#thinking i should go there next week when i go back to school

[hhoneylemon]

“try to keep up!”

mark grayson x gn!reader

summary: reader helps mark train after he decides that he��s an unsatisfactory hero. you move from mentor to love interest pretty easy.

genre: fluff, wc: 3.8k+ A/N: reader is a superhero, they can fly and have telekinetic powers. this is the longest fic i’ve ever written

“you can fly faster than that.”

mark grunts as he lands in a grassy field of illinois. he rubs at the muscles of his thighs, glaring and grumbling at you.

“i can’t, actually. that was my top speed.”

you raise a brow, a small frown forming on your lips. you rub the bridge of your nose and let out a soft sigh.

“how are you gonna be a superhero when you peak at 75 miles per hour?”

mark’s cheeks flush red under his mask. he raises a hand and points at you, poking at your chest, an annoyed frown pulling at his lips.

“i’m trying.” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “it’s not easy going fast when i’ve only had my powers for a few months.”

you smirk at him, your own feet lifting on the ground. you tilt your head and beckon him to follow you. he hesitates for a moment before lifting off as well, following after you. the two of you graze through the clouds for a moment before you spin midair and turn your body to face him.

“try to keep up!”

you then dart off into the sky. you can almost imagine the face mark makes as he scrambles to keep up, eyes wide as his mouth forms that little pout of his. you almost sigh dreamily as you dip downwards, zooming towards the waters that surround chicago.

the two of you fly around for maybe half an hour. you watch the clouds shift overhead and the sun begin setting, smiling at the peacefulness of it all. you carefully land on the rooftop of a burger mart on the outskirts of the city, brushing a hand through your hair to fix it while waiting patiently for mark.

when he lands, you have to hold back a smile. the light being cast by the sunset illuminates him in all of the best way, catching on all the ridges and curves of his body and face. his hair is windswept and he has to spend a moment to catch his breath. he runs a hand through his hair and grins at you, looking similar to a puppy who’s been offered to play fetch.

“not holding back on me? i thought you were supposed to.”

you shrug in response, a grin hinting at your lips. your eyes flit between him and the sunset behind him, the light almost hurting your eyes.

“no, i’m supposed to be pushing you past your limits. in a good way. do you feel like i did that?”

as if sensing your discomfort just by the way you squint, mark moves until he’s blocking the sun for you. you smile in gratitude, and he’s quick to smile back.

“yeah. i think i hit 80.” his tone is teasing, the grin on his face knowing and sweet. as you begin to say something, you receive a phone call. a small huff, you apologize and check the caller id. you grin at mark and wave him off. “my mom. go home, mark. see you at school.”

mark’s lips purse for a moment. he’s almost childish in the way he wanted to spent more time with you. he wanted to spend more time goofing off with you, training and having friendly banter. he sighs anyways, nodding reluctantly.

“see you, then.”

his feet lift off the ground and he begins the journey home. it’ll only take a few minutes, but it’ll give him time to think. maybe he should drop a request for your next training session? he knows he needs to fly faster, but he’d like to continue training his actual fighting skills. he needs to be hit more, the fact made obvious by how often he’s beaten in a fight. he also needs help making smarter decisions. he’ll bring it up with you soon.

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

maybe mark has mistaken you. while you train together the next week, he can feel himself growing frustrated. it’s just you dropping heavy objects from a high distance and then making him catch it before it hits the ground. this is just speed training; he needs more. more strength training, more endurance training.

he flies back up beside you after catching a dumpster, arms crossed over his chest. his expression is unamused. you laugh, hand finding his forearm.

“i’m sorry! i promise i’ll never use a dumpster again, it was probably disgusting.”

a smile hints at mark’s lips. he just sighs and shakes his head, rolling his eyes behind his goggles.

“well, yes. but i wanted to talk to you.” he drops his arms, instead clasping his hands in front of him. he looks polite. “i want to change some things with our training.”

you raise an eyebrow in response, watching as he bites the inside of his cheek and fidgets with his thumbs.

“well, it depends on what you’re asking me to change.”

mark nods his head, humming in agreement. he seems eager at the chance to have a say. it’s cute. you smile to yourself as you watch him try to think of how to word his request.

“well, i wanted to work on my ability to take hits. maybe you could throw stuff at me? stuff like trucks, other heavy things.”

you hum in amusement, though he has a point. just two months ago, he’d gotten beaten in a fight because the bad guy threw a car and caught mark off guard. the bad guy had gotten away, and mark came to your house and whined on your bed until you agreed to start helping him become a better hero.

and honestly, who were you to say no? spending some extra time with a friend is always fun. not to mention a friend who’s pretty cute. maybe you only said yes so that you’d get closer to him and and he’d magically fall for you and ask you out. it’s good to train anyways, since mark’s been rather vincible recently.

“we can try. c’mon.”

you drop, angling yourself to fly comfortably towards chicago. you almost laugh to yourself. you could hear his ‘hey!’ as you got the head start, easily beating him back to the city.

you land on the outskirts of the city, taking note of the cars on the street. it was unfair that you were using some random persons car, sure, but maybe cecil would be willing to pay for it if it means that his heroes are getting stronger and more capable of defending the world. 

your eyes lock on a minivan across the street as mark prepares to land. as you concentrate, it lifts off the ground and flies at mark. you can barely see his expression turn to shock as he’s taken down with it.

if you hadn’t known he was invulnerable, you’d have been worried. instead, you laugh and wait for him to get back up. he throws his hands above his head the moment he’s stood and balanced, walking towards you.

“what the heck! you couldn’t have waited ‘til i was ready?” he scoffs, stopping when he’s in front of you. you grin at him, inspecting him to make sure that you didn’t do too much damage. you think you see his body relax and his face soften, but you’re not sure. 

“the villains won’t wait until you’re ready. you should always be ready, anyways.”

mark sighs and rolls his eyes beneath his goggles, though he nods anyways.

“you’re right. just… geez.”

you laugh again, knocking his shoulder with your own as you walk around him. you crack your knuckles surveying the rest of the cars on the street before looking over your shoulder at him. he’s standing, watching you with a small smile on his face. you remember him making that exact expression at a kitten he saved from a tree once. you squint at him. what an odd comparison.

it doesn’t even take an hour before the cars on the street are wrecked and mark stands with a bloody nose and a grin wider than you’ve ever seen before. he practically floats over to you, grabbing your shoulders when he can tell you’re a little dizzy from using your powers for so long.

“look at this, dude! if we do this more often, we’re both training our powers. it’s beneficial to us both.”

you can’t seem to do anything but nod in response, pressing your fingers to your temples to try and soothe the dizziness. a soft groan escapes you. his giddy expression drops immediately, concern etching across his features. his grip on your shoulders tighten.

“i can fly you home, if you want. you look a little out of it.” he waves his hand in front of your face to back up his statement. you playfully roll your eyes, though you nod slowly anyways.

“sounds good.”

mark squats, placing an arm under your knees, the other hooking around your shoulders. once he has you securely in against him, he begins flying you home. he goes slowly, not wanting your head to pound with an intense migraine just because he decided to get you there a little faster.

you lean into him during the flight, his warm body a nice contrast to the cold breeze passing the two of you. you feel his hold on you tighten just a tad.

what you don’t see is the way his lips form a soft smile and the way his ears tinge red just at the prospect of holding you.

when arriving in your neighborhood, mark flies you up to the window of your room, holding you securely as you slide the glass open. he helps you in, hanging by the windowsill as you walk to your bed and flop face-down into the comfort of your mattress.

he smiles fondly at the sight, watching as you weakly roll over to face him moments later.

“hey. you’ll be okay if i leave?”

you almost roll your eyes at him, though his concern has butterflies taking a grand tour through your stomach.

“i’m a little woozy, i’m not bleeding out. i’ll be fine.”

mark’s expression turns into something between a pout and a smile. he then sighs, a little disappointed that he has to leave. he backs away for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

“okay… call me if you need me. and don’t strain yourself more than you already have.”

you groan, standing from your bed and walking to the window. you lean down to its level and raise your eyebrows at mark, pursing your lips.

“‘kay, promise i will. now go home, pretty sure we have homework in chem.”

mark cringes at the reminder, a whispered curse escaping his lips and entering the breeze that ruffles his hair. he sheepishly smiles, offering a small wave.

“see you at school tomorrow, bye!”

he zooms off before you have a chance to reply. you huff, closing your window and locking it. you decide that he needs to take a chill pill as you head to the bathroom, ready to shower off the grime from the day. 

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

“save me.”

you groan, grasping william’s arm. mark’s talking about the newest seance dog issue, excitedly pushing past a few kids so he could get to his locker. william smirks at you, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

you know that william knows about your crush on mark. you weren’t sure how; maybe you rambled a little too much about him one day? maybe you looked at him all lovesick while he talked about something nerdy? you don’t know, but that’s not the important part. william kept giving mark these subtle pushes to ask you out. how did they go?

terribly, since mark hasn’t asked you out yet. there’s the terrifying possibility that you’re just a friend, just a mentor. you cringe at the thought.

of course that’s the moment mark finally pays attention to you and william; you, looking like you just heard a metal pipe hit the floor. william, judging him in several different ways.

