#well...got like....half a sunday left | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

samkerrworshipper · 9 months ago

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sugar baby | alexia putellas x reader

a big big big thank you to @codiemarin because this fic would not exist without her suggestions and ideas!!! also back from my hiatus (maybe) hope yall enjoy!

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni

This had become normal for you.

Every second night, instead of lying in the comfort of your own sheets or servicing clients in the club you used to work at, you were standing in the kitchen of your newest employer, plating up the takeout that had been chosen for tonight.

Sunday nights were take out nights, because it was typically Alexia’s game night, which meant she was starving by the time she was home and looking for a quick eat. Majority of the time, she was riding on an adrenaline high, which meant one thing, you were in for it.

Sunday’s had very quickly become your favourite night of the week for this reason, Sunday night had expectations, ones that Alexia was extremely specific about.

You were to have dinner done by the time she was home, you were to be wearing whatever lingerie she’d most recently bought for you, the shortest skirt in your wardrobe and your cunt and ass stuffed with the vibrator and butt plug that Alexia required you to wear in preparation before she got home.

Normally, being stuffed exhilarates you, it’s your favourite way to spend your afternoons in Alexia’s apartment, as you aimlessly clean and spend time on Alexia’s balcony reading in the Barcelona sun. Normally, she edges you for hours before she returns home, controlling the vibrator stuffed in your pussy with the app on her phone. Today though, she’s left you stuffed but with no stimulation. It’s equally exhilarating knowing that Alexia is giving you a bit of a break, knowing that it means she’s going to destroy you as soon as she walks through the door.

Alexia after a game is always your favourite version of Alexia, it’s like all of the control issues, the built up adrenaline and exhaustion somehow mix into a perfectly horny Alexia who always managed to make you feel good in all of the worst ways.

You swore that you didn’t hear the door open or Alexia’s footsteps making their way through her apartment, slowly approaching you, too focused on plating up the food and making it look less like it had been crammed into a plastic container and more like it was a home cooked meal. Chances were Alexia couldn’t care less, as long as everything was clean and put away by the time she got home and the food was good then none of it really mattered.

She snuck up on you, her hand gently placing itself on the back of your neck. You did your best not to scream in surprise, instead squealing as quietly as possible at the warm hand that was now pressed firmly against your mostly bare thigh.

Ale’s breath is also equally as warm against your neck, you can tell just by her grip and firmness that it’s been a tough game, a bad day for her standards.

You never check the scores on her matches for this exact reason, it meant that there was always some element of surprise as to how Alexia’s mood was going to be when she arrived home, if it was a good game, an easy game, then she tended to be a bit more mellowed out, floaty and happy on the adrenaline high she was coming off of, bad games however could result in many different versions of Alexia.

“Hola.”

Your voice is croaky, the sudden pressure on the nape of your neck making it harder to enunciate.

“Hola.”

Alexia’s voice is short and scrapy, like she’s been yelling for hours upon hours, which you suppose could be the case.

“Dinner is on the table, from Clarice’s.”

It’s a boutiquey mediterranean place that Alexia loves.

For you, it’s mind boggling that she’s willing to spend such an insane amount of money on food that is only half decent, you suppose, though when you have exorbitant amounts of money you might as well spend it.

“You’re eating with me.”

Alexia doesn’t wait for you to take in her words, she grabs onto the hair at the base of your neck and pulls you towards the dining table, dragging you with her.

You don’t normally eat with Alexia, preferring to talk with her after her games or prepare yourself how she wished for whatever the rest of the night was going to entail, tonight though she seemed to have other plans.

Instead of guiding you into one of the seats at the table like you’d expected though, Alexia took her own seat, before dragging you down to your knees below her.

The floor was hard on your bare knees, not that you actually minded.

Alexia kept her hand in your hair, locked down on a clump of roots at the lowest point of your hairline where your neck and hair met.

She didn’t have to say much, her spare hand tugging at the waistband of her shorts was enough of an indication of exactly what she was expecting you to eat.

Your hands replaced Alexia’s, nails digging into the elastic of her shorts and tugging them down her ass and thighs. You didn’t take your time, not when Alexia was clearly so worked up, you dragged them off of her until they were still pooled at her ankles.

Next you moved onto her panties, taking them off with the same intention as her shorts.

You didn’t waste any time staring at the clear wet patch on Alexia’s panties, or the scuffs and scratches up and down her knees and thighs that told you the game had been rougher than she was letting on.

Her knee was cold, you realised that when your shoulder brushed up against it, like she’d had an ice pack pressed to it until she’d walked into the apartment.

Once her panties were off, you took a second to admire her, spread out directly in front of you.

It was one of your favourite sights, quite possibly your number one.

You started at Alexia’s knee, pressing warm sloppy kisses to the skin on the inside, slowly making your way up to where she wanted you most.

Were you purposely teasing her?

maybe.

It didn’t take long, a couple of wet, rough kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh managing to be enough to earn you a harsh pull of your hair, jerking your head backwards so you were looking up at Alexia.

She has a fork in her hand, clearly enjoying her meal.

“Don’t test me, keep teasing me and you won’t like the consequences.”

Alexia’s voice is definite, if you disobey her then she’s going to punish you, it’s a clear outline of her expectations.

Normally, you’d put yourself right in the middle on the scale of brattiness and submission, maybe teetering a little bit further towards the bratty side.

You knew where to toe the line though.

Praise was something you craved, you didn’t necessarily like to be constantly in trouble, you liked to please people and the easiest way to do that was to obey.

So without much fuss, you gently pulled your head from Alexia’s grip, moving past her thighs and with slight hesitation giving her exactly what she wanted.

You started with one thick, broad stroke, directly through her heat.

She was soaked, like she’d been anticipating this her whole way home, which sent a shiver down your spine.

Alexia pushed you where she wanted, up to her clit, you got the message and started to suck, hard.

It was exactly how Alexia liked it, your teeth grazing her most sensitive place every so often, her hips jerking so slightly when you did.

You weren’t all that surprised when her hand reached from your hair to the place inbetween your shoulders, tapping until you correct your posture.

It was random things like that Alexia was a complete freak over, posture, cleanliness, little stupid things that you couldn’t have cared less about.

Yet for some reason, you found yourself adjusting to how Alexia wanted you, even if it meant your head was that much closer to hitting the bottom of the table and your back was now cramping. It was worth it if it meant that Alexia was more at ease and you could avoid punishment.

Alexia wasn’t a loud lover, on a good day the best you could get out of her was a groan or if it was a really good day then a moan, it wasn’t any surprise to you though if you couldn’t get anything out of her.

Alexia stayed silent, apart from the noises of her slowly making her way through the food you’d plated up for her.

You had become a master of Alexia’s body, it was necessary considering she was so quiet, you knew her tell tale signs and exactly when she was close and how to get her there.

It didn’t take long, it never really did after a game.

You were no scientist or professional as far as women's health went, but you assumed it had something to do with all of the hormones and energy that was built up, it put a person closer to the edge.

You weren’t surprised when Alexia’s thighs slowly began to tighten on either side of your head and her grip on your hair became so tight that you struggled to move against her.

Everything in Alexia’s body tensed up, she went rigid and then finally, without any show at all, she relaxed, her clit throbbing underneath your mouth and thighs relaxing on either side of your head.

As soon as she’d come you moved your mouth down from her clit, cautious of over stimulating her too early and instead moving down to her opening and cleaning up the mess that you’d made.

It might have just been the best dinner you’d ever had.

You keep your mouth on her, not wanting to displease her in any way.

As she’s finishing her food and you lazily kiss and lick her pussy you become progressively more aware of the pooling wet heat that has begun to settle into your panties and is slowly beginning to leak out across your thighs, you feel so full and yet so empty, craving to feel more than the motionless toys that you’ve been stuffed with for hours.

Almost as soon as Alexia is setting her fork down on her plate she’s pushing your head away from her, pushing you back until your ass is sitting on top of the backs of your heels.

“Clean up, I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

Before you can nod your head Alexia is already standing, walking off towards her bedroom and leaving you on your knees in front of the chair she’d previously occupied.

With sore knees and arousal dripping all over your face you stood up, collecting Alexia’s empty plate and walking unsteadily towards the sink and washing it off before stacking it into the dishwasher. You do the same with her cutlery before closing the dishwasher and putting away any other mess you’d made and making sure the kitchen was as you’d found it, if Alexia found anything out of place in the morning you knew she’d punish you for it, so you took time making sure every meticulous detail was correct.

Alexia kept her home as she kept herself, organised to an obsessive point, everything had a specific space or place that it had to occupy. She had a dish for the tv remote, an alphabetically sorted spice rack, every painting, picture and frame had to be centred and her wardrobe was sorted into so many different categories that you struggled to comprehend how a person could put together an outfit everyday without having an aneurysm.

Alexia loved it though, and for whatever reason she expected you to uphold her level of cleanliness.

Once you were certain that the room was exactly how Alexia liked it, you began walking towards Alexia’s bedroom, your favourite room in her apartment.

The door was half open, giving you a glance into the space before you stepped foot into the doorway.

The lights were dimmed and whilst you couldn’t see Alexia, you could see the items she’d left out on top of the bed spread and it had you quaking from the inside to out.

The anticipation of actually getting to see Alexia is enough to get you through the door, slowly pushing the door open and allowing yourself to step foot in the room.

It didn’t take long for you to find Alexia, she was standing in the doorway of her wardrobe, hands on her hips and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

She was stark naked, excluding the strap that was hanging from the space in between her legs.

The red dildo was one that you’d never seen before, and for that you were glad.

It looked far larger than anything you’d ever taken with Alexia, there were veins up and down the length of it and the girth alone was intimidating, the length though, the length was enough to make your eyes pop out of your skull.

Alexia looked as smug as ever, the cocky grin on her face and the way that her muscles bulged out just above the strap. Alexia’s got a good body, she knows it, everybody on earth who has a functioning brain knows it. It’s one of your guilty secrets that you get it all to yourself, that you get to see parts of her body that nobody else gets to. You’ve seen thousands of women, super models, athletes, people from all walks of life but you’re fairly certain that nobody would ever come close to Alexia Putellas.

It wasn’t just her body either, it was her demeanour, her aura, everything about her was attractive to you. She was a good person, but she was also a good fuck, the best sex you’d had in your life was with Alexia and you’d worked in a sex club for years. You can’t be taught experience or confidence, it’s something that you have or you don’t and Alexia was the best. You supposed she liked to be the best at everything, the best at football, the best at life, the best at sex. Her strive for perfection in all walks of life never deterred.

“Alexia.”

Alexia pouted at you, her hands anchored at her hips, giving you a full view of her full breasts and her rock hard nipples.

“That’s not what you call me.”

You bit down on your lip, the stickiness between your thighs only getting stickier.

“Daddy.”

Alexia’s smirk broadened, her teeth biting down into her lip.

“Yes baby?”

You felt your pussy quiver, your cheeks reddening.

“It’s to big.”

Alexia’s smirk faded in a matter of seconds, the blonde starting to take steps towards you.

“I don’t like that attitude baby girl, you’ll take what I give you unless you want to make me mad, and I don’t think you want that, hm?”

The condescending voice, the way her eyes looked down at you, the saunter in her steps. If you hadn’t already soaked your thong then it was now.

“Daddy, it’s huge.”

Alexia nodded, like you were telling her what day it was instead of talking about the appendage that was attached to her hips.

“Wanna say that again? Wanna make me mad? Wanna put me in an even worse mood than that game did, because I recall that your one job is to do the exact opposite.”

She’s right, you were quite literally employed by her as a means for her to manage her stress. It had started at the club you’d worked at, Alexia spending half of her week in the shitty mildewy basement of a run down sex club in Barcelona just to enjoy your company. Eventually she was spending more time paying for your time at the club than at her own home and that was when she made the decision to give you a proposition, one you’d accepted happily.

“No daddy.”

Alexia nods her head, taking the final step to bridge the gap between the two of you.

“That’s what I thought princesa, now how about you lie back on the bed for me, you know how I like you.”

You didn’t hesitate, brushing past Alexia and straight to her bed, climbing on top of the covers as gracefully as you could manage, trying to give Alexia a show as you crawled your way to the top of the bed. Once you made it to the pillows you flipped onto your back, opening your legs for Alexia and keeping still as she liked you.

Alexia peered down at you, admiring the clear wet patch that was embedded in your thong. It was a sight that she was equally as grateful for every time she got to see it, the evidence that you were just as needy and worked up as she was, that you were equally as desperate for her as she was for you.

“So wet princesa, is that all for me? Does your perfect little pretty cunt get worked up at the thought of me?”

She knows the answer, she only asks you to try and get a kick out of you, to rile you up and try and get you to brat back at her, you know her tricks and you know that it’s best to answer her with some kind of submissive variation.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia moves her way around to the side of the bed, leaning over to reach for your chin, her index finger pointing it up so you’re looking at her eye-to-eye.

“You’ve been good today? Doing as I asked and not touching what belongs to me?”

You shake your head obediently, you’ve learnt from experience that disobeying Alexia is the worst possible thing you could do, for starters the woman always seems to find the truth anyways and she’s more creative than most with her punishment tactics.

“Yes daddy, I’m always good for you.”

Alexia smirks big and wide, her grip on your chin tightening.

“I’ll be the decider of that. What colour are you princesa?”

You take a big deep breath before answering Alexia, composing yourself to give her a proper answer.

“Green, daddy.”

Alexia nods, her fingers staying on your chin with a grip that you couldn’t even try to escape.

“How are you feeling about being tied up baby?”

You thought about the question for a few seconds.

“Fine, I’m green daddy, I’ll let you know if I don’t like anything.”

Alexia smiles, softer, less aggressively domineering.

“That’s what I like to hear, what are your rules?”

You almost roll your eyes, almost.

Alexia’s made you memorise them, you know them like you know the colour of your eyes and the surface of your palm.

“I know my rules daddy.”

Alexia’s soft smile reverts to the harsh line, the same one you’d been met with when she’d found you in the kitchen.

