already gathered their family into the living room, “wake up Mi. Time to open a Ch-istmas Eve pwesent.”

“I coming Si-Si,” Miles says softly as he finally waddles off of Azzi’s lap, tiredly rubbing his eyes as he follows his sister towards the barrage of Christmas presents underneath the tree. Their mothers scooch off of the couch to stand closer to the tree, Paige wrapping her arms around Azzi from behind as she hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Alright Si-Si,” Tim says, his eyes twinkling as he looks down at his granddaughter, “remember, you should always pick the biggest present to open on Christmas Eve!”

Sienna’s eyes widen as she takes in her grandfather’s words before her gaze drifts towards the presents, scouting for the biggest one of them all. Paige drinks in the joy on her daughter’s face when she finally spots a large box that might just be taller than she is. 

“That one!” Sienna says gleefully as she practically climbs over the rest of the gifts to get to her chosen one. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out, her voice laced with hints of worry as she watches her daughter try to pick up the present that’s clearly heavier than she is. 

“Uncle Drew,” Sienna croaks out, turning to Paige’s brother as she realizes just how big the present she’d chosen is, “help me pease!”

Drew laughs, wading through the sea of presents to get to his niece as he sedulously sits down to help her unwrap the gift. Paige tightens her grip around Azzi in anticipation as she watches for her daughter’s reaction. The twins are old enough this year to really understand their gifts and even though Paige is sure she knows them well enough -they’re her babies for fuck’s sake- to have gotten them present they’d love, she’s still a little scared they wouldn’t.

“Relax baby,” Azzi leans her head back to whisper into the blonde’s ear, having noticed the way Paige is fidgeting with the sleeve of the brunette’s sweater, “she’s gonna love it. She’s our daughter. We know her.”

Paige presses a delicate kiss against the back of her wife’s neck, “you always say the right thing.”

“Because I know you,” Azzi says softly, eyes crinkling in the corner as she smiles at Paige.

They’re broken out of their reverie by their daughter screaming in excitement as she finally uncovers her present -a barbie basketball court-, and just like Azzi had predicted she would, she says, “I love it, I love it, I love it. Thank you Mama, thank you Mommy!”

Paige and Azzi laugh, opening their arms in tandem for Sienna to rush into, “we’re glad you like it Si-Si.”

“I love it,” Sienna corrects as she gives each of them a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“My turn now?” a meek voice cuts in and everyone's eyes fall onto Miles, who cowers slightly at having everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah it is,” Paige grins at her son, tickling him lightly in the stomach before pushing him towards the presents, “pick whichever one you want to open Mi.”

Miles chews at his bottom lip, cautiously observing the huge pile of presents before turning to his Mothers’ with a way expression and Paige has to hide her grin, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask. 

“Too many,” Miles says, bouncing nervously on his tiny little feet, “you help me pick pease Mama.”

Paige laughs as she gathers the little boy in her arms but not before she’s whispering in Azzi’s ear, “think he might be more indecisive than you baby,” which earns her a slight elbow to the stomach before she nods at her son, “of course I’ll help you pick sweetheart.”

She pretends to make a big show of searching for the right present, observing her son’s facial expression before she sees his eyes light up a little when she grabs a medium-sized blue one. 

“Aha!” Paige yells triumphantly, causing all the adults in the room to snicker at her antiques, “think you should open this one Mi.”

Miles grins as he makes grabby hands towards the present in his mother’s hand. It takes him approximately four and a half seconds to rip off all the wrapping paper and his eyes marvel at the gift in his hands. 

“Teddy,” Miles says in awe as he clutches the cuddly stuffed toy to his chest. 

“Yeah it is baby,” Azzi nods as she kneels down next to the little boy, “here,” she points towards the blue heart on his chest, “how about you squeeze it?”

Miles does as he is told, squeezing the teddy-bear’s heart as tightly as he can and it starts to glow. Paige and Azzi’s voices ring out through the room, singing -slightly off-key- Miles’s favorite lullaby. The little boy’s eyes widen when he realizes the sound isn’t coming from his Mothers', both of whom have their mouths closed, but from the teddy-bear’s heart. 

“Now, whenever you’re scared at night in your big boy bed, you can just squeeze teddy and it’ll be like Mommy and Mama are already there with you,” Azzi says softly as she brushes her hands through her son’s hair, “you like it Mi?”

“I’m gonna call it MoMa,” Miles says in lieu of an answer as he beams up at Paige and Azzi, “like Mommy and Mama but MoMa.”

Paige laughs, her eyes suddenly starting to feel a little wet, as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, watching her children fawn over the presents they’d just opened. There’s plenty more left and she’s excited to watch their reaction to opening the others but the first ones are always just a little more special. And whether it was giving Sienna a basketball court, or giving Miles a version of their voices, through these gifts they’d tried to give their children a part of themselves. 

“Hey,” Azzi snaps Paige out of her trance, her hand reaching down to intertwine with Paige’s as she begins to pull her away from their family, “come with me for a second.”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her chest, smirking as she follows her wife upstairs, “are you sneaking me into our bedroom to have a quickie? While our family and our children are right downstairs?”

Azzi  turns to her with a cheeky grin as they enter their bedroom, tracing a finger down Paige’s arm, “would you object if I was?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. Let’s do it,” Paige waggles her eyebrows, pulling Azzi into her chest but the younger woman immediately shrugs herself out of it as she goes into their closet instead, “oh okay then, leave me high and dry on fucking Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up,” Azzi chides, still rummaging through drawers before she finally emerges from the mahogany doors with a small silver box, walking back to Paige with a small smile on her face, “I figured you should get to open a present tonight too.”

“Well the present I was hoping to unwrap was you-” her joke is cut off by Azzi laughing. 

“Baby please, you are way too old to be saying that shit.”

“Hey,” Paige says with mock offense, “first of all, I’m not that old and second of all, you’re never too old to be flirting with your wife.”

“First of all, it’s okay that you’re old baby, I like them a little older,” Azzi smirks, “and second of all, you are if the flirting's that corny and third of all,” she gives Paige a pointed look when the other woman open her mouth to counter, “shut up and open your present.”

“Still so bossy aren’t you princess?” Paige shakes her head but she does as she told, delicately removing the lid from the box and gasping when she sees the necklace inside, “baby, it’s beautiful.”

The necklace is similar to the engagement ring she’d gotten for Azzi, not the one from the fair all those years ago, but the real one. It’s a simple enough chain with a heart shaped diamond-encrusted locket, except on either side of the heart, the chain is looped into two infinity symbols. 

“Open it,” Azzi says softly. 

“What?” Paige asks, still staring dazedly at the dainty jewelry in her hands. 

“The heart,” Azzi points to the locket, “it opens.”

Paige does as she’s told, delicately using her nails to pull apart the locket and a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes when she sees what’s inside. On one side of the heart is a picture of Miles and Sienna, the twins grinning at the camera and Paige remembers the exact moment she’d taken it. On the other side, is a picture of Paige and Azzi; specifically a picture of their kiss at their wedding. 

“Baby,” Paige says again, uncannily lost for words. 

“You’re really fucking hard to shop for you know that?” Azzi says slowly, her own eyes glistening with moisture  “like what do you even get someone who basically has everything because you know- like you always say- we’re your everything -all you could ever want is me, Miles and Sienna- and we’re already yours, just like you’re already ours. And so I figured I’d just give you a reminder of it, something you can always keep with you so you always know.” 

“It’s perfect,” Paige breathes out as she holds the locker out towards Azzi, “put it on me?”

Azzi grins as Paige turns around and the blonde watches through the mirror as the chain is placed carefully around her neck and her wife firmly clasps it together before placing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. 

“I love you,” Azzi whispers when Paige turns back around, “for eternity.”

“I love you,” Paige whispers back, pulling her wife flush against her chest, the locket with her world hanging between them, “to eternity and beyond.”

[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 1: Player

rockstar! sevika x influencer! reader

summary: (y/n) is invited by her close friend, caitlyn to come to her band’s concert, giving her a backstage pass.

warning: modern au!, fame au!, and swearing

notes: y’all let me know what their band name should be! 🫶

chapters : one, two , three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

The ring light cast a soft glow across your face as you adjusted the camera’s angle. The glow of the ring light softened the sharp angles of your decor—black walls adorned with band posters. Your desk was cluttered with makeup palettes, brushes, and a freshly arrived PR package.

“I’ve been waiting forever to get my hands on this,” you continued, holding up the box. “So let’s see what the hype is or if they’re playing us again.”

You flicked open the lid, showing off the dramatic reveal to the camera, giving a detailed breakdown of the products inside. As you swatched a deep crimson lipstick on your wrist, your phone buzzed on your desk.

“Oh…,” you muttered, leaning off camera to check.

Caitlyn 💙: Hey Y/N, I’ve decided to bless you with a backstage pass for tonight’s show. You in?

The message Caitlyn made you pause. You’d known her for a while now—first through a friend of a friend, then through a collaboration where you helped her band gain traction on your socials. That collab had been a turning point for them.

You : You better be blessed I cleared my schedule tonight!

Hours later, you found yourself standing at the back entrance of a packed venue. Fans swarmed the streets, their excitement practically vibrating in the air. You adjusted your leather jacket, feeling more like yourself among the edgy crowd.

Inside, a staff member escorted you through a maze of hallways until you reached the backstage area. The hum of guitars being tuned, the steady rhythm of drum checks, and the occasional burst of laughter created a vibrant, chaotic energy.

“Y/N!” Caitlyn’s voice called from a corner. You spotted her, dressed in her usual new variant of baggy ripped jeans and baby tee. Her face lit up when she saw you.

“There she is,” Caitlyn said, pulling you into a quick hug. “I’m glad you came.”

“You made it hard to say no,” you replied, looking around. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?”

Caitlyn laughed. “Yeah, it’s a mess, but it works. The band’s scattered right now—Vi’s finishing her guitar setup, Jinx is probably somewhere causing trouble, and Sevika...” She trailed off, smirking. “Well, Sevika’s being Sevika.”

“Which means?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably charming her way into trouble,” Caitlyn said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll see.”

As if on cue, a smooth, deep voice cut through the noise. “Speaking of trouble…”

You turned to find Sevika leaning against the doorway, her electric guitar slung across her shoulder. Her presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, tattoos winding down her arms, and a smirk that was as cocky as it was alluring.

“And who’s this?” Sevika asked, her eyes locking on you.

“Y/N,” Caitlyn said with a hint of warning in her voice. “A friend. So behave, Sev.”

Sevika ignored Caitlyn’s tone and stepped closer, extending a hand. “Sevika. Lead guitarist and part-time troublemaker.”

You shook her hand, her grip firm and deliberate. “Y/N. Influencer and part-time skeptic.”

That made her laugh—a deep, rich sound that you felt in your chest. “A skeptic, huh? We’ll see about that.”

You pulled your hand away, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” Sevika said, her smirk widening.

Before you could respond, Vi appeared, slinging her own guitar over her shoulder. “Sev, don’t scare off Caitlyn’s friends before we even hit the stage,” she said, her tone light but commanding.

“I’m just being friendly,” Sevika said innocently, though the glint in her eye said otherwise.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to Caitlyn. “Let me guess—this happens a lot?”

Caitlyn sighed, giving you an apologetic smile. “Welcome to my life.”

As you followed Caitlyn toward her drum kit, you couldn’t help but feel Sevika’s gaze lingering on you. She was trouble, that much was obvious, but you weren’t about to let her get under your skin.

Not yet, anyway.

The smell of sweat, spilled beer, and raw anticipation filled the air as you stood near the edge of the VIP section. You adjusted your leather jacket, letting the buzz of the crowd settle into your skin. The venue felt alive—hundreds of fans pressed together, shouting and cheering, as the lights dimmed and the noise swelled into a roar.

A single spotlight pierced through the darkness, illuminating Vi as she strutted confidently toward the microphone, her guitar slung across her back. She grinned out at the audience, her energy magnetic, and the room fell silent in reverence.

“You ready for this?” Vi’s voice boomed, equal parts challenge and promise.

The crowd erupted, their screams shaking the walls as the first notes ripped through the air.

The band launched into their opening song with precision and fire. Vi commanded the stage effortlessly, her voice raw and powerful, blending perfectly with her sharp guitar riffs. Caitlyn, ever composed, added a melodic touch from the keyboard, her fingers dancing across the keys with a grace that seemed almost out of place in the chaos of the stage. Jinx, on the other hand, was a blur of wild energy behind the drum set, her movements erratic yet precise, her laughter audible even over the pounding rhythm she created.

And then there was Sevika.

She moved into the spotlight for her solo, her fingers flying across the strings of her guitar with a skill that left the crowd in awe. Her smirk was practically a permanent fixture, the glint in her eye daring anyone not to look at her. She had an ease about her, a confidence that screamed rockstar, and the fans ate it up.

Your eyes lingered on her longer than you meant to. There was no denying she was captivating—the tattoos curling around her arms, the way she poured everything into the music, the cocky tilt of her head when she glanced out at the screaming crowd.

But then your gaze drifted to the edge of the stage, where she seemed to lock eyes with someone in the front row. A girl—blonde, wide-eyed, clearly smitten. Sevika winked at her mid-solo, earning a squeal of delight.

The blonde wasn’t alone. Throughout the set, Sevika’s gaze darted to other fans, offering winks, smirks, and sly nods that made them swoon. You rolled your eyes. If there was one thing you could spot from a mile away, it was a player.

Still, it was hard to ignore how ridiculously good she was. The music, the stage presence, the way her guitar seemed like an extension of her body—it all left you equal parts impressed and annoyed.

When the final chord rang out and Vi shouted, “Thank you, everyone! We love you!” the venue exploded into applause. The band left the stage to thunderous cheers, and you followed a staff member toward the backstage area.

The energy there was different—no less chaotic, but tinged with satisfaction. Roadies darted around, packing up equipment, while the band members moved in different directions. Vi disappeared into a side room, and Caitlyn sat on a small couch, sipping water and scrolling through her phone.

“Y/N!” Caitlyn called, smiling as she saw you approach. She set her water aside and stood, still slightly out of breath.

“Well?” she asked, brushing her hair out of her face. “What’d you think?”

“They’re loud,” you teased, but your grin betrayed your real feelings. “Seriously, though, you were amazing. The keys? Perfect.”

Caitlyn beamed, her posture relaxing. “Thanks, but it’s not just me. We all pulled it off tonight. Thanks for coming—it means a lot.”

Before you could reply, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Sevika, leaning against the doorway, her guitar slung casually over her back, chatting with two fans who had somehow found their way backstage.

She was all charm—grinning, nodding, brushing her hand along her jaw in a way that screamed calculated. The fans giggled, hanging onto her every word.

“Does she ever stop?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Caitlyn followed your gaze and groaned. “That’s Sev for you. She doesn’t know the meaning of ‘off the clock.’”

“Clearly,” you said, rolling your eyes.

As if on cue, Sevika turned her attention from the fans and strolled toward you. Her smirk was as infuriating up close as it was on stage.

“And what about me?” Sevika asked, her voice low and smooth. “Did I kill it tonight?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to give her the reaction you knew she was fishing for. “You were fine.”

“Fine?” she echoed, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d wounded her. “That’s all I get?”

“I’m not one of your groupies,” you shot back, your tone flat.

Sevika chuckled, stepping closer. “No, you’re not. You’re… different.”

Her gaze lingered, intense and unrelenting, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks flush. Annoyed at your own reaction, you rolled your eyes.

“Keep working on it,” you said sharply, before pulling out your phone and seeing the time. It was pass midnight. Shit. You had a promotional event early in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Cait. But I’ve gotta go,” You say with a playful pout before giving her a goodbye hug.

“It’s okay. I’ll text you and most importantly text me when you get home,” Caitlyn says as she hugged you back.

You both pulled away “Yes mam. I will,” you say.

As you turn towards the door, Sevika steps into your way with a teasing smirk. “Leaving so soon?” she asked, her voice low.

“Some of us have responsibilities,” you replied coolly, slipping your phone into your pocket.

She leaned against a nearby wall, her eyes trailing over you in a way that felt deliberate. “What, no time for a drink? A little post-show celebration?”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “Do all your ‘post-show celebrations’ involve swooning fans and scribbled phone numbers, or do I get a special offer?”

Her grin widened, her gaze steady. “Depends. Are you interested in being special?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Sevika replied, stepping closer. “And I see someone who might enjoy a little fun if she let herself.”

You met her gaze, and for a moment, you let a sly smile tug at your lips. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that. But I’m not as easy to impress as your fan club.”

Sevika chuckled, the sound low and rich. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

You stepped closer, brushing past her shoulder as you made your way toward the exit. “Interesting’s a good start, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

She turned, her smirk faltering for the first time, as if she hadn’t expected you to turn the tables.

Pausing at the doorway, you glanced back, your eyes meeting hers. “Good luck with the next one, rockstar. I’ve got places to be.”

And with that, you disappeared down the hallway, leaving her standing there, her smirk replaced by something more thoughtful.

As you made your way toward the exit, you allowed yourself a small smile. Flirting with Sevika was like playing with fire, but there was something undeniably satisfying about leaving her wondering.

Tomorrow would be busy, but tonight, you couldn’t help but savor the small victory.

mini taglist: @gracie-gloom @swordfemm4 @m00npjm 🎸❤️

[chocosvt]

HER | part six (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.6k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

here it is... the FINAL part 😭 it seemed that a number of you were quite worried as to how i'd wrap this up, and i can finally give you the answer! :3 this has been an epic journey. thank yew for ur time 💕

more rambling continues at the very end. as per usual. again, a little bit more of an early upload! as a treat <3

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

—SEPTEMBER 30TH.

The morning after was strange.

Early sunlight permeated through the living room’s white cloth curtains, dappling in water-like speckles against the glasses still held on his nose. For a moment, Wonwoo was frozen, as his mind made the shift from deep sleep to consciousness, though when he finally did awaken to find his blanket half-pushed off the recliner and the remnants of Chinese takeout left scattered across the coffee table, his lethargy started fading.

Vernon was gone.

Judging from the text on Wonwoo’s phone, the boy had quietly made his way out at around seven in the morning. It surprised Wonwoo to no end that Vernon could manage to sleep so little yet remain fully functional all the time. He seemed magic—or maybe it was something else that Wonwoo would be concerned to know about.

He spent some time cleaning off the coffee table.

Down the hall, his bedroom door remained closed.

When you finally did emerge, it was with the olive-green dress draped over your arm and the ivory heels in hand, which you proceeded to arrange on the small dining table by the kitchen.

Notably, however, there was something off about you, something that Wonwoo interpreted as nerves with an underlying awkwardness you didn’t typically, if at all, demonstrate. When he asked if you wanted breakfast and tea, your response was a tiny head shake and a poorly fit smile. Though, Wonwoo wasn’t going to paw at you.

He found that mornings always tended to be quite sobering, even if he hadn’t exactly drunk enough to make the room spin or swallowed some colourfully disguised pill on his tongue. Just the air was enough to rewire his head—that cooler, crisp air that he either loved or hated.

Undoubtedly, you had much to think about.

Wonwoo helped you get a hold of Princess using his phone, and the two of you watched television in silence while waiting for her to pick you up. He escorted you down through the pottery shop when it was time, and you sported very little shame, walking out onto the bright city sidewalk in just his t-shirt, clothes and shoes wrapped in your arms. Princess had this awfully perplexed look slapped onto her face while leaning over to nudge the car door open for you, and in that  moment, Wonwoo was scared of how it all appeared and what might transpire now that the giddiness and frivolity from the night before had ebbed away. He didn’t regret anything, though. Not at all.

But, in truth, what the fuck even were you two?

And what was supposed to happen now?

—OCTOBER 3RD.  

Since you had left his apartment in a daze that Saturday morning, Wonwoo hadn’t seen or heard from you. It was concerning him as time passed, he couldn’t deny it, but he also trusted you and wanted not to make you feel pressured into explaining yourself.

He was caught in a brisk walk along campus after leaving his early lecture, a warm coffee cup pressed against his lip that he had grabbed from the ground floor of SRX—they had been giving hot drinks away for free, and, consequently, it tasted like it. Nonetheless, the air was chillier by the day as autumn pushed its way in and decorated the walkway with dry leaves that rustled and crunched under his shoes. It was nice to have something hot in his hand.

He took a second to glance down at his phone.

Still, no messages from you, Wonwoo realized with a suckling sip of the very watery coffee, nearly tempted to text you himself—not anything pushy—just a simple reassurance that he was there for you if things weren’t going well.

Suddenly, however, Wonwoo had smacked into someone.

“Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, readjusting the computer bag slung over his shoulder and pushing up his circled glasses.

To Wonwoo’s complete and utter misery, he was unfortunately acquainted with the person he’d bumped shoulders, and now he was wishing that he had just kept walking like an impatient asshole.

Seokmin was standing before him, dressed in a similar-style woolen trench coat that his hands were stuffed into, the sun turning certain threads of his chocolate brown hair all shimmery. He hadn’t gotten back to Seokmin’s numerous texts ever since Wonwoo sent a brief, very purposefully vague message to the boy that night he ran out with you at the dinner party.

Now he was wondering if the shoulder bump was intentional.

“Wonwoo… uh, hey,” Seokmin stumbled.

Sniffling, Wonwoo let a second or two pass before answering.

He was still debating whether or not to walk away.

“What’s up?”

“You just get out of class, or?”

Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah—advanced stats.”

Seokmin flitted a barely-there smile, staring at his coffee cup.

“Is that the free stuff from SRX?”

“Indeed.”

“How does it taste?”

“Uh, watery… like shit, basically.”

Wonwoo knew—he fucking knew—that there was something buzzing on the tip of Seokmin’s tongue that he just couldn’t spit out. His absentminded expression and clear not-giving-a-damness about whether Wonwoo’s free coffee was actually good completely betrayed him. Not wanting to dawdle and get stuck in the mud of conversation, Wonwoo swallowed the lump in his throat, flashed his friend a tight-lipped smile, and pitched a goodbye, blandly wording it as, “I won’t keep you. Later.”

But Seokmin didn’t seem prepared to let that happen.

And Wonwoo’s eyes nearly rolled backward into his skull when the boy turned around and attempted to catch his attention again.

For some stupid, incomprehensible reason, Wonwoo stopped.

Maybe he knew the conversation needed to happen.

It only made him loathe the situation more.

“Yeah?”

Seokmin dragged a hand through his hair, brushing it up and down against the back of his head while he squinted at Wonwoo.

“I think… uh… if you’re not busy… I think there’s maybe some stuff we need to talk about. I don’t mean to like, catch you at a bad time or anything… do you wanna go sit at the picnic table over there?”

At Seokmin’s carefully suggested inquiry, Wonwoo followed the boy’s pointing finger toward the empty table placed on the large grass circle that the walkway wove around. With his grip hardening into the coffee cup, Wonwoo stopped to think despite knowing his answer.

“Okay… yeah.”

Wonwoo realized it had never felt this weird and stilted to sit down with Seokmin despite him being quite a reliable friend over the months, though Wonwoo was developing the sneaking feeling that his study buddy was about to deal an irreparable blow to their relationship. Seokmin’s folded hands were sitting atop the flecked, aged wood of the table, thumbs nervously twiddling, meanwhile Wonwoo remained silent to sip from his coffee that only became more and more tasteless.

Eventually, his friend seemed to find the words he needed.

“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard… but… Her and Mingyu are taking a break. They’re officially pressing the big pause button. I wasn’t there to witness the conversation, although I get the gist it was a pretty… uh, unpleasant talk,” Seokmin winced, bracing his teeth, “and… well, naturally, I learned that you were a big part of that talk, seeing how it looked and all—you and Her running out at the dinner party…”

He left what seemed like a purposeful pause, and Wonwoo assumed that he was supposed to feel pressured and jump to make a correction or provide an explanation, but he kept silent and rather expressionless. Ironically, Seokmin was the one to continue his spiel.

“Well, basically, there were some accusations thrown around as you can imagine. And I’m not sitting here to point a finger and question you to death about everything, but I just thought I’d give you the table—uh, literally—to explain what’s been happening.”

Wonwoo finally set aside his drink, then shifting off the strap to his computer bag, letting it fall down his shoulder. He didn’t make a huge, overwhelmed sigh even though his body was screaming for it, nor did he ponder abandoning the conversation despite the magnitude of everything Seokmin laid out for him.

Fuck—he hated being matured.

“I can’t speak on her feelings. But I like her.”

“Oh—you do?” Seokmin was astonishingly surprised.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So, then, does that mean—”

“Actually, sorry, I’m downplaying it like a coward,” Wonwoo interrupted, shaking his head, “I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.”

It was then that Seokmin simply didn’t speak at all. His mouth had formed a hollowed shape, resembling something like a gulping fish, and Wonwoo capitalized on the silence to keep his thoughts fluent.

“I understand, okay? I understand why Mingyu is pissed. It takes two to tango, I get all that. And I know you probably want me to state my regret and all that so I don’t seem like such an asshole, but, honestly, I don’t really regret anything. Mingyu doesn’t care about her.”

Seokmin chuffed, rubbing at his chin. “Okay… I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that in particular. But you are admitting to it? I don’t know what it is you’ve done but you’ve done things with Her.”

“We’ve never had sex if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And—”

“We’ve never kissed, either… the only thing I was supposed to do was help her write that little love story. Which you set up, by the way. I didn’t know it would turn into this. I tried to get out of it.”

“I never thought she would stick it out.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sucked in his bottom lip, staring across the weathered wood at Seokmin. “You probably wanted her to drop it the second she mentioned it. I bet Mingyu thought the same.”

Seokmin scrunched up his face in disagreement. “That’s not necessarily true. She just fixates on stuff and then burns out after. She's always been like that, ever since I've known her. I figured the book would be no different. I thought it was something she needed to get out of her system, I didn’t think it would start rolling and—” he leaned forward into his palms for a moment, swallowing audibly. “Sorry, I just—I don’t get it, that’s all. I don’t get her fixations.”

“I think you’re just uncomfortable with her self-expression.”

“She—it’s not self-expression, though. Look, I know a pinch of what her story is about. It’s not about herself. It’s about Mingyu.”

“You think that just because she’s writing about someone else, there’s no pieces of herself in it? Her own feelings? Her own perspective? C’mon, Seokmin. You’re fucking smarter than that. You know what it's actually about.”

His friend’s eyes drifted away from him.  

Wonwoo then cleared his throat. “Look, you don’t really need all the details, Seokmin. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how she feels about me. I can surmise. I can say we’ve had moments that we shouldn’t. But—genuinely—you probably know more than I do and you’re lying to yourself if you can’t realize that Mingyu is just some advantageous prick who makes her miserable.”

“Well, I think that—I don’t know if it’s really—”

“He walked into an opportunity with her and he knew it. His whole fucking life and career was basically set up for him the second he met her family. He’s beyond lucky Her ever looked his way.”

“Jeez, Wonwoo. Honestly, it’s not like that.”

“How is it not?”

Seokmin ran a hand through his hair, appearing flustered and without a tongue to make sense. “Just—okay—I’ve been around them a lot. I know how it seems from an outsider’s view. They can argue and push buttons. Their relationship isn’t perfect, but whose is? Mingyu didn’t just walk into the family asking for this and that—he’s never asked for anything, no handouts. Everything that’s been ‘set up’ for him was because Her’s family wanted it. They know he’s a good guy.”

The scoff shot from Wonwoo’s mouth like an arrow. “I’m sorry but, what do they want for Her? Were we at the same dinner party? Did you see her nearly burst into tears? She has to live life in this rigid box, trying to conform to everyone else around her. Don’t you think she wants to live her own life? Be her own person?”

“Of course, but—”

“No—why is there even a ‘but’?”

“I don’t think you understand. Her has everything she needs.”

“You mean, what everyone thinks she needs.” Wonwoo tossed his hand up in the air, laughing, while also getting the strong impulse to ring out his friend’s neck. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. How can you be so close to her, but you don’t realize how unhappy she is? You know what I think? You’re part of it, Seokmin. You're always in her business, hovering, watching, sewing seeds of doubt, shooting down her interests—and you disguise it as help. No one in that house listens to her. They’ve told her who she should be instead of letting her figure it out for herself. How can you be so complicit in that? She gets no support from any of you, about the decisions in her life that actually matter. And Mingyu—honestly, he can go fuck himself. He’s just as complicit as you. He’s soul-sucking.”

“God—sh-she’s an adult.” Seokmin was exasperated, his cheeks reddening like two ripe apples. “She doesn’t have to visit her parents. She doesn’t have to date Mingyu. Nothing is forced on her. No one is dragging her there. I help because I know what she's capable of. I know the perfect life she can have. Her parents know, too. But she just gets sidetracked! She gets wrapped up in stuff that doesn't matter! If she hates everything, she can easily walk away.”

“But you guys have made that so impossible for her.”

“How?”

Wonwoo proceeded to clench his fist up so tight he thought his skin might bleed, the edge of his knuckles pressing down on the table.

“She doesn’t know who the fuck she is.”

Seokmin instantly paled. He looked whiter than a snowflake.

“That’s like clipping a bird’s wings and then asking why it can’t fly away. Knowing who you are is such a big part of life. It’s arguably the foundation. What the fuck do you want her to do? I don’t even—I honestly don’t even want to look at you, Seokmin. Let Mingyu beat me up if he wants to—let it happen a thousand times—” slinging the computer bag back over his shoulder, Wonwoo was rising from the picnic table while glaring down at the stiff, empty-faced Seokmin, who had suddenly morphed from a friend to a bitter stranger, “—I don’t care what he thinks. It’s not going to change how I feel about her, or make me stay away. I’ve seen who she can be and what she actually wants from life, and it's not some snotty, vapid, copy-and-paste hell that her parents are forcing on her. But neither of you seem to give a shit. You’re both completely undeserving.”

Stepping away from the bench, Wonwoo tensed his jaw as the sunlight splashed over him, breaking in between the skeletal trees and their resilient orange leaves. “Got everything you wanted to know? Go run it back to Mingyu. I’m sure that’s what you were gonna do anyway.”

The anger in his chest felt like it was going to crawl out from his mouth and squeeze Seokmin into a ball, therefore Wonwoo exercised his breathing while on a strict path back down the walkway.

Abandoning Seokmin did hurt him more than he had thought, knowing he just lost a friend from his already very limited circle, someone whom he clicked with so readily. At the same time, however, there was a lightness about it. As Wonwoo’s frustration seeped out during the walk back to his apartment, some of the weight pressed into his shoulders released itself like water evaporating from a blacktop.

He just wished he could be at your side more than anything.

There was obviously a reason for your silence.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I heard about the break.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I’m here if you need anything at all.

…

[ Her | 4:05 pm ]: you talked to seokmin?

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: Yeah. Never again.

[ Her | 4:07 pm ]: mingyu is so mad

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: I figure.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: please avoid him if you can. i’m worried

[ Wonwoo | 4:08 pm ]: I’m not.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: wonwoo he’s seriously pissed

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: can’t you hang out with vernon some more

[ Wonwoo | 4:09 pm ]: Seriously?

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: yes

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: mingyu got into trouble with dots and had a real big scare. so he doesn’t like to mess much with him or his friends. he'll showboat but that's about it

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: well ik dots died but u get the point

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: Fair.

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: But I can’t just pull Vernon around as my Mingyu repellent lol. Honestly, if he wants to rock me, idc.

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: well I do care

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: ugh

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: life has been sucking so hard lately

[ Wonwoo | 4:11 pm ]: I want to come see you.