“mark, remind me the last time you went on a date.”

in response, mark splutters and his eyebrows furrow. he glances at you and then back to his best friend.

“uncalled for, dude.”

william just snickers, turning his attention to you.

“i’ll see you guys. not after school, though, i’m going to a birthday party. have fun.”

he almost smirks at you as he walks off. you want to him him with a hammer.

mark turns to you and laughs, walking with you to chemistry. he starts some new rant about the seance dog issue, and you find yourself heavily judgmental.

sure, mark is a superhero who’s got a big heart and is pretty silly. he’s also a huge dork and almost cringy for a high schooler. a comic fan, specifically for a dog who talks to ghosts. do you really like this guy?

yes, you do, you decide as he gives you the seat closest to the window.

you zone out while the teacher talks, get your work done as fast as possible, and then sit and contemplate. once mark finishes his work, he looks up and grins at you.

“what do you have planned for tonight?”

you blink as you remember you have training with him. you bite your lip as you think.

“i’m not sure, didn’t think too much about it. we can fly around the country and i’ll make you guess which state we’re in.”

his face falls and you have to hold back a smile. a small shake of his head as he groans.

“noo, c’mon. i could try lifting a building.”

“you’re funny.”

he pouts at you before shaking his head again. he toys with his pencil for a moment.

“well, uh… maybe instead of training tonight, we can do something else.”

you raise an eyebrow, leaning slightly towards him. your eyes narrow.

“like what?”

mark’s expression grows nervous as he smiles at you, tapping the eraser of the pencil against his desk.

“like, we could go out. catch a movie, get dinner, go shopping somewhere, maybe we could just walk around or something, or—“

“sure.”

you grin as you watch his eyes light up and his posture straighten a tad. he nods, hands splaying on his desk.

“okay, great. what should we do?”

you almost roll your eyes. he was acting as though you were the coolest thing in the world.

“dinner is fine, mark. we could do one of the ‘fancier’ burger joints in town.”

he grins at your air quotations. it falls into something softer, more like a sheepish smile as he rubs the back of his neck.

“i’d like that.”

the bell rings. you stand, gathering your things. he walks with you out the front doors, stopping once the two of you get to the sidewalks that’ll lead you home.

“i’ll see you later tonight. gotta have suspense.”

you almost roll your eyes. you groan instead.

“god, you’re corny.”

he grins, eyes lighting up. it wasn’t a compliment. 

“of course. see you!”

he walks off. you know he’ll fly once he’s walked far enough. you run a hand down your face before walking the rest of the way home. you’d dress a little nicer later for sure, grab one of your fancier scents. you logically knew you couldn’t mess this up, he already knew you so well. you still worry. what if this is where he decides you aren’t worth his time? you climb up the front steps to your home, groaning and scurrying to your room. you need to plan this perfectly.

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

whatever your plan was, it works.

the date goes well, yours and mark’s conversations never coming to an awkward pause or having to do the trick of pulling out your phone to find something to talk about.

maybe people think the two of you are crazy when you laugh together over the stupid joke he cracks, or when some story of yours makes him gasp and drop his fork, which clatters against his plate a little too loudly. you almost never want it to end.

after he pays—he said he could never let you, that he’s a gentleman and it would be terribly rude of him if he made you pay—the two of you exit, wandering through the streets of chicago. he even knows the sidewalk rule. he’d throw himself in front of a car for you anyways. good thing you practiced that, huh?

when the two of you round a street corner and begin walking through a more secluded street, mark glances at you with a curious smile.

“wanna go flying?”

you glance at him, raising a brow. he was serious, eyes twinkling under the light from the sunset. you consider for a moment before nodding.

“sure.”

you’d be lying if you said flying wasn’t one of your favorite activities. the wind rustling through your hair and stinging your eyes. the view of below—though sometimes it is scary. the feel of the clouds, the bliss of truly being alone up there. 

now, you don’t mind not being alone if it’s because you’re with mark. he flies off to your side, doing little loops with you and weaving himself through the few clouds that litter the sky. you begin a game of who can dive faster, who can land the cleanest after a dive, who can do the better loops.

you feel giddy. he looks giddy. when the both of you land, it’s outside of his house. you said that it was your turn to drop him off anyways, since it’s always the other way around. he turns and looks at you, his brown eyes warm and soothing. they’re like hershey’s kisses that were glued to his face.

you feel your cheeks heat up as he’s thanking you for tonight. the words fly in through one ear and out of the other. you nod anyways.

now would be a good time to kiss him, you realize. you think he notices how you’re looking at him, because his cheeks heat up as well. he pauses and you snap back to life.

you rush out a goodbye and lift off the ground, flying back home. embarrassing. looking at him like your favorite meal, that was way too fast, especially after a first date. you never want to show your face near him again.

you text the full details to william when you get home. well, minus the flying part. he makes fun of you for how it ended, though he gives good advice. tell mark you had a good night and apologize for being weird and freaking him out. easy.

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

william’s advice worked. maybe a little too well.

you’ve finished your fourth date, weeks having gone by, mark’s hand clasped in yours. he’s complaining about an assignment he received in calculus when the both of you stop in your tracks, collective groans escaping you.

tether tyrant and magmaniac robbing a bank. you glance at mark. he glances at you. you both shake your heads, stripping from your civilian clothes and into your hero suits.

the two of you make quick work of jumping into a fight with them, mark throwing punches at magmaniac while you throw cars at tether tyrant with your powers. the only problem is that he can throw them back.

after several close calls of almost getting hit, you start getting a little frustrated. he’s just catching the cars and tossing them back at you. you decide against your better judgment and fly at him, tackling him to the ground.

you land a punch to his jaw before he’s grabbing your feet with his tethers and flinging you. you hit a solid wall. your breath is knocked out of you as the faint taste of copper floats through your mouth. you cough, slumping forward a bit. you forget you don’t have certain powers sometimes.

as tether tyrant throws another car, you stop it midair and let it fall to the ground. you grumble and float back up, trying to make a game plan. maybe you can—

mark moves faster than you can think. suddenly tether tyrant’s halfway across the street. you think you hear a crunch of a bone. mark’s quickly at your side, hands cupping your face.

“are you okay?”

his eyebrows are furrowed, entire face screaming with concern. you try not to grin.

“yeah, i’m fine.”

“you sure? i got a little scared when you hit the wall.”

“i’m sure.”

he relaxes a bit, though he still worries. without leaving room for argument, he scoops you into his arms and flies off. you sigh, leaning against him and almost smiling. it was cute how concerned he was over something so small.

you open your window as he holds you outside of your house, helping you climb in once it’s opened. he climbs in behind you, hands gently guiding you to your bed. he puts his hands on his hips once you’re sat.

“where does it hurt?”

you can’t hold back your laughter. his shoulders slightly fall and he frowns.

“i’m just trying to help.”

you rub at your eye, letting out a soft chuckle before looking up at him. his demeanor softens and he shifts between his feet. he needs a verdict.

“sorry. didn’t know my boyfriend was a doctor.”

mark pauses. he throws off his mask as quickly as he can, letting you see just how wide his eyes are. his hands shoot out and grab your shoulders.

“boyfriend?”

“well, we’ve been on multiple dates, we hang out all the time, we talk on the phone a lot. i think—“

he lets go of you and starts floating. he sighs dreamily and spins into an upside down position.

“gosh, i guess we are dating, huh?”

you roll your eyes and beckon him closer. he carefully flies towards you, still hanging upside down. his movements are wobbly. he physically stutters when your hands find his face and pull him into a kiss. his own hands find the sides of your head, angling you just so, letting him relax against your lips.

when you pull away, he plops himself right beside you. a sheepish grin spreads on his face, his knee knocking against yours.

“so. couples, like, kiss and make out and stuff, right?”

his expression is not slick. his grin turns from sheepish to sly, eyes sparkling mischievously. you roll your eyes before laughing, arms wrapping around his neck as you lean in.

“yeah, so?”

“so, i think we should try fitting in. totally.”

your breath fans across his face. he shudders and wraps his arms around your waist, twisting his body to get closer to you. your noses press together.

“sounds good to me.”

he leans in, lips pressing to yours. it’s delicate, like he’s not sure how to handle you yet. he begins leaning back onto the mattress, bringing you with him to half lean on top of him.

needless to say, mark goes home that night with kiss swollen lips and pupils shaped like hearts.

masterlist

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Three ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, southern charm still thick as molasses in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark starts tweakin’ a lil’ bit on the low LMAO

Word Count: 2,449

Synopsis: Mark shows up to school early only to be immediately wrecked by you, who’s handing out muffins & heartache. Mark finds himself caught between charm, jealousy, and the slow realization that he is already in waaay too deep.

a/n: thank you for the feedback on the poll but y’all are just as torn on the direction to go with this thing as I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i really don’t want to drag this series out too longgg cause i feel like y’all will get sick of her, but there is so much fun potential with them!! so when i do wrap it up i definitely still plan to do random drabbles/blrubs/headcannons. so if you have a particular scenario you want to see played out with these two let me knowww

read part two ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The next day, Mark got to first period a full fifteen minutes early.