“I didn’t ask if you knew them, I asked you to tell me them. Don’t make me have to punish you when you’ve been so well behaved so far, what are your rules, slut?”

Alexia’s grip turns into a bruising hold, her finger tips digging into the skin of your chin bone.

“No touching myself without permission. No talking without permission unless I’m spoken to. No cumming without permission. Use my safewords if I want to stop at any time. No moving unless you tell me too. If you tell me to do something, do it.”

Alexia nods, climbing onto the bed beside you and hovering her face just inches above yours.

“There’s my good girl, you can be good if you want to, huh?”

Once again, you do your very best to shrug off the condescension in Alexia’s words, smiling at her and simply nodding your head.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia leans down, pulling your bottom lip with her teeth before your lips even begin to meet hers. Everything about the kiss is as controlled as Alexia, she goes at her own pace, deepening it when and however she likes, eventually pushing her tongue into your mouth.

It’s slower than you’d like, and with both of your holes still stuffed but unstimulated it’s ten times harder to endure, but you assume that’s Alexia’s doing, she’s trying to get you as riled up as possible, although you are unsure of her endgame.

“You look so pretty with my cum all over your face baby, I taste divine if I do say so myself.”

Alexia’s fingers begin to trail down your body, over the top of the lace that your breasts are confined to and straight down to the waistband of your panties, gently brushing over your hips before her hand dipped below the wet lace and swiped through your heat two times, collecting as much arousal as she could without touching any of the places that you were yearning for her the most.

Alexia’s hands are gone almost as quickly as they arrived, her hand creating a gap in between the kiss. Her fingers replace your lips, her index and middle finger being pushed into her mouth.

The way that Alexia sucks, nips and licks at her fingers is simply mesmerising, you're in a trance watching her.

“Such a fucking filthy slut, all wet from getting daddy off, huh? You taste magnificent, baby.”

The mixture of praise and degrading has your head spinning in circles, all of the different words mixing inside your head, sending you into that perfect headspace that Alexia always managed to drift you into.

“Open.”

Alexia’s fingers, now wet with her slobber, tapped at your chin and without any hesitation whatsoever you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Within seconds, Alexia was spitting into your mouth, directly onto your waiting tongue.

“Swallow.”

You obey her once again, swallowing the spit on your tongue, faintly tasting your own arousal mixed in.

“How do you taste, baby?”

You focus on swallowing properly before answering Alexia.

“Horny, daddy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes before landing a sharp but playful slap to the inside of your thigh, plastering it with more wetness.

“Behave and maybe I’ll do something about it.”

Alexia’s lips don’t return to yours, instead they hover just far enough out of reach that you can’t connect yours with hers.

Alexia lifts herself up and off the mattress, walking over to the pile of different toys she’s left out on the bench at the foot of the bed and picking out a set of silk ties.

She walks back over to you, reaching for your wrists and knotting the silk around them before reaching up to the posts on each side of your bed and securing your wrists to them. Once she’s done she nods at you to check them, you move your wrists accordingly, testing her bonds.

They’re tight and methodically done, immobilising you how Alexia wishes, but they’re also loose enough that if you really tried you’d be able to escape them without much effort.

Once Alexia’s satisfied with her knotwork she walks back over to her pile, picking out a few items that she keeps hidden from you.

Alexia crawls her way back up the mattress, stop halfway up your body and opting to pull the sticky panties off of you, she peels them off of you, slowly tugging them down your hips until they’re sitting at your ankles. Alexia trails her fingers back up a long your legs, tracing little white lines across your skin with her nails as they made their way back up to the space that your panties had previously covered.

Alexia didn’t touch anything, instead she gently began to tug at the vibrator nestled deep inside of you, it’s lying painfully motionless inside of you and whilst you were more than happy to be filled up with something, it’s almost a relief having it removed.

“Such a good girl staying stretched out for daddy, hmm?”

You nod your head at Alexia, trying your hardest to keep your composure as she gently traces the tissue around your hole, never dipping inside though.

“Such a pretty little pussy, so perfect for daddy to stretch out and play with.”

You suck in a deep breath as Alexia’s hand comes down in a firm but quick slap, the pain flashing across your most sensitive areas.

Your back arches, a few months ago you would have been embarrassed that your body was seeking out that kind of contact but with Alexia that all changed, how could you feel embarrassed when she looked and talked about your body like it was created by God himself.

Her hand comes down again, this time more targeted towards your clit, it takes everything you have to turn the scream that was ready in your chest into a groan.

“Be as loud as you want, princesa, it’s not going to make me stop and it’s not going to make your body dislike what I’m doing to you.”

Alexia’s hand comes down again, the squelchy slap ringing out across the room, this time it’s more targeted directly at your stretched out hole. This time you let out something that sounds more like a ringed out scream, your vocal cords unable to truly suppress the extreme amounts of pain and pleasure that are being sent through the nerve receptors across your cunt.

Another two slaps fall in quick succession and by the end of both of them you’re groaning and moaning as much as your lungs will allow, hips chasing any contact you can possibly get or find.

“Such a little pain slut aren’t you, desperate for any kind of contact daddy will give you, you take it so well princesa.”

Alexia places gentle kisses across your hips and thighs, it’s nice, but it’s nowhere near what you want from her.

“Ale, please.”

Alexia’s lips move from your skin almost immediately, her head jerking up to look at you, her brows knitted in annoyance.

“It’s daddy to you, slut. The only noises I want to hear coming from your mouth are the sweet little sounds that you make when I’m touching you, understood?”

You nod your head, well aware that too much disobedience will earn you a very sore ass and no relief for the night.

Alexia reaches down to her pile at the end of the bed, picking up something that you don’t get a look at.

You find out quick enough, when you hear the whirring of a vibrator and seconds later it’s pressed directly against your sore and puffy clit.

Your body thrashes in reply almost immediately, it’s a painful overstimulation that your body was most definitely not ready for.

Your back arches and thighs clench, even though it’s clear that there is no escaping the forced contact, Alexia’s hand stays steady, pressing the vibrator down hard against your bud. Eventually, the vision blurring pain begins to subside, and your sent into the most unpleasurable slow lead up to your orgasm.

You were close nonetheless, and frighteningly aware that the chances of Alexia giving you an orgasm right now were slim and even if she did it was going to be possibly the least pleasurable one she could give you.

You didn’t need to wait long to find out, Alexia sensing your impending orgasm pulled away, giving you a chance to take a deep breath, a mere second.

A second long reprieve was all you got before she laid down another two quick slaps against your clit.

You screamed. As loud as your vocal cords would allow, you screamed. If the overstimulation before had been too much then now it was completely incomprehensible. There was an accumulation of sweat on your forehead similar to the pool of wetness accumulated between your thighs.

Alexia gave you another second to breathe, before the vibrator was pressed straight back against your clit, making you scream once again, your vision full of white as your body shook from the pure pain you were going through.

Alexia wasn’t wrong when she called you a pain slut, it was why she’d frequented you so much at the club, it was why she paid you so much for your company. Not a lot of people could take the amount of pain you were willing to, and still find it pleasurable, yet you loved every single second of it, or you loved the result that always came after taking some pain.

Alexia always made it worth your while, and she knew where your limit was.

“So perfect bebita, taking what I’m giving you, you’re so wet princesa.”

Alexia’s finger trailed down to your hole, briefly dipping inside and collecting some of the wetness. She smeared it across the flat part of your stomach, leaving a long trail of your arousal against your stomach.

“Can you feel that princesa? My little pain slut, hmm? Getting all soaked over me abusing your cunt. How’s it feel?”

It’s hard to talk and articulate what you’re feeling considering how much your body is being affected by the painful overstimulation Alexia is putting you through.

“Good daddy, so fucking good.”

Alexia smirks, silently proud of herself and silently just as proud of you.

“Mm, you reckon you can take another two for me baby? Another two edges and then you’ll get a reward, can you do it for daddy?”

You actually weren’t sure if you could, maybe another one, but two seemed like it could be teetering on the edge of too much. Alexia realised your apprehension before you managed to voice it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Let’s try for another one and see how you feel, hmm? You’ve been so good for me princesa, if it’s too much let me know and we’ll stop or take a break.”

The soft Alexia fades as soon as you nod your head, the determination on your face returning, you didn’t want to disappoint Alexia and you didn’t want to tap out unless you were seriously struggling, so you tried to control yourself as much as possible and focus on the lesser sensations.

It didn’t take long for you to get close once again, once the pain subsided you were left with pure pleasure, pleasure that was almost as blinding as the pain that you had previously been experiencing.

As soon as it starts to be perfectly, consumingly good, the vibrator is taken from you and your overwhelmed with the pain of Alexia’s hand coming down on your pussy again. This time around she’s kind enough to spread her hit across your whole sex, instead of targeting your clit, the pain is there all the same though.

“What’s your colour, princesa?”

You take a few seconds to reply, focusing on taking a couple of deep breaths whilst you wait for the immediate pain to pass.

“Green, I’m green daddy.”

Alexia reaches up to press another soft kiss to your lips, her lips linger on top of yours.

“You feel like you can go for another one? I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

You take your time replying to her, enjoying the feeling of her lips pressed to yours and the vibrations that would spread across yours whenever she breathed.

“I can go again.”

You could feel Alexia’s lips perk up against yours, a smirk growing on her face.

She keeps her lips pressed to yours as she brings the vibrator back to your clit, making it a little bit more bearable.

Alexia’s lips stay connected to yours the whole time, the scream and moans being pushed straight against her lips as you work through the pain and pleasure coming straight from your core. As soon as you’ve begun to get closer to the edge, it’s gone and just like every other time, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain as Alexia’s hand comes down one final time.

Her lips leave yours as you groan and try to process the overstimulation that you can feel radiating across your lower half.

The pain is soothed by Alexia’s tongue, her lips and tongue flattening out across your puffy clit, it mellows out the pain slightly, but simultaneously begins to push you back towards the edge that you were so desperate to get over but also be away from.

Your hips cant up as a reflex, a reflex that is quickly put to rest as one of Alexia’s hands pushes down against your hips, keeping you pressed against the mattress.

“Stay still and let me clean you up princesa.”

Alexia’s tongue gently traced it’s way around your cunt, lapping at the wetness and getting as much of it on her tongue as possible. Her spare hand pushed it’s way underneath you, locating the forgotten butt plug nestled between your cheeks and gently tugging at it.

While her mouth doesn’t provide any real kind of pleasure, the tugging and twisting of the toy in your ass certainly does. Alexia’s been stretching you out for weeks, it’s been a slow process, but worth it, it’s elevated your experiences with her that extra bit, to the point where you could probably come solely from her playing with your ass. You’ve got no doubt that one day she’ll want to try it and when that day comes around you’ll be more than happy to oblige her, there was something so much more special and sacred about having her play with your ass in ways that nobody else had. You were no anal virgin, working at a sex club meant that you’d experimented more than the average person but never in the ways that Alexia managed to, even now that the two of you were months into your situation she still managed to surprise you by introducing new things.

Alexia didn’t wait for you to get to the edge, she needed you to stay conscious and she was fairly certain another edge might put you too far into subspace, to the point where you weren’t coherent enough for her to be using how she wanted to. Right now, you seemed to be floating in that perfectly obedient place where you typically fell after some proper exertion, compliant enough to do anything Alexia wanted. It was her favourite place to have you.

You mewled at Alexia as she pulled away, stripping off the rest of her clothes and leaving them in a neatly stacked pile at the foot of the bed before reaching for the strap she’d left on the edge of the bed and fastening it around her hips with practised ease. It was a new dildo that she had attached to the strap, larger than she’d had you take before, she was well aware that it might be a bit to big for you, but she was also excited to see if you were up for it.

Alexia crawled her way in between your legs, pressing the silicone cock flat against your stomach before pressing her lips to your neck, reaching behind you to take off the bra that was still attached to you. She keeps her lips attached to the skin across your chest, marking you up just how she liked to. Alexia loved the fact that you were all hers, hers to mark up, hers to order around, hers to come home to.

“Daddy, please.”

With the feeling of silicone pressed against your stomach and Alexia’s lips sucking deep purple marks along your collarbones, it was hard to not be insanely desperate, especially considering just how much she’d focused on working you up.

“I’ve got you princesa, daddy’s going to make you feel so good.”

Alexia finishes with one last hickey before pushing herself up onto her elbows, giving herself a better view of you.

“Gonna give you your reward princesa, gonna make you feel so good.”

Alexia leans back, positioning herself in between your legs and lining herself up with you, slowly beginning to work her way in.

The groan that you let out as Alexia slowly starts to thrust the length into you. Simultaneously, as she’s slowly working her way in, she reaches down, tugging at the plug still slotted inbetween your cheeks.

It seems to be the right move, because your body practically melts from the mixed stimulation, making it that much easier for Alexia to ease her way in, your body pretty much opening up for her.

Just as she bottoms out, she tugs at the plug, pulling it out and replacing it with her fingers.

You moan in a way that Alexia’s never heard before, your whole body vibrates along with the moan, like your whole body is generating the sound.

It only spurs Alexia on.

Once she’s certain that you’re comfortable with the length and width of the strap, she starts to quicken her pace, rocking her hips against yours, her fingers following the same pace. Alexia nudges your legs just a bit further apart and a bit higher up, giving her a better angle to start properly fucking you.

Alexia is mesmerised by the feeling of being inside of you in two different places, she hadn’t planned this for tonight, but she’s so grateful that it happened because it feels different in all of the best ways.

She roughens her pace as you seemingly begin to get closer, your body jerking to meet Alexia for every single thrust.

“D-Daddy, fuck, please.”

Alexia quickens her pace, beginning to roughen her thrusts.

“Hold on for me baby, wait till I’m ready and we’ll come together.”

You bite down on your lip hard, the double penetration is making you feel things that you’ve never felt before and you feel like you're about to explode in more ways than one.

“Please daddy, need to come.”

Alexia nods her head, desperate to get herself to the edge so that she can ride it out with you.

“I know baby, just a little bit longer, daddy’s got you.”