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: I want that too. but I need more time, k?

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: I know.

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: Here if you need me.

—OCTOBER 18TH.

For the past two weeks, Wonwoo had been walking around with the looming possibility of getting jumped by your six-foot tall, rather muscley boyfriend, and he was thus very relieved to have made it this far without eating a fist to the face. Well, now Mingyu was an ex.

Maybe.

The pause in your relationship read like a gray area that Wonwoo had been treading the thinnest eggshells on, prompting him to wait and hear the truth from you directly whenever you felt steady enough to tell him. He wondered if today might be that day.

Placing another strawberry onto the cutting board, Wonwoo chopped his knife through the leafy green bit, removing the stem. The cleaned-up strawberry was then dropped into a bowl of fresh ones that you had been picking away at for the past few minutes or so.

Wonwoo smiled while grabbing another berry to cut.

“I feel like this bowl hasn’t gotten any fuller, for some reason.”

Your legs were swinging as you sat atop the small kitchen island while looking down at his every movement with the knife. Once he  dropped another cut strawberry into the bowl, you scooped it out.

“Just making sure they don’t go bad,” you responded, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “The fruit you buy usually goes bad within the minute? Are you getting into a fist fight with it?”

You poked at his hip with your socked foot. “Well, you said you were cutting it for me. So can I eat it or not? I’m getting mixed signals.”

“No, of course you can eat it. I’m just teasing.”

“I don’t do too well with delayed gratification.”

Wonwoo smiled at you, proceeding to remove the last few strawberries from the basket to cleanly dissect their stems. He then turned around, tossing the cutting board and knife into the stainless-steel sink with a clatter. After washing his hands, he was back at the island, noticing that the bowl was now seated in your lap like a bag of movie theatre popcorn with just the perfect amount of butter and salt. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything—that focused look to your face as you ate the fruit he prepared was much too captivating. He wanted to catch one of your swinging legs, pull you right to the counter’s very edge and have you wrap yourself around him. He wanted everything with you.

In your earlier days together, Wonwoo used to be a lot more evasive about his staring (at least, that’s what he wanted to believe), but now he didn’t feel as required to be so painfully subtle and imperceptible about things. He let you snack until you were satisfied, the empty bowl then being exchanged with a damp rag to clean your fingers.

“So,” clearing his throat, Wonwoo braced his hands against the granite island and glanced at you from behind his glasses, scanning down the unbothered, relatively straight face you had, “everything going okay?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded, making only an “mhm” sound that didn’t leave much to be interpreted.

Wonwoo saw the hands that plunged swiftly between your thighs, how you were quick to squeeze around them, like there existed something weighted and hidden.

He wanted to leave it up to your discretion—he really did.

“Okay, that’s good… just—uh, he’s not giving you a hard time, right? He’s not bothering you at all?” Wonwoo asked, adjusting the rim of the black beanie he’d thrown on to keep his messy hair tucked back. “I don’t mean to disinter anything. I’m only asking because I—”

“Because you care,” you finished his sentence quietly with a trusting and faint smile, “I know. Thank you. It is hard for me, though… I don’t know why this particular thing is so hard but it is.”

Wonwoo slid his hands together, moving them slow along the cold granite. “No… that’s understandable. I get it plenty.” Hell—he didn’t just get it—Wonwoo had miserably and insufferably lived it for damn near a year at that point. In fact, tomorrow would mark the day that he came home to this same apartment only to discover the interior stripped of all the traces, sentiments, and artifacts that breathed miraculous life into the girl he once thought to be his other half.

A whole fucking year without Jeanie.

How flipped things were. How oddly coincidental that he was now in the same space but with a new person to create everlasting memories. You had the most opposite personality and spark.

Wonwoo sighed. He got close to you, settling his hand atop your knee before gliding it underneath your thigh, gripping at you firmly and pulling you forward until he was bracketed in between your legs. Your response was smitten, and he couldn’t deny that he loved to practically see your heart beating under your chest in addition to sensing the warmth that flourished off your skin like you were sizzling in a pan.

Wonwoo set one hand down on the counter, right next to your hip, while the other tended to the side of your face, his fingers running behind your ear and down the slender path to your silk-smooth neck.

“Look…” he breathed out, finding your eyes that were now a bit watery and tinged with stinging emotion, “I know it’s hard. And I would never rush you into figuring things out… but I like you…” Wonwoo swallowed, letting his thumb play with your earring meanwhile his deep voice triggered the sharp, raised hairs spreading down your arms like an electric current, “I love spending time with you—even just being in the same room as you, getting to stare at you—but I just—when I don’t know what you are to Mingyu, I don’t know what to do with us.”

You drew in an immediate breath, then releasing a quiet laugh mixed with a runny sniffle. “I-It seems like you know…”

He pushed both his hands into the countertop, smiling at you.

“Well, I know what I want to do…” Wonwoo murmured, gazing so intimately into your eyes as the oceans he urged to drown in, “but you have to understand my reservations about it. That’s all.”

Bringing a pinky finger to your mouth to nibble on, you nodded.

Softly, he pinched the bare expanse of your waist. You gasped.

“Because I do, in fact, want you.”

You didn’t say anything, although Wonwoo noted that you were staring back into his gaze with so many hues of simple human emotion pulsating behind your eyes—there was frustration, possibly at yourself and everything you couldn’t yet communicate, and twinkles of impulse that matched rhythm with your heart. Then, employing unforeseen abruptness, your fingers were running down the back of his neck all ticklish and he felt the warmth from your breath feather his lips as you moved in closer, smirking at him, hazy like a sunrise pouring its light through a thick cover of morning fog.

“If you can be patient for just a little longer, you'll have all of me.”

Thankfully (or maybe not so thankfully judging from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins in a hedonistic, addictive sort of way) there were a few knocks at his door.

Your eyes rolled. “Is that your landlord or something?”

Wonwoo took a step back, letting you slide off the countertop while he adjusted his glasses and brushed down his t-shirt. How were you suddenly so casual? One second you were chewing nervously on your finger with the timidness of a newborn doe and the next—back to your typical self. He watched you approach the door, tilting his head.

“Uh, maybe? She usually texts me, though.”

“Or Seokmin with a batch of chocolate apology brownies.”

He chuckled, folding his arms. “Doubt it.”

Really, Wonwoo had no idea who it could be. It possibly was his landlord who had perhaps forgotten her usual warning text, or maybe his younger, sometimes irresponsible neighbour across the hall who would specifically ask to borrow his scent-free laundry detergent every now and then. As long as it wasn’t Lady Liberty on the other side (in Vernon’s tried and true nicknaming spirit) then Wonwoo had no reason to care.

“Welp,” you made a balmy, popping sound with your lips, “only one way to find out. I think I can smell the chocolate.” But once the door was pulled open, that little joking smile fell from your face concerningly fast, as though someone had plucked it right off.

Fuck—Wonwoo thought right off the cuff—it was Lady Liberty.

Your head quirked ever so slightly. “Uh, hello…”

Whoever the person was, they were just outside the threshold of what Wonwoo could see from his spot in the kitchen—except, now he didn’t think it was Mingyu at all, since your tone seemed more confused than anything else.

For a moment, Wonwoo just stood where he was, not particularly understanding why he couldn’t even twitch a measly finger.

“Hi—I’m sorry, is this the—is this—does Wonwoo still live here?”

From across the room, you shifted him a glance.

There was a heavy pause before you answered.

“… Yeah.”

“O-Oh, well… um… I’m so sorry, but are you living here as well? Is he home? I don’t mean to bother or anything. I guess I came by on a whim. It’s a little hard to explain… I can always come back later.”

At that point, Wonwoo was making his way beside you.

That voice—that delicate wispy voice, lighter than a tuft of cotton adrift through the breeze under a salt blue sky—there was such a familiarity about it that he was getting dizzier by the second. Your jaw was distinctly clenched as Wonwoo stopped at your side.

He took one look into the hallway and damn near fainted.

“What the fuck…” Wonwoo whispered, his mouth suddenly stark of moisture as he lifted a hand to grab the door’s edge, “Jeanie?”

“Uh, hey, Wonwoo.”

Wait—never mind, never mind—he panicked. Maybe he did want it to be Mingyu. In fact, Wonwoo would have anticipated Bohyuk showing up outside his door, or his parents, or his girlfriend of two weeks back in sixth grade who broke up with him over a juice box before he could guess that his ex who disappeared without a trace would be there.

It sounded borderline insane, but Wonwoo almost wanted to poke her just to test if she was even real. She looked real. She sounded real. You didn’t seem to be staring into empty space while side-eyeing him worriedly, rather you had very much acknowledged her. Wonwoo’s grip fastened to the door, then realizing he was using it as a personal crutch to keep him upright as his legs slowly regained their rigidity and strength. He also realized that you likely had no idea who she was until her name had been distantly tugged from his lips by his instincts.

Jeanie splayed out her hands in a demonstration of submission.

“If it’s a bad time, I can come back later…”

Wonwoo noted that you had taken a step away from the door, although you continued to stare at Jeanie with a countenance that refused to spoil much—it seemed inquisitive and curious but still hardened—the moment was probably overwhelming you, too.

He gulped dryly, flicking his eyes back to her. “Uh, well, I wasn’t even—you’re like, the last person I would expect to see and—”

“It’s okay. I’ll leave.”

Jerking back to you, Wonwoo nearly gave himself whiplash.

“Her—you don’t need to—”

But you shook your head.

Grabbing the cream purse off the couch and slipping back into your comfortable, clean white tennis shoes, you seemed eager to go while simultaneously jaded at the circumstances.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you stopped in front of Wonwoo, adjusting the strap wove around your shoulder, “this seems important, so… I don’t want to stand in the way of anything… I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Then, you turned to Jeanie, sticking out your hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She looked to Wonwoo for a split second.

“Um, yeah, you as well…” Jeanie eventually accepted the handshake, sounding breathy with nerves, “sorry about all this.”

While making your way to the staircase, Wonwoo quickly stepped into the corridor and waved at you, feeling his chest tighten.

“I’ll call you, okay?”

You flashed a transient smile. He hated watching you leave.

Jeanie was watching you, too, hands politely folded at her abdomen, bunny rabbit teeth digging at the skin of her ruby-stained and calloused lips. She had always been a chronic lip-biter—anxiety, thrill, or stress, Wonwoo vividly remembered the blisters she absentmindedly inflicted unto herself from the bad habit, similar to the scars marking the cuticle of his thumb. After a year Jeanie looked different no doubt, but she also reflected an unchanged image through her conserved, fidgety behaviours. She was shy like a budding flower kept just short of the sun.

“Are you okay if I come in?” Jeanie mumbled, hardly able to maintain eye contact with Wonwoo for no more than a second or two.

He stepped back, beckoning indoors.

“Yeah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Looks pretty nice in here…” she remarked soft-spokenly, taking a moment to marvel the space she once came home to every day, although she couldn’t seem more like a stranger to the apartment even if she tried—like a magazine cutout slapped onto a novel.

Wonwoo rubbed under his nose. “Well… I make due.”

Her hair used to be a symmetric, blunt length with her chin, but she had clearly grown it out over the months. The black tresses thrived in long and loose ribbons down her back, shinier than sea glass polished by rough waves. She was never one to wear much makeup either—trimming her eyebrows, glossing her lips, and flicking on some mascara was all she really ever cared to do, and Wonwoo remembered being in love with her simplicity.

Jeanie proceeded to walk behind the couch, squeezing the back in her hands. She was so tiny. That hadn’t changed much. He could only stand in one place, keeping still, examining her every movement and fighting against the trillions of voices clawing to his mind’s surface.

“Feels strange to be in here,” she laughed, running her fingers along the couch’s fabric, staring around the space, “I think it definitely has more of your touch now… it was nice to see Saskia again, too.”

“Yeah.”

She stopped on him. “You look well. Healthy.”

Wonwoo squinted at her. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t say it in a rude, impatient way. Genuinely, Wonwoo wasn’t angry with her, not like he might have been a few months ago.

But he was confused and feeling increasingly anxious. You were gone, probably on your way back home, though Wonwoo wished you hadn’t left at all, even if it were to make things sticky and awkward. Your presence in a room was the comfort he badly, painfully missed.

“Sure,” Jeanie cleared her throat, “I’ll explain. Care to sit?”

Together, they nestled onto the couch.

Wonwoo was kept to one end while Jeanie sat more in the middle, pulling at the long, flowy hem of her fern-patterned blue dress.

He tugged at the rim to his beanie, waiting for her to speak.

The girl gripped onto her knees, poised a soft, gentle look in his direction while taking in a breath. Their nerves seemed to be coalescing like different colours bleeding from freshly soaked paintbrushes. If anxiety were personified into butterflies, the room would start fluttering.

“I guess I thought it was time. Taking a shot in the dark, I know. I didn’t know if you would still be here, but I got lucky…” she clutched at her dress, fingers pulling into the airy material. “Wonwoo, it’s not like I don’t think about you, or wonder about you. I know what I did, how much it hurt… then I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come back to here, with you. But I processed it all and it became an itch I had to scratch.”

Puffing out through his nose, Wonwoo almost laughed.

“Yeah—you wanted to see if I, what? Threw myself off the building or persevered, becoming some big money writer?”

Jeanie blinked at him a few times, furrowing her neat, straight brow, with every hair gelled down perfectly in place.

Wonwoo shook his head, lifting out his hand.

“Okay, my bad. That sounded like such an asshole thing to say.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Her cheeks flooded with a tide of rosy pink as she chuckled. “I-I just… well, you seem different now.”

He pushed up his glasses. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Jeanie clasped her hands together, thumbs tapping.

“Well, I guess you seem more... upfront, not as prevaricating. Maybe that’s how you’ve always been and I just never really saw it or you picked it up from someone else.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

“I am sorry. I know it was all so… sudden. I know this is sudden. I thought about calling... my hands would just shake so much whenever I picked up the phone, getting all sweaty and stuff. It felt like something that I had to just do. And, well, once I was back in the area, I didn’t even want to lend myself time to dwell. I only came in yesterday.”

“You went back home, then?”

“I did.”

“I figured… well, I got the hint pretty clear when your mom sent me that email. It was only a sentence or two long, but it hurt like hell.”

“It’s what I asked her to send. It’s all I felt you needed to know.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Jeanie sighed, “I feel warranted in what I did… even so, I-I think I owe you an apology. Because, well, you were and still are someone I regard highly. You were going through something pretty serious… I mean, it’s obvious you’re taking such better care of yourself.”

 “It definitely hasn’t been linear.”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, the girl smiled. “Well, what in life really is? It only feels that way when you’re going straight down.”

He hmphed, thinking. “… Yeah. Really though, don’t worry about it. An apology isn’t necessary. You’ve always been too gracious.”

“I-I guess… but, I think it is, since—”

“Jeanie, c’mon. It’s really not. I was dragging you down.”

“Wonwoo, I feel like—”

“I’m telling you—”

“Well, I’m telling you and it would mean a lot if you just let me speak and get this off my chest. Please. Then you can have the floor. Tell me to package it all back up. Whatever it is you have to say. But I spent our entire relationship just listening and trying to understand you and interpret all your vague signals when I should have been trying to understand myself, and what I wanted. I’m not the verbose type, I know that. Going off on longwinded tangents about my feelings has never been something that suits me but I’m here now and I owe it to the girl who just sucked it all up, all the time, trying to be this perfect girlfriend for you.”

He managed a long, introspective breath.

Fuck—he really did owe her that. He owed her so much more.

“… Okay,” Wonwoo nodded complicity, “you’re right.”

“Leaving was the very last thing I wanted. I swear it. I agonized over the choice every day. But you didn’t even notice. That’s when I knew it was more than bad, and whatever it was you were going through was just pulling you down so deep, like a whirlpool. It’s like… I would talk to you, and there was no one inside. When I felt like you needed space, I gave you space. When I felt like you had something hard to say, I would sit with you all day, trying to ease it out, waiting for you to say it.

When you seemed so angry at yourself and everything around you—I-I don’t know—I tried to be the best thing for you. But I was hitting wall after wall. Sometimes I wonder how much of it was my fault. If I had just been upfront about my feelings then maybe things would have been… well, you know, different. I guess I never did say much because it seemed like the last thing you needed to hear, like I would be adding to your already massive collection of burdens. You have to understand, I felt trapped, Wonwoo. Like I was in a glass box or something.

I was decaying from the inside out. If I didn’t leave, if I didn’t make that split second decision to phone up my mom and tell her everything that morning you left for work—then maybe we would have gotten even worse. Maybe we would have just drowned. I don’t know. I’m… glad, relieved, happier than ever, that I don’t know what might have happened. And now that it seems we’re both… whole… I feel like an apology is just a way for me to say that if I had the steel to speak for the both of us, maybe we could have spared so much pain in between.”

Jeanie’s doe eyes twinkled with tears. “I thought that being apart might heal us both… I-I did it ‘cause—in essence—I did it because I cared, Wonwoo. About you. So deeply. But I also needed to start caring about myself, too.”

The corners of his mouth flitted in an unbridled smile toward the girl, his gaze admiring how the evening sunlight warmed up her cool-toned skin and shimmered through her strong, healthy hair.

“I know,” Wonwoo finally answered. “I’ve known for a while.”

Jeanie stayed for about an hour longer, until the sky started darkening. Together, they filled each other in on the breakages in each other’s distant lives, like a spider reweaving a gash through its cobweb. He was pleased to learn that she was doing quite well for herself—now moved out from her family house and living with her younger sister, Jeanie held true to pursuing her ambition of managing the library she had always adored coming to during her childhood (he remembered it specifically as “the one with the bean bag corner and the giant toy crate with the giraffe.”)

Wonwoo felt he didn’t have much to say regarding himself, however, he had plenty to say about you.

Rubbing at a strand of her hair, Jeanie nodded. “Yeah, I remember Her. She—like—she did scare me a bit… I don’t know—she really seemed to know what she was doing. I was a little envious of that. And she had really great style. She could pull anything off. She came in looking for a textbook one time, but I made my co-worker help her instead. I think I was too nervous to talk to her.”

Wonwoo had his legs stretched out onto the coffee table, hands settled on his stomach. Itching at his eyebrow, he smiled. “I probably would have done the same, back then. Honestly though, she’s nothing like what she seems. I can promise you that.”

Jeanie was quiet for a moment, adjusting the legs tucked up underneath herself. “So… you two are… you’re dating?”

“No… it’s weird. I wish.”

“I recognized her when she opened the door. I was pretty confused since… of all the people that you could have over… she seemed like the most unlikely candidate. I-I mean, I’m not saying that you could never—I’m not saying that it could never happen—”

He tilted his head at Jeanie, grinning slyly. “No, just say it. You didn’t imagine I’d ever even be able to talk to someone like her.”

The girl’s face flushed. “Well, you’re quite the opposites.”

“In some ways.”

“I don’t think she’d like me.”

Wonwoo pursed his lip in disagreement. “That’s not true. To be fair, you’ve ever only got to see one side of her. She’s trying to figure shit out just as much as we are. You never really stop, I suppose.”

He felt Jeanie’s gaze still on him for a few seconds, her mouth twitching into a delicate, sincere smile made brighter by her eyes. “So… you figure she’d like me? Even if she knew all the details about us? How rough it all was?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms, staring back toward her confidently. “I figure she’d probably like you more than me, actually.”

8:28 pm

“Hey, thanks for picking up.”

“Oh, no big deal. You called me at a good time. I was just about to start my skincare and I would have needed to sit for fifteen minutes doing absolutely nothing in a slimy face mask.” 

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m guessing your conversation is over and done with.”

“Yeah. She only left like, five minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t want to sit alone in your bedroom contemplating the universe for an additional hour with all the blinds drawn? Woah. Wonwoo, I am impressed. Finger snaps.”

“Finger snaps.”

“So… am I allowed to know how the whole thing went or did you just call me to hear the sound of my voice?”

“Both. But mostly to hear your voice.”

“Okay. Enlighten me then.”

9:45 pm

“Anyway… yeah. The conversation went well. I still can’t believe she actually came back to see me. Like, what a mindfuck, you know?”

“That took a lot of courage from her part.”

“Yeah, it did. Makes me proud, though. To hear her actually speak her mind. She really was just trying to be the best possible person for me and the only thing that got her is heartbreak. She’s putting herself first, now. She’s spending a couple days in the city with her sister.”

“… Do you think that you’ll want to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Do I need to?”

“Do you?”

“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, as much as it was a shock to see her again, there was great closure in it. If she had come to see me way sooner, no way would I have been open to it—I probably would have freaked the fuck out and had an anxiety attack or some shit—but I feel way better about everything now. I felt like I understood her choices, kinda like I was the one making them... but, you know, we’re evolved people at this point. We’ve veered onto two separate paths, neither one being greater than or less than the other… just different.”

“Right.”

“We just wished each other well.”

“No, that’s great. You put a bow on it. I just didn’t really know what the whole thing was gonna entail… so, yeah, I had gotten kinda worried… like—once I knew it was her—I thought she looked so perfect for you. You two just made immediate sense in my mind. She’s got such a sweet voice, and the kind, shy personality that everyone always adores. I think if you stuck her in a room with me, she’d hate my guts.”

“Ha—Jeanie hates no one’s guts. She’s got no room in her heart for that kind of stuff. You two are different for sure, but I think that’s what would make you interesting and attractive to each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t think you’d like her either. But I told her you’d probably like her more than me.”

“What! She actually thought that? I mean, maybe I seemed a little damp when I left, but that was just my mind on overdrive.”

“Need me to arrange a date between you two?”

“Ha—she did have a great perfume on. Maybe ask about that.”

“Well, I will if I see her.”

“She doesn’t know about the book you were writing for her, does she? I can’t believe that’s been sitting on your laptop all this time.”

“No, she doesn’t. I used to sit there and stare at it every day, but I don’t think I’ve even opened the damn document in months… since I met you, my mind has gradually moved away from it, I guess. I think now it’s more of an effort thing. All the time I put into it. It’s like, if I delete it, I’m deleting that time from my life… does that even make sense?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

“… Did you ever finish your book for Mingyu? I know you wanted it done before your anniversary in December. It seemed like you were on track to have it done quite early, with all that time you gave yourself.”

“I did finish it, actually.”

“No fucking way—that’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah. Now I’ve just gotta decide what to do with it.”

—NOVEMBER 3RD.

Wonwoo was fairly surprised that Princess had invited him to her birthday dinner at Terra Cotta. At one point, he wasn’t certain where he stood with your closest friend, even if his relationship with her presented itself as amicable on the surface—he always thought that maybe deep down, Princess really did despise him. Then Wonwoo wondered if you had nipped at the birthday girl into inviting him, although that didn’t seem like something in your character.

Through all his fretting, thumb-scraping, and late-night pondering in the shower, Wonwoo eventually came to the conclusion that was probably the simplest and most accurate: Princess just liked him.

A call from Vernon came through right as Wonwoo was getting into bed last week, to which the rambling boy had impetuously thrown out, “yeah, I got an invite to Her’s best friend’s birthday dinner or somethin’ like that—what was her name again? Penelope? The sexy dark skin girl with the braids? Anyway, I told her I’d love to go, but I’m gonna be out of town for a few days in November. Said I could hook her up with a couple MDMA bombs, though. Y’know, as a gift.”

Thus, that concluded the story of Wonwoo having to sit at a rather large and reserved candlelit table in an expensive, esteemed restaurant, surrounded by some friends and strangers alike, with a plastic baggie of hard drugs shoved into his pants pocket that he couldn’t stop worrying about. Vernon had wanted him to leave it with Princess when appropriate. Most people invited were going to the club later in the night—Room 319—which he figured could only be survived by going buckwild off ecstasy. As his knee continued to ricochet underneath the tablecloth, Wonwoo was soothed by your hand sliding over his thigh.

You gave him a solicitous glance, smiling with care. “Why don’t I just put it in my purse?” The offer was whispered amongst the conversation.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but flit his eyes around the table, ensuring no one was giving his general direction a lick of attention. The waiters and waitresses would pop from the blue every now and then with bottles that seemed glued to their hands, scouring for anyone who needed a top up on alcohol. His glass had been seldom touched for the past half-hour.

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Wonwoo,” you deadpanned at him.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh my God—just give me it. It’ll take me two seconds to dig it out from your pocket and shove it in my damn purse. Besides, I can’t enjoy myself when the anxiety is emanating off you in waves.”

His knee immediately stopped jerking. Wonwoo looked you straight in the eyes, the stiffness turning him into straw. “Is it really?”

“Yes!” You laughed quietly, your head hunkering down on his shoulder for a brief moment. “Now, give me it please. Pretty please.”

Sliding a hand into the smooth pocket on his pants, Wonwoo began fishing out the small plastic baggie while puffing, “fuck—alright.”

“Gosh,” he heard you mumble while discreetly taking the capsules from him, rustling them into your purse, “you could never be a drug dealer, could you? How are you even friends with Vernon? That dude probably walks around with sample sizes taped to his jacket.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo was finally able to roll out his shoulders and relax—even give you a humorous little smirk, “I have a way better chance of escaping the drug dogs than he does. I’ll get a nice head start.”

His thigh was met with a slap before your hand pulled away. “I’m acting like I don’t know either of you.”

To be fair, Wonwoo couldn’t picture his bad-mouthed, fairly uncouth friend in a snotty establishment like Terra Cotta, especially considering his ideal places to eat were twenty-four-hour diners and cereal pantries belonging to girls whom he’d just slept with. The restaurant was no doubt beautiful, though it was definitely for the upper echelons who could not only afford it, but also act the pleasant, opulent guise.

At least the table that Princess reserved was a bit more separated from the other tables in the restaurant—it was close to a waterfall built into the wall, encompassed by all sorts of burnish-looking smooth stones.

Neither Seokmin or Mingyu were at the dinner—two absences that no one seemed to be questioning. To Wonwoo, that was a gigantic relief—he assumed you felt the same. Clara was there, seated further down the table, but Bells wasn’t. Seungcheol was an obvious guest, and besides you, he was the person that Wonwoo had spoken to the most since arriving at the restaurant—he’d even given Wonwoo the slip on his secret gift for his girlfriend, which was a two-week vacation to the Bahamas after the winter exam season.

Wonwoo was a little jealous.

He would love for you and him to vacation somewhere.

Maybe even take you back to South Korea.

“So, you guys,” Princess had started a conversation with you and Wonwoo from across the table, hands folded underneath her chin while she smiled kindly between you, “think you’ll come to the club after?”

You pouted at her, “we’re passing, babe. A million sorries.”

“Awe, that’s okay.” She reached across the pristine tablecloth to lay her hand over top yours. “You already took me out for my birthday, anyway. And let me vomit in your washroom for two hours.”

“Mmhm. You’d do the same for me.”

Princess giggled, her grin luminous and wholly genuine. “Oh, of course. I have already done it!”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about Room 319. The stories I’ve heard about that place—sounds like some shit from a movie.”

“Trust me, you’ll get the entire script in a bound book. I know the club thing isn’t for everyone—that’s why I did the dinner. And I’m doing cupcakes instead of cake! Remember those red velvet cupcakes we had that one night? And then that other night? Fuck—I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn things.”

“Oh, those were fucking delicious.”

“De-licious. Have you ever got to try one, Wonwoo?”

He swallowed, a bit jarred to be welcomed into their conversation that he had been happily listening to from the sidelines.

“I tried one. I liked it.”

Princess gasped at him. “Only liked? Be serious!”

“Well, ask me again later tonight. I wasn’t having it fresh.”

“I will be asking. How’s Vernon? I’m sad he couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, he’s fine. Sometimes he just mysteriously disappears from town for a couple days—I don’t ask because I don’t want to know. But, uh, he did leave me with a gift for you… if you didn’t already know.”

“Oh… oh! Right!” Princess straightened up, nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You can give it to me when we leave. Outside.”

“I have it actually,” you clarified, flickering a transient look at the tiny purse you had moved onto the table,  “when we take a girl’s trip to the washroom, you can have it. The dose is pretty high. I know I don’t have to worry about you and this stuff, but be careful, y’know?”

“Of course. Just make sure you hide the purse in your lap when the waiter comes back. They love offering to take bags and satchels and all that stuff to hang in the coat room.” After clearing her throat with a sip from her pink, frothy champagne, Princess curiously poked at you two. “So, how do you guys plan to spend the rest of your night?”

Wonwoo opted not to speak.

You grabbed your wine glass, swirling the aromatic alcohol around inside while shrugging. “Not sure. It’s chilly out. Hope you don’t freeze your tits off standing outside in the mile long line for the club.”

“That’s what this push-up is for. The padding’s so toasty warm.”

Laughing with Princess, you ended up snorting.

Seungcheol, who was sat beside his girlfriend and had been occupied in speaking to a friend Wonwoo forgot the name of, finally parted from his conversation, turning his head at the last second to hear the giggling.

“Push-up? What are you guys talking about?”

You shook your head. “Nothing—just her bra.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol mumbled, “what about her bra?”

Princess smiled. “Just that with all this padding it’s got, it’ll keep me nice and warm when I’m waiting outside. Perfectly insulated.”

Rubbing a thumb and index finger along his jaw, Seungcheol grinned all relaxed-like while Princess rolled her dark brown eyes at his comment, the gold accents in her inner corners glimmering.

“I bet my hands would be a lot more efficient. Nothing warmer than skin on skin as they say.”

She shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. “Who says that? Now, bedroom eyes away before I make you wear a bag over your head.”

“I don’t see a bag here.”

“As the birthday girl, I’m pretty sure I can request one.”

The dinner officially wrapped up around ten at night. Wonwoo was able to reaffirm with Princess that the red velvet cupcakes were indeed moist and delicious. As everyone stood right outside the restaurant in the nippy, cold November weather, giving hugs and farewells to those who weren’t clubbing, he made sure to wish Princess probably the twentieth happy birthday she’d heard that night. He waited for you to give her another speech about staying safe but still having fun, sprinkled with lots of “I love you’s” and inside jokes that Wonwoo wondered if he would ever understand, before you two left on your own.

Each time he spoke, his breath would come to life in a warm wisp from his mouth, meanwhile the streets lights reflected in the melted snow all over the sidewalk he aimlessly wandered down, with you sticking close to his side. It hadn’t been a heavy snow, at least.

“Be honest,” you said, glancing toward Wonwoo, “how relieved are you that we’re not going to the club? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Is ten the most relieved?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at you, completely unabashed. “Ten.”

Kissing your teeth, you nodded. “That’s what I expected.”

“So,” Wonwoo hummed, stopping beside you at the intersection while waiting for the crosswalk light to change, “what now?”

Your eyebrows raised. “Still want to do something?”

As the cars whipped past, throwing up brisk winds and exhaust into the twinkling city atmosphere, Wonwoo shrugged. “The night is young.”

“What's on your mind?”

“We’re not far from Centertown. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute walk or so at this point. There’s a bar there I want to try. The Honeymoon.”

He was glad you didn’t seem opposed.

“Sure. I’m down.”

Once the crosswalk was open and the floods of people started pressing forward, there was somebody who passed them—somebody who almost went completely unnoticed by Wonwoo until his memory reloaded and he suddenly found himself pausing to observe over his shoulder.

You pulled at his sleeve. “What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Wonwoo replied, wetting his dry lips while heeding your polite tug, “the woman that passed us—she’s dressed exactly like this prostitute that Vernon told me he saw last winter, hanging outside Room 319. She has the heels and everything.”