He wasn’t trying to be extra—he just, y’know, happened to wake up earlier than usual. Showered for an extra minutes. Stared into his closet for even longer.

It was row after row of sweaters.

Gray sweater. Navy sweater. Slightly-different-gray sweater. The exact same maroon one he wore yesterday, and probably twice last week.

“Why do I own so many sweaters,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not even cold.”

He glanced at the clock. He had exactly twelve minutes to leave the house if he wanted to be on time. But today wasn’t about being on time.

Today was about impressing the southern goddess who fed him homemade pie and called him sugar like it didn’t wreck his entire nervous system.

He yanked the maroon sweater off its hanger and immediately dropped it again. “No. You wore that when you met her. You can’t wear a sweater twice in a row, she’ll think you’re... sweater guy.”

He reached deeper. Somewhere in the back—past the knit graveyard—and he found an old, forgotten denim button-up he hadn’t worn in ages.

“…Okay. Alright.” He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite. “It’s not not cool. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

By the time he was out the door, he was buttoned up, hair freshly styled, smelling faintly like his dad’s aftershave (too much? was it too much?), and on track to arrive at school earlier than any teenager had ever willingly arrived before.

He passed one of the janitors on the way in. The guy looked at him weird.

Mark nodded like a man with a mission. “Big day.”

The janitor grimaced and went back to mopping.

Mark made it to class so early the lights weren’t even fully on yet.

He sat down, tried to play it cool, tapped his pen like he wasn’t losing his mind.

And then—you walked in.

Suddenly the semi-lit classroom felt too bright.

You were wearing another one of those flowy dresses—soft blue this time, with little white daisies scattered all over like a watercolor painting. Your hair was curled again, bouncing around your shoulders, and there was a tiny yellow bow tucked just behind your ear.

You were smiling, too. Big and bright, like it wasn’t still technically dark outside.

Mark forgot what breathing was.

“Good mornin’, sugar!” you chirped, dropping into the desk beside him in a way that almost made the hard plastic seem comfortable. “Ain’t it just the prettiest day?”

Mark looked outside.

It was overcast. Kinda windy. A bird hit the window and flopped off.

“…Yeah,” he croaked. “Gorgeous.”

You opened your notebook with a little hum, pulling out a pen that had a fuzzy pink pom-pom on the end. Different from your rhinestone student pencil from yesterday. Of course you had a whole arsenal of beautiful writing utensils.

Mark stared at it like it held all the answers to the universe.

“I brought peach muffins today,” you said, casual as ever. “Meemaw said I should bring a whole batch with me ‘cause they were too good not to share. I figured I’d bring you one.”

Mark’s felt like a fist had closed around his heart. “I’d die for a muffin.”

You laughed, light and lovely, not even fazed. “Well shoot, I don’t want you dyin’ for one. You just wait ‘til lunch and I’ll hand it over easy, no crime involved.”

Mark stared at you, helpless.

You turned your face to the window with a little sigh, completely unaware you’d just accidentally ruined him for every other girl on planet Earth.

The bell rang.

Mark didn’t even notice.

He was too busy falling deeper in love with the girl who brought sunshine and muffins into first period like it was nothing.

He was still riding the high of being called sugar and getting a personal smile when the classroom started to fill in.

You were already sitting beside him, scribbling little daisies in the margins of your notes and humming to yourself like you were the only one immune to Tuesday energy. You pulled a small zip-lock pouch from your tote and opened it to reveal a cluster of wrapped muffins, all neat and warm and clearly made with care.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” you said brightly—to the teacher.

Mark watched with stars in his eyes as you stood, walked to the front desk, and handed the teacher a muffin with both hands and a smile. “Mama always says nobody should have to start their day without a little somethin’ sweet.”

The teacher blinked, clearly caught off guard, then smiled back. “Well... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Mark practically swooned. Look at her, he thought. She’s so thoughtful. She’s so considerate. She’s like a vintage greeting card but better. An actual saint.

You turned around, still holding one more muffin in your hand—and then you walked right past Mark’s desk.

He froze. Wait. No muffin for him?

But then—worse—you stopped beside Brian.

Brian. The kid with glasses thicker than bulletproof glass. The one who wore suspenders without irony. Who once gave a ten-minute speech in class about his favorite graphing calculator.

You handed him a muffin.

“There ya go, sugar,” you said sweetly. “You always look so focused in here—I figure you deserve a treat.”

Brian turned bright red. “Oh! Uh! Thanks! That’s, um—wow. Thank you.”

Mark, from two desks away, silently short-circuited.

Brian?? He liked Brian! Brian was harmless! Brian was also now the luckiest man alive and probably didn’t even know it!!

Mark stared blankly at his own desk. The jealousy was illogical. He knew that. You were just being friendly. It was who you were. That was why he liked you so much.

Still.

He looked down at his empty hands, then at Brian, who was carefully placing his muffin into a Ziploc bag like it was a museum artifact.

Mark was still trying to pretend he didn’t feel weird about the whole Brian Situation™ when you turned back to him with your usual sunny grin—muffin bag in hand.

He straightened in his seat like a dog hearing the treat bag rustle.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” you said, tapping the top of the bag like it held gold. “I got your muffin all safe and sound for lunch.”

Mark blinked. “Oh—cool. Thank you.”

“But,” you added, eyes twinkling, “you look like you could use a little somethin’ sweet right now.”

His heart started to race. “I—I mean I—uh—”

You reached into the bottom of the muffin bag, broke off a little piece of golden, peach-flecked heaven, and held it out to him between your fingers.

“Open up.”

Mark’s soul left his body.

He opened his mouth automatically, like he was under some kind of southern-fried spell, and you gently popped the bite in—still smiling, totally casual, like this was just what people did.

The muffin was warm and soft and ridiculous. A spiritual experience.

You went right back to your notes like nothing had happened.

Mark sat there in stunned silence, chewing slowly, eyes wide like a soldier returning from war.

LATER THAT DAY — LUNCH.

Mark was already outside when you arrived—waiting under the tree like a man on a mission, trying to act like he hadn’t sprinted there the second the bell rang.

You showed up, bright as ever, holding that pastel lunchbox like it was the Holy Grail.

“Well hey, handsome,” you greeted, sitting gracefully beside him. “Hope you saved some room. I brought you the biggest one.”

He smiled—more like grinned—more like beamed. “Yeah, totally. Been thinking about it all day. Like… not in a weird way. Just. Y’know.”

You laughed, pulling out your container.

Then, completely oblivious to the emotional avalanche you were about to cause, you added: “Oh! And where’s your little friend? The one from yesterday? I brought extra for him too!” You took another cheerful bite of your muffin and glanced around the courtyard.

Mark froze mid-chew.

“William?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

You nodded, casual as ever. “Mmhmm. I could’ve sworn he was in line for those lil’ curly fries they serve.” You pulled the spare muffin from your bag, holding it up delicately in its wax paper like it was a peace offering. “Wouldn’t feel right eatin’ this one without givin’ it to him. Poor thing’ll think I forgot about him!”

Mark’s smile was pained. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… thoughtful.”

You grinned, totally oblivious to the internal meltdown you’d just triggered. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in there honey. Go get him!”

He blinked. “What?”

You laughed gently, like he was being shy. “Go on, darlin’! Tell him I saved one just for him. He can come sit with us.”

Mark’s brain:

💔 This was our thing. 💔 Our spot. 💔 Our tree. 💔 Our muffin moment. 💔 Our marriage announcement was going to go here.

But all he said was, “…Right. Be right back.”

He stood up slowly, like he was going to the guillotine. “You sure you don’t wanna… I don’t know… surprise him later?”

You laughed again and shook your head. “Now don’t be silly. Ain’t no sense lettin’ this thing go cold!”

He nodded, a broken man. “Right. Of course. Warm muffins. That makes sense.”

You waved him off with a sweet little, “Tell him I said hurry, before I eat it myself!”

As he turned toward the cafeteria, he muttered under his breath, “…I was gonna marry her.”

Mark all but slammed through the cafeteria doors, eyes scanning the room like he was hunting prey.

There. At the far table. William, munching on curly fries like it was just another day, chatting with some guy from math class like the fate of Mark’s entire romantic future wasn’t on the line.

Mark rushed over, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. “Will,” he hissed, out of breath, eyes intense. “Please don’t ruin this.”

William blinked. “Ruin what? What’s happening? Are we being hunted?”

Mark leaned in, voice urgent. “She sent me to come get you. You. Personally. She has a muffin for you.”

William raised both brows. “...Oh. So this is about Muffin Girl.”

Mark looked around, already twitching. “She’s waiting under the tree. Our—my—spot. Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t linger. Just take the muffin, say thank you, maybe one polite compliment on her dress if you have to, and leave.”

William paused, chewing slowly, savoring the moment like it was his own muffin.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m in hell,” Mark whispered. “I am in hell and she’s passing out baked goods like this is a church potluck. I need this.”

William popped one last curly fry in his mouth and stood. “Alright, alright. Don’t rupture anything. I’ll be cool.”

“You won’t be,” Mark muttered, following him out. “I know you. You’re gonna make this weird.”