Alexia leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw and pistoning her hips as hard as possible, getting enough friction against her clit for her own orgasm to begin to grow, the coil in her stomach beginning to tighten.

“Go ahead baby, come with daddy, I’ve got you.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re plummeting over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a semi-truck, quite literally.

You go boneless immediately, all the pent up pleasure and pain finally coursing it’s way throughout your veins and all the nerves inside of you lighting up like a christmas tree.

Alexia’s orgasm isn’t as strong but it hits her all the same, she pulls out slowly before collapsing on top of you, slotting her head into the crook of your neck and letting the both of you come down.

When your body stops shaking and your breathing evens out, Alexia lifts herself off of you, pulling the strap off of herself before lying down next to you and bringing you into her arms, allowing you to come down in her arms.

The skin to skin contact does wonders for you, sending you into a warm cloud of post sex happiness as you burrow your way into Alexia’s neck, trying your hardest to jump inside of her skin.

“Princesa.”

You try your hardest to ignore Alexia, opting to attach yourself to her.

“Princesa, c’mon you need to get up.”

Alexia doesn’t have the heart to actually try and lift you off of her, but she does have a brain that is telling her that there are things that need to be done before she can enjoy your company in her sheets.

“Princesa, go to the bathroom, I’ll fetch us both some water from the kitchen and then we can have cuddles, okay?”

You groan into Alexia’s neck, clearly displeased with her suggestion but also forcing yourself off of Alexia to do as she’s asked, knowing that it is the logical thing to do.

“I want cuddles when I get back, proper cuddles.”

Alexia rolls her eyes.

“I don’t pay you for cuddles.”

It’s lighthearted, a joke that has you even rolling your eyes.

“No but you probably should, I’m a pretty awesome cuddler.”

Alexia snorts, nodding her head, it’s true.

“Cuddles once you pee and drink some water, okay? I’ll even sleep in an extra hour for you, how does that sound?”

It’s an offer you’ve got no business denying.

“Meet you back in bed?”

Alexia nods her head, already making her way into the kitchen.

“I’ll meet you there.”

———————————————————————

anyways this fic was written in three different countries and i sooo can’t be fucked with editing it so sorry if you experienced the after math of that!!! love yall and hope you enjoyed this 🫶

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas smuttt #alexia putellas is mom #sugar daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso smut #feral #i’m unhinged

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luffington · 3 months ago

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hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much.

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week.

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken.

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank.

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman.

“But I am sit–“

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.”

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision.

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?”

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual).

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts.

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end.

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back.

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce.

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy.

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds.

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response.

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly.

“Crocodile, please…”

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way.

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain.

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…”

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move.

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving.

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt.

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name.

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own.

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail.

#bananawani comparison bc it's what he would've wanted #sir crocodile smut #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile imagine #crocodile smut #dom!crocodile #crocodile x reader #crocodile imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #sir crocodile #crocodile #request #anon #mine #my fics #croc

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gguk-n · 4 months ago

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Last Straw (Lando Norris x Reader)

Thank you for the 400 followers. I love Lando but I felt like a bit of angst was needed.

Part 1 of Fading Shadow

Summary- Lando has been in a relationship for quite some time, most people didn't know that. Finally, the world finds out about Lando's girlfriend, he seems to forget about her.

Warning- Lando is a bit of an ass and the reader is a bit of a doormat

{Reader's POV}

Lando won the second race of his career and the season at Zandvoort, Max's home race. I was over the moon watching Lando cross the finish line. He was so happy to have won another race, finally. As he got out of the car he ran to his parents; after the greeting and congratulations, he walked away to be interviewed. I was stood there, dumb founded as Lando left without even acknowledging my existence; I could hear people whispering as Lando walked away

When we got back to the hotel, "Lan, do you wanna go out to celebrate?" I asked looking at him as he got ready for a shower. "Oh, Y/N, I made plans with the others; none of their girlfriends are coming. It'd be weird" he stated. "Oh, yeah, obviously. Well, I hope you have fun. I'll be here waiting for you" I said trying to give him a smile but I felt tears well up. Lando left soon after, while I was sat in the hotel scrolling through twitter when I saw something I wish I hadn't. I couldn't stop myself from reading through the tweets.

I could already imagine my friends screaming at me for staying after everything. It had always been like this, it always felt like Lando was too embarrassed to be seen with me. We started dating a year and a half back but we met 2 years back, when I was on a vacation with my friends. He was the best guy, or so I thought. We exchanged numbers and stayed in contact until he asked me out. It was straight out of a movie, the whole nine yards. But he wouldn't let me tell my friends, "baby come on, why do you wanna tell everyone and ruin the fun just yet. I like the thrill, isn't it fun trying to act like there's nothing between us" he said as he pushed me on my back on the sofa while his lips trailed the exposed skin on my torso; honestly I'd lose any train of thought once his lips were on my skin. Though I accidentally let it slip one day, they had been trying to get me to go on a blind date. So, I told them I was dating Lando Norris. They were so excited and wanted to meet him.

When Lando found out about that, he was furious and didn't speak to me for days. "HOW COULD YOU TELL THEM? AFTER ALL THE TIMES I TOLD YOU NOT TO....ARE YOU STUPID?" he shouted. "Lan, it was an honest mistake. They kept trying to set me up on a blind date and I didn't wanna go, obviously since I have you. Please, I'm sorry. I won't do anything stupid again. Please just join me for lunch on Sunday. I'm really sorry" I cried. "Then you should've gone on that stupid date" he spat as he walked away. I should've known then. It was only after I begged and pleaded that Lando agreed to meet my friends. He never let me forget how he did me a favour by agreeing to meet my friends. "baby, you know how much I love you right" he asked. "yeah" I replied as he intertwined his fingers with mine. "I can't share you with others. I get so jealous. You're mine and only mine. And that's why I can't have you meet my friends" he said as he started sucking on my neck.That's why I didn't bring up the fact that I hadn't met his friends since we'd known each other for a year and dating for half of it. We barely even went out on dates; we'd always have in home dates since he was a celebrity and didn't like the paps. He would always say that he enjoyed the normalcy and the feeling of being a regular guy with me. "Baby, do you really wanna go out, where we would be spotted and then people say stuff about us. Don't you like being home, wear whatever you want. I can touch you however I want. Come on, why do you wanna ruin something so perfect" he hummed against my lips as his fingers pushed my underwear aside. I was so naive and thought that he was such a romantic guy.

It a little before our 1 year anniversary when I started asking him to take me along to the races since I wanted to be there to support him in person. "Lan, I really wanna be there for your races. I wanna see my boyfriend being cool at what he does." I whined. "You already do see me on the teli, it's practically the same" he said. "Please Lan" I begged. "Baby, I love you I truly do and I wanna show you off to the world but you know how the fans can get, they ruined my last relationship and I can't lose you. I love you too much" he said making me blush. I believed him like the idiot that I was. I believed every lie that left his pretty lips even when he would say that all those pictures of him on twitter with girls were edited and that he would never do that to me. I believed him.

I don't know how much I begged to be at a race and when I got to go to the first race of my life with him as his girlfriend and of the season; I was ecstatic. I made sure to be dressed well so as to not embarrass Lando and made sure to be a little controlled in my movements even though I was super excited to be there since I loved Formula One. All the other drivers were pretty shocked to meet me and even more so when they found out we'd been dating. They were all very kind and so were their girlfriends. I thought we'd be the best of friends and I'd have someone to hang out with while my boyfriend raced. Oh how stupid I was, they never even told me that Lando cheated on me or that their boyfriends knew and they never told me. I had an inkling that Lando was cheating on me; I saw it with my own eyes on the night before my birthday; the day of the Miami GP and he was celebrating with everyone and I saw him kissing a girl. No one saw me because I left immediately and cried myself to sleep. I hated myself for never confronting Lando; I brushed it off thinking that if I tried harder Lando would be back to himself, the Lando I know. But the Lando I knew was a facade and never existed. Lando had only been playing with my heart, it seems.

Did I tell you? He forgot our anniversary and said he would make it up to me. Which I do not believe he has. "Fuck baby, I'm sorry" he whispered as he wiped away my tears. "You know how busy I've been with the season starting and stuff. You'll forgive me right? I'll make it up to you, promise." he said while I nodded along to him. My friends hated his guts, but I was the one covering for him. When they asked why we weren't public; I said I wanted to be private. When they asked about Lando's multiple infidelities I would lie to their face and say that everything was a lie and a ploy to ruin his reputation; that's what I knew then and believed. I would see them face palm themselves mentally, now that I thought about it.

I guess being embarrassed by the man you love, multiple times, publicly can fuck you up. Because right now, I couldn't even cry anymore. I couldn't believe the other girls wouldn't even reply to my texts on the group chat; they added me to. This was humiliating. I was done with that asshole and I wasn't about to let him walk all over me anymore.

I wiped away the tears that were streaming down my face. I got dressed and decided to show up at the same bar he was at. When I entered, I saw him, dancing and drinking with others. I saw the other drivers with their girlfriends; I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. I walked up to the bar and sat down and started ordering the most expensive drinks they had. "Bad day?" The bartend asked. "Horrible, my boyfriend's been cheating on me" I chuckled. "I'm sorry." he looked apologetic. "You have nothing to apologise for. Just add the tab of every drink I put down my throat to that guy in the white shirt" I said directing his eyes to Lando. "Lando Norris?" he asked. "Yeah" I said and started to drink. I was sure Lando saw, I could feel it. I felt multiple eyes. I felt my phone buzz multiple time; I wasn't sure if it was some one who cared about me or those assholes since I didn't want to check my phone.

After a good hour of just drowning my feelings in alcohol, I stumbled my way out of the bar. I had made the decision to move out of that hotel room to another hotel and stay there before I flew back to get all my stuff. Lando would be too hammered to realise I was gone. I woke up the next morning with a major hangover but I knew what I wanted. I flew back to our his home in Monaco and took all my stuff; thankfully not a lot and left with a note on the table saying 'We are done'. I left any and everything he gave me, which wasn't a lot when you think about how I was dating a millionaire. I blocked Lando's number while I waited for my flight back home, can't believe I gave so much up for this man boy. I will be putting myself first finally.

{Lando's POV}

I saw her, but I wasn't sure if it was really Y/N so I texted her but no reply. Apparently, she was at the bar we were at but she didn't approach me or us. Everyone saw her, I thought she didn't see us but I found out she knew I was there since she billed everything she had to me; which was a lot of alcohol, almost enough to cover half the amount I spent on the group. I knew I was fucked. I had no idea how I was gonna explain myself to her. I tried texting her but no reply. I think she blocked me and when I saw twitter I saw Y/N had posted a story but I couldn't see it either; guess she blocked me on there too.

I flew back as soon as I was able to, to find the house empty and a note on the table saying we're done. I guess I deserved that after the shit I pulled; well at least it's not as messy as I expected it to be.

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heavyhitterheaux · 26 days ago

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Safety Net

See Me Through You Series

I've never been this scared before

Feelings I just can't ignore

Don't know if I should fight or fly

But I don't mind

Synopsis: Falling for someone else while you were still in a committed relationship was not supposed to be in the cards for you

Series Masterlist

A sigh left your mouth as you looked down at your phone and you rolled your eyes when you saw it was none other than your boyfriend Trevor. It had damn near fell off the table from the vibration and you watched it until it stopped ringing.

It had to be the tenth time that he called you today and it was the tenth time that you had ignored him. It seemed as if you and your boyfriend were arguing more than usual and it was honestly the last thing you wanted to deal with. There seemed to be a shift when you had gotten accepted to LSU and you applied there to be near him since he was a year older than you and you honestly had no clue what his problem was. He asked you specifically to do it and you were all for it. If you knew then how it would be, you probably would have applied elsewhere.

Any time you tried asking him about how he was feeling or if something was wrong since it seemed like there was, all you got was an attitude in return. He would pick fights for no reason, you would get upset and not talk to him while he went on to beg for your forgiveness when it was all said and done. The latest fight had been about how you wanted to stay in and have a study date instead of going out for date night when he knew that you had a test the next day that was a big percentage of your grade seeing as there weren't a lot of assignments to begin with for that particular class. Of course he told you no, and you left it at that.

Being your first semester, you had taken on a lot more than you could handle and you were now feeling the effects seeing as you were about a month and a half in. Last night you went to one of LSU's home football games because not only did Ja'Marr beg you to come, but Joe did also and was out until damn near four in the morning.

You could tell that he was getting more comfortable being a starter and they had been playing amazing. It was now Sunday night and you were trying to make up for lost time when your phone vibrated once again at your desk. Except, an instant smile came upon your face when you saw who it was and quickly answered.

“Joey…”

“Princess, why haven't I seen you yet? I thought you were coming tonight.” He asked you without giving a proper greeting. You could hear a bunch of commotion in the background and you simply assumed he was at another party.

Ever since the two of you met that first day in the gym, the nickname princess had stuck.

“Uh? Coming where? I was literally out with you, Ja'Marr and Justin until FOUR in the morning. I was UNWELL. I couldn't even see anymore by the time I got home.” You expressed and all you heard was his laugh. In your head you imagined that he was probably shaking his head too.

“Couldn't see anymore? Really? Now that's dramatic, even for you.”

“Excuse me!? Look, all I know is my eyes were red and my contacts were dry as hell and the THREE OF YOU kidnapped me.”

“Well I'm about to kidnap you again. At least for a few hours.”

“I have another EXAM to study for, sir. You got to have me all last night.” You told him as you had taken out your highlighters from your pencil case and set them on your desk.

“And? I want to have you all night again. But I promise not to have you out that late.” Joe told you and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

At this rate, Joe spent more time with you than your actual boyfriend and actually wanted you to be around him. He was always down to have a study session with you unlike Trevor.

“Hmm, what time did you plan on having me out until?”

“Three give or take.”

“JOEY that is literally only a one hour difference!” You exclaimed as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You don't take your exam until later in the week! I've helped you study and you're going to be fine. Come on, I want to see you. I forgot what you looked like and I need a reminder to be in person.”