“What the fuck. Really?”

“Mmhm,” he laughed, “he called her Pink Heels Lady. To be honest, I thought he was lying… but I’m pretty sure that was her.”

“Spooky. Coincidence or fate, do you think?”

Wonwoo glanced at you, seeing the intrigued smile on your face.

“I don’t know, actually,” he responded after the question hovered around in his mind for an oddly long second, deciding to pick up your hand in is, “I assume it’s just the universe working its magic.”

Wonwoo was never particularly into bars, although he could tolerate them much more than a club despite their parallels. The seedy lighting, deafening music, and signature throw-up gutter in the street or alleyway right outside the building was crucial to both, he had realized.

The Honeymoon was a newer bar that had garnered some notable buzz. It was less like a pub, being slightly more formal with a touch of modernity that had landed it just below presumptuous, in Wonwoo’s opinion. At least the music wasn’t overbearing, nor was there intoxicated, flush-faced men hollering at sports teams on televisions that would never hear them. You decided to sit at the counter, sliding onto the heightened chairs and leaving your jackets draped over the low backs.

You bristled, shaking out your shoulders. “I’m cold.”

Wonwoo cupped his hands overtop your icy cheeks for a moment, allowing some of his warmth to seep into your skin.

“A drink will fix that right up.”

“How are your hands hotter than mine? You’re always freezing.”

He smiled at you, letting you have your face back. “I can warm them up at will to your benefit.” Wonwoo joked, bumping his knee against yours. “What do you think of the place?”

Your lip pursed as you glanced around, examining the bartenders filling up glasses with their silvery, shiny spouts, and then over your shoulder at the numerous other tables occupied by the city’s strangers. For a frigid November night, it was quite full.

“It’s nice. The lighting is pretty. Reminds me of Alley Cat.”

“Oh, yeah. Vernon took me there once to celebrate my exams being done, then he got into a fist fight with this university student over something I can’t remember—smashed a glass on the dude’s head.”

Predictably, your eyes rolled. “Only Vernon is getting into fist fights at Alley Cat.”

Wonwoo chuckled. “Well, now he can’t get into fist fights there at all—management banned him and the other guy. Apparently, they’ve got this back wall of people who’ve been kicked out and he’s on there.”

“Figures,” you sighed.

“Oh my gosh! Wonwoo? It’s you!”

At the sound of his name being excitedly called, Wonwoo was soon met with the surprised but cheerful expression coloured to Sierra’s freckled face. He hadn’t forgotten that she worked there, but he was clueless about her schedule. She looked very pretty, glowing in a halo almost, with her coarse, reddish-brown hair pulled back slick into a ponytail and a crisp, clean black uniform tailored to fit her perfectly.

Wonwoo grinned. “Hey there. I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

Sierra set one hand onto the lacquered wood counter while the other stuck to her hip. “I don’t usually. Fridays are game nights with my little sister. But there was a call-in. A little extra cash never hurt.” The girl’s big, round eyes then flitted to you. “Her, right? I don’t think we’ve ever met formally. I know you’re one smart cookie, though.”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered, smiling back at Sierra, “you were at the party, weren’t you? The one Seungcheol threw this summer?”

She nodded, “I was. I made a few drinks here and there.”

“I never got to taste one,” you frowned, pouting.

Throwing up her hands, Sierra was quick to exclaim with her typical charisma and sugar sweetness, “what! Preposterous! I think I’m pretty wicked at it. What are you thinking of having?”

“To be honest, I’m not looking for anything too fancy at the moment. In fifteen minutes from now, I won’t be able to promise the same. I’d like to start off with a rum and coke, if that’s alright. For now.”

Sierra grinned. “No, that’s perfect. What about you, Wonwoo?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have the same. For now.”

“Well, for now, I’ll start you guys off with two rum and cokes.”

Leaning his elbows onto the countertop, he threw her a question.

“How’s it going with Carmen?”

While she prepared the drinks, Sierra blossomed into a smile. “Oh, it’s going great. She’s genuinely a blast. We’re going to the movies next week—that horror one is coming out, about the swimming pool—we think it’s gonna suck but that’s what makes it fun.”

Once Sierra slid you the cold glass, you tilted your head at her while fixing your lips around the black straw. “Who’s Carmen?”

“My girlfriend.” Sierra answered. “We met here, actually.”

“Ugh, no way,” you swooned, pressing a cheek into your hand as the next drink was given to Wonwoo, “that’s so fucking adorable. Does she ever tell you how beautiful you look in that all-black uniform?”

Giggling, Sierra wiped down the countertop and flushed. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s honestly just a t-shirt and slacks!”

“Well, you’re making it work.”

“Please—my face is heating up! You’ve got quite the gorgeous dress on yourself, you know. I always wonder where you get all your clothes. Wonwoo, have you complimented her yet, tonight?”

Mixing the ice cubes together to hear the satisfying clinks using his straw, he answered easily. “It was the first thing out of my mouth.”

Sierra nodded in satisfaction. “Good! Well, I won’t hover. But if you need any refills or have any questions, you can try to flag me down—or ask Jamie! She’s just down there. She’s great at martinis. Later!”

Once Sierra had left to busy herself with tending to others waiting service at the counter, you looked to Wonwoo, lips downturned.

“Jeez, she’s so freaking nice. How come I don’t have that kind of natural charm? Not that I’m not charming. But hers is so… magnetic.”

“Everyone’s got their natural quirks.”

“Yeah, well, my natural quirk is that I’m probably going to down this in the next two minutes. And then have three more after that.”

Wonwoo rubbed a hand to your shoulder, smirking into the glass that he raised to his mouth. “Just focus on the one you have now.”

3 more rum and cokes (+ 1 martini) later.

“No, no—but then, it gets even worse! Because not only had she been lying straight to his face the entire time, so was his best friend! They were seeing each other for weeks and weeks—he had no idea. What gave it away though, was the perfume. He was always telling her not to wear heavy perfumes and stuff because it will leave a scent on the sheets, but she messed up—so they freaked it, she spends the night, and then the next day when he’s over, he goes into his friend’s room looking for a charger and smells the perfume on the sheets! He puts it together! And then, and then—”

You paused, picking up the wide-mouthed martini glass to take a sip in the midst of your long-winded and passionate adultery story that Wonwoo had been struggling to follow for the past blurred time interval, the names now completely lost on his ears. There was hardly anything left in your glass, which led to your frustrated grumble, followed by an attempt to flag down the bartender, Jamie.

However, Wonwoo swiftly caught your hand despite his own impaired state, lowering it back to the countertop.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” He pushed forward the cup of water he requested for you. “The least you can be right now is hydrated.”

Although you weren’t happy about his thwarting, you did yield to the advice and drink some of the water. Wonwoo knew he should probably have some himself after his own splurge on the bar’s pricy concoctions, but he still felt that he was holding up quite well. Before Jamie could whisk by again, he made sure to ask for another cup.

“So, what happened next?” Wonwoo nudged your elbow while you stared off cluelessly, urging you to continue the story.

“What?”

“He smells her perfume on the bedsheets. Now what?”

However, you were suddenly slumping forward, forehead nestled into your hands. For a moment, you stayed like that without word, until Wonwoo couldn’t help his concern and touched at your bare shoulder.

“Not feeling well?”

You shook your head, whining out, “no, no. It’s not that.”

He frowned, scooting to the edge of his chair and securing his arm across your shoulders. His voice was softer and closer against your warm cheek as he attempted to gauge that sour, twisted expression past your concealing hands, wanting to understand your hiding.

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s bothering you?”

Again, you remained silent, biting your lip. There was such tenseness in your body that he could simply feel with just his arm.

Wonwoo leaned back, instead tugging at your wrist. “Can I at least see your face? Please?” You didn’t budge. “Her, you’re worrying me a bit, here. Do you need me take you home—”

“Okay, I have something to tell you.” Breaking abruptly from your husk, you were now staring straight and square at Wonwoo with distinct inebriation cloudy in your eyes, although there was something else too that compelled Wonwoo to bite his tongue and listen. “Honestly, I think I’ve held onto this long enough. And, I’ve wanted to confess this to you for a while now, but there was just so much debris in my life that I needed to sort through first. But you’re beyond important to me, and I just think that it’s time you finally know… so, can I tell you?”

“Um…”

Wonwoo’s throat was suddenly bone-dry and his pulse had spiked to the point where he could feel a vein along his neck start throbbing—he even pondered waving down the bartender for another drink to pacify his growing nerves.  

Ultimately, Wonwoo wouldn’t last that long. Pushing up his glasses, he nodded, noting that you hadn’t blinked once while you waited.

“Sure. Tell me.”

Your upper lip twitched.

“Mingyu’s been cheating on me, for two years.”

Wonwoo was quick to feel all his awareness become dull and drowned. He hardly registered his elbow shifting across the countertop, almost knocking over the glass of water onto the floor, nor did he realize the manner in which his mouth had subtly dropped open. You continued to stare at him with intensity, likely studying every tweak and fidget in his body language before swallowing deeply and choosing to continue the revelation.

He tightened up his jaw, trying to seem firm.

You looked ashamed of yourself as you admitted, “it’s been going on for two years, and I’ve known for about a year.”

“Really?” He answered, sounding mystified. “An entire year?”

“Give or take.”

Then, Wonwoo was shaking his head. His fist had clenched up tight, though it wasn’t the usual automated response that accompanied his anxiety—he found there was immediate distaste and anger swirling together like storm clouds in the pit of his stomach.

Your gaze was cast to the water glass on the countertop, which you moved away for no apparent reason, your expression emptied.

After a frail sigh, you continued, “do you remember that day I came into creative writing and got super upset at that guy for sitting in my seat? Remember how we talked about it at the nature museum, and I told you that I had a fight with Mingyu before going to class?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that day, I tried bringing it up to him. And it totally didn’t go over how I thought it would. Mingyu denied it all… of course, I only had some vague but suspicious texts to go off of, which he explained his way out of pretty poorly. But I just accepted it for the sake of our relationship. And I never brought it up again until… you know.”

Wonwoo let a natural, stagnant silence fall in between you, meanwhile the encompassing atmosphere was kept flowing by the various conversations of those around you—seemingly happy—with plenty to drink as they kept warm from the bitter cold just outside.

He was biting his tongue, though he couldn’t hold the question any longer, piquing his, “do you know who he was cheating with?”

A huff shot straight through your nose.

“I know…” you mumbled, “and you know her, too.”

Suddenly, a name popped to his mouth without thought.

“Bells.”

When you didn’t confirm nor deny, opting to stare off to the side to conceal the emotion springing forth, Wonwoo knew it was solid truth.

“Fuck…” he cursed, grazing his hand across the smooth leg that was folded over your knee, “I’m so sorry… I’m at a loss for words.”

You could only sigh while a glossy film developed in your eyes.

“I mean, I’ve been through all the stages already—grief, denial, acceptance—whatever the other ones are—so I don’t know why I’m still getting so choked up about it. I obviously didn’t want to believe it… I mean, who the fuck does? Especially when you truly do have feelings for that person.” Shaking your head and sniffling, you exasperatedly flicked out a hand. “Her and her stupid sparkles. That was when I really started putting it together. Oh, I’m going out to play poker, babe! And the next day, I’m wearing his sweater, and I realize there’s these fucking little bits of glitter on it, inside it—it was like a fucking beacon that was just screaming at me—hey! Your asshole boyfriend is cheating!”

That was something Wonwoo had noticed himself, after Bells had bumped into him at the party—the girl’s adoration for sparkly clothing and makeup essentially left behind a glaring trail of glimmery breadcrumbs. Wonwoo had found them on his clothes once he took them off and could really see the fabric underneath the light. The confession suddenly painted your actions that night in a new colour.

Rubbing against your temple, you explained further despite the struggle to speak over that clogged sound coming from your throat.

“It’s not like I’m stupid, either, even if right now, in this situation, I seem like it. I know what Bells is like… she’s spoiled rotten—always has been—and is used to getting whatever the fuck she wants. But, you see, that’s the thing! That’s the fucking thing! Seokmin, Clara, Bells, even Princess—I only met them because of the webs my parents have in their business world. I was never really allowed to find my own friends. It really just shows how much they had a say in my life… don’t misconstrue, I truly do love Princess and she’s by far the most normal, grounded person amongst them. She actually listens, and cares. But I was only allowed to befriend her ‘cause my parents know her parents.

Mingyu seemed like the one person I was actually able to connect with on my own… but he’s honestly changed so much. It’s like, my parents were able to get their little fangs in him and warp him. And now… I really don’t think he loves me at all… I think he loves my image, and what I represent, and the opportunities that come with me… but, I don’t think he actually, genuinely loves me like he used to... like, back then, he was so, so sweet. He was always fumbling over himself, nervous, trying his best. I mean, you've read about it! He used to want to be an architect, Wonwoo. A freaking architect! He sketched all the time. He has a closet drawer full of sketch books from when he was younger. But everything's different now. He doesn't care. He hates when I bring it up! He hates me!

And I don’t just think—I know it, Wonwoo. He resents me, but he won’t let go. Instead, he just sucks the life out of me, like he’s trying to get me to hate myself, too. And I do. I guess, as long as I hate myself, it makes me perfect in their eyes. I’ll just keep letting them mould me until I feel complete.”

Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know what to say except for the fact that you were right—as long as you always felt subpar, or lacking, or frustrated with your drought of true identity, it would lead you back to the reliance you had on the deceptive characters in your life—it was nothing but a miserable cycle designed to bog you down and snuff you out. At least your tearful eyes had dried up.

You looked at him fondly, with a gentle smile. “That’s what I like so much about you… even if you didn’t intend to—which I know you didn’t, judging from what I’ve heard about you trying to avoid writing with me—” (he bit his inner cheek coyly, casting a somewhat anxious hand through his hair), “—you helped me realize parts of myself that were always there, but only needed some nurturing. You actually encouraged me. Supported me. And—okay—I know I said that I hate myself—but since I’ve met you, I’ve been replacing it with an understanding of my situation. I’ve been kinder. I’ve been more of myself. I like to think what we have is a sort of symbiosis.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Do you think that I’m… stupid… for staying?”

Immediately, Wonwoo’s face furled in disagreement. “No, no. Absolutely not. Mingyu’s been with you for so long. He has an integral quality in your life. It would be difficult to uproot yourself just like that. No one’s a better judge of that situation than you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

As you relaxed back into the bar chair, Wonwoo could practically see this heavy, dark mist levitate from you and dissipate into the air. He knew that feeling of relief and inner freedom very well, and there was almost nothing that could compare to it.

Wonwoo then sipped from his glass of water, continuing to watch the stiffness melt off you like ebbing spring snow. "So, what was his response like? To your accusations? Was he at least honest?"

"Yeah, I got it all out of him eventually," you revealed with a very cumbersome sigh. "But he was deflecting like crazy... I'd never seen him like that before... he was fumbling his words all over, like he used to when we were first dating. But it was different. It wasn't nerves, it was just blind anger. He said I was no better. I mean, he's convinced we've had sex, and he wouldn't accept my denial, no matter what."

"It's not black and white," Wonwoo said, squeezing your arm, "it seems to me like a natural consequence. You felt trapped and alone."

For a split second, Jeanie flashed in his mind. A sear of guilt snapped through him. Mingyu would have much reflecting to do.

Nodding your head, you looked to Wonwoo and graced him with the words he may or may not have been waiting months to hear: "it's all over now—Mingyu and I—I made that extremely clear. And I honestly don't care what anyone else has to say. My mom didn't want to believe it... she's been acting strange since. I don't blame her."

In response, he merely nodded, warming you up with his gentle eyes.

But then he was shifting forward in his seat, elbows settled to the counter. Although it was quite late and he felt exhausted from drinking, his curiosity about a particular matter was still sharp.

“So… I’m wondering… what's your reason for writing the book?”

You gulped. “I wanted a way of looking back on everything. Seeing if maybe I could find myself somewhere amongst all those memories. Maybe when I started losing Mingyu was when I started losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I was losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I never really knew myself to begin with.”

He shrugged, his face colouring with admiration for you.

“Well... have you found something?”

Your only means of response was a twinkle-eyed grin.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t as dreadful as Wonwoo anticipated, mostly attributed to the alcohol soaking up in your stomachs, keeping your blood warm even in the face of a tough, harsh wind. Back when it wasn’t so late in the night and his lips had yet to touch his first rum and coke, Wonwoo thought he would take himself home after seeing you off first. But now it was almost midnight, and he had this impending feeling of vertigo while he walked, and he was therefore very limp to fight the offer that involved a comfortable stay at your place until morning.

Wonwoo wasn’t exactly sure where he deposited his coat or his shoes, or even his phone—instead he found himself sitting at the end of your bed, listening to the muffled sound of a running sink behind a closed door as you were busy in the washroom.

He leaned over, removing the glasses already slid down his nose and rubbing a palm into his eye until stars traversed the length of his vision. So, Lady Liberty was a cheater. For the past two years. It did bring Wonwoo to wonder what else Mingyu had said during your argument. Did he ever give a reason for cheating? Did he feel boxed into a life that wasn't the enriching utopia he surmised it might be, but he was toughing it out for the sake of success? Was he cheating because he was mad at you or mad at himself?

Or was he honestly just an asshole?

The Mingyu he was familiar with was shifty, and hardened, and image-obsessed, and now Wonwoo knew for a fact he wasn’t delusional for feeling the tension between you and him whenever you were together. God—he could practically cut all the thickness in the air using Seokmin’s nose and serve it like pieces of cake. But Mingyu hadn't always been like that according to your allegories. Deep down there could still be traces of the man you fell in love with, flickering like shiny little minnows beneath murky, clouded water.

But it was too late now.

Fitting his glasses back on, Wonwoo rolled back the sleeves to his crisp white dress shirt, proceeding to take a gander around your bedroom that he hadn’t revisited in quite some time.

The running sink in the washroom across the hall was finally turned off, although Wonwoo had stopped paying attention to the background noise in place of reading your every detail off the walls. In minuscule ways, the room had changed. There were missing photographs from the dresser, your makeup vanity drawers no longer left ajar in your likely last-minuting rushing to ensure everything was perfect. The closet seemed cleaned-out. Emptier than it once was.

“I thought you might fall asleep.”

He jumped slightly, realizing that you were in the bedroom now, setting down your heels in the corner before making a stride toward the closet where the dress over your arm was hung back up.

Wonwoo bit his lip. “I questioned it.”

You smiled, and within that moment he noticed the long t-shirt you were draped in was the dark blue, logoed math shirt, the one you’d picked after sprinting back to his apartment amidst a rain storm. He felt something in his chest swell and ache in response to how pretty you looked wearing it. Wonwoo knew he was staring, blushing, but he didn’t care. You had two of his t-shirts now. He hoped that collection might continue growing. He hoped that you wore them until his scent was naturally replaced by the strawberry sweetness of your own.

“Thinking about anything in particular?” You asked, arms folded.

Slapping a guilty little grin on his face, Wonwoo shrugged. “No.”

But then you started striding toward Wonwoo, uttering out something half-whispered that sounded a lot like “liar”, and now he truly wasn’t thinking about a damn thing, not even his own breath, as you proceeded to slide your arms around his neck and seat yourself in his lap. He was frozen. You hadn’t been this fucking close to him since you two had cuddled during Seungcheol’s party.

But this was worse—this was full-throttle intimacy with your penetrative, fluttering eyes eating up his soul while your bare thighs squeezed the sense out of him, trapping him, testing him.

“Scared?” You whispered, moving your face in closer.

Yes—he was horrified—he couldn’t even speak with you smiling at him so innocently despite the flames you were igniting.

Though, when he felt a wriggle from your hips that seemed to push against him in all the right places, Wonwoo’s hands were immediate on your waist, tight and stilling, and he swore there was a vulnerable, pliant spark in your eyes that he had never seen before. Maybe Wonwoo could have been more polite about the approach, but after waiting so, so long, he felt like a rocket ship rife with fuel.

He kissed you.

In one decision his lips were pressed to yours, and in a kiss that was full of friction and earnest want, he could only dig deeper. Your arms curled further around his neck, to which you slipped in a quick, sharp breath before pouring yourself back into him so suddenly, mouths moulding again and again, spit slickening, noses bumping. He would have paused to take off his glasses, though Wonwoo was in no place to leave your lips for even a second—especially when your playful tongue glided with his and the world around him melted like wax.

Maybe he was biased (or maybe it was love), but Wonwoo swore it had never felt this right to kiss someone. He knew it, somewhere outside himself, far out in the ever-expanding universe and every other version that belonged, that this moment felt destined to happened. Wonwoo had never particularly believed in fate.

But then he wouldn’t know how else to describe you.

His hands itching to touch more of your skin had gravitated to the thighs clenching at his hips. Your warmth and smoothness only made him greedier. As the kissing became messy in the desperation, he couldn’t help but slide his hands to your ass, immediately kneading his cold fingers into the flesh, pulling, squeezing, pushing you closer into him because he quite literally wanted you to engulf his body.

Then, you were gripping at the back of his hair. You had opened up his throat for your wet lips to continue exploring, and Wonwoo felt every suckle and teething bite draw him further from clarity.

Each kiss slithered lower, until you were gradually lifting from his lap and placing yourself onto the carpet floor. Wonwoo had leaned back to tightly fist the bedsheets behind him, although he would never waver his lusted eyes from the sight of you between his spread legs, on your knees, palming him overtop his dress pants while biting your swollen, glistening lip. He almost wanted the camcorder to capture it.

“How does it feel?” You hummed, staying focused on each pressured movement your hand applied to his prominent erection.

Wonwoo chuckled, clearing the huskiness in his throat, “like I’m gonna die.” His head tilted back. “Holy shit.”

Flashing nothing but a conniving, pleased smile, you tended to undoing his belt buckle. Wonwoo was burning up. As you pulled down the zipper to his pants and helped him shift down the waistband to his underwear an adequate distance, he couldn’t process anything but the fact that he might burst like an explosion of confetti the second your hand would touch him.

Except, you opted to sit back on your haunches.

Tilting your head, you smirked at him.

“I would like a demonstration, please.”

He almost choked. “A what?”

“A demonstration,” you repeated, shuffling closer in between his thighs and gazing up much too seraphically through your lashes, “won’t you show me how you touch yourself, Wonwoo? Please?”

For the life of him, he couldn’t produce one stupid fragment of a sentence, or even a word. God—it didn’t fucking help that you took reign and offered to get him started—your hand carefully reaching past his underwear, gripping onto him gently to spring his erection free. A shiver surged throughout his body at the sensation. Hotness spread like molten lava across his face as the result of your lascivious, teasing actions stood leaking and stiffer than wood right before your eyes, which were agleam with thrill and haze.

You seemed as though you were going to pounce on him.

But he could visibly see you swallow the temptation.

“Aww, you have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen,” you giggled, wrapping a hand around him that was soft and warm, “would it make you feel better if I started you off, then? Gave you some help?”

Wonwoo’s fists were tangled so intensely into the bedsheets he was surprised the fabric hadn’t disintegrated. Holding his breath, he watched you lean forward until your mouth was hovering an agonizing distance over him, only to produce a line of spit that dripped onto his head. His jaw unhinged in a groan. Then you began working the saliva along his shaft, pumping a hand up and down, occasionally flickering your thumb over the sensitive tip only to remove the contact so casually, likely knowing it would rip him apart.

“Your turn.”

He took a second to push up his glasses and shake his head.

“M’not gonna last long, you know,” Wonwoo grunted, at last heeding your request and beginning to stroke himself for your viewing pleasure, “especially after that big display. You fucking tease.”

With an arm slid over his thigh and the drool collecting in your mouth, you couldn’t have looked anymore dazzled by the thirst you were experiencing, your eyes refusing to part from every tug delivered by his own hand. It was a spell, and you were unapologetically under it.

“Mmm, a tease?” You purred, smiling. “I was just trying to help.”

“Were you?” Wonwoo scoffed, pumping faster while continuing to twist up the bedsheets using his other hand. “Rubbing your fucking spit into my cock is tt-trying to help me? Is that what you think?”

“Mmhm,” you answered, straightening up as Wonwoo felt himself become tenser, felt the pressure in his abdomen climb.

He shuddered, a groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of his fist wetly slapping up and down consumed the room and Wonwoo knew it was only a matter of seconds before he lost it. You were basking in every sound and movement.

“Fuck, fuck, I-I can't—”

Suddenly, you’d pushed Wonwoo’s hand away. His stomach flipped upside down. Before he could recognize the brief loss and regain of pleasure, your suckling, wet, hot mouth was already sliding down around his erection, your grip fastening to whatever you couldn’t quite reach. Wonwoo bit his lip so hard at the sensation that something coppery-warm was tasted on his tongue, although that was the least of his concerns when you were throating him with messy desperation. His hand rested on your scalp, nervous to push your head down too firmly, but once he did, you moaned out so erotically around him that Wonwoo fragmented.

His hips bucked straight into your face while his fingers had tightened at the back of your scalp, feeling every intense throb expand against your throat, spurt after spurt filthy in your mouth. But you were diligent and zealous and Wonwoo knew you were swallowing it all despite the few tears trickling onto his pelvis. His length didn’t leave the velvet, pillowy confines of your mouth until every bit was expertly milked out from him, though had Wonwoo let his hand drift off your hair in case you wanted a breath.

With a hiccup and a wipe against your chin, you were tasting the bedroom’s heavy air and exhaling ragged as Wonwoo marvelled you.

“Trying to take my soul with you or something?” He huffed, using his thumb to remove some leftovers from the side of your lips.

You caught his hand in an instant. “No—” you piped up, quick to close your mouth around the digit and suck off whatever he politely removed, laving your tongue like you were licking a popsicle, “—I want all of it.”

He thought he might crumble, hearing you mumble such obscene words while tracks of tears dried overtop your cheeks, your voice sounding somewhat hoarse from the labour of taking him whole.

You were climbing back onto Wonwoo’s lap almost blindly, his next breath taken away by a passionate kiss you pushed so fervently onto his lips. There was another tangling of tongues, saliva mixing together, but neither attempting to take control— though at this point Wonwoo would gladly oblige to throwing you on the bed and twisting off those frustrating panties he imagined were sticking to you. He could feel your arousal dampening through the baby pink cotton as his length twitched back to hardness underneath you.

“Wonwoo,” you whined breathily into his ear while grinding your hips against him in search of friction, “I’ve got to tell you something I did.” You bruised up his neck with more kisses. “Something bad.”

His eyes were shut, hands continuing to grope your ass. “Yeah?” He mumbled, feeling your tongue drag across a vein in his neck. “You did something bad? What could that be?”

Your hands drifted down his chest, yanking open the buttons on his dress shirt in satisfying pops. Warm, feathery breath hit his ear. “That day I stayed the night in your bedroom… alone…” you kissed him on his mouth, letting it linger and last, “I couldn’t help it.”

Wonwoo had gripped the side of your face, meanwhile he rubbed underneath the waistband to your tiny, thin underwear.

“Couldn’t help what?”

He flinched as your hand sunk down to grab his cock.

“I touched myself,” you confessed just an inch from his face, “I laid back against your pillows, spread my legs all wide… I had my fingers stuffed so deep inside myself, but it still didn’t feel like enough.” Again, you were softly stroking him. Wonwoo continued to uphold that unwavering, painfully honest gaze you were pinning him in. “Nd’ I came all over your t-shirt, Wonwoo. I played with myself until my fingers were cramping and my legs couldn’t stay open anymore.”

He gulped—heavy—like swallowing a chunk of lead. His tender thumb grazed along your cheek and rubbed over your puffy lips. “I wanted to fuck you so bad that night,” Wonwoo soothed your confession with another, which was already quite obvious, “I dreamt about it. I wanted to bury myself so fucking deep inside your gut.”

You shook your head, eyes teary. “Why didn’t you?” He felt the delicate stroking motion along his erection come to a pause.

Wonwoo cradled your cheek. “It would have fucked everything up.”

“But I wanted it,” you whimpered. “I’ve been wanting it for so long and you just left me there. I would have been quiet. You could have put me face down in the pillows and just used me all you wanted.”

“No,” Wonwoo argued, “I would never want to use you. I want us to be together in everything. I know you wanted it. But lust makes you think different. Just like it’s making you think different right now.”

He softly slotted his mouth with yours, exchanging a much slower, sweeter kiss that lit a glow in his belly. You puddled right into the contact, curling your arms back around his neck to hold him tighter.

Much lighter kisses dappled the edges of your lips.

Wonwoo could feel you start to smile.

“I figured something was off the next morning,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t know how to face with you without thinking about it. I felt so dirty. But in the moment, I needed something.”

He nipped down your slender neck, letting his hot breath and reverberating, husky tone tickle your skin until your hairs stood up.

“How wet were you?” Wonwoo purred, smirking.

Immediately, your hips were pushing down on him. “Soaked,” you then whispered, “I was making such a mess. I tried so hard to be quiet. But part of me wanted you to hear.”

Wonwoo’s hands drifted up your t-shirt, gliding slow against your stomach, coming to reach the plump, sensitive breasts that he could only surmise were waiting for his attention. He cupped them in each palm, giving a tender squeeze and pull that pitched your breath into a squeak. Caressing your neck with more wet, open-mouthed kisses, he felt the absentminded grinding reignite the friction between you.

“Did you touch up here, too?”

His thumbs brushed your pert nipples. He felt you shiver.

“Y-Yes.”

Tsking his teeth, he pleasured them with slow, rubbing circles that you mewled in response to. “You’ve got the softest skin. I could touch you until I die, and it still wouldn't be enough.”

“Mmhm,” he heard you exhale shakily, “I touch myself at home, too. Put my pillow between my legs. Pretend I’m grinding against you. Then let my fingers take me again and again until it hurts.”

How dare you fucking say that to him—how dare you put such an intimate visual in his mind to haunt him like a ghost to hallowed grounds. How many times had you done it? How many times had you stood right in front of him, smiling so innocently, despite knowing damn well what you had done to yourself the night before.

Wonwoo pinched your nipples, watching you flinch.

“Does it hurt right now?”

You nodded.

“Where?” He lowered his voice, sinking his hand back down the creases in your tummy until it paused right on your mound, his eyes trained to your suddenly very desperate, misty look. “Down here?”

“Yes.”

Holding eye contact with you, Wonwoo trailed his hand further along your panties until his touch was situated right between your thighs, directly feeling the wet fabric, the radiating heat, the aroused pulsations. Your fingernails were pricks in his shoulders.

“Fuck, you are drenched, aren’t you?” Wonwoo commented, rubbing his hand against you through the cotton material, your hips soon chasing the overwhelming pleasure. “Can feel you throbbing against my hand, you know that? Bet it aches so fucking good, hm?”

He grinned hard at your eyebrows knitting together. While he massaged you with one hand, the other gripped your chin where he pushed a hot, uncoordinated kiss onto your whiny mouth.

“Lay across my lap,” Wonwoo whispered in between the hasty break for air, “let me play with you instead, make you cum. Please.”

To his delight, your compliance came easily.

It didn’t take long for you to splay yourself in the desired position, with Wonwoo pushing up the shirt to bunch at your waist while your bottom was perfectly presented in his lap. He massaged you, leaning down to mark a trail of kisses along your lower back, along your ass—spreading you wide to see the large, soaked patch glistening on those easily rippable underwear.

“Just open your thighs a bit more,” Wonwoo instructed, to which you quickly listened, “fuck—perfect—all this, only for me.” He pushed his thumb against you through the panties and you instantly squeaked.