William grinned over his shoulder. “Buddy, you brought me a muffin invitation like it was a golden ticket. This is weird.”

Mark groaned.

You spotted them before they even made it halfway across the lawn.

Mark looked like he was dragging William toward you by the soul. William, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered—curly fry in one hand, mild mischief in his eyes.

“Well there he is!” you called out, waving that sweet little wave that made Mark’s knees go weak. “I was just about to send a search party.”

William grinned as they approached. “Sorry, ma’am. He tracked me down like a bloodhound. Said I was urgently needed.”

Mark muttered, “I did not say urgently.”

You patted the blanket beside you without hesitation. “Well come on, then! I don’t wanna be handin’ out muffins while they’re all cold and sad.”

Mark shot William a look. One that screamed: Don’t you dare.

William, of course, ignored it completely and sat down like he’d been invited to a five-star brunch. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, stretching out a little. “Beautiful day, huh?”

Mark stood awkwardly beside the blanket, hovering like he wasn’t sure if this was now a group event or if he should go lay down in traffic.

“It is!” You agreed with another beaming smile before handing William the wrapped muffin “Now these are peach flavored—my favorite,” you said, then added with a wink, “but I’m biased.”

William opened it like a kid on Christmas. “Man, you bake and you’ve got charm? Mark wasn’t kidding.”

Mark snapped his head around so fast it nearly detached. “What.”

William bit into the muffin like it was the last joy on Earth and moaned dramatically. “Holy crap. You trying to kill us with kindness? These are so good!”

You giggled. “Well shoot, if I knew y’all were this easy to impress I’d’ve brought somethin’ fancier!”

Mark finally sat down, a little stiff, very tense, watching William like a hawk. He took a bite of his muffin (a big one), and tried to look normal.

He did not look normal.

William, fully aware, turned to you. “So, how’d you learn to bake like this? You go to some kind of southern baking academy, or is this just genetic perfection?”

You laughed, delighted. “Lord, no! My grandma just taught me when I was little. Said a lady should always know how to whip up a good peach pie and a sharp comeback.”

Mark, halfway through his muffin and very much not chewing like a normal person, tried to chime in. "That's really cool," he said, muffled through a mouthful.

William glanced sideways at him with a smirk that had way too much knowing in it. "Didn’t know you were so into peaches, man."

Mark nearly choked. "I’m not—I mean, I am. I like muffins. Just—these muffins. Or... muffins in general."

You looked between the two of them, brows raised ever so slightly, and let out the softest little laugh. “Y’all city boys sure are funny,” you said, sipping your drink with a smile like this was all just playful nonsense.

Mark practically melted. God, she’s sweet, he thought. She doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s literally just—

His eyes flicked sideways—and immediately caught William staring straight at him with a smirk that said everything.

Mark’s brain screeched back to reality like a record scratch. He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, took another too-casual bite of muffin.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “uh… yeah. School’s wild, right?”

William didn’t say anything. Just took another bite of his own muffin, eyes full of judgment and joy.

[kaiyunsim]

dangerous —

pairing : neighbor!taesan x gn!reader

genre : fluff

summary : what do you do when you get a text from your neighbor in the middle of the night asking to head outside? answer it. who knows what’s to come? no one. but one thing is for sure. it’s not going to be a normal night

a/n : this is the last one guys !! hope u enjoyed 19.99 :)) very fun to write and lots of love to everyone reading <3

queueing : dangerous - boynextdoor, say - keshi, flamin hot lemon - jaehyun, rendez-vouz - baekhyun

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 3.8k — not proof read —

you’re brushing your teeth when the first pebble hits the window.

at first, you think it’s nothing. probably just the wind or a tree branch or a cat being annoying again. but then it happens again. a sharper sound this time. too precise. and you freeze with your toothbrush halfway to the sink.

you shuffle to your window and peer out into the dark.

han taesan is standing in your yard.

no. more accurately, han taesan is standing just outside your yard, leaning casually against the fence like he owns the street, like he didn’t just pelt your window with two small rocks. his hoodie is up, shadowing his face, but the flashlight in his hand flicks on and off twice. deliberate. like a signal.

you blink. and then blink again.

because han taesan is the neighbor you’ve always kept a healthy distance from. he’s the reason the neighborhood group chat has three different emergency threads. he’s the kid who climbed onto the school's four-story roof last year just because someone dared him. he’s always getting written up. always being talked about. always loud, always laughing.

but tonight, he’s quiet. tonight, he’s looking directly at you.

you don’t move. he shifts slightly, then pulls something out from behind his back.

a sign. well, it's a napkin, but it works as a sign. he holds it up, and in bold, messy marker it reads:

come with me. just for a bit.

your heart skips.

you’re not the type to sneak out. not the type to say yes to things like this. you’re the “text me when you get there” kind. the “curfew means curfew” kind. your phone is already in your hand, screen glowing with the drafted text you were going to send to your mom about finishing homework and heading to bed early.

you look back out the window. taesan grins and pulls out another napkin where he starts scribbling onto it once again.

you’ll regret it if you don’t.

the grin gets to you more than it should. it’s not cocky. it’s a little hopeful. a little excited. like he’s waiting to share something no one else gets to see. like he picked you.

you sigh. your thumb hovers over the text message. you think about deleting it. you think about shutting the window. you think about how weird tomorrow might feel if you go. and like a ghost possesed you to be different tonight, you delete the draft and throw on a hoodie.

you leave the light on to make it look like you’re still in your room. your heart is pounding in your throat. this is ridiculous. this is so dumb. you’re halfway down the stairs before you even realize you're moving.

you make sure to take out the batteries from the door alarm and open it but the front door creaks. you wince. freeze.

nothing.

you slip outside and shut it again, as slowly and silently as possible. the porch light is off. the night is cold and still and too quiet. every crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers feels like a siren.

taesan is already walking backward, waving you toward the end of the street.

you jog to catch up.

“you actually came,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“you threw rocks at my window,” you whisper back, still out of breath.

“and you came,” he says, like that’s proof of something. “i’m impressed.”

you roll your eyes. “what is this, exactly?”

taesan shrugs, flashing the flashlight briefly at your feet. “just something i want to show you. it’ll be worth it.”

“is this the part where you reveal you’ve been hiding a stolen motorcycle in your garage?”

he grins wider. “nah. that’s next week.”

you laugh before you mean to, and he catches it. his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than it should. you pretend not to notice.

the neighborhood looks different at night. each house is a sleeping giant. windows glowing softly. no cars. no noise. just the two of you, cutting across sidewalks and hopping fences like fugitives.

“we’re gonna get arrested,” you mutter.

“technically,” he says, “we’re just walking.”

you glance over at him. “most people walk on the sidewalk.”

“most people are boring.”

you duck as a red dot from a camera catches your gaze. taesan hisses a laugh and grabs your wrist, yanking you behind the nearest hedge.

you land too close together, knees bumping, breath tangled.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

the light eventually shuts off.

“okay,” you whisper, barely audible. “maybe this is kinda fun.”

“told you,” he says. “but it gets better.”

“what is this place, taesan?”

he looks at you, serious for a moment. “it’s where i go when the rest of this place feels too small.”

you stare at him.

he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “that sounded cooler in my head.”

you nod slowly. “nah. it was kind of cool.”

he perks up again. “yeah?”

“don’t push it.”

you keep walking, this time side by side.

the thrill is still there, tingling just beneath your skin, but there’s something warmer now too. a weird quiet comfort in the way your steps sync. in the way taesan hums softly when there’s no conversation. in the way he sometimes looks at you like he can’t believe you’re still here.

“so,” you say after a while, “do you do this often?”

“sneak out? yeah.”

“no, convince innocent bystanders to join your criminal antics?”

“not really,” he says. “you’re kind of a first.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look back.

instead, he points ahead to a chain-link fence.

“almost there,” he says.

you don’t know where there is yet, but you know one thing for sure: you’re not turning back.

not yet.

you’re halfway across a playground you didn’t know still existed when taesan suddenly veers left, hopping a low fence like it’s muscle memory.

you follow, breathing harder now, adrenaline buzzing under your skin in a way that makes you feel alive and reckless and a little bit stupid.

“we’re really far from my house,” you say.

“you mean our house,” he corrects, turning around with a crooked grin. “we’re neighbors, remember?”

“yeah,” you mutter. “this feels like the kind of bonding experience that ends with a demon being summoned.”

he laughs, loud and bright in the empty dark. it echoes between the old school buildings as you both duck into a narrow path between chain-link fences.

“you always this dramatic?” he asks.

“you always this mysterious?” you shoot back.

he considers this. “i try not to be. people make assumptions when you stop explaining yourself.”

“so you just stopped explaining?”

“i got tired,” he says, voice quieter now. “and my friends moved away. it’s easier not to miss them if i don’t talk about them.”

you glance at him. there’s something different in the way he walks now. slower. not just because the path narrows, but because he’s remembering.

“this the part where you tell me about your tragic backstory?” you ask, teasing, but softer.

he snorts. “nah. just… there used to be five of us. every friday night. we’d sneak out, go exploring, steal snacks from the convenience store if we were brave enough. we called it ‘operation getaway.’”

you raise a brow. “wow. that’s so dramatic.”

he nudges you with his shoulder. “shut up.”