“You are such a hot ass mess and you have been around my brother too long because that sounds like exactly something he would say. Take a picture next time.”

“I could take one tonight if you let me see that pretty face of yours.”

With a deep sigh and a groan escaping your lips, you finally gave in.

“I'm ignoring that last part.”

“Why? I called you pretty and it's a compliment.” Joe asked, suddenly confused.

“And I'm not single, which you already knew.”

“Hmm, at least not yet. But I'll patiently wait my turn.”

You were glad that it wasn't a facetime call because your jaw had literally dropped and it took you a second to close your mouth.

It was quiet for a few seconds and Joe had to make sure that you didn't hang up.

“Princess, you still there?” Joe asked and the music in the background distracted you for a second.

“Just text me the address.”

“Can't wait to see you, gorgeous. Text me when you're outside.”

As soon as you hung up, Joe sent you the address and then you went to ransack your closet to find something to wear. Looking through your closet, not only was your mind racing, but your heart was too.

Joe had a crush on you, that much was obvious but the last thing you wanted to happen was for it to suddenly be awkward between the two of you. Why did you suddenly get butterflies when he's around, but when it comes to Trevor you felt absolutely nothing? You were nervous that it would get to the point that you would make an absolute fool out of yourself in front of him. But at the same, why should you care? You had a boyfriend.

The more you kept thinking about it, the more you were probably going to hurt your brain so you put your focus solely on searching for an outfit. In the back of your closet, you found a short black dress staring back at you. It was already known that you had the perfect shoes to go with it, so the answer that you came to was yes almost immediately.

After taking a quick shower and straightening your hair, the dress was slipped on along with the shoes. You did a once over in your floor length mirror that you had gotten from IKEA and nodded to your reflection in approval. Looking at your phone, you saw that it was close to ten at night and the goal was to get there as soon as possible in order to be able to get back as soon as possible.

The drive was a short one and once you pulled up, you saw multiple people hanging out outside including someone who was shitfaced on the front lawn of whoever's house it was. Shaking your head to yourself, you quickly pulled out your phone and sent a text to Joe in order to let him know that you were here.

Less than three minutes later, you saw him come out of the front door and take the steps two at a time to make his way to your car. Getting out, you closed your door and made sure to lock it before turning to face him as he had come up to you from behind.

“Hey, I'm here just like I promised. Since you know that you forgot what I looked like and wanted to see me in person.” You told him while rolling your eyes he smirked.

“Nothing changed from last time. Still as gorgeous as I remember.” He responded as the two of you started walking towards the front door.

“You literally just saw me last night and I don't have any idea what I'm going to do with you.”

“I could think of a few things I want to do with you. Just let me know when you're ready to find out.” He whispered and you simply shook your head.

Once the two of you crossed the threshold, his hand was on the small of your back as he guided you through the swarm of bodies and soon made your way to the kitchen where Justin and Ja'Marr were in the middle of an intense game of beer pong.

“About time you showed up, big sis. Tell the little bro that he is about to get his ass kicked.” Justin told you as it was Ja'Marr’s turn who looked at Justin to suck his teeth.

“I am not! How is that possible when I’m definitely winning right now?!” Ja’Marr asked as rolled his eyes.

“I just don’t see how the three of you have so much energy.” You said as you looked at all three of them.

“Yesterday we were pregaming.”

“Justin?! Pregaming?!?! We were out for hours!” You exclaimed as he looked at you and shrugged.

“You made it back home in one piece, didn’t you?”

“Of course she did because Joe wouldn’t let her out of his sight.” Justin quietly said but you could see Joe turn a slight shade of red while Ja’Marr smiled.

Since Joe and Ja’Marr had grown closer in the almost three months that he had been down here, Ja’Marr knew for a fact that Joe liked you and had been infatuated with you ever since he introduced the two of you to one another. He had his suspicions that you liked him back, but he wasn't so sure.

He would try to do everything that he possibly could to get you away from Trevor.

Joe had walked away from the three of you for a minute and when he returned he handed you a red solo cup. Before holding it up to your lips, you looked inside of it to inspect what it was. You could count on one hand the times that you had gotten drunk and rode it out at Erin’s house with her older sister giving you both IV fluids to help recover.

“What’s this?” You asked as you smelled it. It wasn’t a strong scent that would knock you off your feet and it gave you the vibe of it possibly being fruity.

“Your drink that I got you.” Joe said as he took a sip of whatever was in his cup.

“I was always told not to accept drinks from strangers or accept a drink that I didn’t go and get myself.” You told him as you looked back up at him.

“Well, it’s a good thing that I’m not a stranger right? And you honestly think that anyone would be stupid enough to try something with your brother standing right there?” He asked you as you gave him a look of approval.

“I guess you’re right, now what is it?”

“Just taste it, but if it will make you feel better, you can taste mine first. I promise that it’s the exact same thing.”

Without a second thought, you grabbed Joe’s cup and took a small sip. Just as you suspected, it was fruity and had a light taste that wasn’t overwhelming.

Seeing that you approved, he handed your cup to you and as you took another small sip, as promised it was the exact same thing.

“Good choice, Burrow.”

“I figured that you would like it and didn’t want any of the harder options that they have over there.”

“Y/N, you playing?” Justin asked and you gave him a small smile.

“Sure, but only if Joe plays against me.” You answered as you poked Joe’s side making him smirk.

“And here her competitive ass goes. We about to be over here for the rest of the night.” Ja’Marr muttered as he got some chips out of a large bowl and threw them into his mouth.

“I can take her, let’s get to it princess.”

“Famous last words, Burrow.”

After many rounds of beer pong later and mingling with other people, you were making your rounds with a few familiar faces in the living room, when you had suddenly spotted no one other than your boyfriend who looked to be drunk off his ass coming through the front door and sighed.

“Shit.” You quietly said and tried to look for an exit, but came up short. Before you could even make your way into the kitchen, he had spotted you and was moving towards the direction that you were in.

“So, you can’t answer my calls, but come to a party instead?” He asked as he towered over you.

“You pissed me off and I didn’t want to talk to you, simple. So yes, I can dodge your calls whenever I fucking feel like it and come to a party instead. Move out of my way because I still don’t want to talk to you.” You replied and attempted to move around him, but instead he caught your arm and pulled you back.

“I’m not finished fucking talking to you and the last thing you’re about to do is walk away from me.”

“I can and I will and you need to get your fucking hands off me before I get my brother who will beat your ass. I still don’t want to talk to you so move along. You’re clearly drunk and we will have this conversation when you’re sober.”

One thing that you were not going to do was let him intimidate you. You might be small, but you still stood your ground and let him know that you would be tolerating any form of disrespect coming from him or anyone else.

“Who the hell are you talking to like that?” He asked as his grip on your wrist tightened at the same time you were trying to get away from him.

You were trying to look around for Ja’Marr, Justin, or Joe but was coming up short until you heard Joe’s voice from behind Trevor.

“Is there a problem over here? Y/N, you okay?” He asked as he stood on the side of both of you and looked Trevor up and down.

“We’re fine, mind your own damn business. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

“I believe that I was talking to her and not to you. I don’t give a damn if you’re her boyfriend or not. What you aren’t going to do is disrespect her in front of me. You can first start by getting your hand off of her damn wrist because you’re hurting her and it’s turning red.”

“Who the fuck is this guy? Y/N, you fucking him instead of me?” He asked the first question to no one in particular, but the second one was obviously directed at you.

“Trevor, quit it. Just leave. I already said that I wasn’t going to talk to you.”

“Nah, because he thinks he can come over here and get in my business when it has nothing to do with him.” He told you as he turned to keep his eyes on Joe.

Suddenly the room had gone quiet and all eyes were on the three of you as he began to raise his voice.

“Just leave and we’ll talk later.” You told him as you wanted for this night to be over since your mood was now ruined.

You knew that you should have stayed home.

“Not until pretty boy hear learns a fucking lesson.”

Next thing you knew, Trevor shoved Joe who barely moved one inch and you went to stand in between them.

You saw Joe’s jaw clench and knew for a fact that this was going to end badly unless you did something and did something now.

“Joey, no. And Trevor do not fucking put your hands on him.”

“So, you’re defending him instead of me?”

“Yes, because you are being a straight up asshole. Why the hell are you pushing people?”

The next thing you knew it seemed like everything was happening in slow motion, Trevor raised his fist and got ready to punch Joe who dodged it, but Joe made sure to push you out of the way first so that you didn’t get hit. Ja’Marr and Justin came running over to where all of you were standing and caught Joe’s fist as it was about to connect to Trevor’s jaw.

“Joe, chill. It’s not worth it as much as I want to let you go and beat his ass.” Ja’Marr told him as he was holding Joe and Justin was holding back Trevor.

“Y/N, go and get in my car.” Trevor said and you looked at him like he was crazy.

“I think the fuck not. My sister is not going anywhere with you. What you can do is take your ass on out that front door before I let him go and all three of us are kicking your ass, your choice.” Ja’Marr told him as Joe was still struggling to get out of his grasp making him have to hold tighter.

Trevor then held his hands up in defense and began to slowly walk away towards the front door finally giving up on the thought that you were going to leave with him. Once he was finally out the door, Ja’Marr released his hold on Joe and turned to look at you.

“Pebbles, I wish you would fucking break up with him. Do you not see what the fuck he just did? What if we hadn’t been here, huh?! Do you know what could have happened?!” Ja’Marr started but Joe quickly intervened when he saw tears forming in your eyes.

“Not now man, important thing is that she’s okay. You are okay aren’t you? Let me see your wrist.”

You held out your right arm so Joe could look at it and there was a red indentation from where his hand had been.

“Come on, let’s get you some ice from the freezer.”

As you nodded your head, Joe guided you into the kitchen and you were caught off guard as he placed you onto the counter as he rummaged through the freezer and got a small ziploc bag to put the ice in. When he was finished, he walked back over to you and stood in between your legs as he placed the ice on your wrist which led to you letting a hiss escape from your lips.

“Seriously, princess. Are you okay?” Joe softly asked you and you nodded your head.

“I just… I’ve never seen him get like that before and I was scared. He has never put his hands on me or yelled at me like that.”

“I’m just glad we were all here with you.”

“Me too.” You quietly said as Joe brushed a piece of hair out of your face and smiled at you.

It was quiet for a few minutes as Joe tended to your wrist before he looked back up at you.

“You ready to leave? I can come with you.”

“Yeah, I think that it’s probably best at this point.”

Ja’Marr came into the kitchen and made his way over to you as he gave you a hug from the side since Joe was in front of you and kissed the top of your head.

“I yell because I love you and never want anything to happen to you. You’re the only twin I got.” He told you as he pinched your cheek which made you smile.

“I know, I love you too, Bam Bam.”

“I was going to take her home. I’ll text you when she’s safe.” Joe told him, with him nodding in approval.

“Sure thing.”

It had gotten a little colder outside and made sure to walk as fast as possible to your car since the heels you were wearing probably wouldn’t allow you to run. When you were about to get into the driver’s seat, Joe stopped you.

“Let me drive, I know your wrist is still hurting.”

Unlocking your car and not putting up a fight, you walked over to the passenger side and slid in as Joe held the door open for you.

The two of you were now driving through Baton Rouge, as your head laid against the glass and Joe noticed the small circles you were massaging onto your wrist.

“Make sure you take some motrin or something to help your wrist. You don’t have practice tomorrow do you?”

“No, but we have it on Tuesday and then a competition on Saturday. I just hope it’s okay by then.”

“It should be. Just keep stretching it and taking something for it. And more ice will help too.”

“I will. Actually can we make a stop really fast?” You asked and of course Joe nodded.

“Of course and besides, it’s your car that I’m driving.” He responded while laughing.

“Good point. Make a left at the next light and then a right.”

Joe followed directions and was now on a dimly lit street.

“Where are we going?”

“When I get sad, I eat ice cream or get a milkshake at this twenty four hour spot I discovered.”

“Not you holding out on me.” Joe teased as you shook your head.

“I would have taken you eventually. But when I’m around you I’m always happy so there was no need for it.” You quietly said as Joe tried to hide the smile that was forming on his face.

“And that’s how it will always be when I’m around you.”

A few minutes later, Joe saw the sign for the ice cream shop that you had pointed out and quickly parallel parked on the street before the two of you got out to head inside. Joe once again opened the door for you and helped you up the steps to the entrance.

Looking at you now scanning the menu, Joe couldn’t help himself but to take in your appearance for the night. The black dress you were wearing was hugging your curves just right and the shoes you had on was a perfect compliment to it. He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard you call his name.

“Joey, what are you getting?” You asked as you looked over at him.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Did you decide what you wanted yet? I’ll pay, it’s my treat.”

“Probably an oreo milkshake and you don’t have to pay for it.” You told him as you shook your head.

“Then lets make that two and I’m going to because I said so.”

You knew you smiling at him was more than enough to thank him as he placed both of your orders and paid. The two of you stood to the side and Joe noticed that you were hugging yourself and assumed that you were cold.

Without even asking you, he took off his hoodie and told you to hold your arms up.

“But I don’t want you to be cold.”

“You need it more than I do, arms up.”

You finally gave in and held your arms up as he quickly pulled it over your head and took out your hair from the back and pulled it down in the front.

“Better?”

“Better.”

When Joe had turned away from you to get both of your milkshakes, you took in the scent of his hoodie and it happened to be one of your favorite scents that he would wear. You put it in the back of your mind that you were not giving him this hoodie back any time soon.

He handed you your drink and he walked in front of you in order to be able to open the door and help you down the steps. As the two of you got settled in your car and he started to drive when he broke the silence.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?” You asked as you were sipping on your milkshake.

“I’m saying this as someone who cares about you so please don’t take any of this the wrong way.”

“I know what you’re about to say, just like everyone else. I need to break up with him.”

“Then why don’t you do it? I mean I’m to the point where I wouldn’t want you to be alone with him because of what I saw tonight.”