“Right?” He urged. “Is this all just for me?”

“Mmhm—yes, yes. I fucking promise. Just for you.”

Wonwoo bit his lip to stop the size of the immediate smile from breaking across his face. Your hips wriggled up as his touch drifted away.

“I need more,” you groaned in frustration, “please.”

“More here?” Wonwoo pulled back on one side of your glute to help reveal the sensitive area, then rubbing his thumb against your clit.

Your entire body jerked, and he noticed your fingers dig into the bedsheets, clawing them up. He figured the wet friction between his thumb and your panties was frustratingly amplifying every little sensation in a dull but very cruel way. He continued his ministrations, adding some more pressure for you to squirm and moan at.

“Does it still hurt?” Wonwoo asked, letting his other hand slide up your bare waist, the skin beginning to sweat and turn even warmer.

“Please,” you groaned, attempting to adjust your hips against the stroking from his thumb, “I feel like m’gonna fucking die, Wonwoo.”

“Still need more, then?”

“Yes!”

Deciding to throw you a bone, Wonwoo grabbed those thin, pink panties in his hand and helped you slide the constricting fabric down and off your legs. Once he spread you nice and wide, let the cold air ghost the slicken, swollen skin, you had gasped. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t speak—he only stared at you with all the stars in the universe collecting behind his eyes, glittering like a snow globe—at how beautiful and exposed and needy you looked.

He let his fingers slide ever so slowly along your clit, drawing up to your hole, then pushing back down to hear you whimper brokenly.

Wonwoo swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“Do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?” He complimented, his fingers soaking in your arousal. “I knew your cunt would look pretty, but this is more than that. God…” experimentally, Wonwoo shifted a finger gentle into your opening, giving the digit a wriggle and few shallow pumps. Immediately your intense warmth clenched down tight before loosening, engendering him to effortlessly press in two more long fingers. “There you go… good girl…” he mumbled his encouragement as you gripped the bedsheets and moaned a guttural sound, “taking in my fingers so fucking well—they slide in so easy… make such perfect, dirty noises whenever they fill up this gorgeous cunt.”

His thumb touched at your clit, lending it some attention that had you twisting and bucking back to receive even more pleasure.

“God, Wonwoo…” you gasped, sounding lost to the ecstasy while letting him take his time with mapping out your inner walls with curious strokes, “that feels so fucking good. You have no idea. Feels like m’gonna pour all over you.”

He grinned, further stimulating your swollen clit, maintaining the pattern as you propped up on your elbows, tugged at the bedspread, and released a mellifluous, shuddering moan from your throat.

“F-fuck ye-yess…” you whined as his fingers squelched deeper and his thumb continued its circles, “yes, yes, yes, keep doing that—oh-oh, fuck! M’gonna cum all over your fingers—m’gonna make a mess!”

“That’s all I want,” he breathed, his chest tightening at how much arousal was pooling sticky around his digits, “that’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted—make a mess all over me, like the pretty, desperate girl you are. Let me see it. Let me feel everything. Cum just for me.”

Your entire body proceeded to seize, Wonwoo’s fingers now struggling to pump, as this striking wave seemingly coursed through you and resulted in heavy fluids wetting his dress pants. It took a moment for you to power through the pleasure, though Wonwoo was at least able to maintain his stroking gestures against your clit until he noted the sharp, almost spastic twitches in your muscles.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo hummed in satisfaction while he gingerly eased his fingers out and left your poor, throbbing bud alone.

He smoothed his hand down your back, offering you a moment to relax, breathe, and ride out the electricity.

“Fuck,” you wiped at the sweat on the back of your neck, chuckling at the discomfort, “I can feel it all between my legs.”

Wonwoo smirked. Hard. He bent forward to peck your temple, then brushed his lips against your stinging hot ear. "How about I clean that all up for you?" The velvety whisper caused your body to jitter.

"Clean me up how?" You turned your head, catching his eye.

There was a swap of positions. Wonwoo lowered himself to the bedroom floor, the carpet spongey against his knees, while you lay down on your back and draped your legs off the edge of the bed. But he was hungry for you, and greedier than a treasure hunter, and you went limp as he hitched your knees over his broad shoulders.

Being face to face with your intimate heat was like the kiss of life—new energy was taking over him—giving him desire unlike any other.

He didn't know if he wanted to keep staring at you, your soft skin messy with slick and twitching anticipatorly at his closeness, or if he should stop prolonging the moment and just bury everything into you. Adjusting his glasses, Wonwoo licked his bitten lips. You were in the midst of shuffling up to your elbows, likely wondering what the hell he doing, staring between your thighs for so long.

But as quickly as you squeaked his name, it was interrupted by an intense gasp a second later. You leaned all your weight onto a single elbow, tossing your head back, panting for dear life as Wonwoo striped his tongue long and flat against your heat. His hands gripped your hips, sculpting them over your bone while he tasted your arousal, all sticky and musky and delicious to the point of addiction.

"O-Oh my god, Wonwoo," you cried, letting your body collapse onto the bedsheets, limbs becoming jelly, "that feels fucking amazing."

He licked into you like he were trying to reach the centre of a sweet, colourful jawbreaker. Every pass from his tongue was firm, encompassing, smothering you in pleasure and painting you with spit. But you reacted best when he toyed his ministrations around your sensitive clit—your back would jolt off the bed, arched, as your thighs hugged him tight—Wonwoo heard your begging akin to a distant echo. He would even smile into you, glasses all foggy, chin running in wetness, as you preached his name dumbly, losing your mind. Wonwoo pressed his mouth hot against you, flicking his tongue to your overstimulated clit, focusing hard on his pattern.

"Fuck, fuck!" You shouted, writhing into the sheets. "Please, Wonwoo. Please, please, please—I'm—I'm gonna cum! Please, just—k-keep—"

There was a surge of something warm and liquid that Wonwoo wanted to drink like a peach's nectar. You were throbbing right under his tongue and he loved it to a point that felt utterly insane. He didn't want to stop even if the world was ending. His face plunged in deeper, his hands grafting into your hips harsher, completely ignorant to your fingers pulling at his hectic locks of hair. Wonwoo only wanted you and nothing else and he was going to drown in it.

But you were attempting to sit up, your sweaty body becoming better at escaping his eager, hungry licks that dug into your slit, and once he heard you wince particularly sharp, he knew he had to stop.

He sat back, removing his glasses and wiping off his chin. You slid a leg from his shoulder, using a foot to gently prod against his chest—a light scolding for perhaps enjoying you a little too much.

"Are you starved?" You laughed heavily, gulping down a breath.

Wonwoo fit the glasses back to his face. "For you? Yes." He then licked at his teeth and lips, still yearning to find traces of your arousal, only to realize you were shaking. "Shit—I'm sorry if I hurt you." Standing up, he cupped your face, bending down to kiss you gentle on the lips over and over. "I'm so fucking sorry. You taste amazing, that's all. And you're so beautiful. I couldn't fucking help it."

With a giggle, you tousled his hair. "No, I'm fine. I like a little pain." Your eyes were back to shining. Then, you caught his mouth, stealing another kiss. "But I’m even greedier than you—," pushing yourself up, you nipped at his lips, “—and I want that pretty, long cock inside me to hit all the right spots.” The exchange had you seated back in Wonwoo’s lap, where your bare, soaked pussy was free to brush against his straining and achingly hard length.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo smirked, welcoming your spit-smeared mouth.

Feeling your hips grind against him, you purred, “yeah.”

“I’ve got no protection,” Wonwoo admitted in between the make-out session, hardly able to pry your lips from one another as you slid backward on the bed with Wonwoo climbing over top.

Helping to shove off his dress shirt and slacks, discarding them to the floor, you shook your head. “Don’t need it.”

Returning the gesture, Wonwoo had you fully undressed. The entirety of your bare body on full display felt like something sacred—an artwork that had been crafted with unimaginable attentiveness to every single detail, no matter how miniscule. He couldn't liken it to anything else in his life but a distant memory from childhood—a grand mausoleum that he found himself inside with his older brother, the ceiling intricately chiselled with angelic, satin-like bodies.

Your words seemed distant. It took a second for him to remember.

“Don't need protection? Why?"

As your hands locked behind his neck, pulling him down close, you dug into his eyes with an emotional gaze. “Finish inside me.”

He stuttered, furrowing his brow, “seriously? You won’t—”

“No. I’m taking precautions, you know.” Brushing at his dampened, thick hair, you asked, “have you ever had unprotected sex?”

Wonwoo scoffed, surprised at the inquiry, “yeah. But—is that—you really want that? With me?” He stared down at you intensely.

“I only want it if you want it, too.”

He nodded, biting his lip, taking a moment to examine your perspiring face alongside the the rising and dipping of your chest.

“I want it,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, “I definitely want it.”

Truth be told, a splinter of nerves had lodged into his chest at the thought of having to perform to your anticipation—Wonwoo was never really sure if he would ever get intimate with you—and as his gaze again streamed your body, he felt overwhelmed. But then your fingertips were stroking down his bicep, seemingly drawing out the forthcoming anxiety from him like you were pulling out a thread of energy, and the easygoing smile he was met with tamed his heart.

Wonwoo eased closer toward you, allowing your expert touches to be the guide. Your hand had returned to his length for a few more thorough and especially lentamente tugs, prompting him to hiss into your neck while very flushed shades of pink crawled up his face.

He felt himself throb, wanting to simply collapse against you and climax at your hand for the second time. To make matters even more complicated, Wonwoo felt you shift slightly, and then the tip of his impatient cock was suddenly gliding all slippery like butter along your folds. Wonwoo’s arms started to shake.

You laid your palm gentle against his neck.

“How’s that feel?” You whispered in a trembling breath, meanwhile continuing the heavenly ministrations of tracing your clit with his length. “I-I think it feels quite nice—getting you all wet.”

“Amazing,” he answered, pressing his forehead to yours and pecking at your lips, “you want me to take it from here?”

Keeping silent, your grip drifted from his erection and you seemed satisfied to let the control sway now that Wonwoo was adjusted. Just before he aligned himself, however, he looked at you and laughed.

“Can you push up my glasses real quick?”

You chuckled, “seriously?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be see you properly?”

“Nothing,” you flashed a tender smile, then using your finger to help position the glasses back up his nose, “there you go.”

Wonwoo proceeded to slide himself inside you at a slower pace that allowed him to bask in the intimate sensation—he made damn sure every little squeeze, flutter, and convulsion your heat cushioned him with was felt—though that made it considerably hard for him not to release in pathetic fashion, before he had even made a good, swift thrust. You were soaking up the moment just as much.

He didn’t want to advert his eyes from the pleasure cascading like ripples across your face for even a second. Once he was buried in still and deep, completely stuffing you to the hilt, your breath had fogged up his glasses.

“Fuck—s-sorry—” you squirmed through the apology, your hips occasionally canting against his in unbridled twitches, “—I can hardly fucking think right now. Do you know how much you’re throbbing?”

He choked out a hoarse laugh, “do you know how insanely good you feel to me? Feels like m’gonna fucking break into a million pieces. ”

“I want you to break me into a million pieces,” you whined so needily, looping your arms around his neck, “fuck me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He was positive you had told him that in a dream once.

As euphoric as you felt clenching around him, Wonwoo truly did want the sex to last. His thrusts into your heat weren’t frantically impatient, rather they grooved incredibly, purposefully deep—each stroke was thoughtful but hard, slow but timely, and judging from your high-pitched keens and the nails scraping against his shoulder blades, he knew you were appreciating the moment just the same.

Wonwoo grasped your sweaty hands in his, your fingers interlocking tight, in order to hold them against the sea of silky pillows above your head. With another especially daggering thrust that made his teeth clench and his abdomen flutter, you had jerked and cried out his name, followed by a breathless, “rr-right there!”

A leg wrapped around his hips, your ankle digging uncomfortably into his side while he continued to push his length into the spot that was making you howl. But it was getting increasingly difficult to continue the tempo—your leg was tightening around him like a boa constrictor and your warmth was clamping down with plain strength, almost as though your body was attempting to lock him inside.

He merely squeezed your hands harder, losing his breath. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Taking advantage of another thorough stroke, Wonwoo had the bedframe thudding the wall, his words hotly pressing into your ear. “You’re trying to keep me suctioned in.”

Your whimpers were falling apart like crumbling clay. Wonwoo tried to understand what it was you were mewling at him, something involving his name, how good it felt, that he should keep going, meanwhile tears were springing to your eyes and wetting your glimmery cheeks. Wonwoo bit his lip. He was throbbing wildly inside your heat, knowing you were only getting dumber and turning incoherent as he speared you so intimately on his cock.

Wonwoo wasn’t going to last much longer and neither were you. He was already feeling himself burst and break—the convulsion ripped through him like a landslide and now your leg was fully hooked around his hips, pinning him against you while he emptied himself disgustingly deep inside your warmth.

The sensation must have triggered your own orgasm, because his cock felt like it was practically being suffocated as you squeezed down on him. Wonwoo thought he might blackout when you whined his name into the dim bedroom humidity, strung in a loud, trembling lilt that cracked beautifully in the middle.

Your arms were winding back around his neck, pulling his face to yours, a kiss crushed onto his awaiting mouth.

“I need more,” you panted in between the kisses, “don’t feel full enough yet. Cum inside me again, Wonwoo. Please, take me again.”

“Again?” He smiled, his glasses bumping your nose. You were completely uncaring, only nipping at him harder. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my fucking life.” Suddenly, you were wriggling underneath him, rolling onto your stomach, and repositioning yourself such that you were face-down-ass-up. With eyes twinkling bright in pure, carnal lust, you threw him a a yearning glance from over your shoulder. “Fuck me again, nice and deep like before." His heart shot into his throat. When you begged, it was like his world was shrinking into a bubble where only you and him existed. "Please—I need it before your cum starts leaking out. I need to be filled by you, Wonwoo. Please.” You looked like you might cry if he didn't oblige the plead.

And so he did, his fingers planting a firm grip on your strong hips.

As much as you were willing to take, he was willing to give, finding himself submerge further and further into the intoxicating nature of it all until he started to lose his mind—all he knew is that it was concerningly late at night, your bedsheets were sticky and ruined, and you had gone from being thrust into the pillows to slapping yourself down on his cock while Wonwoo hazily watched. He loved the sight of your sweat, your glowing light, your bouncing breasts and pleasure-drunk face far too much. At some point, you had slumped forward into him, spent to fucking hell.

With your chests were pressed together, his cock still throbbing and stuffed inside you, there was a moment of nothing but thick, laboured breathing and heartbeats synchronizing. He kissed your temple and wrapped his arms around you, proceeding to mumble something sweet and half-asleep that contained your name.

You had squeezed his length unforgivingly in response.

“Fuck—don’t get me hard again. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I like when you use my name.”

He smiled into your cheek. “I can tell.”

Wonwoo had woken before you.

Mostly because the bedsheets had been gradually wrapped up and tugged away and progressively stolen from him during the night, letting the cool, morning air dust over him like spray from an ocean. You were a fidgety sleeper, he had realized, sometimes even a mumbler, although Wonwoo had never been able to discern what it was you were sluggishly declaring in your dreams.

He turned his head to you, saw the bare groove of your back, shapely like a flower petal, and your arm dug underneath the silk pillow, observing every breath your unconscious body took.

Then, Wonwoo was leaning over you, feeling his fingers sink into your fleshy waist while his lips touched a kiss against your warm cheek. He hoped you wouldn’t mind him using your washroom for a shower.

Afterward, Wonwoo retraced the apartment, finding his shoes a questionable distance apart—one stood square at the front door while the other was left in the hallway leading to your room. His winter jacket was tossed over the arm to the couch, meanwhile his phone involved a more in-depth search. For some reason, he’d left it atop a shelf beside the television, hidden by a clumsy stack of textbooks.

When he tapped the screen, it illuminated some text messages from Vernon that had been sent at around two in the morning—mostly inquiries about the birthday dinner and whether or not Wonwoo had bothered going to the famed and mysterious Room 319.

Though, he opted not to respond, realizing the details he wanted to share with his friend would likely require a sit-down discussion over burgers, fries, and sodas at Solar Pop. Making his way back to the bedroom, Wonwoo carefully creaked open the door to find you half-shoved onto an arm, making tired circles against your eye.

He smiled, coming to sit beside you, handing off the glass of water he poured for himself.

“Are you leaving?” Was the first question you blearily pieced together after accepting the water but not drinking anything from it.

Wonwoo shook his head. “No.”

You managed to sit up properly, the sheets settling around your hips while you continued holding onto the glass. For a moment, you seemed to just observe Wonwoo, your eyes still swollen from sleep.

“Where are you going, then?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nowhere,” Wonwoo laughed, pulling one leg up onto the bed. “I got up to shower. Went and found my things. Got a glass of water, which you’re now holding, by the way.”

You swallowed, looking down at your lap.

“Oh…” after a recollecting pause, you took a sip from it.

Wonwoo smiled, his eyes softening like fresh brown sugar, as he proceeded to unstick some matted hairs from the edge of your face.

“You’re a pretty big sheet stealer,” he said, continuing to spread his fingers about your features, removing fluffs and rubbing off bits of dried spit, “and you seem to like talking, even in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah… I should have told you that.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I liked not knowing.”

“Did you?” With a laugh and smile, you drank some more water.

“Yeah. Because it’s you, it makes me adore it even more.”

“I don’t always mumble. I swear. Only sometimes.”

Wonwoo didn’t care. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess I should shower, too. Then I’ll change the sheets and get new ones on.” You abruptly raised the blankets at your lap, lifting up a leg to examine something Wonwoo couldn’t see. “Yeah, I definitely need to change the sheets… oh! And take my pill. Fuck. I can’t forget.”

“I can help with the sheets.”

“Okay,” you said while leaning forward to pull open a drawer on your nightstand, revealing a thin, silver cartridge of pills, “thanks.”

After you had showered and gotten dressed in a clean spare t-shirt, you changed the dirtied sheets to your bed together.

Then you and Wonwoo spent some time together in the open, bright living room, lounging on the couch. Maybe you had kissed a few more times, and maybe his naturally cold hands had found their way underneath your loose t-shirt to curiously massage and press along your pretty chest, and maybe you had kissed a little more after that while the sun rays slid up your sensitive skin.

You twisted away from Wonwoo’s lips with a giggle.

“M’kay, that’s enough, or else I’ll need another shower.” You grabbed at Wonwoo’s hands that had been squeezing your breasts.

Although he didn’t want to stop, he listened, relaxing against the pillow he had stuffed between his spine and the arm of the couch, now throwing an elbow behind his head. You were leaning back against him, getting comfy between his legs, and for a few minutes or so, the two of you gazed out those large, floor-length glass windows into the awakening, snow-capped city.

He felt you stir against him.

“You know… sometimes you don’t always speak English.”

Wonwoo itched his eyebrow, chuckling, “what?”

“Last night, like, when I was riding you—” your head tilted back onto his shoulder, beaming him a smile, “—you would start switching languages. In between English and Korean. It was so cute.”

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusted his glasses, staring down at you while his cheeks became rosy. “I don’t know, it’s just something my brain does automatically. I don’t always realize I’m doing it.”

You grinned; eyes sparkling. “When it feels too good?”

Ruffling a hand through his hair, he simply smirked at you.

“Having a front seat view to the most beautiful girl in the world riding me just happens to be something that makes me feel really good.”

You pushed your head up to kiss him, followed by a sweet and brief whisper that he smiled at, “compliment appreciated.”

A few more quiet minutes passed. Wonwoo thought he could spend the entire day just sitting on the couch with you warm in his arms, watching the snow tumble down like wisps of tender willows.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

You got quiet.

Then, your weight against his chest was gone, and you had half-turned yourself around to look at him, seeming nervous.

He tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered, glancing down briefly before soaking him back into your agleam eyes. “I just want to apologize, actually.”

At that, Wonwoo stiffened. “Yeah? What for?”

With a sigh and another anxious moment to fiddle with the rolled-up cuff belonging to his wrinkled dress shirt, you were reserved.

“Ever since we fought, I can't help thinking about it. I mean, I’ve thought about what you said, and the fact you apologized, and explained yourself, and how you gave me time to process it all. You gave me so much grace, even when I felt like I hated you… but… I also said some hurtful things about you… I mean, back then I felt like you deserved it. And, I don’t know… maybe you did? Like, maybe we both needed to just be there, screaming at each other, digging our guts out, throwing up all this stuff to the surface because no one else has ever given us that freedom or made us feel like we could before. Anyway, I just feel like it’s only right that I say sorry, too.”

Scratching at his neck, Wonwoo swallowed. He never thought of it like that. “Uh, sure. If that’s what you feel you need to do. ”

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I really, truly am.”

He smiled, grasping at your hand and threading his fingers with yours. Pangs of regret were flooding your eyes, filling them up until they were undoubtedly teary and Wonwoo had to wipe it all away.

“It’s fine, I swear,” he whispered, moving in closer to you, brushing at your cheek as you sniffled. “Nothing has ever truly changed how I feel about you. You’re incredibly firm but sensitive, and have such fiery passion, and you’re curious about everything, and I know that it hurts so much to live without really knowing yourself. But I see you, and I feel like I know you. I never want to stop knowing you, alright?”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

Your mouth pressed against his, and he tasted the salt from the tears that beaded down the slopes of your cheeks, warm with life.

“I love you.” He felt the whisper touch at his lips. “I really do.”

Wonwoo held onto your face like he was cradling a big pearl. “I love you, too.” Another kiss sealed the expression into felt, tangible emotion. “But honestly, you already knew that.”

Later in the day, you came up to Wonwoo as he ate lunch at the table, only after having disappeared into a distant office space further down the hallway. You dropped before him a clear, plastic duotang, which held a notably thick stack of papers that had quite a weight to it upon picking up. It only took a few flips into the papers for Wonwoo to realize that it was the completed book he used to proofread for you—a series of chronological memories between yourself and the boyfriend you had gradually drifted apart from.

True to your word, you had forged ahead and finished the book alone.

He was proud to hold the evidence.

Wonwoo asked what you planned to do with the book now that it was done. He even wondered if you might let him read some parts he never got to work on, though he understood if you preferred to keep the contents private. As he was in the middle of lifting a hot spoon to his mouth, Wonwoo suddenly paused at hearing your response.

“I think I’ll just shred it.”

You didn’t seem to care.

The decision came easier than pressing a button. There was only one copy of the book, apparently, and you had plans to turn all its pages into literary confetti. But that was a very you thing to do, Wonwoo had come to accept. Writing served many purposes, and it seemed that the purpose you had sought out was met. Somewhere, in all those paragraphs, sentences, letters, and ink, you found the fulfillment you had always ached for. At last, you struck a glimmer of promising gold after digging through all the haze and confusion.

“Sure,” he answered, “shred away.”

—8 MONTHS LATER. END OF JUNE.

“It looks so pathetic!”

“What?! No it doesn’t!”

Peeking up from the mason jar of earthy blue water he’d been swirling together using some dirtied paintbrushes, Wonwoo saw you seated across from him, talking to a very dismayed, upset twelve-year-old girl. Sierra’s little sister, Cora, had enrolled in his landlord’s ceramics class over the summer, and thus every Saturday evening she spent her time moulding unwilling chunks of grey clay alongside other similarly aged students. It was only Cora in the shop since she had been the last to get her teapot in the kiln, taking extra time with every minute detail.

Though, despite her care and attentive pace, Cora was still not pleased with the teapot, leading her to grumble and shake her head.

You were sitting beside her, a hand rubbing along the little girl’s back while she continued scrutinizing her creation. Ever since you moved into Wonwoo’s apartment back in May, Saskia had quite liked you more than her average tenant, and that somehow transformed into an offer to help her teach the summer ceramics class (with pay).

Wonwoo was always there to assist in the clean-up afterward—his favourite part was submerging all the greasy, bristly paintbrushes into a clean jar of water so that he could watch how their colours bled out in thin, swirling hues.

“No, no, no—it’s just bad.”

“I’m telling you. It’s not.”

Cora picked up the lid to the pot, then placed it back down. “There—look—it doesn’t even close properly. And the spout is not spouty enough… it’s too thick, I think. Hardly any tea will go through!”

“Well, I really like it.”

Tucking a tuft of poofy, rust-brown hair behind her ear, Cora gave you a suspecting and funny sort of look that made Wonwoo smile to himself. She was a very shy student, but she talked to you the most.

“You say that about everything I make,” Cora sighed.

“So what?”

“So…” she nibbled on her small lip, looking off to the side, “you have to say that, because you're nice. You’re like my mom. She says she loves everything I make. But then why don’t I ever love it?”

“She loves it because you made it, obviously. And she loves you. I think love changes how we look at things. Even the impractical.” Then, you picked up her teapot and moved it closer. “You know why I like this teapot? Because it shows you’re determined. I mean, look at all those bowls on the newspaper over there—you’re the only one who did the teapot! And you did it mostly by yourself. You wouldn’t even let me help you roll out the clay. So, that’s why I like it. Because I see you in it. And when you tackle it again, you’ll know what to do differently. Plus, you know you can ask me for help, right? You know I’ll always help you.”

The little girl’s freckled face suddenly became less twisted with judgement and frustration. She set her elbows onto the table, scratching at a Hello Kitty bandaid along the back of her hand, while you gave her hair a quick ruffle. Wonwoo started drying off the paintbrushes using paper towel before moving them into the cup labelled “clean” with a piece of tape.

“What should I do with this, then? If it won’t work,” Cora asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But for now, just leave it with the other stuff. We’ll give it a nice glaze next time around. Make it even prettier. Then you can decide what to do with it—whether or not you want to keep it or smash it on the ground. It’s up to you, Cora.”

Wonwoo tilted his head. “Why don’t you turn it into a miniature flower pot or something? Fill it with soil and plant something in it?”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “I like that idea, actually.”

“Me too,” you said, shooting Wonwoo a sly wink that he smiled very stupidly at, “look at this guy over here. Lurking with his good ideas.”

By the time Sierra was available to pick up her sister, Wonwoo had officially finished cleaning all the paintbrushes and whittling tools, as well as replacing the tablecloth with a fresh one. The three of you stood at the base to the shop’s very small stoop, exchanging some general conversation while a sleepy Cora held onto her sister’s hand and leaned her seemingly heavy head against her side.

The sky was a tame yellow shade, not as bright as a buttercup, but something delicate of the like.

“Hey—I heard you guys are planning a vacation!” Sierra chirped, adjusting the car keys in her hand, “is that all true?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, flashing Wonwoo a soft smile, “uh, we decided that we’re gonna spend some time in South Korea. I haven’t visited his family at all. But, yeah. Gonna leave start of August and come back right before October. So, a pretty good chunk of time.”

“No way!” She exclaimed.

“We’ll see how it pans out,” Wonwoo commented, sliding his arm around your waist and digging his fingers into your hip. “But my brother won’t shut his mouth about meeting her. And my parents are obviously curious. Besides, there are some great places I want to show off.”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m jealous. And totally sure you guys will have a great experience together. We’ll miss you here, though.”

“Please do,” you laughed, and Sierra pinched your cheek.

She then looked down at her sister, who had her eyes shut.

“Okay, I’m gonna get this little dove home. Thank you so much for helping her at ceramics by the way. She talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You touched at your face, seeming flustered. “Well, I love helping her out. She’s a sweet girl with a lot of will on her shoulders.” Lowering your voice, you moved in closer to Sierra. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a cute gift she can have while we’re gone.”

After parting ways with Sierra and Cora, you and Wonwoo returned upstairs, back into the apartment to prepare for supper.

Both of you were feeling particularly lazy, and the shiny red tomato he was supposed to chop ended up being ignored in place of eating ice cream straight from its tub.

You were the one who grabbed it—Wonwoo was only following suit as he picked up a spoon and curved some out.

Something else interesting about you that Wonwoo had learned since moving in together was that you didn’t really care to ever sit on a chair, even when you were eating. It was either the sofa, the floor, or the kitchen table, in which you would be holding onto your food even though he always thought how easier it could be if you did sit down properly. The quirk was fun, nonetheless, and Wonwoo had admittedly started looking at the kitchen table in a different light after he proceeded to give you oral on it one night. Consequently, it bloomed a very dangerous habit between the two of you.

A habit that might become drastically less accessible once you two jetted off to his native country for over a month, confined between his parent’s cozy home where he grew up and the two-story apartment his wealthy brother and sister-in-law owned in the glittering heart of South Korea’s Seoul. He was nervous. You were nervous. But at least you were together.

Over the months, your parents had gradually come to accept him as your boyfriend, even if they weren't exactly warmed up to the idea at the start. Wonwoo revisited your home a few times alongside you to help in the explanations of your story and future prospects, although he partially understood that Mingyu was like a precious sapphire to your family and having him out so suddenly was hard to stomach.

He spent years nestling himself a comfortable burrow and smoothing out the bumps to make a crafty façade that, particularly your mother, couldn't help but outwardly adore. Like a son. Like Seokmin, too.

Wonwoo thought Mingyu might give him trouble.

In truth, he'd scarcely seen him, unless transient glimpses of his towering, quickly bustling figure from across a university campus or city street were noteworthy. Obviously, he wasn't inside Mingyu's head and he really had no inclination as to what the boy might be thinking on the occasion he spotted you and Wonwoo hand-in-hand at the park, or sharing breakfast at the café along Sunnyside.

But if Mingyu maintained even half the feelings that Wonwoo did for you, then he was positive it hurt like fucking hell.

Of all people, Wonwoo supposed he himself knew best.

—AUGUST 1ST.

“Wonwoo!”

He closed his dresser drawer, almost slamming his fingers inside. Your voice echoed from the living room, sounding hectic.

“Yes? What’s up!”

“The taxi’s here!”

Fuck. He immediately thought. The time was flying by.

Wonwoo had made a gigantic list of what to pack, but over time he kept adding and taking things away from it. Now, it was early morning, soft rain and cracks of bursting light coming down outside, and he was doing a final clean-sweep of the bedroom as well as his poorly scribbled list to ensure everything he needed was with him.

Quickly approaching the window, Wonwoo glanced outside to see the cab parked at the curb. Fuck. Again. Vernon always said he would happily provide you two a ride to the airport, but then the boy was unsurprisingly wrapped back into some trouble, and Wonwoo hadn’t seen his best friend in over a week.

Graciously, however, Vernon had given him a heads up and a proper goodbye beforehand. He’d even left him a voicemail to listen to, which immediately jumped into Wonwoo’s brain at random as he scrambled around the bedroom in search of his phone.

“Just give me one more minute!” Wonwoo shouted.

There was a pause on your end, and then a sigh.

“Do you need help?”

“No—all good. I promise. Can you let the cab driver know?”

“I will.”

“Thank you!” Wonwoo sang, finding the phone blended into his bedsheets, then proceeding to open his inbox. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” You shouted back. “Just hurry the fuck up!”

He let Vernon’s message play while also tossing his suitcase onto the bed, stuffing in a few more last-minute grabs with utter clumsiness.

“Heyyy, Glasses! How are things? I’m shooting you this cute little message at arounddd—oh! Looks like it’s two in the mornin’! It’s two in the fuckin’ mornin’ and I’m pulled up outside this dude’s house all ‘cause he can’t pay me back for my good, hard services. It’s nothin’ serious, though. Don’t get all uptight like usual. You know I’m good at handlin’ stuff and keepin’ my cool. Probably my better qualities. Anyway, I’m bored as fuck. I’ve spun this Lloyd CD about four times and I just can’t listen to that dude anymore. He can sing, though.