“i’m just saying,” you grin, “sounds kind of adorable. were you, like, the fearless leader?”

“duh,” he says, then adds quickly, “i mean—no. maybe. i don’t know.”

“taesan,” you drawl. “are you sentimental?”

he stumbles over a crack in the pavement.

“what? no,” he says too fast. “no way.”

“you totally are.”

“i’m not.”

“this is your secret memory lane. you’re taking me to your old hangout spot. you’re sharing stories about your childhood gang—”

“okay shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

you’re laughing when he shoves you lightly, and he’s laughing too, except it sounds more like relief. like he’s glad you didn’t run at the first sign of something real.

you climb up a slanted dumpster and hop down the other side, landing next to him in a hidden alley you didn’t even know existed. it smells like asphalt and wild mint.

“how do you know all these weird paths?” you ask, brushing your hands on your hoodie.

“been running through them since i was twelve,” he says, glancing around. “they don’t teach this stuff in school.”

you pause, realizing you’ve been walking for a while now, and not once have you felt lost.

“now, where are we going?” you ask.

he smiles. “you’ll see.”

you roll your eyes. “vague. mysterious. definitely suspicious.”

“all the best things are,” he says.

you keep walking, but something changes.

at first it’s small, a flicker in your peripheral vision. a low hum. the kind of noise you don’t notice until it’s been going on for too long.

you glance behind you.

a car. old. paint chipped. headlights off. moving way too slow for a place with no stop signs.

you squint. taesan hasn’t noticed yet. he’s ahead of you, already halfway through a shortcut behind someone’s backyard. but when the car creeps past again, this time from the other side of the block, you speak up.

“hey… that car’s weird.”

he stops mid-step. turns. his eyes scan the street, sharp now, calculating.

“which one?”

you point. it’s gone again.

his jaw tightens. not dramatically. just enough that you notice.

“it’s probably nothing,” he says, voice level. “somebody getting lost.”

but he’s looking around more now. less joking. more alert.

you don’t ask questions. not yet. you just fall in step beside him again, a little closer this time. and when you reach a side street with no streetlights, he reaches out and takes your hand.

just like that.

no big deal.

except your fingers are burning where they touch.

“shortcut,” he says, tugging you into the dark between two buildings. “we’ll cut through here.”

you don’t argue.

your shoes scuff against broken pavement, and his flashlight flicks on, just long enough to catch your footing. it smells like rain and something else, dust maybe. you can hear your own heartbeat louder than your steps.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, still holding your hand.

you nod, even though he’s not looking.

“yeah.”

you’re more than okay. you’re terrified, and excited, and fully aware that you’re wandering through alleys with a boy you barely know but somehow trust anyway.

and then, as you turn the corner, he stops. you almost run into him. he’s staring up at a narrow fire escape tucked between two brick walls.

“this is it,” he says.

you follow his gaze. “what is?”

he grins. “our rooftop,” he says. “c’mon. don’t wimp out on me now.”

you eye the ladder. it looks… less than safe.

“you first,” you mutter.

he’s already climbing.

you wait until he’s halfway up before starting after him, hands trembling with cold and adrenaline.

when you reach the top, breathless and heart pounding, he’s standing there—arms spread like he’s welcoming you into a secret universe.

and what you see takes your breath away.

city lights stretch in every direction. soft, glowing. like someone shook glitter over the world and let it settle in the cracks. the wind brushes your face. it’s quiet up here. peaceful. far away from everything.

“taesan…” you say, voice small.

he glances over. “told you it’d be worth it.”

you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until your back hits the cool rooftop, and the stars spin a little above your head.

“oh my god,” you gasp, laughing between breaths. “we almost died on that ladder.”

taesan collapses next to you with a dramatic sigh. “worth it.”

you turn your head. he’s grinning again, eyes squinting up at the sky, hoodie bunched at his elbows. you’re close enough that your arms touch, and the heat from his skin is louder than the wind.

“so,” you say after a beat, “this is your big secret spot.”

he hums. “yep.”

“it’s actually kind of... amazing.”

“you sound surprised.”

“well,” you grin, “i was expecting like, a junkyard. or maybe a haunted gas station.”

“jeez, you just hate me i guess,” he deadpans.

you nudge his shoulder. he doesn’t nudge back.

instead, he says, quieter now, “i thought you weren’t gonna come.”

you glance at him.

his eyes are still on the sky, but his voice dips, softer around the edges. “i had the sign ready and everything. would’ve felt dumb just standing down there.”

your chest squeezes. “so you planned that?” you ask, raising a brow.

he side-eyes you. “no.”

“taesan.”

“okay maybe.”

you laugh, and he smiles like he can’t help it. there’s something different about this version of him. less troublemaker, more boy with too much heart and nowhere to put it.

you sit up, the city stretching behind him like a dream, and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you leaned in.

he’s looking at you.

you’re looking back.

his hand brushes yours, light as static.

you close your eyes, move closer

and then—

“oh hell no.”

you both jolt upright.

from the opposite side of the rooftop, two shadows emerge, both climbing over the edge like it’s their usual entrance.

taesan groans. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“bro,” the short one says, stepping into the light, “you knew we were coming tonight.”

“i forgot!”

the second boy, a much taller, with round cheeks and wide eyes, waves cheerfully, like he hasn’t just interrupted the moment of the century.

“hi!” he says brightly, to you. “you’re not part of the usual rooftop squad.”

“not yet,” you mumble.

“don’t be nice,” taesan grumbles, standing. “you just ruined the vibe.”

“you ruined the vibe by being early,” the short one fires back. “we had a whole timing plan!”

taesan sighs like this is a very old argument.

“y/n,” he gestures between them, “this is riwoo, angry, dramatic, and woonhak, baby of the group.”

woonhak beams and does a little wave again.

you can’t help it, you whisper to taesan, “he is the cutest.”

taesan just groans louder. “don’t encourage him.”

woonhak plops down like this is his house and you’re the guest. “you guys bring snacks?”

“do i look unprepared?” taesan mutters, already pulling a bag of chips, two rice cakes, and a bottle of melon soda from his backpack like some kind of urban picnic magician.

riwoo raises his eyebrows. “you brought donuts? for them?”

“shut up,” taesan says, tossing the pack across the rooftop. “you can have half.”

“i want a rice cake,” woonhak chirps.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” taesan says, handing it over.

you watch all this unfold. three boys on a rooftop at midnight, bickering over snacks and spots on the concrete, and suddenly, the night feels warmer. this is the side of taesan no one gets to see. the one who keeps old traditions alive. the one who remembers to bring enough snacks for everyone. the one who laughs like he means it.

you end up sitting between woonhak and riwoo, passing the soda back and forth as stories start to spill out. ones about rooftops and ruined bikes and the time taesan broke a pipe trying to slide down it like in a movie.

“he landed in someone’s pool,” riwoo says, deadpan.

“i was aiming for it!” taesan insists.

“you broke your arm.”

“yeah, after the pool part. technically still a win.”

you’re laughing too hard to respond. your face hurts from smiling.

taesan glances at you, eyes crinkled. there’s something in his gaze you can’t place, soft and searching, like he’s trying to memorize the sound of your laugh.

you look away, heart thudding louder than before.

somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. a train hums. the city never really sleeps. but for once, it feels like the world’s paused just for you.

you tilt your head back. above, stars scatter across the sky like glitter spilled on black velvet. below, you can see the town, tiny houses, sleepy streets, the faint glow of your porch light still on.

you think about curfews. about rules. about how this night wasn’t supposed to happen. and then you think about how glad you are that it did.

the sky is turning that pale, impossible blue, like someone pressed pause on the night right before it gave up.

you walk slower now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the rooftops and alleyways behind you, your house still just out of sight.

it’s not the kind of slow that comes from being tired. it’s the kind of slow that says please don’t end yet.

taesan’s quiet too. not in a bad way. just thoughtful. he kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, his hand close to yours but not quite touching. you want to say something. you don’t know what.

instead, he says, “you ever stay out this late before?”

you shake your head. “never.”

he looks over. “so… i was your first time?”

you scoff, elbowing him. “don’t make it weird.”

he laughs, but it’s soft. tired. fond.

you turn onto your street and the quiet shifts. not peaceful anymore. heavier. because from here, you can see it.

your porch light is on.

and the light inside the living room, off when you left, is now glowing faintly behind the curtains.

your heart drops to your knees.

“shit,” you whisper.

taesan stops next to you. he sees it too.

you both just stand there for a second, frozen like deer in someone else’s headlights.

“okay,” he says finally, breath visible in the morning chill. “don’t freak out. could just be uhh—like, someone got up to pee. lights got left on.”

“yeah,” you say. “totally. because my family just loves wasting electricity.”

you take another step. then another. your yard is a war zone of betrayal. every twig looks louder. every shadow feels like an accusation.

taesan nudges your fingers with his. not quite a hold. just a reminder he’s there.

“don’t worry,” he says, too gently. “if you get caught… i’ll take the blame.”

you blink at him.

“taesan.”

“i mean it.”