“In some weird twisted way I do love him and he means well. He was not like that when we first got together and I honestly think that he’s going through something and he either doesn’t want to tell me or…”

“Y/N, stop making excuses for him. Even if he is going through something he has no reason to act like that towards you, drunk or not. What would have happened if the two of you were by yourselves?”

“I….”

“I just want to be sure you’re safe. At the end of the day, I’m not telling you what to do because you’re an adult but…. Take it how you want it.” Joe said, being completely honest as he turned into your apartment complex parking lot.

When you were quiet, he spoke up again.

“I would want nothing more for someone else to be able to show you how you should be treated.”

“Joey…”

“Y/N, I know you like me, and I like you. I’ve made that obvious time and time again. You literally spend more time with me than your actual boyfriend, and you even just told me yourself less than thirty minutes ago how happy you always are around me. Why don’t you just let me in? What are you afraid of?”

#Spotify #joe burrow #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow angst #joe burrow lsu #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow imagine #joe shiesty #cincinnati bengals #nfl imagine #joey b

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sabbathbloodysabbeth · 6 months ago

Text

Steve Harrington’s favorite smell was freshly made bread. Specifically banana bread. When he was younger his Mother and Grandmother would make some form of bread every Sunday morning for church. He remembers how the scent would move to his room, waking him up from a deep sleep.

During Christmas it was Cherry bread, during Halloween it was pumpkin. Sometimes if they got adventurous they would mix chocolate chips into it as well. That was most commonly for special occasions though.

After his grandmother passed away, there was no more bread. No more special occasions with chocolate chips. His mother stopped baking all together and stayed hidden in her bedroom. Her normal smell, a soft strawberry scent, changed rotten.

As Steve got older, when he presented as an omega, the smell of other Alphas was overwhelming to him. It was to strong. It wasn’t like the warm comforting smell of bread. He found himself always getting a headache instead.

Then, part way through the school year a smell started to hit him. One that reminded him of chocolate chip pumpkin bread. It wasn’t exactly that but it was close enough that Steve’s mouth and eyes began to water. He had to take a few minutes in the bathroom before he felt comfortable enough to not cry in math class.

As each day passed the smell started to get stronger, not in a bad way. It began to shift between scents as well. Some days it was chocolate pumpkin bread, others it was just pumpkin and then on rare occasions it would shift into mint chocolate chip. Steve was slowly beginning to realize it was rare for the chocolate smell to not be there, on whoever it was.

He assumes that the smell belonged to another omega, whom typically have sweeter smells. So he went to search for who it belonged to. It takes weeks to pin point a select few. It was between Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Tommy Hagen and a complete wild card, Eddie Munson. He can’t ever pin point who it was, and when the smell is near those were normally the people in the same room as him.

He discovers in math that Robin smells like bananas. Though she wasn’t the smell he was searching for his omega still wanted to be near her nothing-less. Then there was Nancy, who smelt like fresh mint. Similar to toothpaste. He wasn’t sure if that was the smell. Too nervous to go up to her, she was a smart and pretty alpha and he wasn’t the brightest omega around. Tommy Hagen smelt like cream soda, it attracted his omega up until he got closer. The smell would be too strong and he was quickly eliminated.

Finally it left him to Eddie Munson. The last person he needed to check. He moves himself awkwardly through the woods, nearly tumbling over a tree root here and there. When he finally makes it to the picnic table, the one he’s only heard about through passing teenagers. He could smell the faint smell of pumpkin. As if the person had been there moments prior.

Hesitant, he moves slowly. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t about to be jumped. He then sets his stuff down at the table, moving to sit like he had been told to by carol. Who’s gotten stuff from Munson in the past, and he waits.

It doesn’t take longer than ten minutes for the smell of fresh chocolate chip pumpkin bread to hit his face. His mouth watering a bit as he turns his head to see who it was coming from.

It was Eddie. Who was currently shoving half a brownie in his face, very ungracefully. Some of the chocolate smearing on the side of his mouth as he jumps startled. Like he had been caught red handed for theft. He tilts his head curiously before he begins to basically prance his way to the table with a chocolaty smile.

Nothing about the Alpha was coordinated. His limbs moved awkwardly, and he didn’t seem to be able to sit still. Even as he begins to talk his mouth was still full. Steve didn’t understand a word he said.

“What?” He asks shyly. Fidgeting with his shirt a bit. He was tempted to get up and leave. He now knew where the scent was coming from. Mystery solved. He could move on. But his omega wanted to stay. Stay wrapped in the comforting smell he has been seeking out for weeks.

Eddie’s face goes a soft red, swallowing the brownie before he coughs a little. Then clears his throat before trying again. “Sorry- I um.. just took an edible. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so I thought I would chill out here and enjoy the high.“ he laughs awkwardly.

Steve makes an oh face, moving to stand up. “Oh sorry, I can go. I don’t even know why I came out here. I uh-“ he starts to ramble out.

He was nervous. He doesn’t know why. He’s made numerous alphas almost cry from his bitchy remarks. Made sure that they knew he wasn’t some shy dumb omega looking for a knot. But here he was stumbling over himself like a moron. He wasn’t looking for a knot but his omega seemed to be without his knowledge.

Eddie’s face softens a bit before he stands up himself. Putting his hands forward. “No, no you don’t have to leave. I just didn’t expect royalty is all. What can I do for you?”

Steve bites his lip realizing he doesn’t know. He didn’t actually plan on buying anything. But he also didn’t want to tell the other the real reason for being out here. His face grows red before he shrugs.

“I uh.. actually don’t know if I’m honest. I kind of just wandered and found myself here.” He admits, watching the other carefully tilt his head. Eddie opens his mouth, before closing it. Letting a soft ‘Hmph’ out, as if he were stumped.

“Well…” Eddie drags out carefully. “You can always just chill out here with me if you want. I’ll just be high off my ass.”

Steve nods his head before hesitantly sitting down again. “What do you normally do out here anyway?” He asks curiously. He wants to start a small conversation with the other.

Eddie grins as if he’s waited to be asked that his entire life. “Well I mostly sell here, but on occasion I like to get high and just sit and appreciate nature. It clears my head, you know?” He hums out. Leaning forward slightly as his eyes never leave Steve. As if he wanted to hear everything he had to say and actually cared.

Steve nods his head with a soft smile, “yeah,” he says gently. He was beginning to understand what Eddie meant. There wasn’t much that cleared Steve’s head. Not even basketball fully did that for him. But right now, sitting across from Eddie pretty much swimming in his scent his head felt the clearest it’s ever been.

Swimming had always been Steve’s favorite sport.

As time went on and they slowly talked, Steve watches in real time as Eddie gets more giggly. His eyes slowly growing red and how more lively the other was becoming. The way his hands flew out to grasp his chest playfully before he fell off the bench. Not caring about the leaves that get tangled in his curls or the possibility of getting hurt.

What captivated Steve the most was how the alphas scent slowly changed. It kept shifting between the familiar pumpkin to a mint chocolate chip smell. Unable to stay on one smell for longer than a few minute’s. It was like his pheromones had a base case of ADHD as well.

Steve’s smile was wide, he felt high himself just being in the other males presence. He rambles about nonsense with the other. About the birds in the trees, the leaves that were changing color, DnD, and even discussing stories about parties going wrong.

Eddie couldn’t sit still Steve notices. His hands were fidgeting with his rings, his legs bounced and his head body was always swaying back and forth just a little.

“Dude you’re so high,” Steve laughs out. Nose scrunching up as he smells the others scent changing again. He enjoyed it, never able to get bored.

Eddie giggles in response, his eyes nearly closed as he stumbles off his seat. Nearly falling on his face. He lands on his knees and flops down. He lays on his stomach, cheek pressed against the dirt as he blinks slowly at Steve.

Steve was slightly worried the other was going to fall asleep on him. So, just in case he moves to sit a couple of inches away from the other. Watching how the other tilts his head up, dopily, to keep his eyes on him. His heart melts a little, the other reminds him of a sleepy puppy.

The thought of pups makes his heart do flips.

This was the dorkiest alpha he has ever met.

“So, how long do edibles normally affect you?” He asks curiously, moving his fingers mindlessly through the pile of leaves next to him. Not looking back at the other, afraid that if he met the others heated stare he might do something stupid.

“Oh, a couple of hours.” Eddie hums gently. “But don’t worry, you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.” He yawns gently. He then shifts his right knee up higher, closer to his chest.

Steve snorts, looking up from the ground as he raises an eyebrow at the other.

“Eddie you could barely walk without falling on your face,” he points out. He can’t help but wonder how the alpha did this by himself all the time.

“Hm, they don’t normally hit me this hard.” Eddie comments, opening his mouth to say something else but stops.

After a moment of silence he finally caves and adds on. “I think you may be the reason why I’m falling on my face sweetheart. Your scent is like a high on its own.”

Steve could tell the other wasn’t fully processing what he was saying. That still doesn’t stop his face from growing red.

He smiles shyly, “yeah? What do I smell like?”

Eddie hums, his face screwing up in thought. “You smell like fresh brownies. Like the best weed brownies I’ve ever made but better.” He says confidently. He then lifts his head up as he asks, “what do I smell like?”

Steve doesn’t understand how Eddie’s eyes were getting so red. He would be slightly worried if the other didn’t seem to be enjoying himself so much.

“Well, your smell kind of changes. It was chocolate pumpkin bread, now it’s a mint chocolate chip but I’m sure it’ll go back to pumpkin soon.” Steve laughs softly. “It’s part of the reason I ended up wandering out here.” He finally admits. He felt more comfortable with the other, trusted the other wouldn’t be mean.

Eddie’s grin grows as he pushes himself up off the ground. He slowly crawls closer to Steve, completely unaware of personal space. His hair moves around a bit, sending a gust of his scent Steve’s way. He stays a few inches away but he smelt stronger being this close. It was making Steve light headed. His omega makes a soft content chirp in response. Steve thinks he might die.

“Really?” Eddie asks. His body falls to the ground again, his head just inches away from lying in Steve’s lap.

“Yeah.” Steve stutters out. He wants to put his hands in this oblivious alphas hair, and nose in his neck. He’s never wanted anything more in his life.

Eddie smiles dumbly up at the other, lifting a finger to poke at Steve’s neck. Pressing against where his mating mark would be someday.

“That’s cool, you have to freckles right here. As if it’s marking the spot for your mate.” Eddie says casually. Getting distracted from what Steve said. Moving his hand back, hair getting tangled in more leafs

Steve can’t hold himself back anymore. He moves a hand down and carefully pulls a twig from the others hair. Ignoring, for the moment, how Eddie’s eyes closed. His face and body relaxing fully for the first time they’ve been out here. When he finally gets it pulled out, he brings his hands back in his lap.

He then watches amused as Eddie lets a pathetic whine out. “That felt nice.” Eddie says sleepily.

Steve desperately wants this alpha in his bed. Not in a sexual manner but for cuddling purposes.

“Yeah?” Steve teases as he watches the other scramble around a bit. Sees how focused the other’s face was before he flops his head down in Steve’s lap. Like a care free dog.

Steve can’t help but let out a giggle, not fully understanding how he got here. But he catches the others hint and begins to play with his hair. Carefully scratching at his scalp.

He watches as the other begins to fall asleep. A soft purr leaving him. Steve’s never heard an alpha purr before. Didn’t even know it was a thing.

Instead of saying anything he stays silent and keeps playing with the other’s hair until it began to grow dark.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers gently. Hesitatingly brushing a hand against the alphas face in hopes of waking him up slowly.

It seems to do the trick as Eddie wakes up almost immediately. His eyes glossy with sleep, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks up at Steve confused. “Huh?” He sounds groggy. His scent changing to a fresh bread smell.

Steve bites his lip amused. “You fell asleep on me.” He teases.

Eddie’s face grows red as he quickly moves up. Pulling away to sit up, rubbing his eyes carefully. “I’m so sorry, that doesn’t normally happen. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He rambles out.

Steve shakes his head, “it’s alright. I didn’t mind.” He was sleepy himself now. Meeting Eddie’s eyes who land back on his. Neither of them know what to do with themselves.

Eddie decides a hug is the thing to do. He crawls over and wraps his arms around Steve, awkwardly and pats his shoulders. His neck shoving its way in Steve’s face, leaving him no room but to get the full scent blasted in his face. He wants to stay like this forever. Before he can say as such Eddie is pulling away and stumbling over himself awkwardly. His words not comprehendible before he leaves the woods.

#alpha eddie munson #omega Steve Harrington #Steve loves Eddie’s scent your honor #it reminds him of home #while Steve’s reminds Eddie of a comforting high that can be addictive if he lets it #they cuddle a little #I’m tempted to write more but I’m so tired lmao #Steve views Eddie as something speacil because of the choclate chip smel #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #strangerthings #steve stranger things #eddie and steve #robin buckley

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chocosvt · 5 months ago

Text

HER | part two.

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

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

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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

thanks againnnn! 🌟

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

—MAY 12TH.

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

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

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

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

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

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

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

“Now that I have your attention—”

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

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

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

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let me rush you.”

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

Finally, you got up from the rug.

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

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

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

“So, where are you at anyway?”

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

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

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

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

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

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo shook his head.

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

“She made it?”

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

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

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

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

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

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

“It’s really pretty.”

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

You turned back to him, shrugging.

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

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

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

“I think so. For the day.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, like what?”

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

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

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

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

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

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

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

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

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

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

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

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

“Then what for?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Write well, not good.”

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

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

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t even start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

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

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

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

Finally, he was let inside.

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

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

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

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

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

Again, he wanted to throw up.

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

He cleared his throat.

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

“Is that your actual voice?”

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

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

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

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

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, that’s… easy enough.”

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

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

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

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

“Oh… why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually?”

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

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

“I want another drink,” you told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The line moved forward another step.

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

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

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

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

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

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

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

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

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

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“We’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

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

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

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

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

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

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

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

“Oh, yeah.”

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

“So, you write poetry?”

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

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

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

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

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

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

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

“Meaning…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

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

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

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

But you didn’t. Thank God.