I am pissed you’re leavin’ me. And I’m pissed she’s leavin’ me, too. You guys are what I look forward to whenever I drive down into that shithole city. Well, I think just about every city’s a shithole city. In fact, the city I’m in now is probably more of a shithole… Seokmin texted me the other day—said he wants to talk—which is vague as fuck and to be honest, I’ve been ignorin’ it ‘cause I can’t get myself to give a god damn. But maybe I’ll hear him out. That guy was a cutie, wasn’t he? I still think you’re a bit cuter. And better at mini-put.

I’ll miss you a lot when you’re down there… it got me thinkin’ about the night when we first met. The New Year’s Eve party. You remember that pretty well, don’t’chya? I saw you come in with those guys—they didn’t look like your crowd at all—but then after a while you were alone. Wanderin’ around. It didn’t even seem like you knew anyone else was there. You had the blankest look on your face. Like you were stuck in a loop and you didn’t even know it. I don’t know that I felt pity or anything… hell, maybe I felt a little. I just talked to ‘ya ‘cause I wanted to know if you knew where you even were.

You knew you were at some stupid, loud, awful fuckin’ house party jammed with unfamiliar faces. You knew how much you hated bein’ there. But I don’t think you actually knew how you got there, or why, or what was supposed to happen next. It kinda drew me to you. I wanted to understand it. And you gave me the weirdest look, too, when I stopped you. But once I got you outside, away from all the bullshit, you loosened up just a bit and I realized I was talkin’ to this smart, well-rounded, thoughtful guy who was just a little lost in the weeds.

I know you didn’t really care about me like that. I was just some jumped-up weirdo who could give you mint weed at a sweet price. But I still liked you… I dunno… other people see you differently when they care a whole lot, don’t they? I guess they see things about you that others can’t, or they know exactly what you could be when others don’t. They see stuff even you can’t see. It’s like a superpower, I think… my best superpower is probably makin’ girls giggle. I’ve got a lot of charm, wouldn’t you agree? Ha—anyway—stay safe on your trip, tell Her that I’ll miss her a lot, too—oh! Oh!

Fuck! That’s it. That little fucker is comin’ outside—he can’t resist his two am darts on the porch. God bless you, nicotine! Okay, uh, guess this is me hangin’ up on you. Later, Wonwoo!”

At that point, everything Wonwoo needed was packed. But he’d taken the additional time to complete Vernon’s voicemail, now sitting on the edge of his bed while staring out into the early, glimmering rain shower and the water droplets collecting against his window.

Then, Wonwoo glanced down at the laptop he had open.

He hadn’t written in… months. Not even months—it had been over a year since Wonwoo wrote. And, somehow, it felt good not to write.

It felt necessary to step away from the craft.

Besides, writing would always be there. Just because he hadn’t filled up a document on his computer with harmoniously arranged words, or penned anything down in the journal he used to scribble poetry in, that didn’t make him not a writer. In fact, it could be crucial to know when to step away from something—when to let go of an invisible weight keeping one from progressing. While he hadn’t thought about it in months, it floated to the surface of his mind that there may be something he should let go.

The unfinished book. 01.

Wonwoo deleted it. Simple as that.

Shoving the laptop into his shoulder-sling bag, Wonwoo made sure to knab his journal from the nightstand before he left, just in case anything did excite him with a crack of inspiration as he embarked on his newest chapter with you at his side. Rolling his suitcase hurriedly behind him, Wonwoo rushed out onto the street, feeling the rain graze his hair and skin, while you were leaned against the cab, arms folded and teeth anxiously raking over your bottom lip.

He peppered the cab driver in apologies while he helped shove the suitcase into the trunk.

“Liar—” you grumbled after sliding into the cab, undoing the buttons on your coat, “—you said one minute, not one lifetime.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo laughed, removing his glasses to rub off the mist and dew, “but that voice mail from Vernon distracted me.”

“Let me do it,” you said, taking his glasses with a sigh, “we should be fine. I know we’ll make it on time… I guess I’m just on edge.”

He watched you massage at the lenses gently with a sleeve. The driver climbed back into the cab, now pulling away from the pottery shop and driving toward the beam of light that sliced through the dense clouds, like the sun was handling a giant blade.

“Everything’s gonna work out, I promise… and I already told you that we’ll be staying with Bohyuk first, right? Him and Nari?”

Handing the glasses back to Wonwoo, you nodded.

“Yeah… god—I hope he likes me.”

“Oh, he will. You guys are pretty similar, actually.”

The look you gave him warbled slightly.

“What if that’s a bad thing? Every time you tell me a story about your brother, it usually involves you loathing him for something.”

“Those stories took place years ago.”

“But the feelings are still there, aren’t they?”

Wonwoo settled his hand over top yours, giving your fingers a soothing squeeze. He knew you wanted to make the perfect first impression. After all, first impressions were not something that could be easily taken back or erased, unless the people you were meeting were quite forgiving. And Bohyuk was fortunately the forgiving type.

It was only time that Wonwoo exercise the quality as well.

Leaning in close to your face, Wonwoo gazed into your eyes, watching their frantic nature become still like the surface of a calm pond.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, alright?” He murmured.

Huffing out an intense, long breath, you nodded.

“Alright… can I have a kiss, please?”

Lifting his hand to graze against the side of your cheek, he paused to admire your beauty for a moment, only to properly cup your face and push his lips to yours—which tasted sweet and balmy—before feeling you push back firm. He proceeded to give you another soft kiss for good measure, one that cured you to smile all fluttery and coy against his mouth until he was inevitably smiling, too.

In fact, Wonwoo only ever found himself smiling that hard when he was with you.

—END.

heyyyy :] ramble incoming...

first and foremost, ABOVE ALL ELSE, i just want to say thank you! i know this was a very, very long fic for me to be uploading on tumblr. this site is not the most fanfic friendly (or creation friendly for that matter) so stomaching the fact that this needed to be split up into so many parts was like a dagger to the heart! for those who decided to buckle up and lock into this journey, i honestly thank you so much <3 life was not always kind in the process of writing this (hence the fact it took me 2 years, plus some extra) but i was so dedicated to seeing this story through! a lot of the frustration i was feeling toward myself was funnelled into wonwoo's character, so this is quite personal :3

nonetheless, i hope there's something, even a single thing, someone else can take away from the story as well! both wonwoo and her as characters introduce their own unique themes--wonwoo (at the core) is more so about learning to let go in order to progress, whereas her is about using creative tools to help guide the search for identity. i think that writing has helped me learn a lot about myself (even uncomfy, icky things) so i wanted that to be represented through her.

of course, these are not the only things they stand for! but these are the elements i based their characters on, to which other concepts sprouted from. i also loved the idea of pairing someone as lost and misguided and emotionally stunted as wonwoo with this girl who seems so bossy and firm. at first he doesn't like it, but that was really what he needed to accept some of the flaws holding him back. idk if you're familiar with the EXCUSE ME! HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES! meme but that's what comes to mind when i think of them xD

additionally: special shout out to vernon. he became a much bigger part of this story than i originally intended. he is in some ways wonwoo's foil. vernon knows he's flawed but that's sorta his strength and what makes him genuine. he witnesses wonwoo's entire journey, so at times he also feels like our role, the "reader" and gives wonwoo some wisdomy parting words without rly knowing it (but that's part of his charm <3 i don't want vernon's emotional intelligence to be underrated, which is also an ode to the conversation wonu & her have back in the museum. wonwoo knows there are different types of intelligence and emotionally he is lackinggg).

also small s/o to seokmin. SORRY! HAD TO DO IT!

this has been my slowest slowburn! i wasn't sure how late they were going to kiss. but i didn't want to force anything. i wanted to add the moment when i felt it was surely right! also, if you haven't yet listened to the playlist and you're curious, i recommend listening to the very last song, writer, by ellie goulding. i've been listening to that song for many years, and one day it hit me how coincidentally her lyrics overlap with some of the fic's storyline!

i think it adds a nice final touch <3

LASTLY!

upon contemplation, i will be uploading this fic to ao3 in the same chaptered format it's been posted here! i realize the convenience to bookmarking on that site (and it also doesn't give people's phones a heart attack when trying to read something lengthy) so i hope that appeases some of you who wish to reread with more leisure! i'll be under the username @/uglypluto!

i'll upload the final chapter (this chapter) to ao3 probably between late sunday & early monday.

THANK YOU x100! 💕

[magpiepills]

Doin’ Time

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Corrections Officer Joel Miller x f inmate reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: you’re a client of the criminal justice system and you have a run in with CO Miller

Warnings: SMUT! PWP, Dub Con, hand cuffs, unethical pairing, PIV, rough oral, masturbation, dirty talk, night stick, kinda mean Joel, stuff like that. It’s prison sex. Don’t read this if anything about it may be triggering to you. Barely edited, not beta’d.

A word from the author: ACAB. Cops are class traitors and policing is inherently racist. Still gonna write prison smut though.

“Inmate 4-2-0-6-9! Against the wall!” He bellowed across the yard where you sat with a few of the girls from your block. You rolled your eyes with a groan and slowly stood, dragging your feet across the yard to where he stood, arms crossed and face hard. Last thing you needed was to get maced.

C.O. Miller was the most senior guard, which wasn’t saying much considering the revolving door of the run-down prison where you were remanded for the next 32 months. Nevertheless, he was basically in charge of the way things worked in your block. He had a big, jangling key ring on his thick, black belt and you could hear him before you saw him coming. This was a blessing and a curse. It gave you time to hide your cell phone, but after four months in cell block D, the sound of his keys also created something of a Pavlovian response.

“Tits on the wall and hands behind your back,” he barked at you. “And feet apart. Come on sweetheart. I know you know how to spread those legs.”

He was behind you now, big palm pressing you roughly against the brick wall that surrounded the yard. You didn’t speak. You let your hips do the talking, tilting forward to arch your back while he patted you down, running his night stick up the inside of one leg and down the other, with a stop in between to prod at the apex of your thighs. He stood close behind you, sliding his hands greedily around your waist.

“Got anything in here I need to know about?” He breathed into your ear as he slid his hands up under your beige top. He palmed your tits from behind and rolled his hips against your ass so you could feel his straining erection.

He pinched your nipples and dragged his nose against the side of your neck before stepping back.

“No bra. That’s a dress code violation.”

You couldn’t stop the smirk on your face when he pulled your hands behind you, snapping on handcuffs and letting you stroke his cock over his uniform pants.

He pulled you away from the wall and directed you back into the building, away from the prying eyes of the other girls who got to enjoy the rest of their time in the sunshine.

Miller nodded at a few other guards as you passed, and you winked at your friends in their cells and exaggerated your strut as they whistled and whooped when they saw who was walking you to ad-seg. It earned you a rough shake. “Knock it off.” He ordered. He’s no fun.

By the time you got to the heavy, windowless door leading to the familiar, bare cell known as “the hole” your pussy was slick and throbbing in anticipation.

He unlocked the door, took off the cuffs, and shoved you inside, leaving you alone in the stuffy six by nine room. You could hear the lock being turned, and footsteps receding. You waited and listened, still soaking your standard issue pants with your wet pussy.

You got tired of waiting. He hadn’t told you how long you were going to be in here, so you laid on the thin mattress on the floor and slipped your hand under your waistband. It was really the only reasonable way to pass the time when you were sent to the hole.

You stroked over your lips, feeling the mess you made, dipping your middle finger to collect more. You circled your clit, in no hurry because you had nothing but time. You thought of Crissy, your cellmate with the great tits. You thought of your last boyfriend, who could make you come like magic but who had probably narc’d on you. You thought of C.O. Miller. You thought of that night stick of his. You even thought of Tim.

Before you could get yourself off, the lock disengaged and the door creaked open once more. CO Miller stood in the doorway, taking up the whole of it with his imposing body and his serious face.

“You’re just in time,” you cooed teasingly.

“Shut up. Hands behind your back. Turn around,” his voice is low and gruff, and if he wasn’t hard as a rock you might think he was actually mad. He cuffed you again and shoved you against the cold concrete wall of your cell. He kissed your neck, the tenderness a stark contrast to the rough way he was treating you. He crowds you against the wall, covering your body with his. “You know I could write you a shot for rubbin’ one out in here. Got the whole room smellin’ like pussy.” His voice is husky and low. He’s teasing, you think. Masturbating isn’t really an infraction is it? You don’t have time to ask. His hand is shoved down the back of your baggy pants and into your soaked, prison-issue cotton underwear.

You wished you had some of your own panties to wear for him. You wish he could see you like you are when you’re not in this place. His eyes might bug out if he saw your sundresses and your lacy panties. Your strappy sandals, your makeup, your manicures. He doesn’t see it though. He sees a criminal. He sees someone he can take from. And you see someone who can make your stay a little more comfortable if you play it right.

You tilt your hips, rubbing your pussy against his thick fingers, and for a moment he lets you, humming into your hair. “Desperate little pussy. What’s the matter? None of the other girls eat pussy? You need it so bad you’ll let me at it?” You whine at the question, the vulgarity. The other girls do eat pussy. Some are really good at it, too. But as awful as Miller is, you just want him. He’s big and rugged and he’d be exactly your type outside of prison. You like your men a little older- greying, laugh lines, softer bellies, but still strong. He’s so handsome. His eyes are so dark, his lips are so soft looking, he’s got a nose with the most beautiful gentle curve. He has the sort of looks that belong in movies, not going to waste in a women’s prison.

He presses firmly against your wet lips with his whole hand, covering his palm and fingers in your wetness before shoving two fingers in without warning. It makes you gasp, makes you buck against him, seeking more. He flexes his wrist, fucking you on his fingers. It’s not enough, you can’t come like this, but the feeling of being stretched is incredible. “More,” you whine, “more please.”

“Yeah? You need more? Two big fingers ain’t enough?” You shake your head shyly, unable to look at his face, still unsure of the dynamic. You hear the rustle of his belt, of leather against fabric, your mouth waters and your cunt clenches. You know he’s big. The way he walks, the way he talks, the look in his eyes, they tell you he’s hung even if you hadn’t felt for yourself.

Your pants are pulled down to your ankles, along with your underwear. You can feel your slick smear down your thighs. You don’t dare speak, you just arch your back, ready to take him, ravenous for his cock. his warm hand pressed into your back, your chest against the wall again, and you stifle a whimper but what you feel prodding against your weeping entrance isn’t the fat, hot cock head you had hoped for. It was cold and hard and heavy, you recognized it immediately.

CO Miller slid the tip of it over your wet pussy lips, twisting it to coat the surface in shiny wetness, smirking when you tried to grind down onto it. Without warning or sentiment, Joel nudged his night stick inside you. It seemed made for the purpose, rounded at the end, phallic. You wondered how many women he’d fucked with it. It gave you a fucked up thrill. You rolled your hips, taking it deeper. “Yeah. Look at you. Fucking a night stick. Been without dick too long, huh?”

You nodded pathetically and looked at him from the corner of your eye, his eyes were dark and his hand was inside his unfastened pants, stroking himself slowly. He matched the tempo of his fist to the thrust of his night stick inside you. You moaned for him, you saw him snarl as he watched with narrowed eyes as his weapon slid in and out, coved in your slick. He moved it slowly, watching the way your delicate skin stretched around it.

And then it was gone. Pulled free and discarded, clattering on the floor. In an instant his cock was out and hanging between you, thick, throbbing, precum leaking from the blunt head. It was better than you imagined, and you’d imagined it a lot. He spun you around and shoved you down to your knees. You nearly lost your balance, unable to steady yourself with your hands behind your back. He caught your shoulder and steadied you, petting your hair and letting his hands roam over your cheeks and down your neck, thumb brushing over your lips.

“Open up. Wide. Come on.”

You relaxed your jaw as best you could and stuck out your tongue to lick at the tip of his cock. His precum was salty and warm on your tongue. He let you taste him, licking around his thick head messily, teasing for as long as he would let you. It wasn’t long. He held your head and guided himself inside, slow and steady until he got to the back of your throat, and then just a bit further before backing out. You focused on breathing, in and out through your nose when it wasn’t pressed into the rough hair above his cock. Above you he moaned. A deep, warbling sound of pleasure that made you gush.

You turned your eyes up to try to meet his, but they were shut tight. His head lolled back and forth as he fucked your face. His movements became shorter and rougher, your mouth watered, ready to swallow his load, to prove your value to him, to earn his favor. And if you got off on it too, well, all the better.

There was no chance. Instead of coming down your throat, he pulled out suddenly, smearing drool onto your cheek. “Lay down. There, on the mattress.”

You moved awkwardly with your hands behind your back and your ankles basically manacled in your pants. You walked on your knees and laid on your back, legs together in a futile attempt at modesty. Of course it didn’t matter, he was already there, pushing them apart, spreading them wide and taking a gluttonously long look at your wet sex. You throbbed so hard you thought he could surely see.

“Jesus Christ. Look at that. You always get this wet from sucking dick? You’re dripping all over the place.”

He pulled one bare foot and then the other from your pants, and pumped his cock in his thick fist while he taunted you, spitting into his hand for one last stroke before lining himself up with your begging hole.

“Just yours,” you lied, fawning over him until he chased the air out of you with the heft of his cock. Even when he stretched you beforehand, he was tremendous. He didn’t wait for you to adjust, or to compliment him any more. He bore into you with his weight and strength, driving you into the floor. The world went fuzzy and dim, his deep voice keeping you afloat.

“Little prison pussy can’t handle some dick? Huh? Get a little cock in ya and you can’t think straight any more?”

Miller held your face in one hand, squeezing your cheeks together until your lips parted. He kissed your chin, biting it without conviction, and spat onto your tongue before kissing you, all messy, his tongue tasting yours. You pant and moan for him, trying hard to lift your hips for more even as he pounded into you.

When you wrapped your legs around his waist he sat up, as if suddenly aware that what he’s doing is wrong.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, and repositioned you.

Miller turned you half onto your side and pushed back into you. He held your still handcuffed wrists in one hand and squeezed the soft fat of your ass in the other while using your body,

“Fuck me, that’s a tight little pussy,” he gritted out, straddling your right thigh while the other was pushed up. He used you like a toy. He pushed and pulled you as he pleased. Your orgasm built slowly without any direct touch on your clit, throbbing and firm, all but forgotten by the man who filled your cunt completely.

Joel loved watching the shiny wet slide of his cock in and out of your pussy. Your body gripped and pulled him, soaked him and squeezed him just right. His eyes flitted from where he drove into you to your tits, bouncing with each thrust and then back.

Your release was like a ripple spreading outward from your center. It pulsed and took control of your body. Your eyes lost focus, your back arched, and you clenched hard on CO Miller’s cock.

His orgasm hit him hard and fast, like a lightning bolt through his body. The rhythmic beat of your impossibly tight pussy pulled it from him. There was barely time for him to pull out and rut his hot, wet cock against your ass, spilling his cum over your body.

He was finished with you. He wiped his cum from you body with a handkerchief. He was gentle, but sure not to leave a trace behind. He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and took a long last look at your slick, used sex before standing you up to right your pants.

You watched him as he went through these motions, devoid of sentiment or warmth.

“Well, Miller? Do I get off for good behavior?”

It earned you a crooked half smile that flashed across this scruffy face before disappearing again.

“You get a shower.”

It wasn’t your usual shower time but you didn’t protest. You didn’t ask if you’d still get your shower tomorrow. Just walked obediently in front of him, still floaty from your release. He took you back down an empty corridor, past disused units, what used to be a library, to a shower room that was normally off limits, used by the guards as a sort of hangout, a break room separate from the main break room.

There, waiting with knees spread wide, and an eager smile, was CO Morales.

“Morales is gonna help ya with that shower. Don’t give him any trouble, or I’ll hear about it.”

Your mouth dropped as the younger man came to stand in front of you, taking your arm and pulling you closer to him.

“Broke her in for you,” CO Miller patted your ass as he addressed the new officer. The clear implication sent a fresh trickle of wetness from your slit.

“And next time,” he warned, “put on your bra. Won’t be so nice next time.”

[mionemymind]

Give Me Another Chance

Summary: The five times Y/n asks Wanda to give her another chance and the one time Wanda says yes.

Warnings: Angst, No Happy Ending, Dying, No Part Two?

A/n: Was heavily inspired to write this angst after reading Marry Me by @just-aake Theirs had a happy ending to it so I highly suggest reading their lovely work.

Word Count: 1.6k

Masterlist

“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n pleaded as the two walked through the compound late for their meeting. It was 8:30 am. The group was instructed to arrive for the mission briefing at 8:15 am. Wanda barely had time to brush her teeth before she ran out of her room and immediately bumped into the last person she wanted to speak to, her ex. 

“Shut it, Y/n.” Y/n sighed as she kept her mouth shut. The headache coming from drinking too much poured into her head like a tsunami. “I blame you if we get the short end of this mission.” Before Y/n could respond, the two finally arrived at the conference room.

“You’re late.” Steve deadpanned. “We-” 

“No excuses Y/n, you and Wanda are on backup duty. Stay in the quinjet until asked.” Wanda groveled silently as she was handed the mission file by Natasha. Y/n stood behind Bucky and peered over his notes. 

“This was going to be a long day,” Y/n thought. 

“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n begged through the phone. She was walking through the bustling streets of downtown New York to find Wanda. The girl had mysteriously gone out for the night and decided to tell no one about her location. This was nothing new to the team, even Natasha knew it was something that Wanda did to feel better about herself after their breakup.

But tonight felt different to Y/n. It was already past midnight and Wanda hadn’t come back home. Y/n called again only for the phone to go straight to voicemail for the 10th time tonight. “Watch where you’re going asshole!” 

“Sorry,” Y/n mouthed as she walked away. Realistically, Y/n knew that Wanda could handle herself even if she was impaired, her magic subconsciously protected her in situations like this. But the worry that pitted her stomach told her otherwise. 

“Where could you be?” Y/n thought out loud. Looking around the surrounding buildings, Y/n’s eyes settled on the Chrysler building. Like a light bulb, a switch flipped in her head. Running to the nearest empty alleyway, Y/n called for her suit and flew to the top of the building. 

In all her glory there was Wanda lying on the edge of the Chrysler building. Her cheeks were flushed as she held the near empty bottle on her stomach. The remainder of the six-pack lay waste on the floor. Wanda didn’t know how much time had passed since she started drinking. The near numbness in her lips indicated that it had been a while. 

Y/n landed with a soft thud, not wanting to scare Wanda off.  She checked her watch and it was already 2:00 am, a new record for Wanda. Leaving her suit behind, Y/n walked slowly to Wanda. Once she was within arm's reach, Y/n securely held her by the waist. 

“What are you doing here?” Wanda didn’t have to turn her head to know who it was. The feeling of sensing Y/n was something she used to enjoy. Now it was just a constant reminder of their failed relationship. 

“I’m here to take you home. It’s late Wanda.” Wanda sighed as she let Y/n gently grab the bottle from her hand. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You’re drunk Wanda.” 

“And you’re the asshole that left me.” Y/n ignored the insult thrown her way and picked Wanda up bridal style. “You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out here.” Y/n looked down at Wanda when she didn’t respond back. The brunette was already deep asleep as she nuzzled her head into Y/n’s chest. 

When Wanda woke up the next day, she refused to ask who took her home. Not when her thoughts already lingered about Y/n. 

“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n whispered as she held Wanda’s hand. The brunette was dressed in an all-black skin-tight dress with high heels. She even put make-up on to feel better for the occasion. 

“You don’t deserve me.” Wanda walked away from Y/n and to the open elevator. Their eyes met again as the doors closed. Once she was fully out of sight, Wanda let a tear fall. “Why must you make it so hard for me to move on?” 

“Give me another chance-”

“Are you serious right now?” Wanda was in disbelief. “You. Fucked. Up.” She poked at Y/n’s chest. “Not me. And now you want me to seriously give you another chance?

“I understand that I fucked up-”

“No! You don’t! You broke up with me and left me to sort things out by myself. And cowardly enough, you went on a mission just to avoid talking to me.”

“Let me explain-”

“Explain? What is there to explain? I’ve begged and begged so many times before for you to tell me the truth. Each time you would shut me out and disappear. You never had the decency to tell me anything. But now when it’s convenient for you, I suddenly am the bad guy for not hearing you out. “

Wanda shoved Y/n out of her room. “All you did was make me wonder why I ever deserved that type of treatment when all I ever did was love you.”

“I’m sorry I keep messing things up,” Y/n groaned. The bruises on her chest made it hard to breathe or maybe it was the blood she could taste in her mouth. Regardless, everything hurts. “I wasn’t really thinking when I broke up with you back then.” 

Wanda ignored the burning feeling in her chest as she continued to rip apart the indestructible chair Y/n was cuffed to. “Are you serious right now? Y/n please use your fucking smart brain and help me get you out.” 

Wanda concentrated back on her powers to try and rip apart one of the steel cuffs. When the cuff didn’t give, Wanda stopped in frustration. “Why isn’t this working?” 

“‘Cause they knew you would be the one to get me.” Wanda furrowed her brows, not understanding who “they” was. “What are you talking about?” 

A loud pitch echoed through the chambers as the intercom turned on. “Countdown commences. Ten minutes till detonation.” The large screen behind Wanda flickered as the countdown was displayed in bright red. 

“Tony! I need you to locate the bomb. Y/n is stuck in this chair and I can’t get her out of it.” Wanda looked around the room once more but the lack of controls and buttons made it feel useless. 

Wanda hurried back to Y/n at the sound of her coughing up more blood. “What did they do to you dekta?” Y/n tried her best to grin, not wanting to show Wanda how much pain she was in. 

“You’ve done worse to me in training,” Y/n joked but none of it sat right with Wanda’s conscience. Using her shirt, Wanda wiped part of the blood that came out. She used her free hand to locate the source of the bleeding. 

“Wanda,” her green eyes focused on the brown eyes she loved. “I think I’m dying.” 

“Shh shh - don’t talk like that dekta.” Wanda located a small tear inside Y/n’s organs and used her magic to pause the bleeding. “We’re gonna get you out of here.” 

“I’m sorry for all the times I’ve failed you.” 

“What-”

“And I’m sorry for leaving you.” 

“Now is not the time-” 

“We’re out of time my love.” Y/n glanced to the screen in front of them. Only five minutes left before it detonated. 

“Any updates Tony?! We have five minutes left!” Wanda yelled. 

“I’m trying my best here. We’re swarmed!”

“Wanda - I need you to listen-”

“No!” Wanda declared. She looked at Y/n with a deadly stare. “Stop acting like that - like this is our last chance.” Wanda refused to believe that the world would be cruel to let the love of her life slip past her. Not when they haven’t sorted everything out. Not when things are still bad. 

“I love you,” Y/n whispered with a tired smile. Wanda could feel Y/n’s energy draining by the second. The longer she went without medical attention, the slimmer her chances of survival grew. She gripped on Y/n’s shirt, trying her best to keep her cries at bay. 

“Don’t-” Wanda sobbed as tears fell down her face. “This isn’t how I wanted you to confess. I deserve a confession where dying isn’t involved.” 

“One minute remaining,” the announcement said. Y/n’s eyes started to droop. Her consciousness was slipping by the second. Wanda cupped Y/n’s cheek and lightly tapped her face. 

“Wake up dekta.” Y/n slowly opened her eyes. “Ask me again.” 

“What?” 

“Tell me you want me back.” Wanda pressed her forehead against Y/n’s. “Tell me to give you another chance and I will. I’ll give you all the chances in the world so just ask me.” 

“Wanda…will you give me another chance my love?”

0:00

The world slowed down as the bomb deep under the building blew up. Wanda could feel the blast reaching to them as she created a magic barrier that surrounded her and Y/n. And as it continued to explode around them, Wanda leaned in and kissed Y/n hoping that the last thing the dying girl felt was her love. 

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[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: i don’t think so

TWITTER.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by carlossainz55, badgirlriri, and 739,017 others

yourusername don’t leave me alone

view all 562,937 comments

danielricciardo 🥺

user they seem so happy awh

⤷ user she’s probably just using him as a rebound on her ex, he deserves better

⤷ user girl stfu he’s not going to marry you

madelineargy you’re glowing 😍😍😍😍

user when did this happen???

landonorris the last picture is uncalled for

charles_leclerc 😘

INSTAGRAM.

liked by pierregasly, danielricciardo, and 871,305 more

charles_leclerc heaven sent

view all 328,592 comments

scuderiaferrari our favs 🫶

yourusername why are you outing me as a fangirl 😭

⤷ charles_leclerc honey, you do that yourself

user he called her honey im—

carlossainz55 bring her to the paddock this weekend!!

⤷ yourusername already coming! can’t wait to see my favourite ferrari boy 😩

⤷ charles_leclerc rude

the last comment makes you smile, one last look to the picture of charles on the screen (one you had taken) before you lock your phone, tucking it into the bag on your shoulder. it had been a magical few weeks — that time in a relationship that felt like you were floating, on top of the world. despite all of the comments online, criticism of die hard formula one fans, nothing could touch the pair of you. charles leclerc had swept you off of your feet, and there was nothing you could have done to stop it.

there was a party being thrown that night, one for all of the drivers, a small opportunity to relax after weeks and weeks of racing. lewis had sent you the location, some big nightclub in barcelona that the fia had rented out. full of celebrities, some you knew, some you didn’t. but you knew the drivers, at least.

“y/n!” lando slurs out, stumbling into your view as soon as you’d stepped inside the loud, dark room. the music was pumping, vibrating through your entire body and shaking your chest. you grinned at the young english driver’s evident drunkenness, many drinks ahead of you. “so glad you made it!”

“hi, lando,” you chuckle, patting his damp shoulder. he takes your hand, murmuring something about how nice your dress looked, before dragging you to the area that the driver’s had made themselves comfortable. each and every one of them greeted you kindly, hugging you and kissing your cheek. lewis slung an arm across your shoulder, pulling you into a photo without warning.

“hey! she was my best friend before she was charles’ girlfriend — back off.”

a smile tugs at your lips, fondly leaning into lewis’ grip. as they continue drinking, you make yourself comfortable with the other girlfriends, each of who had taken you under their wing.

“hey, have you seen charles?” you lean across to talk right in lily’s ear, the only way she’d have heard you. her eyes dart around, trying to place the monegasque boy amongst the crowds. she shakes her head, mirroring your previous position.

“last i saw him, he was going to get drinks.”

you send her a grateful smile, getting up to look over to where the bar was. you wanted to see him, desperately. to kiss him again, to have him hold you too close as you dance. as much as you loved lewis and the others, charles was the reason you were here.

excitement danced in your eyes, lovesick as you searched for the boy you’d committed to memory. you find him, right at the side of the bar, waiting for a drink. you push past someone to get closer, widening your view of him. your view of him and another: a brunette girl. she’s got her hand in his hair, her lips dancing near his ear. he laughs at whatever she says, handing her a glass of something.

your heart drops. right from your chest to the floor below you, and even though you haven’t had a drop to drink you swear you could throw up right there. he knew you were coming, didn’t he? either way, he didn’t seem to care. preoccupied with another, too cosy and too close, you want to laugh. how could you have been so stupid?

after minutes of being frozen to the same spot, shaken awake by the salt water that drips down your cheeks. fight or flight kicks in, six inch heels wobbling as you hurry backwards, pushing through everyone once again. tunnel vision to the exit, shoulder crashing roughly with another. a hard grip turns you to look at them, the silhouette of lewis blurred from your teary eyes.