“that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard,” you whisper, but you’re smiling. kind of. it’s tight. terrified.

you reach the edge of your driveway and crouch instinctively. like you’re in a spy movie. or about to commit a very boring felony.

taesan follows your lead, ducking behind your mom’s flowerbed.

“okay,” you mutter. “plan?”

“i distract. you sneak in. climb up that janky trellis like you’re in mission impossible. easy.”

“you do realize i’ll owe you for life if this works.”

he shrugs. “worth it.”

you glance toward the house.

the window to your room is slightly cracked open, just like you left it when the nights got too warm. but that means you didn’t close it. which means someone might’ve noticed. might’ve gone to check.

your throat is dry.

“i’ll go first,” you whisper. “if it looks bad… run.”

he frowns.

“i’m serious,” you add. “don’t make this worse than it is. just—run.”

he hesitates. but nods.

you creep across the yard. one foot. then the other. the grass is damp. your hoodie feels too loud. everything is glass and you’re walking with a hammer. you reach the side of the house. make it to the window. fingers wrap around the wood. you glance back—

taesan’s crouched low, watching you. he gives a tiny thumbs-up.

you roll your eyes and start to climb. it’s harder than it looks. the wood creaks. your foot slips once. but you make it, window ledge, fingertips, finally swinging one leg over—

and then it happens.

the creak.

that one stupid floorboard by your desk. you always forget. it always betrays you.

your heart stops.

you freeze, mid-step. barely breathing.

down the hallway, something moves.

a shadow.

a person.

you hiss—“go!”—at the window, barely loud enough, but taesan hears.

he’s already moving. but he doesn’t run. he hesitates. stares up at you one last time. something flickers in his eyes. regret, apology, maybe just goodbye. and then he bolts.

vanishes behind the neighbor’s hedges like he was never there. you’re alone now. and the shadow’s getting closer.

—

the house is too quiet after the storm.

you’re still standing in the hallway when the words settle in the air like dust:

“you’re grounded for a month.”

you don’t argue. you just nod. what would you even say?

the silence that follows is somehow worse. the kind where you can feel someone’s disappointment before they even say it. like static in your bones.

you mumble something like “okay,” something like “goodnight,” and shut your door behind you.

your room is dark except for the bluish light bleeding through the window. you can’t bring yourself to turn on the lamp. the adrenaline’s gone now, but your heart is still racing like it doesn’t know the night’s over.

you’re not even sure what you’re feeling.

regret?

not exactly.

fear?

kind of.

mostly it’s just… him.

taesan.

his hand brushing yours. his laugh on the rooftop. the way he ran when you told him to, but didn’t want to.

you sit on the edge of your bed and realize your fingers are clenched around something.

it’s a note, on another one of those stupid napkins. you forgot he gave it to you, folded into your palm like a secret before you climbed the trellis.

it’s crumpled now, smudged from your grip, but you unfold it anyway.

his handwriting is messy. like him.

“if we get caught, blame me. but if it’s fun, you have to admit i was right.”

you close your eyes. you don’t even hear your phone buzz until the second time. you dive for it.

taesan: did you make it?

you bite your lip. thumbs hover over the screen.

you: define “make it.”

you wait. your heart is loud again.

taesan: define “regret.”

you almost laugh. almost cry. your fingers tremble as you type, curling under the covers like the walls can’t hear you.

you: i don’t.

a pause. then the three dots again.

taesan: knew it.

you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re trying not to smile. you don’t know what this is. you just know it matters.

—

it’s past midnight when you hear it.

click.

soft. quiet. outside your window. you pause your music and sit up. it’s nothing. probably. a squirrel. the wind. you peek through the blinds anyway. and there he is.

taesan.

hoodie up. hair messy. standing at the edge of your yard like a dare you forgot to take. he sees you and holds something up.

a napkin.

scribbled in sharpie, crooked but clear:

“worth it?”

you stare at him, press your forehead against the cold glass, and nod.

taesan’s grin splits across his face. cocky. blinding. he doesn’t stay.

just throws you a wink and disappears again. back into the dark, like a secret the night let slip for just a second.

you crawl back into bed and keep the napkin. fold it. press it into your notebook. write the date in the corner.

because later, when you’re older and the world feels a little less magic, you’ll want to remember this:

the rooftop.

the laughter.

the near-kiss.

the sprint through shadows.

the moment your heart cracked open at the worst possible time.

you got caught. but you also chose it. and that kind of feeling?

that’s worth everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru @tanghuyuj

[pankowcrumbs]

Friends with Benefits X Eddie Munson

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

The air in the school hallway was thick with the usual end-of-day chaos lockers slamming, students laughing, the occasional shriek of someone who just realised they left their homework in the library. I was halfway to my locker, dodging a football that flew across the corridor, when he appeared.

Caleb Turner. All charming smiles, blonde hair, and enough swagger to power a small town. He leaned casually against the locker next to mine, like he belonged there. Like he knew I’d stop.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, flashing that annoyingly perfect grin. "I was hoping I'd catch you."

I smiled politely. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Listen, I was wondering if you'd want to come to the party at Jamie's tomorrow? I mean, it'd be more fun if you're there." He winked. Actually winked.

I let out a small laugh, fiddling with the lock on my locker. "That's sweet of you, but..."

"You should go," came a voice from behind. Deep. Rough. Instantly recognisable.

Eddie.

He stood there with his arms crossed, leather jacket creaking with the tension rolling off him. His eyes flicked from Caleb to me, then back to Caleb, like he was trying to decide if punching him would be worth the detention.

"Hey, Munson," Caleb said, clearly unimpressed. "Didn't know you were her bodyguard."

"Didn't know you needed to be that close to talk to someone," Eddie shot back, jaw tightening.

I stepped in before things got stupid. "Okay, that's enough. Caleb, thanks for the invite. I'll think about it."

Caleb gave a lopsided shrug and walked off, thankfully not pressing the issue.

Eddie, however, stayed rooted.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, slamming my locker a bit harder than necessary.

He scoffed. "Just didn't like the way he was looking at you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Looking at me? Eddie, he's not a threat."

"You don't know that. He could be a total creep."

"You're jealous," I said simply.

He snapped his eyes to me. "Am not!"

I folded my arms. "You are jealous, and may I add, you're a terrible liar."

His nostrils flared. "Oh, I see. So I can't have an opinion about who you're flirting with now?"

"I wasn’t flirting! He asked me a question. And even if I was, that’s none of your business."

"None of my...? Y/N, we literally slept together last night."

My heart skipped. My mouth opened and closed. "That doesn’t give you a right to dictate who I talk to."

"You know what? Fine," he said, voice rising. "But don’t act like it doesn’t mean anything. Don’t pretend this is just a casual thing."

"Isn’t it? That’s what we agreed on."

He stepped closer, eyes burning. "We are not just friends and you fucking know it."

That stopped me. Cold.

Because he was right. We weren’t just friends. We weren’t just anything. We were in that confusing, messy middle ground where we kissed like lovers but spoke like strangers. We touched like we meant everything, but talked like it meant nothing.

And now, with his eyes locked on mine, breathing heavy, hands clenched like he didn’t know what to do with them, I realised I couldn’t lie anymore either.

"You think I don’t feel it too?" I said softly. "You think I’m not scared out of my mind that this could ruin everything?"

His face shifted, softer now. Sadder. "Then why are we pretending it doesn’t matter?"

"Because I thought... I thought you'd leave. If it got too real."

He reached for my hand, tentative. Like I might vanish. "I’d never leave you. Not if you asked me to stay."

I looked down at our fingers, entwined. It was the first honest thing we’d done in weeks.

"Then stay. But not just for the nights. For all of it."

He let out a breath that sounded like relief. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

And just like that, we stopped lying to ourselves.

For the first time, we were something more than fear and bodies tangled in shadows.

We were real.

We didn’t speak for a moment, just stood there in the hallway while the world bustled around us. Eddie’s thumb brushed against the back of my hand, soft and slow, and it made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t prepared for.

I swallowed. “I don’t want to do the sneaking around thing anymore.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Because I want to hold your hand without checking who’s looking.”

A breathy laugh left me. “And maybe kiss me without waiting until your van doors are closed?”

His grin cracked wide across his face. “God, yes. That’d be nice.”

The bell rang, signalling the end of the day for everyone else. Students rushed past, and somewhere behind us, a teacher shouted for someone to stop running. But none of it touched us.

Eddie stepped closer, not letting go of my hand. “Come back to mine?”

I nodded, feeling warmth bloom in my chest. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

when we got back to his trailer it felt different. The same cracked countertop, the same crooked lampshade, the same creaky floorboards but the air between us had shifted. There was nothing unspoken left anymore. Just charged silence and a buzz under my skin every time his eyes landed on mine.

I kicked off my shoes near the door while Eddie grabbed us two cans of Coke. He handed me one, but before I could take a sip, he was already stepping into my space again, eyes searching mine.

“You know I meant all of it, right?” he asked quietly. “Everything I said back there.”

“I know,” I whispered.

He cupped my cheek, thumb skimming over my skin. “I’ve been in love with you for months.”

The words hit me like a crash of waves unexpected and all-consuming.