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

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

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

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

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

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

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

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

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

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

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

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

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

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

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

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

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

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

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

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

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

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

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

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

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

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s coming, he’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Still there.”

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

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

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

Mingyu nodded.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, um—about that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tough.”

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

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

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want him to use you.”

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

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

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

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

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

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

—MAY 19TH.

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

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

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

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

He looked down at his phone.

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

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

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

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

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

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

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

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

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

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

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

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

Knock knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

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

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

“So, is it really bad?”

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

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

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

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

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

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

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

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

“I like toast.”

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

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

Anything at all.

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

“Done, for the most part.”

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

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

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

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

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

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

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

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

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

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

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

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

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

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

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

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

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

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

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

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

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

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

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

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

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

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

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically.

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.��

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he��d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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wosola · 2 months ago

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French kisses .2 - Lucy Bronze x French!Reader

Summary: This is during Lucy Bronze’s time playing for Lyon, she's just gotten into a relationship with R, a 22-year-old student. For R it is the first time sleeping with someone.

Warnings: This is an 18+ fanfic with explicit content, so minors DNI.

Part 1 here.

It was only a few days ago, but Sunday felt like a lifetime away as you recalled how your parents had adored Lucy. You remembered how Lucy had picked you up that Sunday, looking stunning in an outfit you hadn't seen before. She had arrived a full ten minutes early, a small smile on her face as she told you that punctuality was key.

You re envisioned the way your mom’s eyes sparkled when Lucy walked in with a bouquet of flowers, the perfect way to win her over; your mom loved flowers. "Pour toi," Lucy had exclaimed with a warm smile, her accent adorably imperfect as she stumbled over a few words in French.

Your dad had been equally impressed when Lucy handed him a bottle of expensive whiskey, having confirmed with you just the day before if it was an appropriate gift to give him. “I heard this is your favorite,” she’d said, her voice unexpectedly confident as she raised the bottle.

You adored the way she’d won your parents over. You where glad your parents where this welcoming, that they just wanted to see you happy, because you knew it was often not as pleasant for people to bring a same-sex partner home.

It was clear Lucy had learned everything she wanted to say in French, she’d probably rehearsed every potential compliment and conversational quip, ready for the moment she needed it. It worked though and in some strange way it made you fall more in love with her.

You felt a swell of pride watching her engage with your parents, laughing and sharing stories that bridged the gap between her world and yours. It was so nice to finally been able to bring someone home. Maybe it would be the only person you would ever bring home to your parents, because she was the love of your life.

Safe to say it had been a great success and the next dinner had already been planned before the two of you had left.

Now it was Thursday; the day you’d been waiting for. It was the day.

Your apartment was cozy, located near the university and just the right size for you and your roommate. It was great you could live there, as your parents lived outside the city, in such a rural place that buses didn't even dare to go near there.

The living room was a mix of mismatched furniture; a well-loved couch, a small coffee table cluttered with textbooks and half-finished mugs of coffee and a tiny kitchen that smelled faintly of whatever you’d cooked that week.

Earlier this morning, your roommate had teased you mercilessly about Lucy. “You’re glowing! I swear, it’s like you’ve got stars in your eyes,” she had said with a playful smirk, knowing you hated that kind of soppy stuff. But beneath the teasing, you sensed her genuine happiness for you, knowing you had found someone you really really liked and who liked you equally as much.

As you came back after classes that day, your roommate had left, spending the night at her boyfriend’s place. Leaving the space feeling oddly quiet yet filled with the thrill of anticipation.

So you had thrown yourself into preparation mode. You changed the bed sheets. You scrubbed the countertops and vacuumed the floors, wanting everything to feel just right.

Then came the shower, you put yourself through an extensive cleansing ritual, lingering for way too long under the jets, letting the hot water cascade down your back like a soothing embrace. Because besides wanting to feel clean, you where also nervous quite nervous.

Deciding what to wear was another challenge in itself. You tried on three different outfits, each time pulling everything off again and tossing it aside in frustration. Finally, you settled on a simple yet elegant outfit that hugged your figure perfectly, something that made you feel confident and beautiful.

As you stood in front of the mirror, taking one last look at yourself, you couldn’t shake the excitement mixed with a touch of anxiety. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was just Lucy. The doorbell rang, pulling you from your thoughts and you knew the evening was about to begin.

Lucy showed up at your apartment with two bags in hand, insisting that you must not peek inside. “It’s a surprise amour,” she had declared, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that only made your heart race faster.

After exchanging a kiss, Lucy walked over to the kitchen and you stood there unsure of what to do. You watched as she moved things from one bag to another, a hint of excitement bubbling in your chest.

Finally, she spoke up, her voice cheerful. “Alright, love, if you want to unpack these things, it’s for dinner. I’ll just duck into your room for a bit and try to be quick, okay?”

She approached you again, planting another kiss on your lips and you smiled back at her, feeling warmth spread through you at her demeanor. “Don’t come peeking…” she joked, pulling you in for another kiss.

You broke the kiss and chuckled, “I wont,” waving her off as she disappeared down the hallway.

As you busied yourself in the kitchen, the anticipation of the night filled the air. You draped a dark red tablecloth over the coffee table, setting down all the different food Lucy had brought. You couldn’t believe your eyes as you uncovered the dishes. It was almost like a tapas table, but then all of your favorite things from different traiteurs. The logo from your favorite fromagerie was unmistakable on one of the little brown bags and your heart raced; you rarely treated yourself to these luxuries. Lucy had gone out of her way to buy all of it.

After placing down glasses and cutlery you only needed plates, so you walked back to the kitchen.

Lucy softly closed the bedroom door, as she was done setting things up and walked over to you. Coming up behind you, she placed a soft kiss on your neck.

You tensed momentarily but quickly relaxed into her touch. Your nerves were on high alert because of your nervousness. But you liked how she held you, her touch sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Ah, at the coffee table?” she asked, a surprised tone in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admitted sheepishly. “I thought it would feel.. less formal. We can change it if you want, but I thought… cozy?”

“It’s perfect,” Lucy assured you, her eyes gleaming with appreciation. “Perfectly us.”

You turned to face her, taking in the beauty of her features; her bright eyes, the gentle curve of her lips and the way her smile seemed to light up your kitchen. This was the face you had grown to love, the face you wanted to see first thing in the morning and the last thing before drifting off to sleep. You leaned in slowly, noticing how she tilted her head to meet you halfway, not taking the lead as she would usually do. The kiss was soft, filled with the promise you both felt lingering.

“Are you nervous?” Lucy asked quietly, pulling back slightly to gauge your expression.

“Uhm… I have nerves, but I’m mostly excited, I think,” you replied, your gaze dropping to where you absentmindedly played with her fingers, tracing their robust form.

“Well, I just wanted to say,” Lucy began, reaching up with her free hand to tilt your chin, ensuring you met her gaze. “If you want to stop at any time, you can always say so. I… uh, nothing will change between us if that happens, okay? For you, I would wait a hundred years if that’s what you need.”

You chuckled softly, your heart swelling at her words. Leaning in, you kissed her again, savoring the taste of her lips. “I love you.”

‘’I love you too,’’ with a smile on her face, Lucy gestured toward the food on the coffee table. “Okay, let’s eat then, I have searched all of your favorites, maybe I missed some I don’t know, I hope not but I-.”

You interrupted her, smiling ‘’are you nervous?’’ You asked her, hearing her rambling.

She scratched her neck, biting her lip. ‘’I want this to be perfect, for you.’’

‘’It is Lucy, don’t worry,’’ you took her hand as you took two plates in your other hand and pulled her to the couch.

After setting the plates down you settled down on the couch.

Lucy followed, settling beside you, she leaned forward to open the bottle of rosé crémant. You’d once mentioned liking it better than champagne and it made you smile that she’d remembered. You knew she hadn’t chosen it because it was less expensive but because it was what you preferred. It was something you loved about her, Lucy wasn’t just listening; she cared.

After filling your glasses, she handed one to you and raised hers to clink. You watched her, catching the slight hesitation as she searched for the right words to toast.

You chuckled and stepped in to help, saying what felt like the obvious toast “to us.” Your gaze locked with hers, and you tapped your glass to hers.

"To us," she repeated softly, her eyes meeting yours with a smile before she took a sip.

After that, the two of you eagerly started digging in to the food.

Lucy stacked her plate and sat back on the couch “Mmm, this is amazing.´´ she said with her mouth full. ´´I love all the food you’ve introduced me to in France.”

You laughed. “I could give you a dried-out baguette and you’d still enjoy it.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, nudging you with her elbow. “Not true. I have taste. Great taste, even.”

“I know, I was just teasing you.” You leaned in close, a playful glint in your eye. “Sorry,” you whispered, stopping just inches from her face.

She smiled, tilting her head even closer. “Hmm… I think you’ll have to make it up to me.”

You let your lips brush against hers, the anticipation crackling in the air. “And how exactly should I do that?” you said, taking the plate off of her and blindly put it back on the coffee table.

“Maybe a kiss.” Her words were soft, lingering just against your lips before she captured them fully, her mouth warm and inviting. The kiss deepened, her hand slipping around your waist, drawing you in against her. You let go, sinking into the kiss, savoring the way her fingers grazed the small of your back. Shivering as her hands cupped your ass, fingers digging in, urging you even closer.

Without breaking away, you shifted onto her lap, you gasped softly as her hands found their way to your hips, holding you as she carefully flipped you both, positioning you between her and the couch. Your legs wrapped instinctively around her and you could feel her weight balanced on her forearms bracketing against you, her feet slipping on the smooth floor as she struggled to hold herself steady.

But none of that seemed to matter. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of her pressed against you, how her hips moving against yours, the barely restrained hunger in her touch. Her lips traced along your jaw, pressing against your neck in a way that sent chills across your skin. Each soft grind sent ripples of electricity through you, your breaths becoming shallow as you felt yourself getting unsteady.

Your fingers curled into her shirt as her lips moved softly along your neck, the sound of her low hum sending a rush of heat through you. Then, just as suddenly, Lucy seemed to become aware of something, pulling back to look at you, her gaze hazy and unfocused, like she’d just come back down to earth.

You smiled, biting your lip, your legs tightening around her, holding her close.

She gave you a breathless smile, leaning in to kiss you again, this time softer, a little more composed. "Uhm, we should continue eating, hm?" she murmured, her voice laced with both amusement and hesitation.

"Well.. I’m not that hungry anymore," you replied, eyes locked with hers. Your heart tutted loudly in your chest. Your cheeks felt burning hot and you ached for something. You didn´t know what for, but you where wanting.

Lucy´s cheeks tinged pink, but she managed to keep her gaze steady. "Okay," she breathed, though there was a flicker of unsteadiness there.

Noticing it, you chuckled, slowly loosening your legs from around her. "But we can eat, " you teased, ‘’if you are hungry…"

Lucy’s mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "Oh, I’m hungry,´´ she murmured in a low, playful growl, ´´but not for the food" sweeping you up into her arms.

You giggled, letting yourself melt into her hold as she carried you down the hall.

When you reached your bedroom, she set you back down just before the door, gesturing grandly. "After you."

Stepping inside, you smiled. Your bedroom was transformed; the curtains were closed, a soft glow of dozens of candles casting warm, flickering light everywhere, their soft glow enveloping you both. The bed was covered in rose petals, arranged in the shape of a heart.

"It’s beautiful, Luce," you murmured, touched. "You put so much effort into this."

She shook her head modestly, glancing away. "No, it’s really nothing, I just wanted to—"

You turned back to her with a chuckle. "The candles are fake, I hope?"

Lucy laughed, scratching the back of her neck as she joined you in the room. "Oh, yeah. I figured it was… safer… and you know, I could put them on already."

You nodded and closed the space between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, wordlessly letting her know just how much everything meant to you.

Lucy held your gaze for a moment, eyes soft before she took your hand, leading you gently toward the bed.

The room felt warm as you stepped inside, the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. You turned toward Lucy, feeling the quiet electricity in the air between you both.

There was a heartbeat of silence, a moment where the two of you just looked at each other, taking in this instant you’d both waited for.

Lucy broke the silence first, her fingers brushing over your cheek, down to your jaw and pausing there as her eyes searched yours. Her gaze was soft, maybe a little nervous but entirely steady, holding a depth of care that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world she could see. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with quiet awe.

A shy smile tugged at your lips, and you stepped closer, letting your fingers find the hem of her shirt. “Can I…?” you asked softly, meeting her gaze, asking without words if this was all right.

Lucy nodded, her hands finding their way to your waist, fingers light as though she were both carefull and eager all at once. You began to lift the fabric, inching it upward, feeling a heady mixture of nerves and excitement that made your fingers tremble.

As her shirt lifted, more of her skin was revealed in the warm candlelight and you let out a soft, almost breathless laugh. “You’re… hmm,” you murmured, not able to hide the excitement in your voice.

She chuckled softly, helping you remove her shirt.

Once her shirt was off, you let your fingertips trail slowly along her arms, feeling the curve of her bicep, your touch reverent as if she were something precious, almost sacred. She stayed still, watching you with parted lips, her breathing just a bit heavier then usual.

Your hand continued down over her shoulder and chest, tracing lightly as you went, feeling the defined muscle under soft skin. Fingers sliding over the line of her collarbone, pausing briefly at her chest before continuing downward to her stomach. Your fingertips brushed over the lines of her abs, feeling the strength there. She shivered under your touch.

Her own hands found the buttons of your shirt in response, looking at you for approval and after you nodded she took a steadying breath before unbuttoning them, her eyes never leaving you as more of your skin was revealed. She was quiet, reverent almost, as though seeing you this way was something that left her breathless.

And there you stood, inches apart, taking each other in. The hunger was there, palpable, but so was the sweetness, the awe, as though you were both seeing something rare and precious—something you wanted to savor.

Her lips found yours again, the kiss deepening as she guided you backward, her hands brushing over your shoulders and sides. When you reached the edge of the bed, she swept the rose petals aside with a quick swipe. She lowered you carefully onto the bed and you tugged her down with you.