“y/n, what—”

“i have to go. i’m sorry.”

TWITTER.

writer’s note: whoops sorry

[sanjoongie]

𝔽𝕖𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝔽𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕙 𝔽𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝟚𝟜

🥀These prompts are hosted by @thelargefrye and myself, masterlist can be seen here

🥀The following is a month full of Ateez smut. Minors, please do not interact. Various tropes and aus will be utilized as I see fit. This is both a challenge and treat for me as a writing, so I hope you can enjoy it with me!

🥀divider made by @cafekitsune on masterlist and all subsequent posts

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

🥀Day One: Deepthroating- Wooyoung

🥀Summary: when yunho leaves wooyoung to work on assembling the ship himself, you're left to relieve the stress wooyoung has built up

🥀Day Two: Cheating / Creampie- Jongho

🥀Summary: in which you're assigned the alias as Jongho's wife and he takes that pretty fucking seriously

🥀Day Three: Mirror Sex- Hongjoong

🥀Summary: When you chant Bloody Mary in the mirror to get a glimpse of your future husband, you see the Grim Reaper instead, but those aren't mutually exclusive

🥀Day Four: Public Sex- San

🥀Summary: When San comes to you, the local wise woman (read rumored witch), to get a bullet wound dressed, he's also looking to convince you to let him under your skirts, and your heart

🥀Day Five: Dacryphilia- Yunho

🥀Summary: you guide your golden retriever hybrid boyfriend through his first time and you discover you have an affinity for his pretty face when he cries

🥀Day Six: Auralism / Sensory Deprivation - Mingi

🥀Summary: one the full moon, you play a game of Find and Fuck, where you hunt down Mingi with only the sound of his noises as he masturbates

🥀Day Seven: Voyeurism- Seonghwa

🥀Summary: Seonghwa, in pursuit of knowing your body better for breeding techniques, asks if you could show him how you pleasure yourself. The alien soon learns he likes watching you, like all the aliens do

🥀Day Eight: Experimental / Nipple Play- Yeosang

🥀Summary: after an unfortunate accident with your shears, you visit the doctor, only to be surprised by his magic. fate throws you into a blind date with the doctor and then your curiosity gets the better of you when the blind date develops.

🥀Day Nine: Praise / Long Distance Sex- Yunho

🥀Summary: when Yunho calls you one day, drunk and missing you, you let him guide you through some stress releasing phone sex

🥀Day Ten: Hate Fucking - Yeosang

🥀Summary: when you claim that Yeosang was a man of no emotions and Yeosang demanded you prove yourself right, a passionate and hot sex session follows

🥀Day Eleven: Somnophilia- Mingi 

🥀Summary: you make an agreement with your incubus friend that he can feed on you, if only while you’re sleeping

🥀Day Twelve: Mommy Kink - Wooyoung

🥀Summary: wooyoung is just a loser guy in the 2000’s and you’re the hot 2000’s girl that’s considering letting him go down on you… at a cost, of course

🥀Day Thirteen: Uniform - Seonghwa

🥀Summary: When your first mate successfully enacts a mutiny, you’re left with one simple task… to be his cum bucket

🥀Day Fourteen: Threesome / Ritual - San/ Hongjoong

🥀Summary: when San and Hongjoong decide to join your valentine’s day ritual, you get the surprise of a lifetime: a threesome!

🥀Day Fifteen: Femdom / Degradation - Jongho

🥀Summary: as the advisor to a strong lord, and the true power behind the powerful man, you often put Jongho in his place. He adores it, including summoning a certain knight to help, among other degrading acts

🥀Day Sixteen: Cockwarming - Mingi

🥀Summary: when you crave some time with one of your busy boyfriends, the compromise turns out to be everything you need with an unexpected surprise

🥀Day Seventeen: Body Worship - San

🥀Summary: San shows that you deserve to be spoiled like the queen you are, and why exactly he was the one chosen to be your first consort

🥀Day Eighteen: Size Kink - Jongho 

🥀Summary: When a particular mission causes you to almost tip over the edge from hero to villain, Jongho is the soothing balm to take your stress away

🥀Day Nineteen: Masturbation / Edging - Yunho

🥀Summary: Yunho decides the best way to stop you from beating him in a race to create the best app in a technology contest is to distract you... with his body

🥀Day Twenty: Soft Dom-Sub / Roleplay - Wooyoung

🥀Summary: when you decide the healthy outlet to a rumored lifestyle with your younger lover is in fact to play out a scenario of a woman cheating on her husband with the pool boy

🥀Day Twenty-One: Aphrodisiacs / Overstim - Hongjoong

🥀Summary: Hongjoong accidentally scratches you with his poisonous tail, and the results because of your mating and Seonghwa’s genetically-spiced saliva, are pleasurable for the both of you

🥀Day Twenty-Two: Double Penetration - Seonghwa/Yeosang

🥀Summary: Yeosang is in love with his best friend AND his best friend’s girlfriend. What he doesn’t know is you have a grand Master plan to bring you all together

🥀Day Twenty-Three: Breeding Kink - Wooyoung

🥀Summary: when you took Wooyoung in as a stray hybrid, you didn’t think about triggering his rut

🥀Day Twenty-Four: Pegging / Feminization - Mingi

🥀Summary: Mingi got all dressed up for you to fuck him with your strap-on

🥀Day Twenty-Five: Free Use / Spit Play - San/Seonghwa

🥀Summary: a new club is opened in the Choi’s territory, your newly required husbands, in your honor and you arrive with Seonghwa and San in order to christen it properly

🥀Day Twenty-Six: Tentacle sex - Yunho

🥀Summary: an incubus thinks you’re a tasty witch snack as a widow, and it’s about to turn your day around

🥀Day Twenty-Seven: Cuckolding - Yeosang/Jongho

🥀Summary: not every couple purchases an android just for the purpose of cuckolding your husband, but it was well worth it’s weight in crypto credits

🥀Day Twenty-Eight: Predator-Prey / Strength Kink - Hongjoong

🥀Summary: when you and your gaming friend learn about a glitch in one of your favorite games, you exploit it on an erotic level

🥀Day Twenty-Nine: Gangbang - ot8

🥀Summary: as the office pet, your duties after hours are completely different

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Cravings

Summary: Spencer admires Reader while pregnant and in the depths of her cravings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warnings: Pregnancy, eating

Word count: 848

Spencer can’t pinpoint when he’s loved you the most. Hearing you groggy over the phone when he was on the jet heading home would’ve been the obvious moment, considering he blurted the three special words out in the middle of you talking about your upcoming work day. You and the team, who also witnessed it, were stunned into silence. But he still spoke to you after, whispering like he was alone the entire time.

Your wedding day would be another appropriate answer. He didn’t tear up as any groom would. No, he cried. His tears collected at the brim but took time to overflow, blurring his view of you gliding down the aisle with thoroughly-planned elegance. He had to block them to gather himself, as one would shield themselves from the sun.

But this moment tugs at his heart: when he opens the front door with the classic, “Honey, I’m home,” and you emerge from the bedroom with a swollen belly hidden under an old sweatshirt. The joy on your face is a moment he won’t forget. Granted, a portion of said joy might be thanks to the greasy bag and styrofoam cup he’s clutching desperately in one hand. Nevertheless, he savors the look and the feeling that must have felt similar to men who graced their families with bountiful hunting results.

Except in this case, the “bountiful hunting results” are chicken tenders with fries, extra honey mustard, and a large hot fudge sundae from your favorite restaurant that happens to be in the middle of nowhere and roughly 30 minutes away. But cravings are cravings, and they’ve been relentless throughout the second trimester. He’ll scope out the specific restaurants, local or corporate, if it makes you happy and appeases the baby girl (hopefully) inside you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” A kiss on the cheek sufficed as you waddled toward the kitchen. You put the sundae in the freezer for now and barely waste time getting a plate and napkins, but it’s less to clean up. And less for Spencer to double-clean later.

Before you sit down, Spencer takes the plate from you, and he swears for a minute he saw motherly instincts kick in.

“You don’t have to eat at the table," he says. “Come on,” he tilts his head toward the couch as he walks, the obvious not mentioned.

“We don’t eat on the couch.” You reply.

He’s still walking.

“You don’t like it. Crumbs, lingering nastiness, and other science-y terms you’ve used.”

He puts the plate on the coffee table. “I’m willing to make exceptions. Plus, with a baby, mess is inevitable.” He leans down, revealing the breakfast tray he bought. You clearly never saw it before. Because the way your open mouth morphed into a smile, he would've thought he unintentionally did magic. He pulled out the small legs. “I figured it’s best to adjust slowly while I still can.”

You walk toward him, your hands resting on your belly. “But this is your couch.”

“In our apartment.” He takes a pillow and fluffs it, setting it against the arm. “Sit.”

You eventually comply. There’s still a look on your face, indicating second-guessing, like you’re somehow doing this without his knowledge. Meanwhile, the breakfast tray is in his hands, and he makes sure you’re settled. You lay across the couch.

Spencer puts down the tray, asking if you want a drink before devouring. You shake your head, eyes staring down at the fatty American dish in front of you. While you begin, he picks a vinyl from your shared collection. The one thing he won’t waver about is the classics.

As in classical music.

As in Mozart. Spencer has noticed your familiarity with the symphonies over the past six months. He loves it, regardless of whether it’s just because he’s insisted you listen to classical after you told him the news.

When the melody flows, Spencer finds a seat on the couch. You slide your feet toward you to make room. As soon as he sits down, he puts your legs in his lap, letting you stretch out again. His lips disappear into his mouth for a minute as he suppresses a giggle.

All the chicken was either swallowed or mush in your mouth and specks of salt littered your lips and hands along with honey mustard drippings. This. Spencer's in love again. As you suck the sauce off your own fingers like it’s the only sustenance you’ve had in days. The comfort he feels here, knowing the woman basically attacking her dinner will be the mother of his child. This is something even his three PhDs are unable to put into words.

“Do you want some help?” Spencer leans over, takes the napkins under the plate, and wipes the corners. You continue chewing, polite enough to keep your mouth closed and manage its volume. “There.” He puts the napkin down. And he looks at you, realizing just how much you've changed his life.

“What?” Your mouth is so full.

“Nothing.”

You swallow almost everything. “Something.”

He shrugs. “I just love you.”

[ornii]

“The Fun Way..” Part 2

Yelena Belova X Male Reader

One Year Later

Inside a cost New York apartment, Soft morning light spills through the windows, highlighting a space that feels lived-in—books scattered on the coffee table, a couple of framed photos on the mantle. Mostly stock photos, but one of a Newspaper Clip, the Avengers saving the day once more.

(Y/n) sits at the kitchen table, flipping through a newspaper. His hair is slightly disheveled, and he’s wearing a T-shirt. Across from him, Yelena leans on the counter, sipping coffee from a mug, also wearing a large T Shirt, proudly (Y/n)’s.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to live somewhere quieter?” Yelena asks, setting her mug down.

“Like where?” (Y/n) replies without looking up. “The suburbs? A farm? Guess we can try the countryside, if you like roosters screaming in your ears.

Yelena snorts. “I’m just saying, this city is loud. Too loud sometimes.”

“Yeah, but it’s home,” he says, finally glancing up. “And besides, you’d get bored. Can’t have assassination attempts or rooftop chases, no shady back alleys to storm through.“

Yelena smirks. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d start gardening. Grow some cucumbers or… whatever people plant in the suburbs.”

“Cucumbers? That’s the dream?” (Y/n) laughs, and raises an eyebrow, grinning.

“Don’t mock me,” she says, trying to sound serious, but the hint of a smile betrays her.

Suddenly, a high-pitched giggle echoes from another room. The sound is soft at first, then grows louder as it gets closer.

“Speaking of loud,” Yelena says with a sigh, setting her mug down.

The two place their items down and head into the other room. A nursery, and inside that beautiful pink nursery was a small child—a girl no older than one—She’s wearing a tiny onesie with a cartoon spider on it, her messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions.

The child stops, sits up, and looks at (Y/n) with a mischievous grin.

“Natasha,” Yelena says in a stern but affectionate tone, crossing her arms. “What are you doing?”

Little Nat babbles something incoherent and holds up a stuffed flaming skull toy, giggling about as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. (Y/n)crouches down, scoops the child into his arms, and spins her around dramatically. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Another troublemaker in the family?”

Nat squeals with delight, clutching her stuffed toy tightly.

Yelena rolls her eyes, though her smile softens. “You’re encouraging her.”

“Of course I am,” He says, grinning as he gently tosses Nat into the air and catches her. “She gets it from you anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Yelena says, mock offended.

“Don’t worry, we both still love you.” He says kissing Nat on the forehead before passing her to Yelena.

Yelena smiles as she holds her daughter, the tough, stoic exterior softening in a way that’s rarely seen. She looks down at Nat, her eyes filled with a quiet, protective love.

“Yeah,” she says softly, almost to herself. “I do.” She says, (Y/n) smiles and hugged them both softly. “So, you want your breakfast wrap right?” He walks to the bedroom to get dressed. Yelena follows. “Of course, with—“

“Hot sauce. I know.” He says, he gives her a peck on the cheek before heading out. Unfortunately, he never got that Breakfast wrap.

(Y/n) was tied to a chair in the back of a dingy warehouse in Hells Kitchen, surrounded by six burly men who clearly watched too many gangster movies. The leader, a wiry man with slicked-back hair and a gold chain, paced in front of him, waving a crowbar like it was a magic wand.

“You think we couldn’t tell we had a tail? Everyone knows about SHIELD” the man sneered. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

(Y/n), completely unfazed, he said nothing, keeping his eyes locked on the man as he scanned the area. Before the Leader can swing, his phone rang, inside (Y/n)’s Jacket.

The goon closest to him fished it out, squinting at the screen. “It says… ‘Lena’ with a heart emoji.

“Uh, yeah, you don’t want to answer that.” (Y/n) said.

The leader snatched the phone. “Oh, I think I do. Let’s see how your little girlfriend reacts when she hears you screaming for mercy.” He hit the green button.

“(Y/n),” came Yelena’s voice, calm and direct, “where are you?”

The leader held the phone up to his mouth, adopting a deep, threatening tone. “Listen here, lady—”

Yelena interrupted, her tone sharp enough to cut steel. “You’re in a warehouse on 52nd and Tenth. There are six of you—and my husband is tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Yes?”

The room fell silent. The leader froze, glancing nervously at the man with the crowbar, who was indeed looking a little pale.

“How—how did she—” one of the goons stammered.

Yelena’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Put me on speaker.” The leader fumbled with the phone and set it on a crate. “Uh… okay, you’re on speaker.”

“(Y/n),” Yelena said, her tone now casual, almost bored, “do I wash the big gray blanket in hot or cold water?”

(Y/n), still tied to the chair, rolls his eyes. “Cold.”

“Why cold?”

“Warm shrinks the blanket.” (Y/n) explained, Thete was silence from Yelena as Natasha coo’s over the phone.

“Hmm. Good to know.” There was a pause, and then her voice took on a more menacing edge. “Now, to the idiots holding my husband: You have exactly ten seconds to untie him and walk out of there before I show up and demonstrate why that was a very bad decision.”

The goons exchanged panicked looks. One of them started untying him immediately.

“Seven seconds,” Yelena said.

“Hold on, lady, we’re—” the leader stammered, backing toward the door.

“Three seconds.”

(Y/n) stood up, dusting himself off as the ropes fell away. “You guys should listen to her. She’s not big on idle threats.”

Before the countdown could reach zero, the entire gang bolted, leaving the warehouse door swinging open behind them.

(Y/n) picked up his phone. “You didn’t even give them the full ten seconds.”

“They didn’t deserve it,” Yelena replied coolly. “Are you coming home now?”

“Yeah, I’ll swing by the store on the way. I promise to get the breakfast wrap.”

“Try not to get abducted this time, khorosho? (Okay?)”

“Yeah, love you.” He smiled as he stepped out of the Warehouse, and Yelena, hiding a smile nods. “Love you too.”

[imtryingbuck]

Green paint

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Summary: babysitting Morgan with Steve gets a little bit out of control.

Word count: 1,637

Warnings: fluff

Masterlist

“The number for the hotel is this one, the number for the restaurant we’ll be at is here, and this is her physicians numb- Y/n are you even listening?” Pepper asks as she notices you staring off.

“Yeah you said the number for hotel, restaurant and the morgue is on this nice fancy piece of paper”.

“You’re hilarious you know?”

“I know, look Pep it’s not the first time I’ve had the pleasure of babysitting Carly so don’t worry”

“Who the hell is Carly?” Tony asks as he walks in with your boyfriend, Steve.

“Umm your daughter, Pep sorry to tell you this but your husbands losing his mind”

“Doll stop winding them up” Steve chuckles coming over to you.

“I can’t help it, anyways I say this in the most nicest way possible but you two leave, eat food that cost way more than my apartment and top it off by having mind blowing s-“

“Alright alright we’re leaving Jesus Christ” Pepper practically shouts.

Tony hands Pepper her coat and purse as he calls for Morgan to come and say goodbye.

“Be good and we love you” Pepper says kissing her daughters cheek.

“Who me or auntie Y/n?” Morgan asks with her eyebrow slightly raised.

“Both.” Tony laughs.

The moment the door closes Morgan grips your hand in hers and drags you to her play room, talking a mile a minute.

“-then we’ll play dress up and then we’ll play with my dolls and-“ 

“Morg slow down sweetie” you say chuckling at the six year old.

“-and we’ll have nuggets and fries and…where’s uncle Stevie?”

“I’m here sweetheart, I was getting your juice for you”. He says and sure enough he had a juice box and a drink for the two of you.

“Thanks uncle Stevie”

“You’re welcome, so what’s the plan tonight then girlies?”

As Morgan retells her plans to him you stand and watch as the six foot super solider holds a pink bunny teddy in his hands, getting ready to hold the elephant teddy as Morgan hands them to him. You couldn’t help but take your phone out of your pocket and snap a few photos of him.

“What are you doing pretty girl?” He asks you after being handed the elephant and now crocodile teddy.

“Oh nothing pretty boy” winking at him as his cheeks start to turn a little shade of red.

Playing dress ups were done after 30 minutes as Morgan got bored of it.

Then you three played doctors, it was your turn to be the patient. You only went to the pretend hospital with a really bad tummy ache and left with an amputated leg. Thanks to Doctor Morgan and her assistant Steve - I wouldn’t recommend going there, ever.

Playing with her dolls was over with pretty quickly as all the dolls were tired and needed a nap.

Steve left Morgan’s playroom - which looked more like a toy store - to make dinner for the three of you, leaving you and Morgan sitting on the very comfortable bean bags.

“Auntie Y/n can I ask you something?”

“Of course pudding”

“When will you and uncle Stevie have babies?“

Ah the good old question your asked constantly now you’ve been dating Steve for five years. Explaining to adults was easy, it mainly consists of you telling them to mind their own business - not necessarily that politely - but explaining it to a six year old? That’s new territory, she’s never asked it before.

“I’m not sure sweetheart” is all you can say.

“Do you like babies?”

“No”

“Why?”

“Because they’re smelly”

“I wasn’t smelly” she laughs.

“Morg you was the smelliest baby in the whole world!”

Her cheeks puffed out as the smile grew more and more “no I wasn’t”

“I’m not lying to you”

“Auntie Y/n, where do babies come from?”

Oh boy. This whole conversation was throwing you off.

“Aliens” you even winced at your own reply.

“Aliens?” She raises her eyebrow reminding you so much of her father.

“Yep. Aliens come and drop off babies to parents”

“How do they make them?”

This girl was killing you.

“Magic?”

“Magic.” She gives you a deadpan look as you nod.

The second you heard Steve call for you two, you practically ran out of the room.

During dinner Morgan told Steve all about where babies came from and how they were made, his eyes looked over at you and with a straight face you nodded, agreeing with the girl.

“Auntie Y/n uncle Stevie” Morgan’s voice trailed down the corridor.

“What’s up?” You asked as you walked down to where she was.

“It’s time to paint”.

“Oh sweetie I don’t think that’s a good idea” Steve says softly.

It wasn’t. The last time you three painted together things…kinda got a little out of hand. Paint was everywhere. All over the floor, walls and even the ceiling.

Tony and Pepper weren’t happy.

“But please uncle Stevie!”

“Maybe if we do damage control it won’t be as bad as last time?” You asked, the pleading in Morgan’s voice chipped away at your heart.

“Babe, we said that last time”

“It’s okay uncle Stevie. I’ll sit in the corner” you both watch as she walks over to the corner and sits down with a huff.

“I’m not giving in Y/n!”

“Nope neither am I…but she looks so sad”

“Alright fine! But the moment things get out of hand we put everything away okay!”

“Yes yes thank you uncle Stevie your the best”

Steve places a kiss to her forehead and watches as she goes to her paint stand, pulling tub and tub out. “I was talking to you too doll”.

“I’ll behave, scouts honour”.

The three of you had been painting for well over an hour, showing each other your paintings after you finished them.

You were adding the last little bit of detail to your latest masterpiece when you felt something splattering across your face.

“Was…that…what…I…think…it…is” looking up from your work to Steve and Morgan who both sit there trying to contain their laughter.

“I won’t ask again you two”

“It’s paint auntie Y/n” Morgan bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry doll but she told me to do it”

“Yo-you threw paint at me? Steven!”

“Oh oh you’re in trouble” Morgan sings looking towards Steve.

“Babe, Morgan told me to d-“

You cut him off with flicking your brush at him, leaving pink splashes of paint on his face.

He actually had the audacity to looked shocked whilst you smirked.

Morgan’s laughter filled the whole room but she too falls victim when you and Steve flick paint at her.

All three of you come to a stand-off. Eyes bouncing from one another. Armed and ready with paint. Silently daring each other to be the first one to make a move.

Morgan’s the first one to attack.

Brushes were long gone as hands were going into the larger tubs so you can get your next victim easier.

The screams and laughter fills the whole penthouse.

You stalked towards Morgan who was laughing whilst pleading for you not to get her, you was about to reach out for her when her eyes went wide, bouncing from you and behind you. Her arms went out and she started muttering.

Deciding to look behind you, you see your ever so loving boyfriend smiling at you.

When you see his hands it becomes your turn for your eyes to open wide like saucers and you’re moving away from Morgan.

His hands are dripping in green paint.

"Do not touch me!" You speak lowly.

“I wasn’t”

“I mean it Steve do not touch me!”

“I wasn’t!”

“Back up. Now, Steve!”

Morgan stands there eyes still wide and in fact they somehow grow even more. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’s finding the whole situation funny, her aunt and uncle slowly moving around the room - her auntie trying to escape her uncle whilst he tries to catch her - at six years old she’s smart, she knows that if her uncle puts his green hands on her auntie it’s going to take her auntie forever to get it all off.

“I’m not doing anything baby!”

“Morgan…give me some more paint” Morgan listens and finally moves, going straight for the pink paint. “Thanks sweetie”.

“Babe you’re overreacting, I wasn’t going to do anything”

“Ov-overreacting? How dare you!”

Morgan watches as her favourite auntie and uncle move closer to each other now that Y/n had more paint to her hands. Even though she’s six years old she knows, she knows that after tonight she won’t be seeing the pair for a few weeks.

You and Steve were about to pounce on each other when you feel cold liquid drenching the pair of you.

Shocked you look to the side where Morgan stands with a grimace on her face. The now empty tub of green paint tightly held in her hands. 

Before anyone can say anything the door comes open and a scream breaks the silence.

Pepper.

“Oh my… I think I’m having a heart attack!”

The three of you had gotten so carried away with the battle you were in that you didn’t realise how much paint was getting everywhere.

It was so much worse than last time.

So much worse.

“That was so fun auntie and uncle, we should do it again next time”

You, Steve and Morgan are in different parts of the room. Scrubbing and cleaning up all the now dried paint off.

“There’s not going to be a next time” Tony’s voice says but looking around the room you don’t see him. “Top left corner” you could practically hear the eye roll he did.

And that’s when you see it. The camera.

“Back to work!”

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[sadboi-writer]

Dear Jack (Series)

Chapter Five: Swords and Magic

Summary: Milton and Y/N get bailed on by their friends because it's "not their thing". But, Rudy offers to help. Then the dojo realizes they're stronger together.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, medieval cursing

Masterlist ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Six

Everyone was stretching in the dojo when Jerry ran in.

"Guys, huge problem!" He started, "Kelsey Vargas, the coolest girl in school, is on her way down here."

"Don't panic." Jack assured, "We've trained for this. Guys, bust out the emergency deodorant."

Y/N rolled their eyes, "So you'll put on deodorant for Kelsey, but not for Kim and I? Way to make some girls feel special."

Jerry rolled his eyes, "I don't need deodorant!"

"Yes, you do." Y/N said

"We all need deodorant. We're teenage boys." Milton replied, " Our bodies are a smorgasbord of smells.

Eddie nodded, "I'm not taking any chances, I'm wearing a necklace made of air fresheners right now."

He pulled out a necklace of tree shaped air fresheners and inhaled.

"This week I'm Alpine Meadow."

Jerry shook his head and turned to Y/N and Kim.

"I told Kelsey I was a martial arts expert and the youngest sensei in history." Jerry explained

Y/N cackled, "Oh, you're screwed dude."

Kim made a face and walked off. Rudy approached Jerry.

"Jerry," Rudy greeted

"Oh, Rudy, Kelsey's on her way." Jerry replied, "Dude, please hook me up with that black belt!" Rudy frowned, "You can't have this belt! Its a symbol of hard work, honor, and respect."

"Well, then why do you use it to walk your dog?" Jack asked

Rudy turned to Jack, "That was one time and it was an emergency. I had a pug with the squirts and new white carpet! Look, can we stop talking and get to sparring please?"

Rudy looked around, " Jerry, you're up against Kim. Milton, you're with Y/N. Eddie, you're with Jack."

"Jack?!" Eddie despaired

Jack did some warm up moves, much to Eddie's dismay. Y/N chuckled.

"Don't scare him too much, Jack." They hollered

Jack smiled, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Uh, hold on. My phone is vibrating," Eddie panicked, " You know I hate to be that guy but- Hello?"

Eddie held his wallet to his face.

"You mean the guy who pretends his wallet is a phone?" Jack replied

Eddie shushed him, "Please, shh! Can you hear me now?"

And Eddie left the dojo.

Rudy clapped his hands, "Come on, guys, let's go!"

As they all prepped to spar, Kelsey walked into the dojo she stopped standing next to Rudy. Y/N waved lightly as they settled into their stance opposite Milton.

"Hi, Jerry," Kelsey greeted

Jerry spun around, "Kelsey, what a surprise."

"So, these are your students who fear and respect you?" She asked

Kim smiled tightly, "Yes, we are. I'm about to fear and respect the living grits out of him right now."

"Oh, no," Jerry panicked, quietly toward Kim, "Not my grits, I'm gonna need my grits!"

Kim was quick to grab his arm and flip him. Y/N cackled, offering Kim a high five.

"Wipeout!" Y/N chuckled

Jerry stumbled to his feet, "Yeah, I'd say you've got that move down pretty well! Oh, you guys take a five. Kelsey and I are gonna get a froyo."

Jerry stumbled toward Kelsey and Rudy.

"Oh, come on, Kelsey," Jerry groaned

Kelsey put out her arm to go with him, but Jerry stumbled and wrapped his arm around Rudy instead. Leaving Kelsey confused.

At school the next day, Jerry was all grump because of Kim embarrassing him.

He stalked down the stairs, "Hey, thanks a lot, Kim! You cost me a date with the coolest girl in school!"

"What are you gonna do, sensei, "She asked sarcastically, "throw me out of the dojo?"

Eddie chuckled.

"Kim, in the future, let's respect Jerry enough not to embarrass him in front of the girls he's lying to." Jack teased

Jerry completely missed the point, "Thank you , Jack! It's called decency, Kim."

The four heard a kazoo playing fanfare and kids laughing on the other end of the hall. They watched as Milton and Y/N marched through in totally embarrassing (in their opinion) royal garb.

Milton trotted to the staircase and announced, "All hail Miltonius, and his enchanting sidekick the Lady Y/N/N! The newly crowned king and queen of Narnia!"

"See, Milton, this is the reason you had to go to spring formal with a bio lab skeleton." Jack pointed out, "And Y/N what are you doing?"

"I'll have you know that Bonita is an excellent dancer," Milton protested

Y/N shrugged, "I'm having fun, Jack. I even made mine and Milton's outfits, do you like?"

Y/N did a little twirl, showing off the intricate design they'd sewn. Jerry smiled and offered a little clap for them.

Eddie interjected, "Hey, I know what's going on! It's that time of year when all the dorks come out and play swords and magic in the park!"

"Or if it rains we use the bingo hall at the senior center!" Milton added, "We tear it up!"

"Yeah we do!" Y/N cheered, giving Milton a high-five

As they spoke, Kelsey walked past the group.

"Hi, Jerry," She greeted

Jerry pushed Milton and Y/N out of the way, "Hey, Kelsey. I was just talking to these kids I've never seen before! I don't even know their names! Right, Milton? Really, Jerry?"

Milton ignored him, "Guys, big news! This year, you guys are all gonna participate in the battle with us!"

"It's going to be so fun!" Y/N chimed in

"What happened to all your other friends?" Kim asked, "You know, the ones who throw up when I try to talk to them."

"This years things are a little complicated," Milton explained, " Francis has a bassoon recital, Jeffrey is a finalist in the Mathlympics, and Louis got grounded for teaching his cockatiel bed words."

"Dude, we're not gonna be a part of your nerdfest," Jerry protested

Milton chuckled, "Very funny, Jerry."

"Nerdfest is in Minneapolis in October, duh!" Y/N laughed

Jack stood, "See, Milton, a bunch of dudes in tights running around the woods beating each other senseless with foam swords-- It's just not our thing."

"Well, it's our thing," Milton proposed, gesturing to Y/N, " And we wanna share this moment with my best friends. That's you guys."

Eddie shook his head, "I don't know. I just quit the cello and threw out my panda bear backpack. I'm just starting to get cool!"

"Come on! Just give it a chance!" Milton pleaded

Y/N looked at the ground, realizing their friends weren't going to budge. Which suddenly made them feel very uncomfortable in their outfit.

"Soon you'll know the exhilaration of bonding down a hill, cape aflutter, to slay a half-elf with a foam rubber axe!" Milton insisted, "Are you with me? All for one and one for- Gah!"

He shouted in despair as he realized the rest of their friends had left them.

"I probably lost them at 'cape aflutter'!" He bemoaned

Y/N played with the lace on the cuffs of their sleeves, pulling lightly at the loose threads they had yet to surge off. Milton came over and put a hand on their shoulder.

"I already made their outfits," Y/N mumbled

"I know, buddy, I know." Milton said empathetically before guiding them away

After school, Milton and Y/N were the first to the dojo. Immediately, Milton was complaining to Rudy while Y/N sat sullenly on a bench.

"I can't believe our own friends bailed on us!" Milton grumbled

Rudy shrugged, "I don't know. Running around in the woods, beating other dudes senseless with foam swords? That just sounds like a good time to me!"

Milton huffed, "Y/N made their costumes and everything!"

"You know what?" Rudy asked, "I love stuff like this!"

Y/N's eyes shot up, a small smile on their face. Milton turned and looked at their sensei.

"Are you saying you'll go into battle with me?" Milton asked hopefully

Rudy smiled, "It would be an honor... my lord."