I blinked up at him, heart hammering. “You have?”

“Of course I have. You’re it for me, Y/N.”

I didn’t even try to hide the tears burning in my eyes. I just surged up, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my mouth to his in the most desperate, messy kiss of our lives. His hands clutched at my waist like he was afraid I might disappear again.

The kiss turned slow, then deep, then heavier. Like all the things we hadn’t said had built up and were pouring out now, through every touch. I felt his fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, tracing fire across my skin, and my breath hitched against his lips.

We laughed when he bumped his shin on the coffee table and swore under his breath. His lips found my neck, hot and open-mouthed, and I arched into him without shame. Every movement was familiar, but now laced with something new something careful and reverent.

His hand slid up my thigh, and I was already pulling his shirt off. He leaned back to let me, hair a tousled mess and lips swollen from kissing. He looked at me like I was magic, like I was already something holy.

“I love you too, by the way,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over his cheek.

“I could do this forever,” he mumbled against my skin.

My fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently when he nipped at the spot just below my ear. He groaned softly, then dropped to his knees in front of me, looking up like I was the only thing that mattered.

“Eddie”

“Shh,” he said with a crooked smile. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

The way he said it soft, reverent made my stomach twist in the best way.

His hands gripped my thighs, warm and steady, like he was memorising every inch of me. And then his lips followed slow, open-mouthed kisses against skin that had never felt so exposed, so wanted. His nose bumped gently against the sensitive inside of my leg, and he murmured something I didn’t quite catch maybe a compliment, maybe a prayer.

He took his time. There was nothing rushed or careless about it. Every movement, every breath, was deliberate like he was savouring me.

I curled my fingers into the edge of the counter behind me, head tilting back as pleasure bloomed low and slow in my stomach. He was all warmth and velvet tongue and soft hums of approval, holding me up and holding me together all at once.

When I finally gasped his name, trembling, his smile was practically smug. He stood, catching me before my knees gave out, and kissed me breathless.

“My turn,” I whispered.

His mouth opened slightly, surprise giving way to the kind of grin that made my toes curl. “Y/N…”

I didn’t give him a chance to argue. I tugged him towards the couch, pushing him gently down. His hands fumbled with my hips, as if he still couldn’t believe this was real that I wanted him just as much, that I needed to give just as much as I took.

And I did. With all the same softness and fire he’d shown me.

It wasn’t just lust. It was years of unsaid things, quiet stares in the hallway, late-night laughter over takeout, whispered confessions after too many drinks.

It was love raw and real and right there, written all over him as he tangled his fingers in my hair and looked at me like I was the whole damn universe.

When we finally collapsed on the couch, tangled up in each other, skin warm and flushed, neither of us spoke for a long while.

He traced circles on my shoulder with his thumb, heart still racing beneath my palm where it rested against his chest.

“Y’know,” he said after a while, voice raspy and soft, “we were really bad at pretending.”

I smiled into his neck. “Yeah. But we’re pretty damn good at this.”

He kissed my hair. “Best I’ve ever had.”

“You mean that?” I asked, half-teasing, half-vulnerable.

He tipped my chin up so I had to look him in the eyes. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since you punched Jason Carver for calling me a freak.”

I laughed, watery-eyed. “He deserved it.”

“Yeah, well. So do you.”

“So do I what?”

“Deserve someone who worships you,” he said, brushing my hair back. “Properly.”

I leaned in, kissing him like it was the only truth I’d ever known.

Because maybe it was.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the cracked blinds. Dust danced in the light. The trailer was still and quiet, save for the faint chirp of birds outside and the slow, steady breathing next to me.

Eddie’s arm was slung low around my waist, his leg tangled with mine, skin warm against skin. His curls were a wild mess, his mouth slightly open in sleep, and he looked... peaceful. Almost boyish.

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

I just lay there, tracing lazy patterns across his chest, heart full in a way I didn’t know was possible.

Eventually, his eyes cracked open. “Mornin’, trouble.”

“Morning, rockstar.”

He stretched, groaned dramatically, then rolled on top of me, pinning me gently beneath him. “Y’know,” he said, smirking, “I think we’re officially the worst at casual now.”

I grinned, fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re right.”

He leaned down, nose brushing mine. “Good. I never wanted casual.”

I cupped his cheek. “Me neither.”

We stayed like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Real.

Finally, he shifted, propped his chin on my chest, and said with a straight face, “Also... I love you. But I really love your blowjobs.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned, wicked and sleepy. “You heard me.”

I smacked his arm, laughing, cheeks burning. “You’re a freak Eddie.”

He wiggled his brows.

[someinstant]

I cannot explain to you what hell the past week and a half have been at work. I've been battling the absolute worst cough for about two weeks, and if it weren't a week and a half before my students' AP exam, I should probably have taken a sick day or two to recover. And then there were endless meetings and two parent-teacher conferences, and my principal (who I like) got promoted to a job in the district, so now we'll have some newbie next year, and also I had to run the Beta Club induction ceremony basically alone this year, and-- friends, there is no tired like the end-of-year high school teacher tired.

Anyway. I swung by the doc on my way home (after staying after two hours so a kiddo could make up a test), got my chest x-rayed (no pneumonia, so that's good!), got some steroids and other drugs, and now--

Now we make a whole pot of tea, and settle in to rewatch the second episode of ANDOR, season 2: "Sagrona Teema!"

Okay, so first things first: this episode was the one where I realized—Nicholas Britell isn’t doing the music for this season, and I’m sad about it. I don’t think the new composer, Brandon Roberts, is bad—I just don’t think the score is as spare and unusual. I think this is more… conventional… scoring, and I think it’s therefore less surprising and effective. But it’s early days—maybe Roberts will impress me more as we go along.

Starting with that slow pan up to Luna’s delicately arched throat as he tilts his head back to catch individual drops of water in his open mouth while bound on the floor of a broken-down ship—jesus. Yeah, that’ll work. Y’all are crazy for that, Gilroy et al.

If we have to be trapped on Planet Dipshit, I dig that we get to see Cassian shot-calling even when in a shitty position. (“Hey, it’s not gonna rain forever. You might want to bank some water.”) He’s good at this, if “this” is negotiating and pushing people who are the dangerous kind of stupid.

Kleya HATES this fucking wedding. She hates these people so much. She just wants to be back with her comms where she can DO something. I need to know what her background is—like, why is she so in this? Why does she hate this all so much? She’s right to, of course, but—ho did she come to that position? I desperately need to know.

Mon and Perrin are amazing. Like, they are terrible together, but you can tell—they’ve been chained together so long that they have this awful rhythm and understanding. And sometimes they care about each other, or at least the echo of who they were at some point, and sometimes they’d happily kill each other. Mostly it’s somewhere in between. But there’s some warmth—maybe jealousy, maybe not—in Perrin warning Mon off Tay, and that little brush of her robe at the end. It’s not a good relationship, but it’s theirs, and they put in some damn work.

NO SMALL JOBS AT THE BUREAU OF STANDARDS. Syril, you obsessive middle manager. God, he’s such a dweeb. Someone shoved him in a locker and he never recovered. (I mean. Obviously that was his mom.)

Every single woman in the world has had this conversation with a fucking creep before. And you know exactly where it’s going. And how it could end. The second I saw that shot of the lieutenant coming around to the shed where Bix was, my hands balled themselves into fists, and I was like, “Get yourself out into daylight, girl. Get where someone might possibly be able to see you.”

But regarding the, “I’m not sure my husband would approve,” line—I’ve heard folks saying this is evidence that Cass and Bix are together-together again, and I don’t know? (This is not because I dislike the idea of Bix and Cass. I like them!) I’m just not sure if Cass goes from “kill me or take me in” to being in a relationship again that quickly. Especially given the awful circumstances Bix had just gone through, what with Dr. Gorst and the torture and all.

Chandrila-slash-Catalonia is gorgeous. I love the ritual hike—if you’re going to have to do some exposition dumping, do it on the way to Monserrat, where an elder will say a blessing and some children will chant, and then—poof!—purification.

Back on Planet Dipshit, the rebel factions have decided to pull the TIE into shooting range with ropes. But luckily, Cassian is good at math!

Sincerely, I need to know what his educational background is. Like, he does the calculation of how many centimeters per minute equals when the gun can hit the target in literally a few seconds. And in ROGUE ONE, he does the flight calculations in his head during the planetary destruction of Jedha. Like—that is some serious skill, and I think that it requires a little bit of training?

DEDRA AND SYRIL LIVE TOGETHER???

My brain literally blue screened when he walked in the door of that AMERICAN PSYCHO-ass looking apartment.

Tay. TAY. TAY. YOU KNOW MON IS SELLING HER DAUGHTER TO A SCUMBAG IN ORDER TO COVER THE MONEY LAUNDERING FOR THE REBELLION. THAT’S WHAT’S HAPPENING WITH THE WEDDING, REMEMBER??? YOU INTRODUCED HER TO THE SCUMBAG IN QUESTION. AND YOU’RE FEELING UNDER VALUED?!? Jesus christ, Tay, I’d hoped you were a good ‘un! But I should have known from the bronzer.

Kleya walking into the antiquities shop is like Batman going into the Batcave, I swear to god. She looks so at home.