With a quiet breath, you reached back to unclip your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. Lucy watched closely, her gaze warm and attentive. She gently slipped the bra off for you, tossing it aside without her eyes leaving your chest.

You whispered her name, wanting her attention, ‘’Luce’’.

She lifted her head, searching your eyes with a slight smile.

"Take yours off too?" you asked, almost shyly.

She nodded immediately. “Of course.” She sat up slightly and tugged off her own bra, letting it fall to the floor as well before leaning back over you, her bare chest now in your view. Your gaze lingered, appreciating every detail, your lips parting slightly as you took in the softness and beauty of her skin, her hardened nipples inviting your touch.

Seeing you captivated, Lucy gently took your hands in hers, smirking a little as she guided them to her chest. She laced her fingers through yours, encouraging you to cup her breasts, your palms brushing over the sensitive peaks. You gave a gentle squeeze, feeling the heat of her skin against your hands, still entranced by her body.

Lucy’s smile softened as she took in your focused expression. “Feels good?” she asked amused.

“Mhm,” you murmured, still in a bit of a daze before you blinked, meeting her eyes. “Yeah.”

part 3 next monday

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze smut #lucy bronze fanfic #lucy bronze imagine

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libraryofgage · 15 days ago

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Good Vibrations Five

One | Two | Three | Four

I meant to have this posted so much earlier but then my brother went to the ER and got hospitalized and that became my whole fucking weekend lmao

He's fine now but it was a very stressful and exhausting couple of days

Anyway, this series was line jumped on Ko-Fi! To learn more about line-jumping, please go here

If you ever have a free moment, btw, I suggest looking into assistive devices because they're so cool and interesting to read about!

Okay, I'm done now lol

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

Steve spends most of Sunday on edge, his leg bouncing whenever he manages to sit down as he waits for Eddie. He's already stress-cleaned the kitchen and the living room, shoved everything into his closet in his room, and made sure anything that could make noise (the TV, the stereo, the radio) were turned down to a volume that wouldn't blast Eddie's eardrums to shit.

When the doorbell rings, a strobe light in the corner of the room flashes, demanding his attention. The system is something simple but needlessly expensive, one his parents got installed when his hearing was half-gone. A strobe light sits in one corner of each main room, just above the closet in his bedroom, and on the outside of the house facing the pool. Ideally, he should be able to see it no matter where he is.

He stops at the door and takes a deep breath, wiping his palms on his jeans even though they aren't sweaty. Steve pulls open the door before he can doubt himself.

On the other side, Eddie looks conflicted as he stares at the doorbell. His hand is half-raised like he's ready to ring again. Steve watches him jolt at the door opening. "How'd you hear that?" he asks, glancing between the doorbell and Steve with a confused expression.

It's that more than reading his lips that tells Steve what his question was. "Strobes," he says, gesturing for Eddie to come inside. "Here, watch that light when I press the button."

He waits for Eddie to stand just inside the doorway and stare at the light Steve pointed to. Once he's in place, Steve leans out and presses the doorbell, the strobe flashing in the corner of his vision. He rings twice just to make sure Eddie gets the picture before closing and locking the door.

"That's fucking metal," Eddie says when Steve looks at him, grinning brightly. "I didn't know you could do that."

Steve shrugs, waving his hand for Eddie to follow as he heads to the living room. "It was cheap to get but expensive to install. My parents had to rewire the whole house when we got it," he explains.

He sits on one end of the couch and watches Eddie hesitate before sitting on the other. Now that Steve is paying attention, he can see the plastic bag in his hand. "What's that?" he asks.

"Oh!" Eddie sets the bag between them, pulls out cling-wrapped plate of cookies, and sets that on top of the bag. "My Uncle Wayne got some cookies from a neighbor and insisted I bring them," he says. The words are rushed, though, and Steve guesses he's flustered based on the red in Eddie's cheeks.

Steve blinks, frowning slightly. "Say that again. Slow down," he says, focusing on Eddie's mouth to catch the shapes of words.

"Sorry," Eddie says, licking his lips before repeating himself, visibly forcing himself to speak slower.

Steve almost misses Eddie's words again, his brain replaying Eddie licking his lips and helpfully wondering what it would feel like to lick them himself. He manages to catch Eddie's general meaning, though, and smiles gratefully. "Cool, thanks for bringing them," he says, considering the plate for a moment before adding, "I could teach you the sign for cookie."

"Well, I am here to learn, big boy," Eddie says, grinning.

Steve wipes his hands on his jeans again, shifting to face Eddie directly as he ignores the nickname. He doesn't have the time to overthink about it. "I'll go slow, and then you try," he says, waiting for Eddie to nod.

Once he does, Steve holds his left hand flat, makes a loose claws shape with his right, and touches his fingertips to his left palm. He then lifts his right hand slightly, rotates it like he's using a cookie cutter on dough, and brings his fingertips down to his left palm again. "Just, uh, pretend your cutting cookies out of cookie dough," he explains.

He watches closely as Eddie attempts to replicate the motion. He rotates his hand a little too much, making Steve wince in sympathy for his wrist. "No, you don't need to go that far," he says, reaching over to grab Eddie's hand. He rotates it a few degrees, enough to get the point across without causing any strain on Eddie's wrist. "Like that. Try again."

Eddie gets it right on his next try, and Steve smiles brightly at him. "Yeah, you've got it," he says, leaning back against the arm of the sofa behind him. "Cool, uh, let's try asking what kind of cookies you like."

When Eddie nods, Steve thinks before making the sign for cookie again. He then points at Eddie and places his hand flat on his chest, his fingers spread. Steve pulls his hand forward, touching his thumb and middle finger together, and then makes a peace sign, keeping his hand horizontal. He does the same with his left hand and touches the fingers of that hand to the bottom of his right wrist. Finally, he circles his left hand behind his right, over the top, and comes back to the bottom of his wrist.

When he's done, Eddie looks sufficiently lost, staring at Steve like he's an enigma and something wholly impressive for knowing how to sign so smoothly. It makes something warm and floaty linger in Steve's chest even when he tries to remind himself he's not that good at signing.

"Can you, you know, do that again? Slower, maybe?" Eddie asks.

Steve nods, flashing a reassuring smile before repeating the motions and walking Eddie through them.

---------

When Eddie pulls up to his trailer, he's still in a daze from spending three hours with Steve. The time had flown by after they settled into a routine of Steve signing something and patiently correcting Eddie as he fumbled through the motions.

A gentle tap on the window has him jerking in his seat, heart thumping wildly as he looks over to see Wayne standing outside. Eddie hurries to shut off the van and slide out, awkwardly smiling. "Hey. How was work?" he asks.

"Fine," Wayne says, brushing past the question easily to ask Eddie, "You doing okay, son? You sat there for a good minute."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine. Nothing wrong at all," Eddie says, grimacing at his own awkwardness that clearly advertises something is wrong.

"Uh-huh. How about we talk inside."

Eddie's shoulders slump with defeat and he nods. "Yeah. All right."

He follows Wayne into the trailer, flopping into one of the chairs at the dining table and reaching for the box of cereal he'd left there that morning. Wayne gets himself a beer before sitting across the table. "So, you went and saw a friend today. One you wouldn't tell me the name of. And stole Ms. Burten's cookies for."

Eddie winces, shoves a handful of Honeycombs into his mouth, and chews them slowly to give himself time to think. He could be honest. He knows Wayne is kind of like him in terms of liking guys; the only difference is Wayne likes women, too. He knows Wayne would be supportive and understanding and probably have good advice. He knows Wayne won't judge him for anything.

He just...almost wants to keep Steve for himself a little longer. Eddie likes having a private crush, something that stays close to his heart and makes him feel fuzzy whenever he sees the object of his crush.

But a private crush doesn't go anywhere, and this is the first time Eddie feels like there's somewhere for this crush to go. Robin all but confirmed that Steve wouldn't reject him for being gay or out him to the whole town. If anything, he'd reject Eddie for being, well, Eddie, but the way Steve stares at him is reassuring.

"Steve Harrington," he says, the name slipping out after he swallows the Honeycombs. "I, uh, was at Steve's place. Learning sign language. Because he's deaf."

A few seconds pass in which Wayne just stares at him. Then, he sighs. "Ah, hell, kid. You don't really have a crush on the Harrington boy, do you?" he asks.

"He's like us!" Eddie says, quickly dismissing that concern before Wayne goes down his warning spiel about crushing on guys who aren't gay.

"You sure about that?" Wayne asks, eyes narrowed like he doesn't trust Eddie to be a reliable source of information.

Eddie nods, shoving another handful of Honeycombs in his mouth. "Totally sure. Robin Buckley confirmed it," he says around the cereal.

"Sounds a little too good to be true," Wayne says, sighing as he takes a swig from his bottle and sets it on the table. "What's the catch."

"It's not a catch. Just, uh, something to get used to, I think? I mean, he's deaf, so...yeah," Eddie says, grimacing at how awkward that sounds. Is there some smoother way to share that news? Is there a guide somewhere? Maybe Steve can give him some pointers the next time they hang out.

Wayne slowly nods and takes another sip of his beer, expression thoughtful as he considers his next words. "I know a few guys at the factory that're losing their hearing," he finally says, tapping his finger on the neck of his bottle. "Seems tough."

"That's it?"

"Well, whaddya want from me, kid? Sage advice? I ain't enough beers in for that."

"I...don't know what I wanted," Eddie admits, huffing as he closes the cereal box and pushes it back to the middle of the table.

"Whelp," Wayne says, free hand smacking down on his thigh before he pushes himself out of his chair. "I'm gonna watch the game, then. You're free to join me or go pine in your room if you prefer."

"I don't pine," Eddie says, his voice nearly cracking on the last word.

"Sure, you don't. Whatever you say, kid. Just make sure I've got a beer in my hand before you start waxing poetic about his eyes later."

Eddie makes an offended noise that he definitely won't be calling a squawk. He can't even argue, though, because Eddie's brain is already thinking about his hazel eyes and the two little moles by his lips and....yeah, Wayne has a point.

-------

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

Please follow the tag "good vibrations Steddie" or put on notifications for my blog to see when new parts are posted :D)

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#steddie #steddie fic #good vibrations steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #deaf steve harrington #wayne munson #my writing

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kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

Text

At Last: Part Two

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Richmond make their union official.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: None

Part One

Under two Spanish moss trees, the two that towered highest above the rest like gods watching over their creations, Patrice and Terrence were due to share vows and declarations of love with a small crowd of family looking on as witnesses in less than twelve hours.

Her mother referred to the quick turnaround between engagement and nuptials as a “small miracle” as she and her elder sister meticulously planned details that even Patrice had overlooked in the haze of the evening.

Truthfully, after all the fuzzy feelings and congratulatory bubbly had worn off, she was left with a gaping pit of confusion deep within her belly. Terry had promised one year to prepare for a life together. That amounted to 365 days to learn, grow, and get ready for eternity. A calendar year to decide if the eagerness of fresh love could bloom into something everlasting. Three hours ago, she didn’t need any more convincing. Now, having 365 days cut nearly in half with a wedding occurring on the other side of the sunrise had suddenly become suffocating.

They hadn’t taken a traditional road, one paved with tangible milestones on the journey to name changes and legal titles. There was no high school sweethearts storyline to follow. They hadn’t awkwardly fumbled over kisses after a first date or met each other’s parents at a Sunday evening dinner. Terry never officially asked to be her boyfriend and she never really treated him as a man to date on the way to some serendipitous revelation that he was, indeed, the one. In her mind, they’d always existed as lovers, time moving in a flat circle back to him as the only man at the altar when she envisioned jumping the broom with a new last name.

But, even with all roads leading back to Terrence James Richmond, the cotton sheets beneath her tired body provided no refuge. She was restless in the dead of night, head pounding with uncertainty and throat raw with questions. She kicked at the thick duvet for some relief from the stifling heat in the bedroom of the tiny guest cottage she and Imani were forced to share for the night.

Because, even if she and Terry didn’t adhere to tradition, the women of her family held strong.

Next to her, Imani grumbled into her pillow before flipping the bedside lamp on with a huff.

“Damn, Petey, what now? You must wanna look like Frankenstein at the altar tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t get comfortable.”

“What I gotta do? My arms ain’t big as his but I can be the big spoon. Turn over.”

Imani jokingly cuddled up to Patrice, pretending to be Terry as she spoke to her in a dramatically deep voice. “I love you, girl. You the only woman in the world, girl. Kiss me a hundred times so I don’t melt away, girl!”

Patrice couldn’t hold back her laughter at her cousin’s silly imitation of a man she’d only just met in person but managed to get his mannerisms down to a science. She was good like that. Always able to break the ice and calm Patrice with a joke, even through troublesome storms.

Turning in Imani’s arms, Patrice faced her cousin to feel less alone in the world. Imani adjusted her bonnet and looked back with a faint smile.

“Tell me what’s wrong. You nervous?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Anxious?”

“Not that one either.”

“Worried.”

Patrice nodded and chewed her bottom lip before answering. “That’s the one.”

“Spill. You already got me awake. Might as well make it interesting.”

“I wish I could but, I don’t know what exactly I’m worried about,” she started, shifting to her back to search for answers on the vaulted ceiling. She found nothing. “You think this is all moving too fast? It’s only been a few months. We said we’d wait a year at least.”

“A year? Three months? Who’s countin’. Those rules are made up.”

“Yeah, but what about the courting? The whirlwind romance? Being held close while you dance in an empty jazz club tasting champagne on his lips while Etta James plays in the background? What about all that?”

Imani watched her cousin jump from the bed, waltzing in circles with her head thrown back, treating the empty space between the bedframe and dresser like a palace ballroom. An amused smile tugged at her lips as she sat up to get a better view.

“Girl,” she exclaimed, laughing and shaking her head to Patrice’s dismay. “None of that shit is real! You watched the Brandy Cinderella one too many times during the pandemic.”

“Only four times. Five. Six if you count the time we watched it on FaceTime.”

“That’s why it’s rotting your brain now. How many times you been in love?”