Rudy bowed to Milton, who couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

"Wow," Milton acknowledged, "You two may be the only real friends I have."

Milton turned and grabbed a bo staff off the wall. He held it high with a smile.

"With this bo staff I bud thee, Rudy, my faithful squire!" Milton announced

"I can't believe it," Rudy giggled, "I'm a squire! I'm a squire! I'm a squire!"

That weekend, Rudy, Y/N, and Milton all took to the park with their weapons and costumes to go into battle. Rudy, being the squire, had the backpack full of everything. The three stumbled into the clearing where battle would start.

Rudy gasped for air, "You know, I don't think this squiring thing is for me."

"This turkey leg isn't gonna salt itself!" Milton insisted

Y/N chuckled, "My lord, I think we ought to give him a break."

Rudy huffed and pulled out his salt shaker, salting the turkey leg as Milton had asked.

"Dang it, I left my grape juice in the Port-a-Pooper!" Milton complained

Rudy shook his head.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go get it!"

Rudy turned and hobbled away to get Milton his grape juice. Y/N turned to Milton.

"Don't get me wrong, Mil. I'm glad Rudy is here," Y/N began, "But, I kind of wish Jerry or at least Eddie was here."

Milton sighed, "Yeah, me too. But, at least Rudy didn't leave us hanging, right?"

Y/N shrugged, "Yeah, I guess it just hurts that they weren't really willing to do for us what we do for them. I almost kissed Truman for Eddie, and he won't put on a cape and beat some guys up for us?"

"Yeah, I know Y/N/N, but we have each other. And we have Rudy."

Meanwhile, back at the dojo Jack, Eddie, and Kim exited into the food court as Jerry danced up. He was in a really good mood.

"Oh, guys, check it out! I smoothed everything out with Kelsey!" Jerry announced, " I promised I would never lie to her again, and I got a date with her this afternoon."

"Yeah!" Eddie encouraged

"The kid is back in the game! Whoo!" Jerry cheered

Jack dapped him up. But Eddie pointed out something behind them both.

"Nerd alert," Eddie stated

They turned around as Sidney and his friends approached.

"Greetings. We are the Dark Knights!" Sidney announced, "Warriors known for being brave and ferocious and-"

Kim cut him off, "Ferocious? Sidney, you cried in science when your fruit fly died."

"That fruit fly left behind 3,000 babies." Sidney narrowed his eyes, " Milton and Y/N said they put together a band of loyal warriors that will finally capture our grail and defeat us. Like that's going to happen!"

Sidney gave his best (yet it was still terrible) evil laugh. Jack cringed.

"Dude, dude, dude," Jack protested, "That evil laugh is so not working."

Sidney turned to his other friend, "Thanks, Benny. You told me it was intimidating!"

Benny shrugged, Sidney stormed off past him. Leaving the four Wasabi warriors in their place.

Jack was first to break the silence.

"Woah, guys, Milton and Y/N called us their loyal warriors." Jack considered, "Now they're gonna be out there all alone against a flock of dweebs hopped up on Honey Buns."

Kim grimaced, "Uhm, Jack, are you saying we should go to the park and help them? Because, uhh- I-- I can't. My, uh, Aunt Charlotte-- yeah, she's coming in from, uhm, Charlotte and we're gonna go watch Charlotte's Web. Wow, I am not good at lying."

Jack sighed, "Look, they've both always been there for us! Jerry, what about that time where you tried to get Kelsey jealous by making her think you were dating a cheerleader? Who helped you out?"

"Milton," Jerry conceded, "Wow, you're right. He was there for me... Did you know that Brian Donnelly actually asked him out?"

"Eddie," Jack insisted, "What about you? You hate going to visit your nana."

Eddie nodded, "That's because she always wants to do things to my hair."

"But who always goes with you?" Jack asked

"Y/N and Milton," Eddie answered, "Sometimes I think nana loves them more than me. And I'm okay with that!"

"And Kim!" Jack continued, "What about that time at the St.Patrick's Day Concert when you lost your voice? Who got you through that?"

Kim sighed as she thought back, "Y/N."

Jack looked around at his friends.

"Guys, I think you know what we have to do." He incited

They all went inside and changed into the outfits Y/N had hung up for them in the locker room. Eddie and Jack exited, Eddie dressed like a bardish elf and Jack dressed like an English knight.

"Seriously?" Eddie complained, "Is this really what we have to do?"

"Yes, it is!" Jack insisted, grimacing himself

The two tried to adjust themselves to be as comfortable as possible. As Kim and Jerry exited. Kim wearing the pink and purple princess dress that had been sewn for her, and Jerry in his tartan kilt.

"Come on," Jerry grumbled, "Let's go to the park."

"I don't get it," Kim groaned, "Why do I have to be the princess?"

"I am not swapping!" Eddie was quick to say

Then the four took off toward the park. Jerry slowed for a moment and looked at a lady who had been staring.

"Hey lady," he snapped, "Eyes up here, okay? Ugh, these sexy legs are a curse!"

The four tromped through the park, out of breath and sweaty as all get out.

"I can't take this anymore!" Eddie hollered, "It's hot, my feet are killing me, and these elf ears are starting to get sweaty!" He pulled one of the ears off and wrung out the sweat from it to prove his point. Causing Jack and Kim to grimace.

"You don't get to complain," Jack countered, "We could have stayed on the path to the battlefield, but noOoOoO, you knew a shortcut through the woods!"

Jack snatched the ear out of Eddies hand and yelled into it.

"This is not a shortcut Eddie!"

"Relax!" Eddie insisted, "I'm an Explorer Scout! I was trained to navigate by the stars!"

Kim started smacking her palm with her wand, "Oh, I can help you see the stars alright!'

Jack grabbed her shoulders and stopped as she moved towards Eddie angrily.

"Woah, woah, come on guys," He mediated, "We have to focus. Their battle starts in a half-hour."

Meanwhile, Milton and Y/N stood with Rudy as they met at the summit prior to the battle.

"So, where is this big loyal army you've been bragging about?" Sidney asked

"Yeah, guys, where are they?" Sidney's wizard asked

Rudy stuck his arm out, "I've got this, your highnesses. Yeah, we may be outnumbered, but my king and our queen have the heart of a lion! And I have the speed of a--a-- you know those animals with the pointy ears and they're really fast?"

"A gazelle?" Sidney offered

"Yeah," Rudy agreed, "Wait, no, no, they're skinny and they don't really run so much as--as just bound! And they kind of go grrr! And, oh it's right on the tip of my tongue!"

"Squire!" Milton interjected, "Let's just go over the rules. One, the first team to capture the other's grail and place it on the pedestal of glory next to their own is the winner."

Sidney nodded, "Rule two, if you get struck on the chest you're out."

"Cheetah!" Rudy shouted, "Sorry, it's the animal I was thinking of earlier. It just popped into my head. Sorry, keep going."

Y/N stepped up, "Rule three, no cursing or foul language. Unless it's a medieval word like 'zounds'!"

The Dark Knights gasped, Rudy placed a hand on their shoulder.

"Y/N, you are better than that!" Rudy insisted

"Not today I'm not," They smirked

The three went to their base to prepare for battle. They watched the Dark Knights parry with their swords.

"Oh, this will not end well for us," Y/N mumbled,"Milton, I fear our defeat is imminent."

Milton looked at Y/N with a bit of sadness in his eyes.

"Rudy, this looks bad," Milton spoke, "They'll be coming for our grail soon and I think you should know, I probably won't be going home with you."

Rudy's eyes hardened, "No, don't you talk like that. You're so young! You've got your whole life ahead of you."

"No!" Milton clarified, "I won't be going home with you because my mom is picking me up here to take me to the orthodontist."

Rudy nodded, "Look, whatever happens down there, It's been an honor to serve under you."

Rudy saluted vigorously. Y/N smiled.

"Rudy, can I get a ride back to the dojo after this?" Y/N asked

He nodded.

"Rudy, I've been thinking," Milton said, "If you're the only one who stood by us."

Milton looked to Y/N for permission, they nodded willingly. Milton unsheathed his sword.

"I hereby dub thee, Sir Rudy, our faithful knight!"

"I can't believe this!" Rudy cheered, "It's all happening so fast! Pretty good for a kid from the wrong side of the tracks with nothing but a pocketful of dreams! Not gonna cry... not gonna cry."

"Get it together!" Y/N snapped

The fanfare blew as they said that.

"We're going into battle," Milton announced

Y/N drew their rubber sword, Milton handed Rudy his then pulled a backup.

"Men, I can think of no greater warriors to fight with." Y/N complimented, "May our souls be lain in glory."

The Dark Knight collectively yelled, "Charge!" Then, Milton, Rudy, and Y/N were back to back. A triangle of threat to anyone who dared go for their grail.

All the while, Jack, Jerry, Eddie, and Kim were still running from the bees that they'd agitated.

"I think we finally lost the bees," Jack panted, "Where's Kim and Eddie?"

Jerry huffed and puffed for a second, "Oh, Kim got her hair tangled up in a thorn bush. Eddie's trying to get her out."

Eddie ran into the clearing, "It took a while, but I finally got Kim's head out of that bush! Luckily I had my official Explorer Scout pocket knife."

Kim walked in, her hair spiked up where Eddie had had to cut it. The three boys gasped. Kim smiled at them.

"Guys, the battlefield is just over there," She pointed out, "Come on!"

She ran off toward the battlefield, leaving Jack, Jerry, and Eddie behind.

Jack turned, "Eddie, even if you make it out of this battle alive, Kim's gonna kill you."

Then Jack took off in a run toward the battlefield. Jerry stepped toward Eddie.

"Wait, that was Kim?" Jerry asked

In the heat of the battle, Milton, Rudy, and Y/N fought valiantly. Swords clashing with fervor as they guarded what was rightfully theirs.

"I don't thinkI have much left," Rudy commented, "My tights are riding up, I got sunblock in my eye, and if I don't get a potty break soon something really bad's gonna happen."

"Rudy, focus!" Y/N insisted as their sword clashed with Sidney's

"Something better not happen!" Milton replied, "Those pantaloons are rented! Battle on! We must protect the grail at all costs!"

"Aye, your majesty!" Y/N shouted as their sword locked with the wizards this time

Sidney knocked Milton's sword from his hand, "It's over Miltonious! Prepare to taste my foam!"

Before Y/N could move to protect Milton, a foam axe flew through the air and hit Sidney. Knocking the sword from his hand. All eyes shot to the perpetrator.

"Ow! Who threw that!" Sidney whined

Jack.

Y/N's face broke into a huge smile as the four sprinted across the battlefield screaming to join them.

Y/N heard Sidney say, "His arm is made of ogres!" Y/N took a swing with their swords, "That is a princess and her loyal knights, you Scobberlotcher!"

Sidney and his knights gasped at the words Y/N had used. Sidney swept up his sword from the ground.

"Retreat! Retreat!" He squeaked out

The four joined Milton, Rudy, and Y/N at their pedestal of glory. Y/N smiled and gave Jerry a tight hug.

"You guys made it!" Milton smiled

"I hoped you would show up," Y/N revealed

Jack panted, "This may not be our thing, but if it means something to you guys, then we're with you, King Miltonious and Queen Y/N/N!"

Milton's smile widened, "Thanks! Who's the dude with the punked out mullet?"

Y/N's eyes scanned and landed on Kim and her janky hairdo. A gasped escaped them as their hand flew to their mouth in shock. Kim looked just as confused.

"All right guys, hands in," Jack was quick to switch subjects, "We've got us a grail to capture."

Everyone piled their hands in, "Wasabi!"

"Charge!" Milton shouted

The group took off in a run toward the Dark Knights, a battle cry loud in their throats. Jerry immediately took down one guy, Eddie psyched out three on accident and they were taken out, and Kim got two.

Rudy stayed a guarded the grail with Y/N on the foreground trying to prevent anyone from getting that close. Jack was taking care of five of them at once. While Y/N had another three. One knocked their sword from their hand. Y/N surely thought they were done for. But, Jack came in from the back, kicked them their sword and fought back to back with them.

When he was done with his enemies Jack celebrated, doing a stupid little running man.

"Yeah!" He hollered, " Don't mess with the Jack!"

Y/N chuckled as they watched him fall into a bush.

Across the battlefield, Milton was locked in battle with Sidney. When his sword was knocked from his hand. He used the swing set to kick Sidney away, then used the flag to pole vault over the knights. Milton got his hand of their grail and grabbed a loose sword. He charged back toward their base and slipped through the knights as they charged. He tripped on his way down, turning the knights attention to him.

Y/N watched Milton set the grail on the teeter-totter. Immediately, they nudged Jack.

"Give me a boost, huh?" They asked

Jack looked and understood what they meant. He cupped his hands as Y/N backed up to get a running start. Y/N ran and ket Jack cup their foot, giving them lift as they launched across the battlefield.

Y/N landed harshly on the upside of the teeter-totter, punting the grail to their side of the field. Milton stood and ran after it as the Dark Knights watched in awe.

Milton ran as fast he could as the battle stopped around him. He dove and caught the grail, slamming it down onto their pedestal.

"Victory!" Milton shouted

Y/N cheered, "Yes!"

Jack ran to Y/N, picking them up in a hug. When he set them down, they looked into an each other's eyes for a moment. It was like the world was quiet and nothing else mattered. Until Jerry joined their hug.

"Whoo!" Jerry shouted, "We did it!"

"Oh! Come on!" Sidney complained

As the Dark Knights dispersed, Jack, Jerry, and Y/N joined their friends by the pedestal.

"Way to go, Milton!" Jack praised, "You did it!"

"No, Jack! We did it!" Milton insisted!

Kim smiled, "Here you go, Milton. Here's your grail, you've earned-"

She screamed as she saw her hair in the reflection of the grail. Kim looked ready to cry.

"My hair,"She squeaked,"What happened to my hair? Eddie?"

Eddie laughed nervously.

"You are so dead!" Kim promised

Eddie screamed as he took off sprinting, Kim hot on his tail. Y/N laughed, leaning into Jack's shoulder.

"Oh, she's going to kick his butt," Y/N chuckled

Later that day, after Milton's orthodontist appointment, the group went to the dojo. Where Y/N was already steaming and mending their costumes. None of them hadn't seen them yet.

"Thanks a lot guys," Milton complimented, "I know you were embarrassed by those costumes. But don't worry, you'll never have to wear them again."

Y/N frowned, they had worked hard on those.

"And no one at school will ever have to know!" Milton insisted

Jack caught sight of Y/N, "You're right, Milton. They don't, but they will."

The following Monday, Jack, Jerry, Eddie, and Kim all wore their newly mended costumes with no fight. Partly to make Y/N feel better about thinking they were embarrassed to wear them. And partly, to just support their friends.

They got laughed at, and Jack officially lost any hot dates he'd been working towards. But, at the very least, he thought it was worth it to make Y/N and Milton happy.

[filmsmakkari]

LA Girl Magic

warren rojas x fem!reader

Summary: Warren Rojas always dreamed of Los Angeles. The clubs, the music, and the ridiculously beautiful women.

CW: Sexual-ish content but no actual smut, a little angsty at the end. As always my (Y/N) is assumed to be black and sometimes such is implied but definitely not enough that others can't read.

June 1979

Everyone always dreamed of Los Angeles. The warmth of the Californian sun, the waves crashing against the Venice shore, the palm trees lining the streets. LA was the land of opportunity. And when you wished on Los Angeles stars, it felt like they would always come true. LA was the dream. Endless sunny days, ridiculously beautiful girls, and freedom to do and be whatever you wanted.

Los Angeles was everything for a band from Pittsburgh, where the only options were the mill or the army. So when Billy Dunne asked Warren Rojas about the possibility, Warren immediately went out and bought a van so the band would be ready to make the drive. It more or less cost him everything he had. It was crazy, but he somehow trusted it.

And boy, he couldn't have been more right.

It didn't come immediately. Weeks of phone calls that lead to nowhere. Finally meeting Teddy Price, and then being put through the wringer by him for months, a canceled tour, and being so dirt poor that he had to steal toast from restaurants. Enter Daisy Jones. Look At Us Now comes out. Sold out shows, gold records, and more drugs and women tearing at his pants than he could have ever dreamed of when he was just some skinny, curly-haired kid in Pennsylvania. The Six were living the California dream. He always said Daisy had "LA girl magic." He even tried to get Billy to write a song about it. 

It was July 1st, 1979, the LA date of the Aurora tour. For Daisy, it was the hometown show, but she had always said she didn't have anyone in LA, no parents or extended family in the whole city. So everyone in the band was surprised when she said she'd have a childhood friend coming for the show. The shock became even greater when Daisy walked into the green room laughing and smiling with (Y/N) (L/N). 

(Y/N L/N) was the "it girl" before that term was coined. A gorgeous Hollywood starlet. An Oscar winner at ten, a Vogue cover at 15,  a sold out world tour at 20, and a star on the Walk of Fame by 21. She was currently working on her sophomore album, and the world was waiting to see how she'd elevate herself further. But in the meantime, she was staying on the public's minds with her new Chanel film being aired on every TV in America, in which she played a songbird stuck in a cage next to a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle. (Y/N) had the talent that made her the critic's darling and the incredible beauty that made her desired and hated.

Warren's breath caught when he looked at her.  (Y/N)'s hair, dark like a raven's wing,  tumbled down her back in long curls. She wore a pale blue Halston jumpsuit that made her skin shimmer, and diamond jewelry added to the effect. And her eyes… oh God, those brown eyes. Warren would bet that she'd be able to finish him with just her eyes.

His cheeks slightly heated up at his thoughts as he watched her introduce herself to the band members. She approached him last, wrapping her arms around his neck, saying, "Hey, it's so nice to meet you! I'm (Y/N)."

Warren stuttered slightly, removing his hands from her waist and looking into her eyes. "I-I know."

(Y/N) chuckled. "And are you gonna tell me your name, drummer?"

"Warren!" he rushed out embarrassingly quickly. "I'm Warren Rojas."

(Y/N) smiled. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Warren." 

Warren loved the way his name sounded on her tongue. He wanted her to say it over and over again.  He wondered what it'd be like to hear her scream it. 

These thoughts remained on his mind as he played as hard as he could that night, knowing she was watching and wanting her to feel every beat. Warren knew that people usually didn't pay attention to the rhythm section during concerts, too interested in the lead guitar or frontman to notice the lonesome drummer in the back, but just knowing there was a chance that (Y/N) was watching him, Warren played that drumline like it was his last night on earth.

Teddy was waiting as they all walked backstage, giving the usual pats on the shoulder and congratulations. 

"Hey, Rojas," Teddy called as Warren cracked open a beer. That is the kind of performance I expect from the best drummer in rock' n roll!" Warren had never received such high praise from Teddy, and the compliment made him swell with pride.

"Hey, call it the LA girl magic," Warren said with a shrug and a smile.

Teddy furrowed his brow, "I have no idea what you're talking about, son, but if that's what made you play like that, I need you to use it every night." 

˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊

The afterparties in the bus were always wild, but tonight was different. The Six had just played one of their best shows of the tour, so they decided to rent out some random bar on Sunset to celebrate specially. Beautiful bodies of men and women were swaying to the sensual rhythms and blues blaring from the boombox, and there were pills and powders sprawled across the tables that could only be found on the dirtiest streets of the City of Angels. This night was on fire. 

Now, on a normal night, Warren probably would have grabbed a blonde with nice tits and a brunette with nice legs and taken them anywhere with a working lock on the door, but on this particular night, even the tightest skirts wrapped around girls just begging him to lift them around their waists and bury his face in between their thighs weren't the slightest bit tempting to him. Instead, all his attention was on a certain LA girl with dark features and the voice of an angel. 

(Y/N) and Daisy were currently standing on a table, swaying their hips in a way that could only come naturally to girls who were stumbling out of clubs like these in tight dresses and runny makeup when they were 14. All of the men stared at them hungrily. All the girls tried to emulate their movements. But none could mimic the harmonies they sang over the random guitar melody playing. Their voices were enough to bring the roof down. 

Warren was in fucking awe.

He'd gotten used to Daisy's voice. The power in it, the way she sang from deep in her belly and sounded like her voice was traveling over rocks to produce the sound. Daisy's voice was the pure essence of rock n roll.

But (Y/N)? Her voice was hauntingly beautiful. And in the teal shimmery dress she's changed into for the after party, with slits on either side, she looked like she'd come from the depths of the sea to lure men in with her siren call. Her voice was alluring but dangerous. It pierced its way through Warren's heart, and in that moment, he would've done anything she asked him to. 

"Huh," he breathed out. "LA magic."

"What was that, love?" asked the red-haired girl who'd taken it upon herself to wrap her arms around his neck and move her body against his. 

"Excuse me," said Warren, shoving her off and walking towards (Y/N). A sailor drawn to a siren, he approached the table and called her name.

(Y/N)' s eyes widened happily when she saw him. "Warren!!" She climbed down from the table and wrapped him in a tight hug. "You did so well tonight, congratulations! The drumline in "Let Me Down Easy" made the entire number- no one could have played it better!" she yelled over the loud music.

Warren exhaled and smiled. "It's just nice to know someone's listening." 

(Y/N) let out a giggle, folding her lips before turning back to the table. "Daisy-jay!" she yelled at her friend. Daisy had already found another way to occupy herself, playing some sort of game involving vodka and a chocolate bunny. "Yeah, (Y/N/N)?"

"I'll be right back! Save me a shot!" (Y/N) yelled before grabbing Warren by the wrist and dragging him outside the club. 

The pair heard Daisy yell out ",Hey! Don't have too much fun you two!"

(Y/N) exhaled a deep breath, taking a few steps forward and staring up at the sky. "It's a full moon tonight, Warren."

Warren stood beside her. "Yeah, no stars though."

They looked back at each other, brown eyes meeting brown eyes in a warm dance. 

"There are never stars here," (Y/N) said with a smile. "Something called light pollution, I think. From all the city lights everywhere."

"I love the city lights. Seeing them reminds me that we made it. That we're really here." Warren closed his eyes for a moment. "But some nights I miss the stars. Back in Pitt, I could always see hundreds of stars from my window. Started chartin' em like I was part of Apollo 11 or something," he said shyly, letting out a dry chuckle.

"That's amazing, Warren." (Y/N) smiled at him so beautifully and kindly. He knew she meant it.

"I didn't know you were from Pittsburgh," she said.

"Mmhm. Been friends with all the guys since I was a kid. But I was actually born in Botogá. Shot over to the U.S. when I was three."

"Colombia?" 

Warren nodded with a smile.

(Y/N) hummed. "I guess now's a good time to mention that I've always had a thing for foreign men. Only guys I usually like more are drummers in rock bands," she said nonchalantly, looking back at the moon.

Meanwhile, Warren felt like his heart was in his fucking ass.

He swallowed nervously. "W-well I have a thing for Hollywood girls."

"Oh, really?" she said casually. 

"Yeah," Warren said, building up his confidence. "'S part of why I chose to move here. I knew that even if the music thing worked out, I'd still be able to find a girl from the city of angels to take me to heaven." Warren pushed a stray curl behind her ear, and for the first time in the whole night, (Y/N) was the nervous one.

Warren felt the change in dynamic immediately and decided to take a risk.  He leaned in,  searching (Y/N) 's eyes for any sign of rejection. When he saw none, he closed the gap between them, seizing her lips with his in a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the tall man downwards. He grabbed her by her waist, exposed by the slit in her dress, pulling her closer. (Y/N) let out a small moan at the feeling of his touch on her skin, and Warren took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, increasing the wetness accumulating between her legs.

The pair finally pulled away for air, staring deep into each other's eyes silently. 

"Do you want to see heaven, Rojas?" (Y/N) asked breathily. 

Warren's lips were swollen, and his pupils were dilated as he spoke, "I'll follow wherever you go, angel." 

(Y/N) caught his lips in a quick kiss before walking over to the phone booth and calling the taxi company. She'd never felt so much embarrassment as when she had to stifle her moans on the phone with the operator as Warren had followed her into the booth and began kissing and sucking up her arm to her shoulder and neck. Once he quickly figured out her weak spot was in between her jawline and her neck, he just continued on with the spot as if he was a starving man and her skin was his last meal. That, along with his large hands traveling up and down her body, almost caused (Y/N) to drop the phone, tear off her clothes, and sit on his lap on the dirty street corner. 

When the taxi finally arrived, (Y/N) 's embarrassment only grew as Warren pulled her to practically straddle him and stuck his tongue down her throat. She could feel the discomfort radiating from the driver. But when he started playing with her panties… well, then she said to hell with embarrassment.

It felt like they'd been in the taxi for an eternity when they finally arrived at the large house in Baldwin Hills. The lovers stumbled through the large door, fumbling with each other's clothes and sharing messy, maddening kisses as they fell on the couch. (Y/N) sat atop Warren, staring deep into his eyes. The feeling of his hands on her waist was making her feel crazy. 

"I want you inside me, Warren."

She didn't need to tell him twice.

˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊

January 2000

"At some point that night, I had every part of me in that woman," Warren reminisced with a chuckle. "Shit felt like joining the swim team. Shit, sorry Jules." Warren Rojas had aged handsomely. His once sleek black curly hair had grayed, and he'd developed wrinkles around his eyes. His hands were now rough and calloused from years of being a successful rock drummer who achieved many accolades before being inducted into the Rock n Roll Hall of  Fame and retiring. He was the perfect picture of a had-been rockstar, a man now in his forties, tanned from days spent sitting out on his rusty old boat in the Marina. Some people might have pitied him, but he was content. 

"I forgot who I'm talking to. I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep that part in. I think Nina would die if she had to hear about her old man like that." 

Julia, now a woman grown and the spitting image of her mother with long, straight black hair and a camera at hand, was a far cry from the child Warren had known all those years ago. 

"Hard for me too, to tell you the truth," she said with a slightly awkward laugh. "So then what happened?"

"Well I think you know, kiddo. Love. War. Band called it quits." 

"With her, I mean."

Warren tensed up a bit. "Well, I loved her. Spent eight years with her, so I think he might've loved me too," he said with a smirk. "But we wanted different things, in the end. I wanted to slow down for a bit. Buy this boat, maybe have a few kids. I wanted success in the music world, but I wanted a wife and kids to share it with. She wanted to keep going. Being an "EGOT" at 24 wasn't enough, she wanted more. I've  always loved her for that. She has so much hunger for life. She wants to live. She nearly gave it all up to settle with me, but I loved her too much to block her dreams. And I loved her enough to let her go. Met Lisa back in '89, had Nina in '94. I'm happy with my life now. I feel like everyone thinks I'm this miserable, washed up drummer, but I'm happy with the life I built for myself."

"Do you still love (Y/N)?" asked Julia.

Warren smiled a sad smile and looked at his lap. "... I'll always love that girl. I see her in everything. I watch her life in pictures now. Hear her voice on the radio. You'll probably have to cut this out too… cause of Lisa, of course… but uh…"the man trailed off, and a haze fell over his eyes as if he was seeing flashes of the past.

"You know something? That night when I first met her, after… after we finished," he shot Julia a look, "I got up to get her a cup of water, and when I looked out of her kitchen window, I saw a shooting star. I'd barely seen two stars in my time spent in the city at that point. We'd just fuckin talked about it! But after that night with her? There one was, shooting across the sky."

Warren chuckled and shook his head. "Goddamn LA Girl Magic."

[magicamicitia]

Volume One, Chapter One

“I’m a magical girl!”

The clock striked at four.

Sunset Shimmer stared into the distance, and she saw nothing but darkness. Tightening the grasp on her sword, she swallowed the anxiety inside her.

The clock striked at five.

Her vision was blurry, and she could feel tears falling onto her face. Who was crying? She felt like she wanted to cry too.

The clock striked at six.

Sunset could feel herself being carried away by someone. Away from the darkness. But she felt like they were going the wrong way. She catches a glimpse of a crystal school before it disappeared into the night.

The clock striked at seven.

An alarm rang;

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Sunset Shimmer opens her eyes, trying to understand her surroundings.

“Huh…? A dream?”

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“Alright, I get it! Geez, can a girl not have a nightmare in peace anymore?!” She shouts while angrily pressing the off switch on the alarm clock.

She stops for a moment, trying to recall what she saw in her slumber. But the memory of it has already faded away. She shakes her head to free herself from the trance, and gets out of bed.

Today is the start of her second semester at Canterlot High.

After a long shower, Sunset heads to her kitchen to make some breakfast before going to school. She decides to turn on the news while cooking, a habit she grew living alone in this strange world for so long.

“Breaking News; yesterday, and around four-thirty in the morning, the prestigious Crystal Prep Academy suffered a mysterious terrorist attack that killed twenty-seven employees and injured thirty more while on their night shift. Authorities urge civilians to stay away from the building, as smoke clouds are still present. The police has not yet found a culprit, and specialists have so far failed to identify what caused the explosion that destroyed the entire building.”

Sunset quickly turned around at the sound of those words.

“Crystal prep? Isn’t that the school Twilight was transferred from? I wonder if she’s doing okay… I should send her a text.”

She reached for her phone, but before she could unlock it, the numbers on the screen caused her to stop.

“SEVEN FORTY?! Dang it, I’m gonna be late!”

Picking up her things in a rush, Sunset quickly tumbled out of the house, silently scolding herself for not paying attention to the time.

At the front doors of Canterlot High, a young girl nervously adjusted her glasses, staring at the floor.

“Twilight!” Someone called out.

The girl looked up, recognizing the familiar voice.

“Sunset!”

The two friends ran to each other enthusiastically.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you all summer break! You look tired, have you been partying a lot?” Sunset said with a sarcastic tone.

Twilight seemed startled by that comment.

“Huh? Ah, no… I was just… Studying, is all.”

“Hah! Of course you were, ya big nerd. Oh, on another note, um… have you heard? About, you know…”

The smile on Twilight Sparkle’s face vanished.

“I have.”

“Is your brother… Okay?”

“He’s... Healthy. He was at home when it happened, but we heard Cadance was in the hospital today, and he hasn’t taken it well. None of us have.”

“Ah, that’s gotta be rough. I know how important she is to all of you.”

“Yeah, well… we’re managing. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

They both stared at the ground in awkward silence for a few seconds, until Twilight shook her head and began,

“Never mind that. Sulking too much is gonna affect our studies on our first day! You- We’re okay and that’s what matters. Let’s head in, right?”

“Oh,” Sunset relaxed a bit. “Yeah yeah, let’s go.”

As they walked in, she couldn’t help but notice Twilight seemed to be acting off. Sunset knows her friend has a tendency to bottle things up to not worry other people, and all this stress must have been getting to her. A thought crossed her mind.

I should buy Twi a snack later to cheer her up.

As the bell rang at the end of the day, Sunset Shimmer sent her friend a message to meet her in front of the Sugarcube Corner Bakery, confident that some cupcakes and coffee could help her back to her old self. She had to be careful though, as one of her classmates, Pinkie Pie, was often seen around there, and Sunset wouldn’t want other people seeing this side of her…

“Huh?”

Why did she have a ‘side’ in the first place?

Why push others away like that?

There was a reason. An important reason. What was it again? Her head hurt thinking about it…

“Wait, where am I?”

Sunset looked around, realizing she had taken a wrong turn in the midst of her thoughts. Now in an old empty street instead of the colorful commercial disctrict.

“Well, this place is creepy. I should go back… What the-!”

Turning around, the scenery around her changed again. And wherever she went, it kept morphing… and twisting… and turning into something even more bizarre and nonsensical. A sense of dread overwhelmed her.