Mon’s problem is that she persists in thinking of problems as negotiations and spreadsheets. Senator. Sometimes, problems are physical obstacles. And you are going to have to fucking knock them down to get rid of them.

Perrin’s really charming sometimes, isn’t he. That’s a good speech. Bad values, I think—just pure hedonism—but an effective piece of rhetoric. You can see why he’s a useful political spouse and why Mon wouldn’t just leave him at the first chance.

Back on Planet Dipshit, our two leaders of the rival factions come forth and agree to lay down arms—and play Space Rock-Paper-Scissors. While they’re busy making, I dunno, rancor claws with their hands, Cass kicks out a compartment on his old busted ship, neutralizes the guard, and runs for the TIE Advanced—all while some sort of Jungle Dino Hog charges the dipshits and allows Cassian to make his getaway.

And as he zooms off, we see two unmistakable ziggurats—this isn’t Planet Dipshit. This is fucking Yavin IV. And Cass is going to have to come back here, and you KNOW he’s going to be so annoyed about it.

[kitkatstu-dies]

Back to school inspo ✨📚

[flickeringflame216]

.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so i took my car in today because i thought it might just need some more brake fluid and although i tried to just look at it myself i couldn't for the life of me figure out which part under the hood was the brake fluid reservoir without having to lean all over my car and get all dirty, so i figured i might just have to pay a service fee and whatever for the fluid itself...

turns out i need all new brake pads !!

ahaha

haha

ha

yay

[astral-catastrophe]

me and the generic extra strong Tylenol and the pure rage in my system

[seaofreverie]

So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[adore-gregor]

my perception of grades totally changed since i started uni

[exopelagic]

I know the world is cruel because I finally wanna draw again and yet I am forced to pack :(

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[jasontoddiefor]

Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?

Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.

I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.

Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.

There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.

And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.

And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.

I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.

Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or how reader made a friend in the most unconventional way.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another,, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ NOW A SERIES! i hope you guys like this! i'm considering making this into a series; if i do, i think i'd do it the same way this fic is, aka some narration but mostly 'chatting' between rafe and reader. anyway, let me know if you want it to continue!! i've been feeling down for a few weeks now, so something simple and fun like this was a good way to get back into the flow of writing.

i thought about making this a smau, but doing the chats like this feels more authentic to the 2000s chatroom experience y’know

you were sitting on your bed, your laptop open on a website called KildareUChats, a website that was apparently meant for the students of your university to be able to anonymously chat with other students, your friend having told you to give it a try, knowing that it’d be difficult for you to do in person.

you didn't really see the point of it; although your social circle was in no way huge, you were happy enough with it, really. never having been great with new people, you'd made three friends on your freshman year of college and simply stuck to them. it didn't help that whenever you tried to talk to someone new, it felt like someone was choking you.

but this was online. the person on the other side would never know who you are, and you'd never have to actually be face-to-face with them. your cursor moved to hover over the 'REGISTER' button, and you filled the page out with your basic information, name, school email, birth date... but when the website asked for a username, you couldn't help but purse your lips as you looked around your dorm room, from the fairy lights you'd hung up on walls that now glowed in a yellowish hue, to the several books stacked on the floor, to the dead roses on your desk...

but when your eyes landed on your nightstand, you spotted a book of poems by edgar allan poe, and your lips quirked up into a small smile. after you typed the name 'AnnabelLee' into the username field, a green check mark appeared next to it to signify it was available.

after setting a password, you were redirected to a page that said 'WELCOME TO KILDAREUCHATS AnnabelLee! CLICK HERE IF YOU WISH TO CONNECT WITH A RANDOM STRANGER!'. you clicked the button, your cursor turning into a circle for a moment as it loaded, before you were redirected to a chatroom with a pop-up.

KILDAREUCHATS IS CONNECTING YOU TO A STRANGER...

KILDAREUCHATS HAS CONNECTED YOU! REMEMBER TO TREAT OTHERS THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED <3 SAY HI!

you stared at your computer screen, biting into your lower lip. you had no idea what you were supposed to say; outside of the people you already knew, you were helpless when talking to people, the words always getting stuck in your throat, or vanishing from your mind. angel's white fur blended in with your white sheets as your hand moved to absentmindedly stroke her, the little cat purring in her sleep. but before your hand could dart out to type something on your laptop, a message appeared on the screen.

STRANGER: heyy

taking in a deep breath, you shook your head, as if shaking all doubts and worries out of it. the site was anonymous; that was the whole point. and your therapist told you, that for your social anxiety to get better, you should try go socialize. mingle. you took the bottle of cheap white wine you'd snuck into your dorm, taking a large swig straight out of the bottle before setting it back down, your hands flying to your keyboard.

YOU: hi :)

STRANGER: wsp?

YOU: ...wasp?

STRANGER: lmao no... what's up?

YOU: sorry, i'm not good with that kind of lingo haha. YOU: nothing much. i'm hanging out with my cat.

STRANGER: damn, do you have an off-campus apartment or something?

YOU: nope :) YOU: don't tell my ra.

STRANGER: shit you have a CAT in your dorm?

YOU: if you tell on me, i'm gonna have to hunt you down and kill you.

STRANGER: lucky for you this is anonymous STRANGER: and i'm not a snitch lmao STRANGER: so, what are you doing on this thing at 12am on a friday night? no hot parties?

YOU: honestly, i think i'd rather put a noose around my neck than go to a party. YOU: i'm just in my room drinking wine. decided to try this site after my friend suggested it. YOU: what about you?

STRANGER: damn, kinky STRANGER: i do have a 'hot party' to go to but i also have an essay due in nine hours and the prof already hates my ass

YOU: so you decided to not write your essay and instead procrastinate by chatting with some random stranger?

STRANGER: exactly! you get it STRANGER: if i even have my laptop in front of me, i'm counting that as me writing my essay

YOU: what's it about?

STRANGER: what kind of a role religion has when it comes to politics and shit

YOU: and let me guess, that's not a topic you enjoy studying in your free time?

STRANGER: you know me so well already

YOU: if it helps, i'm also studying. or, procrastinating studying. YOU: i have a chemistry exam on monday :(

STRANGER: ...and you're studying for it on a friday already? STRANGER: i just read for exams a few minutes before they start STRANGER: compared to me you're like a genius

YOU: eyeroll. YOU: and that's why you have trouble writing an essay! YOU: you're probably missing out on a keg stand at your 'hot party'.

STRANGER: i can't believe you're making fun of the art of the stand

YOU: you'll live.

STRANGER: how do you know? maybe i'm the god of the kegstand and every time a human loses faith in me, i grow weaker

YOU: are you? YOU: oh sacred frat god? YOU: shall i make an offering for you at your altar? would that appease your distaste towards me?

STRANGER: you shall

YOU: okay, how about these for an offering: YOU: a white claw, a buzz ball, a red solo cup with a strange mixture of different kinds of alcohols, and a vape pen?

STRANGER: those appease me much, mere mortal STRANGER: also mango-flavored juul pods

YOU: you're so weird.

STRANGER: says the person who's hanging with her cat on a friday night

YOU: how do you figure i'm a her?

STRANGER: oh please STRANGER: no man would disrespect the fine art of the keg stand

YOU: got me there, frat boy.

STRANGER: that's very presumptuous STRANGER: i could just be a tomboy

YOU: please. YOU: if you're a girl then i'm sasquatch.

STRANGER: don't worry, i don't mind a little body hair

YOU: i hate you.

glancing at the clock on your wall, you'd realized that thirty minutes had already gone by. you let out a small sigh, rubbing your eyes.

YOU: i should get going. i can't keep procrastinating.

STRANGER: already?

YOU: what, are you gonna miss me or something?

STRANGER: hey, if i get a pic of bigfoot i'm gonna be making millions, i just have capitalistic tendencies

YOU: fair point.

STRANGER: you should add me as a friend

YOU: you can do that??? i thought this was an anonymous chat.

STRANGER: yeah you can lmao why else would you need to set a username STRANGER: i'll just do it

and soon enough, a pop-up appeared on your screen, with the text 'STRANGER HAS REQUESTED TO ADD YOU AS FRIEND.' along with the buttons 'ACCEPT' and 'DENY'.

you pursed your lips, your finger lingering over the touchpad, first dragging it over the button reading 'DENY', before you let out a sigh, taking a large swig from the bottle of wine, moving the cursor to 'ACCEPT' and pressing it before you could regret it.

the pop-up was now replaced with another one, reading 'CONGRATS AnnabelLee YOU ARE NOW FRIENDS WITH MalachiConstant' and when you read the stranger's name, you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. you clicked the red 'x' that closed the pop-up, and the word STRANGER in your chat logs was now replaced by MalachiConstant.

YOU: really? vonnegut?

MalachiConstant: what? i don't seem like the type to read?

YOU: just surprising!

MalachiConstant: says the girl with the hard-on for poe MalachiConstant: which isn't surprising at all

YOU: har har. YOU: goodnight, weird vonnegut frat boy.

MalachiConstant: goodnight, weird poe girl

YOU HAVE LOGGED OUT OF KILDAREUCHATS.