“I gotta get out of here NOW!”

But no matter how much she tried, Sunset felt like she was stuck running in place. Odd figures seemed to laugh at her struggle, and she cursed everyone and everything she could think of until she tripped and fell down onto the ground.

The figures slowly approached her in her weakened state, like predators carefully preparing an attack on their prey. Sunset, despite her confusion, shakingly got up and entered a fighting stance, even though she knew she had no way of fighting those things. Suddenly, a streak of light cut through the air, dismembering the monsters.

The girl searched puzzled for the source of her salvation, and her eyes laid on a familiar figure.

“Twilight?!”

The awkward nerdy schoolgirl she knew had a determined look in her eyes, with a dazzling outfit and a bladed shield which she yielded with an uncanny familiarity. Upon hearing her friend’s call, she turned around and her expression changed into the smile she was much more acquainted with.

“Sunset! Are you alright?”

“I am physically, but… What the hell is going on here? What are you wearing? Since when do you fight?! What are these things?!?!”

“I-I’ll explain everything, I swear! But we have to run, now!” She took her puzzled friend’s hand and guided her away from the mysterious labyrinth.

Once they reached an open and non-weirded-out area, Sunset took a few seconds to catch her breath before asking;

“What the hell was that?!”

Twilight panted.

“That was… Well…”

“A witch’s labyrinth!” A third voice added.

Sunset looked down. Her eyes widened to the size of a tea saucer.

“Is that. A talking cat.”

The nerdy girl smiled awkwardly.

“Um… Ahaha…”

“Twilight.”

“…Yeah?”

“What exactly… Are you?”

“Well…” she scratched her chin. “I’m a magical girl!”

[rottingfern]

all the wine is all for me || a Bad Omens fanfic

Summary: Noah’s just admiring his gains. Perhaps he’s a little more proud of his progress than the average guy. There’s definitely not a secret third reason for why he’s spending so much time in front of the mirror…

Pairing: Noah x himself lol

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. masturbation. narcissism in the greek mythology way not the psychology way

A/N: I drank a lot of wine (what else is new) and also @throughwoodsanddirt showed me that one panel from the comics that made me cackle so hard because damn Noah just really thinks he's hot as fuck huh and then I cackled until I wrote this fic

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from All the Wine by The National; banner made by me (using Caravaggio's Narcissus); dividers by @saradika

Noah’s reflection is smiling at him. 

That, of course, is explainable by the fact that he himself is smiling; grinning, in fact, because he just looks so damn good. His gains this month were frankly goddamn impressive. Already he can see the widening of his chest to form an inverted triangle of his torso, the definition building in his bicep when he flexes.

What worries him, though, is the naughty glint in his reflection’s eye, the too-sharp canines, the raise of a single eyebrow that he definitely is not capable of reproducing. Never has been. 

He knows this look. Once, he had a fling with this girl who was an absolute freak, gets him half-hard even just remembering half the things she got up to between the sheets. And the fucking cherry on top: she loved making movies. Editing those for her unfailingly devolved into multiple-hours long dates between him and his hand. The face he’s making - his reflection is making - is the one that painted his face in the movies when she, pointing her phone to get his reaction, would ask him for the nastiest shit he’d thought only a fantasy in porn. 

So it makes no sense that he’s looking at his reflection like this, because it’s not like he’s into himself. 

His hand beelines south down the expanse of his strong (so goddamn strong, he’ll have definition in his six-pack any day now) stomach. That’s definitely not something he’s doing of his own volition. He’s not that self-absorbed. 

Well, that’s a lie. He’s not gay (unless you count the exploratory hand stuff him and Nick did as teens), but if he could, he’d totally fuck himself. 

It takes a bit of effort to shuck the grey sweats he’d worn down his hips with one hand, distracted as he is with the shapes his other arm makes as it continues to flex in the mirror. These used to be pretty loose, just crossing the line of oversized on him. Now, they’re filled by thick thighs and marble-cut hip flexors. With a single finger, he traces the vee framing trimmed pubic hair. These used to show just a hint of the magic underneath. Now, his hardness bulges a vulgar display. 

Dropping the band even just an inch springs the tip of his cock, leaking and ready to play. It’s the only part of his body he’s never been self-conscious of, because God or whoever else decided he at least deserved a win in that department when they decided to make him a skinny bitch with weak lungs. Gives the girls who settle for him a nice reward. 

Except, he never gets this hard for all the pretty girls he bags. This - the red, burning tip, the feeling like if he touches it he’ll cum in just a few strokes, the pain of wanting to draw the pleasure out as long as he can - is reserved only for the times he’s fucking his hand. 

There’s a quiet battle of wills that follows between giving up inspecting his gains and giving into his own touch. He cups his balls through his sweats, head kicking back tugged by an invisible hand at the squeeze. Noah’s sure the column of his throat looks positively delicious like this, has seen enough photos of himself in this devout escape onstage, and thinks he’s no better than all the commenters saying they’d like to lick it. He’d do it instantly, and he knows it’d feel good.

In the end, the sweats come down his thighs. He’s never denied himself pleasure so heavily mounted, not when paraded before him so, not when the boundaries are inexistent. He won’t let himself be fucking tease.

The drag of the calluses on his fingers against the tenderhot flesh of his cock sends gooseflesh up his arms. 

His toes numb for a moment as he finally takes himself in hand at the base, breath hitching wetly as he watches his hand wrap against himself. He’s heavy in his hand even to himself, so thick and veiny and so hard. A drop of precum splashes his thigh before he even has a chance to run his hand up the length. He collects it with his pinky when he reaches the tip, not daring let it go to waste. 

Thunder thighs has always been a confusing insult to him. Thighs are the strength in legs, the support to a body, the place you put your hand to hint your desire to a lover. Thighs are his handles when buried in a lover - the cradle to what every person wants most from another. Years of touring and running out of underwear have made him accustomed to going commando, but since his thighs filled out - though he now can afford to just buy a five-pack Hanes on a whim - he prefers it. There’s never a better cradle for a commando cock than a thick set of thighs. 

The overeager spit bubbles as it mingles with the precum on his palm, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. The way they rapidly deflate feels like a countdown, one he’s determined to beat, and so finally, finally, he takes himself in hand earnestly. 

He can’t help the strangled hiss that escapes.

Noah’s usually pretty quiet in bed. Doesn’t like the vulnerability that comes with voicing his pleasure, with sharing the secret of how easy to please he is with a partner. But, fuck, does he love talking himself through it. “C’mon, baby,” he chants to his hand as it increases speed. “So fucking good,” he groans through gritted teeth. 

His voice is so fucking smooth. So fucking deep when he speaks through his chest. Just the perfect amount of grit that, if he shuts his eyes, he can feel reverberate through his nape and scalp and bang against the back of his nose as the sound waves travel to his cochlea. 

He won’t shut his eyes now. Never - not when he’s looking like that with his brow furrowed, gaze hard and nearly icy, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tight. 

He clenches it tighter, raises his chin just so to create the illusion of that perfect jawline. 

“Noah,” he moans, “god, Noah, fuck.” It echoes in his ear, and it is his voice, but he swears he didn’t feel his lips move as he watches them round around each syllable in his reflection. 

His name sounds so good rolling off his own tongue. 

Release hits Noah not like a full-speed bullet train, but the way it feels when you pulled your first tooth: slow, painful, and with each tug more builds up until it just pops out. Only after does he register the relief, the shoot of tension up his spine to burst behind his eyes and temples, the numbness in his fingers as he struggles to jerk himself through. 

Just those few final caresses. His cum blinds him with exploding stars and broken breaths. It paints the mirror in sloppy strokes of seminal goo, but he supposes that’s what Windex is for. 

Before he registers the signal from brain to limb he kneels, the rough of his wall-to-wall carpet digging into his knees as he releases his eager tongue. The spend is saltybitter when it coats the bed of his taste buds, slimy as it runs down the ramp of his throat. Noah makes sure to collect every single drop. 

He doesn’t feel shame when his eyes meet his own in the wet, distorted reflection once he’s done savoring himself. “You did so well, baby,” he says. “Such a good baby.”

His reflection nods eagerly, eyelids fluttering blissfully, head dropping as Noah’s neck stays stiff and still, eyes wide open. 

God damn, he is a sight to be seen.

[syd-djarin]

Do It For Me | jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

For the greatest experience, recommend reading part 1 here. Can also be read as a standalone.

Summary: Jack returns home much later than he said he would. You punish him as you see fit.

Warnings: sub!jack, dom!reader, edging, safeword, some religious undertone references (Christ, taking the lords name in vain, “the Almighty”), a little angst in the beginning, alcohol, inability to tell the truth, mentions of Jack possibly being dead, blood, yelling, crying, anxiety spiral. Excessive, excesssssive use of pet names, (1) use of MOMMY, use of daddy, Jack is called a pretty boy and a good boy. Jack uses pet names for reader too (baby, sweetheart, sugar, etc.) Dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), face riding, Jack’s big cock, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, size kink, handcuffs, cowboy/southern references, mentions of pain and punishment. Reader has no major physical descriptions. And finally…your honor, they’re in love. LMK if I missed anything.

Thank you @milly-louise for the encouragement.

And of course, y’all already know that @katiexpunk put her sexy magic touch on this and is the best cheerleader and Slutty Smutty Sister. Katie is seriously one of a kind and it is a privilege to know her.

I truly have the best smut support there is. :’) Hope y’all enjoy!

smut below the cut.

Jack busts into your apartment like a force of nature, opening the door like a saloon door in the Wild West. He’s gasping for breath from rushing home to see you – climbing the stairs three at a time, testing his agility harder than any training ever did, simply from the fact that most of the blood is in his cock, eager to see you, rather than in any other part of his moving body.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late—“ he trails off as he takes in the scene before him.

He finds you sitting at the dining table; candles lit, a bottle of red open on the table, one wine glass full, the other that’s smudged with lipstick empty, and his favorite meal waiting for him. His eyes flutter to you and he’s met with a pair of misty, red scleras staring back at him.

You rise from the table and storm off to the bathroom, your humiliation unbearable. Since you were a little girl, you have always been self-conscious of the way you look when you cry. Like one allergy attack short of an ER visit. Not beautifully poetic the way the girls in movies cry. Full on hyperventilating and snot running out of your nose. Once inside, hot salty tears stream down your cheeks. The pang in your chest knocks the wind out of you, disappointment burning through your body like wildfire, heating your skin.

You thought it might be nice to surprise Jack, to welcome him home from his two-week mission; the longest you’ve been apart since you’ve been together. Be home in a jiffy, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be home around six, he assured you this morning over the phone, his voice smooth and silky.

Six turned into seven thirty, which turned into eight-thirty, and now here it is – nearing 11 o’clock, each passing hour without hearing from him only made you more upset. You wouldn’t be this mad if had he just called, texted, or hell, he could have sent a carrier pigeon to let you know he’s fine and that’d be late. All of your calls and texts to him went unanswered. You’re not unused to this, given his job and everything, but every time it happens it irks you in a way you can’t control.

But no, he didn’t – his absence acted like a tour bus, giving your mind an entire tour of all of the things that could have possibly gone wrong. What if he was hit by a car? Trapped in an industrial-size freezer? It’s not logical, but like…what if.

Or worse, what if he was dead? Jack wields around his mortality as if it were immortality in his line of work, meaning you worry about him like you get paid hourly to do so. The waiting, the worrying, and the not-knowing spreads under your skin like a fever with each passing minute. You don’t even care about the dinner getting cold, or to be honest, the fact that he didn’t respond to you. You’re past that, you’re emotions thick like a blanket. You just need to know he’s okay. He’s safe. He’s still alive, for fucks sake.

As you waited for him, your knee bobbing under the kitchen table, your thoughts oscillated between the worst-case scenarios, your stomach swirling in unease and dread.

And then –

There he was, swinging the door open, a shit-eating grin on his face as if he had no idea that you’d been expecting him for hours or that you’d made yourself sick wondering where he was.

You pat at your blurry lashline with a tissue, trying not to smear the makeup you worked so hard to put on earlier in the evening. Hurried and heavy boot steps echo outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock.

“Baby, can I come in, please?” He gently coos, his voice almost a little desperate, forehead leaning against the door. It’s not locked, but Jack is a gentleman above all and wants to respect your space. Even if it’s his fault you need it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you spit back, your voice wobbly. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach; you’ve never spoken to him like this before. Normally you’re fairly carefree, and understanding, but the talons you like to keep hidden away are now on full display, brought out by a mix of worry, hunger, and anger.

You look in the mirror again, and your feigned attempts to prevent your mascara from running are useless. Your eyes are now puffy, beyond anything Benadryl or Clear Eyes could help, and even a bit raccoon-like. Great, a cherry on top of an already shit night.

You step back from the counter and lean back against the wall, allowing your legs to slightly give out as you slide down the expanse of it, the fabric of your dress riding up as you do. Your bare thighs hit the cool tile below you, cooling your hot skin. The tears that well in your eyes fall one by one, and don’t seem like they have any plans to ease up anytime soon. You run the back of your hand under your nose and move it to wipe away some of the moisture on your cheeks.

“Sweetheart?” He calls to you through the door, but he’s met with silence. “Baby, I’m so sorry I’m late. I can see how much this night meant to you, and I can tell you worked hard to make it special. I’m sorry I ruined it. Baby, please, open the door – let me see you.”

The sincerity in his voice causes your temper to simmer down. You plant your palms on the ground and push yourself up to stand. You know you look like a hot mess, but you don’t care. Let the fucker see how much he hurt you. Your palm finds the brass doorknob, and you quickly pull the door open, almost taking Jack with it, not realizing he was leaning up against it.

You stand there, arms by your sides, your fists rolled into little balls. Your cheeks are damp, and the stray hands of your hair are plastered to them, glued on by your tears. At first, you look at the floor, before lifting your gaze to face Jack.

His heart sinks when he sees you. “Oh sweetpea…fuck, I am so sorry baby,” he tells you once more.

“You’re late, Jack. Like really fucking late!” you cry out to him, not quite yelling, but not quite not yelling, either.

“I know I am, but baby –” he replies, looking at your lips, avoiding your eyes, before you cut him off.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me or text me? For fucks sake, Jack. I thought you were hurt! Or worse, dead. You could have been lying in a ditch bleeding out and I would have had no idea,” you spill out, spewing fire with your words. “Where were you anyway? Hmm? What had you so preoccupied you couldn’t even bother to tell me you were gonna be – oh I don’t know, five hours late?” You ask, a twinge of snarkiness behind your voice.

You’re only so keyed up because you care about him so much; trying to mask your pain with anger.

He inches closer to you, instinctively pulling your body into his. You resist as first, body rigid, not embracing him back. You’re still mad, but with the way he feels against you, you can’t help but soften. You wrap your arms around his middle, resembling the way a koala bear clings onto a tree. The firmness of his arms envelops you in a protective blanket, pulling you tight to him so you can see the pulse in his neck, lowers your cortisol levels, and cools your heated blood.

“I’ll tell you, but have to promise you won’t laugh,” he says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. Fuck, he missed you.

“I’m not going to laugh, Jack. Where were you? What the hell happened?” you demand to know once again, stepping back from him, disconnecting your embrace.

“I uh – well, I was trying to save a kitten that was trapped on the train tracks on my way home. I managed to grab it, but as I was hoisting it back up onto the platform, my phone fell out of my pocket. By the time I went back down to grab it, the train was right around the corner…and well, it was crushed. Then I had to navigate my way home without GPS, and I saw an old lady get robbed, so I had to help her. And then there was a runaway stroller…” he says, smiling. He knows your upset, but he tries to lighten your spirits with humor.

That’s his thing. Well, your thing together, you suppose. You’d always ask him how his day was at work, how his missions went, knowing he couldn’t ever tell you the truth. You jokingly said to him one night, “Well if you can’t tell me the truth, make something up, like rescuing a kitten in a tree or something.” You were half-joking, but it just sorta stuck.

You look at Jack and can tell from the look on his face that he is sorry.

“Spy stuff, then?” You ask, clearing the remaining tears from your cheek.

“Spy stuff. I’m sorry baby, I want to tell you, I do, it’s just…the more you don’t know, the better. I don’t ever want to tell you anything that could compromise you, I couldn’t bare it if you got hurt,” Jack says, a sincerity behind his voice.

You see it then – for as much as you love and worry about him. He loves and worries about you, too. He knows his work is a lot, and he can see the weight of him not being able to tell you the full truth has on you. The worry, the pain that lingers behind your eyes.

Your shoulders relax and your face softens. You won’t push him.

You know he’d tell you if he could. You run the pads of your fingers under your eyes once more, clearing away some of the fallout from your makeup. The anger from earlier dissipates.

He’s here. He’s safe.

You reach your hand out to him and allow your fingertips to curl around his pinky. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“Gonna have to make it up to me, cowboy,” you whisper, a seductive tone to your voice. “Behave for me and I won’t be too mean.”

You unhook his pinky and curl your full hand around his wrist, rounding around him, pulling him to the bedroom.

You push Jack so that he is seated at the edge of your shared bed, using your foot to wedge his thighs open, granting enough space for you to stand between them. His sable eyes are the size of saucers, his heart thrums at a rapid rate in his chest. He’s no stranger to it all, hell, he’s a trained killer for Christ's sake, and yet here he is – defenseless under you, at your total mercy.

You could tell him to get on all fours and bark, and he’d fucking do it. He doesn’t know what your end game is, but he’s itching to find out, much like the hard cock that’s quickly eating up all of the space in his jeans.

“You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy…” you say, stroking your finger along the razor edge of his chiseled jaw. A little tsk, tsk sound escapes your lips, and you move to grab his jaw with a firm grip. “What am I gonna do with you?”

He gulps hard, the prominent Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he does. You’re not wrong – he has been a naughty boy, oh god, if you only knew, but hearing you say it has him bricked up; hard, and desperate for you, and whatever you want to give him. He’s ready to worship at your altar, ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

He’s well-versed in taking charge and fucking you til you see The Almighty, but reversing those roles, having you boss him around for a change? He’s never experienced anything quite like it. The Statesman surely didn’t train him for this.

“Remember the safe word, baby?” You ask in a serious tone, momentarily pausing your sexual prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he chokes out. “Y-es, I remember, baby.” Your pussy throbs at the sight of your tough cowboy submitting to you.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. Can you do that for me?” You respond, your voice smoky, laced with pure desire.

He nods and a faint whimper escapes his lips. You squeeze his jaw with your hand, “Use your words like a big boy,” you scold, reciting similar words he used on you not too long ago. Use your words like a big girl.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, voice trembling with need, a twinge of submission behind it.

You can’t help the smirk on your face, taking over the reins and being in charge gives you a new thrill. Now you know what all the fuss is about.

You start undoing the buttons of his Western-style shirt. You’re taking your time, enjoying how each undone button reveals more of his lean body that gets softer the further down you go, but for Jack, it’s painstakingly slow. He squirms where he’s sitting and fights the urge to take over. He’s trying not to paint his jeans just looking at you being a minx.

Rip my fuckin’ heart out baby, is the only thought that crosses his mind.

“Patience, baby,” you purr and give his face a few playful smacks. You reach for his belt buckle, and he hisses when it presses against his rock-hard cock. You retreat, remembering the recurring fantasy you’ve been having for weeks now.

“Pants off, lay on the bed, and wait for me,” you order and he does as he’s told. Truthfully, he’s a little afraid of what you might do if he doesn’t. You walk over to your closet space, which is thankfully out of view from the bed. You take the opportunity to strip down to the silky black bra and matching panties you’ve been waiting to show Jack all evening. You gather the items you came to the closet for and step back into the bedroom.

Jack is lying with his back under a cloud of pillows, his head resting against the metal headboard. He’s almost naked, just like you asked, his thick bulge pronounced in his underwear. You swear you can see his heart thump out of his chest from across the room when his eyes trail over your nearly bare body. His breath catches in his throat when he sees what you retrieved from the closet. Fuzzy handcuffs, and one of your fluorescent pink dildos. He doesn’t mind when you use it on yourself, but he’d much rather give you the real thing. The silicon shape of it taunts him.

You lay the agents of eroticism next to him and crawl up his body to hover over him. He cranes his neck to kiss you but you pull back and place your index finger over his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” you scold. He whines, actually whines, and you have to compose yourself from melting on the spot. You pick up the novelty handcuffs and dangle them in his face, a mischievous and somewhat amused look on your face.

“Gonna put these on ya, pretty boy,” you say with a delicate cadence, almost questioning; giving Jack the room to protest. He’s never been restrained before, at least not in this context. He’s restrained you plenty of times, but you understand he might not like it; especially given the nature of his profession and his need to always be on guard.

But fuck it, if he has a problem with it, he can safe word out.

He doesn’t.

You lock eyes with him as you fasten the handcuffs around his wrists, one end on each, the other tethered to the metal bed frame. Your chest is so close to his face, close enough that his tongue can’t help but dart out and give your tits a little lick, the temptation of it too strong.

You pull away from him and look down at him. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself, and that includes your tongue. You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack nods, a smug look on his face. He thinks you’re cute when you’re demanding.

“Better wipe that little smirk from your face right now or I’ll leave you chained up all night, fuck myself silly with this plastic cock, and moan your name the entire time I do it. You won’t get a single taste. That what you want?” You ask, a condescending tone to your voice.

He doesn’t answer you, he just looks at you with lusty, glossy eyes. “What’s the matter baby, cat got your tongue?” you say, and a low growl leaves his chest.

“No, baby. I don’t want that. Wanna fuck you, wanna show you how sorry I am,” he says. You know he could bust out of the handcuffs with a swift tug if he wanted to. You know he could pin you to this bed and have you crying for him, following his every demand. What’s more, you know you’d like it.

But he knows he fucked up, and he knows this is his penance.

You let out a little purr of satisfaction when you see him tug at the cuffs, the rattle of them against the metal of the bed frame. His lack of somewhat self-imposed freedom shows you that right now he’s at your mercy.

You rise to stand on the bed, both of your feet on either side of him, positioned just above his head. The view you’re giving him is obscene, the sheer lace of your panties just barely covering your wet and glistening cunt. You dip your hand below the hand of them and use your fingers to gently nudge the soiled fabric to the side. You run your finger up your dripping seam, collecting your slick on your finger, gently passing over your throbbing clit as you do. A little gasp trickles over your lips. Jack can see the glisten on your fingertips and his mouth salivates, conditioned like Pavlov’s dog at the sight of your juices. He can smell you from where you’re positioned, the sweet scent of your arousal, and the groan he lets out is animalistic, primal. He’s kicking himself for the predicament he’s in, but at the same time, relinquishing control has never felt this good.

“Bet you wanna stuff your thick cock in this pretty pussy don’t you, Daddy. Wanna split me open, stretch me out, and claim me,” you taunt him, your fingers continuing their ministration against your clit, nearing you closer to your release. The filth spewing from your lips is mostly just to tease him, but fuck, if it doesn’t do something for you, too. Mostly because it’s true. You want him so bad, you can only imagine how he must feel.

“Answer me, baby. Tell me what you wanna do to this pussy when I finally let you,” you rasp out, your fingers alternating between slipping in and out of your wet and waiting hole.

“Fuuuck,” Jack growls. He can barely form words, too drunk off the sight of your pussy, watching you work yourself above him. “Such a pretty fucking cunt,” he hisses, “gonna fucking ruin you when I get out of these cuffs.”

“Yeah? Keep being a good boy for me and I’ll let you fuck me however you want baby,” you rasp, a little breathless, sprinting to the cliff of your orgasm,“But, you’re gonna make me come first,” you say, falling to your knees, holding the panties far off to the side of your slit. You position yourself right above Jack’s face, holding your glistening cunt inches away from his face. So close he can almost taste it, but not quite close enough.

“I wanna hear you beg,” you tell Jack, your hands threaded through his hair, pulling it back so he’s face-to-face with your pretty pussy. “Tell your mommy how bad you wanna taste her cunt.”

And shit, it’s raunchy, straight debauched. You don’t even have time to ponder the words that just left your lips, but it felt right. You can tell Jack likes it too by the way he practically falls apart under you, a whimper leaving his chest for the second time tonight, his eyes dark as the sea at night.

When he doesn’t answer you, you tug his hair and head back a little farther, dipping just a little bit lower, close enough this time for him to land a little lick on your wet center.

“Holy fuck baby, shit I need you so bad, please sit on my face,” he begs, “please let me taste you.” You’re more than happy to oblige, chasing reprieve from your aching core. You sit down on his face, your wet folds completely covering his mouth, his nose nudged right up against your awaiting clit. You don’t put all of your weight onto him yet, not wanting to cut off all of his airflow. He pulls away slightly, “Fucking give me all of it, baby. Don’t hold back,” Jack muffles against the skin of your pussy. His voice reverberates, his hot breath is ticklish against your sensitive cunt.

As much as you’re in control right now, old habits die hard, and him telling you what to do for the first time tonight coils the spring of your nearing release tight. You let out a slew of fuck, yes, oh my god daddy, yes, and taking the lord’s name in vain a few times. You’re riding the wave of your orgasm, and it’s so intense, to the point of dizziness. “Oh wait, fuck, think–” you lift off him slightly, just in time to see your release splashing over his face, completely drenching him. You fully move off of him, and look down at him, and he’s a mess. He looks at you with a primal grin to his face, his pupils so wide they edge out the color of his eyes.

“Oh fuck, Daddy. Look at you,” you moan, “covered in me, aren’t ya? Looks good on you. Now swallow it,” you demand.

You don’t have to tell him twice. He drinks up what he can while being restrained and you decide to gift him more by catching the stray droplets on his chin with your index finger and pressing it into his mouth. Jack savors your taste, eyes fluttering shut and practically growls. He’d argue it's the nectar of the gods.

“Shit, baby. You come for me like that and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me, this cock is all yours,” Jack rasps, thoroughly fucked out and under-touched. His cock throbs under the fabric of his boxers, waiting for you to touch him, to milk the soul right out of him.

“Think I’m gonna keep you restrained like this for a bit longer, baby. But don’t worry, since you’re being so good, I’ll put on quite the show for you,” you say, shimmying and kissing your way down the center of his stomach, leaving goosebumps in your wake. You nip across the neatly trimmed hairs that rest at the top of his cock, until you come to over them, your lips hovering just above the band of his underwear.

You look up at him through your lashes, and give him a little knowing smile; you love what you do to him and you’ve barely touched him yet. You slip the fabric off of him, releasing his thick cock; it’s bigger than normal right now, pumped full of so much blood, the prominent vein that runs down the side of it bulging, the tip of it shiny with his pre-come.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him. You’ve always admired his thick, delicious cock, but having free reign over it right now, the power to do whatever the fuck you want with it is almost overwhelming. You dart your tongue out and lick the tip of him, the taste is a little salty and heady. You moan and smile, before opening your mouth wide, releasing your tongue so it’s wide and flat. You grab his cock by the base of him and tap the mushroom head of it over your tongue, little thin strings of salvia trailing between your body and his as you do.

“Fuck, baby. You’re such a tease, killin’ me over here,” Jack moans, fighting his fuzzy restraints.

“Oh Jack, my love. Have you learned anything tonight? You’re mine. I’ll do what I want with you when I want to,” you rasp, opening your mouth wide, diving down deep on to the thickness of him as you do.

“Ah shit –” he cries out, happy to finally be touched, but not expecting you to deep-throat him from the get-go. “So good baby, so good oh my god,” he cries out as he juts his hips up, trying to nudge his cock deeper into your wet and waiting throat, chasing the warmth and wetness of it. You keep working him, it’s sloppy and intense, but so damn satisfying. You’re just happy to have him deep inside one of your holes, filling you in just the way you like.

But you want more. As happy as you are to keep up this teasing, taunting, and kinky show, at your core you just need him to fuck you. You need to feel him deep inside of you, deep enough to remind you that he’s here, he’s alive, and he’s yours. You need him to fuck you so hard that the sadness from earlier in the evening spills out of you, retreats into a corner, runs away, and hides, never to be found again.

“Want me to ride you, pretty boy?” You ask, though you already know what the answer will be. He nods furiously, and if you don’t put him out of his misery soon, he has half the mind to punish you.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t catch that – use your words, I know how good you are at that; prove it to me,” you command, running your palm up and down the length of his wet cock, working him within an inch of his life.

“Yes, fuck, please ride me. Need to feel your pussy squeezin’ my cock,” he pleads, his patience wearing thin, “Don’t wanna come like this, sugar. Need to fill up that little pussy of yours, know how much she likes that, my come spilling out of you,” he moans. “Look so pretty when I’m spilling out of you, my girl,” he adds.

As soon as he finishes his last syllable, you line him up with your entrance and sink slowly. You gasp when he’s fully inside, your ass flush against him. From this angle, his cock punches your cervix in a way that deliciously teeters on pain and pleasure. You’re seriously considering uncuffing him, letting him ravage you, but ultimately you’re not ready to end your fun.

Your hand finds purchase on Jack’s sweat-slick chest as you bounce up and grind back down on his vicious cock. Your other hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in tandem with the plunging movement of your hips. Each movement fuses both of you together in shared ecstasy.

The flurry of emotions and sensations you’re experiencing at once is overwhelming; your second orgasm impending, the still raw and pent up feelings from your catastrophizing thought spiral that lasted for hours, and the sweet relief of having your cowboy back home with you. Exactly where he belongs.

He’s close and you’re both a little surprised he’s lasted this long. His honey-like drawl spewing out filthy words. The closer he gets the mouthier he gets.

Atta girl, ride this cock like you mean it. Look like straight up sin like this, baby. Fuckin’ goddess. Fuck fuck fuck. Thank fucking Christ you’re mine. Shit. fuck. damn. All mine, all mine.

Furling headfirst into euphoria, you roar out at a decibel that the neighbors on each side of you won’t appreciate the way that Jack is right now. A new flash of heat spreads throughout your body and you see stars behind your fluttering eyelids. You gush around his cock, pussy pulsating and immersing you both in your release.

“Fuck I’m—“ Jack is cut off by his own hoarse shout as he’s bucked into his own bliss, painting your insides with spurts of cum. He’s pretty sure he has died and went where cowboys go; he’s never come this hard in his life. He’s dizzy, borderline disoriented, chasing his breath like it’s a greased pig and he’s the poor chap pursuing it. You lean down and capture his lips in a frenzied kiss, another way of tethering yourselves to each other and back down to earth.

With trembling limbs you reach over to the nightstand and grab the tiny keys to the cliche cuffs still locked around Jack’s wrists. You fumble through unlocking them and you’re grateful that he is still hazy, otherwise he’d be giving you shit for it.

You dismount off of his softening shaft and feel your spent pussy leak down your inner thighs. A filthy idea pops into your fucked out head, your last act of dominance for tonight. You glide two fingers through your combined juices and bring them to Jack’s lips. The second time your fingers have been in his mouth tonight.

“See how good we taste together, baby,” you command, smearing some onto his plush lips. He sticks out his tongue, waiting for your offering. Much to your delight, he is still pliant under your control after you removed his restraints. He swirls his warm tongue along your fingers, lapping up every last drop.

You move off Jack’s chest in favor of tucking yourself into his side. Even though you were in control tonight, the need to be held post-coitus is still present. When he holds you in his strong arms, it’s your sanctuary. He’s not sure you know, but you’re his sanctuary.

Moments of tranquil pass and Jack breaks the silence.

“So…. Mommy, huh?”

END