“Once,” Patrice answered, her mind drifting to Terry and what he might be doing all alone in that room upstairs.

“It’s been three times for me. And guess what?” she questioned, not expecting an answer. “None of them had a formula. Love is illogical, girl. There are no steps or rules or movie scripts to guide you through this shit! It’s about the willingness to give yourself over to something incomprehensible in hopes that you found your person for as long as you can hold on to them.”

Imani’s rant floated around the room until it began to burrow itself deep into Patrice’s ears in hopes of reaching her brain. She stood there, taking every word in, eyes intently focused on her wise older cousin, knowing she was right yet having a hard time turning that insight into something she could fathom for herself.

She’d always had a plan that she followed to the letter. She thrived in logical next steps and absolutes. The black and white kept her organized. Routine was her center. But love with Terry? That was different. That was whimsical. That was girlish pining and a botched kiss when they pretended to be a couple for one night during senior prom. It was time away wondering what their bond had become amid infrequent communication and eventual radio silence. Their love was reuniting as adults and running so fast into dizzying passion that she hadn’t time to wrap her mind around what had happened over the last seven months. Their love was intense and scary, beautifully abstract with no rhyme or reason. Nonsensical even. But it worked.

Scooting to the edge of the bed and standing to her feet, Imani mimicked a chivalrous prince, pulling Patrice into a silly little waltz around the room. “Create your own fairytale, P. Everything doesn’t have to make sense.”

“You think he misses me?” Patrice asked, her voice so tiny and meek that it almost surprised Imani. “Think he’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about him right now?”

“Only one way to find out.”

A mischievous smile spread across Imani’s face as she dashed for her phone. Patrice chased after her, calling for her to stop what she was doing at such a late hour.

Ordinarily, Terry would be asleep. He was never one to stay up too far beyond the early hours of the night, often dragging Patrice away from a good book to force her to sleep beside him.

Peaceful slumber, however, had been elusive all night. The moon was too bright. The room? Too hot. He could complain about the bed being a hair too soft or the floorboards creaking too loud whenever someone would sneak down the hallway for a late snack, but all of those would be a deflection from the true issue - he missed Patrice.

Just as his longing was reaching a tipping point, his phone buzzed against the solid oak nightstand. He had half a mind to ignore the sound. It was likely his mother confirming details yet again or one of his twin sisters finally responding to the engagement video, he thought to himself as he lay on his back staring at the constant revolution of the ceiling fan.

Then another buzz came accompanied by several more to let him know this was a phone call and only people with emergencies call at that hour.

He answered without looking at the screen to verify the caller.

“Hello?” He answered, slightly annoyed by the interruption.

“Terry put some clothes on and come to the cottage. We got an emergency.”

“A what?”

“Boy, just come on! Skip the third step from the bottom and go out of the side door by the kitchen.”

Terry wished that sneaking around his fiancée’s family home was among the silliest things he’d done in the middle of the night for a woman.

He carefully slipped into a hoodie and sneakers before tiptoeing his way down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out of that side door like Imani instructed. The moonlight provided the only guidance down the cobbled pathway leading to a tiny shack at the edge of the property with a little light flipped on in the bedroom.

Imani watched through the peephole with Patrice hot on her heels, peering over her shoulder as if she could see too.

Moanie shrugged her away with a harsh whisper. “Girl, get off my ass. He’s coming!”

Patrice backed away with her hands up in surrender. The wait for his eventual appearance felt like forever. She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, wondering if he would care that this was all a half-baked scheme to circumnavigate their forced separation.

Terry ambled up the dirt path with his normal scowl and fists pushed into his pockets to shield his hands from the wind chill. Imani timed his arrival perfectly, swinging the door open before he created a disturbance by knocking.

“Everything good?” He asked, one eyebrow hiked high as Imani pulled him into the cottage by his arm.

She stepped back and gestured toward Patrice who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I just wanna sleep,” she sighed. “Take her, go in that room, and do whatever y’all do until the morning. Then you gotta dip because I’m not getting in trouble for y’all. My mama will still hit me.”

Terry’s eyes drifted from Imani to Patrice, catching how she looked nervous under his gaze. He smiled and extended his hand for her to take.

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

His voice, honied and soothing to her soul, gave Patrice her first rush of comfort in what felt like forever. She placed her palm in his and trailed behind him as he led the way.

Imani called behind them. “Please, don’t have sex on the bed. I gotta sleep here until Tuesday and I don’t really need that image in my head.”

“Can’t make any promises but, thank you. I’ll make sure you get the bouquet.”

“Hard pass. Give it to Moon’s desperate ass. I like to let my fairytales unfold organically.”

She winked at her cousin just before Terry could close the bedroom door to block them from the outside world.

Wrapped in the midnight hour, they’d finally found peace.

Patrice watched from the bed as Terry stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his hoodie to expose bare skin to the night air. He slowly crawled in beside her, brushing his fingers against her midsection to guide her against the mattress the way he liked. He pulled her close to his chest to rest his nose in the crook of her neck for a deep inhale of her unique scent. She sighed and pressed even closer, at ease once eyelashes painted butterfly kisses where his warm breath fanned against her skin.

“How’d we get like this,” he laughed once they were settled. “Can’t even fall asleep without each other.”

“I still think you put a spell on me in that bathroom. I loved sleeping alone before then.”

“Had to pull out all the stops for you, baby.”

“I’m just that fine, huh?”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, already feeling slumber's clutches coming for him in the darkness. His grip around her waist tightened. She trailed her fingers up and down his forearm with her focus on the soft rustle of the linen curtains against the window. Her mind quieted. The room fell silent save for steady, deep breathing and the crickets making music outside.

“You wanna know something?”

Terry blinked himself awake to answer. “What?”

“They call me Petey because I had a big crush on Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man one summer,” Patrice admitted in the darkness. “I figure if you’re gonna be my husband by this time tomorrow, you should know.”

No answer. Only the smack of his lips pulling away from the skin behind her ear in another kiss. He knew not to interrupt her fleeting moment of vulnerability with the silly joke on the tip of his tongue. So, he joined her confessional.

“I used to think Roxanne from A Goofy Movie was fine.”

“The animated dog?”

Terry scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know being attracted to a human spider was better.”

Their shared laughter reverberated off the walls, uncorking the bottled-up pressure to be present as perfect beings to the world. Terry felt Patrice’s ribcage expand and contract in his embrace as she took a deep breath to release pent-up nerves, silently thanking God that he was the one allowed to mold himself into the curves and contours of her body every night.

“I want to know more about you.” she requested, sounding like a child asking for a bedtime story. “Tell me something else.”

So he did. With no hesitation, he told her secrets that seemed so daunting to share until she was the one listening. Anxieties about the future fell from his lips freely, receiving no judgment on the other side. He told her about his fear of clowns and felt his first dose of validation when she agreed that expressionless mimes shouldn’t be around children. The backstory of the small scar on his upper lip was followed by a giggly recollection of the time she put her brother in the dryer to see how long he could spin without getting sick which made him laugh until his abdomen ached. Together they shared uncomfortable memories that introduced intense insecurities, weird theories about the existence of intergalactic forms, and wondered if LeBron James was secretly an android. An elementary game of 21 Questions created a crash course in the entire history of one another.

They lay there together in a pitch-black room drunk off the jagged, imperfect pieces of each other until their eyes burned with exhaustion and sleep was no longer an option.

The last thing Terry whispered into Patrice’s ear was a promise to never stop learning about her, to never stop being curious about her likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams as long as they both lived. She could barely mumble out a worthwhile response but hoped that her gentle hum served as an oath to do the same.

By morning, he was gone. Out into the breeze by first light, leaving only his scent on Imani’s pillow and the fleeting memory of his fingers making a home between Patrice’s legs with whispered praise on his lips as evidence that his presence wasn’t an apparition in the witching hour. Patrice couldn’t resist burying her face into the sheets, squealing and kicking her feet beneath the duvet in elation.

She was getting married.

“Y’all are so cute,” Imani swooned, leaning against the bedroom doorframe as she watched her cousin hold a pillow close to her chest like an actress in a romantic drama. “We gotta get you ready, sis! It’s your wedding day!”

People whisked around all morning like busy worker bees, each one darting off to a new place around the estate to fulfill a purpose. Some balanced stacks of white chairs under their arms like magicians to turn a portion of the backyard into a wedding venue. Others hustled through the kitchen’s service door with mounds of ingredients for what could only described as a feast fit for royalty. Women giggled on their way out of the backdoor to meet Patrice and her small entourage to prepare her for a day she’d planned as a girl, but never saw coming together in a dizzying whirlwind such as this.

In the cottage, women laughed and sipped tea in porcelain cups to go with their fancy hors d'oeuvres on fancier china. The soothing purr from an antique sewing machine placed careful stitches in a beautifully plain satin gown gifted by Imani and Rosalyn to ensure that the garment was made to Patrice’s exact proportions. She was a princess for the day, the world bending to her every whim.

Terry wasn’t so lucky. The bedroom was still too hot and growing even hotter with each unwanted guest moving in and out with more questions than he thought he needed to answer. He wanted a moment to write out heartfelt vows with pen and paper but found himself so frustrated with the whole production that he slammed his writing utensil against the writing desk in the corner and cursed at the wall.

Another visitor tsk’d behind him. “Boy, you better not let Mama hear you talkin’ like that.”

”She’d pull that ear clean off the side of your head!”

Equally raspy voices made Terry sigh with relief before he stood to his feet. As two almost identical copies of their mother, Zorah and Zanah were Terry’s first loves. He remembered the day they entered into the world. So precious and honey brown with striking chocolate eyes that could make him bend to their will without a word. He watched them mature through the world like their hired security, never letting harm come to a single hair on their head. He wiped tears, kissed scrapes, and played with dolls like a third parent. When they went their separate ways to grow into adults with individual hopes and dreams, he cried in secret like he’d been the one to birth them.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his baby sisters but he knew he’d never needed their embrace quite like he needed it in that moment. They hugged him back, two sets of arms wrapping him up in a quiet group hug until he’d had his fill.

“How is this supposed to be the happiest day of your life and you’re in here cussin’ and breathing all heavy,” Zorah, the oldest of the pair, asked as she cleared her brother’s face of invisible debris.

She’d always acted as his surrogate mother despite being six years his junior. The everpresent pillar of stability, she left home as soon as she could to explore the other side of the country at UCLA in hopes of studying the ins and outs of music performance. Tall and athletic with long dark locs, her voice became her calling card, but her big brother knew her as a young lady that was once too afraid to sing in the children’s choir at church.

“You know how Terry is. He think he Obama. All serious for no reason sometimes.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re right,” she conceded. “You never gon’ be fine as Obama.”

Zanah was the hell raiser. Loud and full of energy with an afro big enough to block the sun, she lived to tease her older brother. A zest for bold flavors that could bring even the worst enemies together for a good meal sent her in search of the best culinary school their parents could afford. If you could dream it, she could make it appear in the kitchen with little effort. Terry admired her for her gift, but couldn’t stand her poking and prodding at his expense.

He kissed his teeth and broke free from their short-lived period of civility. “Treece and the girls are out back. She’ll be happy to see y’all. Zo, get the rings from Daddy as soon as you can. You know how he gets.”

The twins rolled their eyes at each other while watching Terry pout on his way back to the writing desk for another crack at his speech. Zorah was the first to move with Zanah bringing up the rear.

She stood over his shoulder to take stock of what he’d managed to write in his time alone. Half sentences and scribbled words scratched through several times over littered the page as if a madman had gotten ahold of his journal. Something about how much he cherished her but with far too much Shakespearean language to be sincere made Zanah giggle behind him.

She sat on the edge of the desk, pretending to judge his work. “Are you writing your vows or the sequel to Romeo and Juliette?”

“Zanah, please. Pick with me after all of this is done. I can’t deal with the stress right now.”

An invisible weight seemed to push Terry into a defeated hunch, forcing his head into his hands as he angrily rubbed at his eyes. His stress tick was back and more ferocious than ever. Zorah flanked his other side and gave her twin a look of concern before looking back at him.

“Wanna pretend we’re Patrice to practice?”

He sighed. “No, not really.”

“Don’t be like that. We won’t tell and you gotta get a move on these vows. It’s a win-win.”

Terry sat back in his chair to mull over their proposition. A practice run couldn’t hurt. At worst, he’d rid himself of the useless mass of words clogging his brain.

“Fuck,” he conceded, pushing back from the desk with a loud scrape across the wooden floor. “Look, be nice. If I say something stupid or too mushy just let me finish, alright?”

“It wouldn’t be nothing we ain’t heard you writing poems about before,” Zanah laughed along with Zorah.

Terry showed her both of his middle fingers with a smirk as he walked to the center of the room. His days as an amateur poet were a well-kept secret that only his family was forced to witness. One day, when he and Patrice were old and grey, he’d reveal a shoebox full of terrible musings in her honor.

Taking a needed inhale through his nose and long exhale through his mouth, Terry prepared to ramble through his feelings.

“When I try to imagine my life without you, my mind goes blank. It’s kinda like when you get an error message on a computer or something. No images, no search results, nothing. Empty.” Terry began to pace, finding inspiration in the back-and-forth motion.

Zorah pressed for more. “Why?”

“I’m not supposed to imagine life without you, Patrice. I don’t want to experience another birthday or Christmas, Earth Day, Juneteenth, shit anything if you’re not there. I prayed for you.” Terry didn’t anticipate getting choked up until the sensation brought with it a lump in his throat. All of the instances he’s asked God for guidance in matters of the heart came rushing back to his remembrance with only one answer at every turn. “Trying to imagine an existence without you feels like I’m telling God that bringing you back to me wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flashed up to his sisters, finding them in the throws of emotion right along with him.

“Keeping going. Bring it home,” Zanah encouraged. “Give her the fireworks, loverboy!”

Terry laughed through misty vision. “I’m excited to spend the rest of our days together. Tonight, I’m promising you a lifetime of my protection, my devotion, and my desire to show up every single day to make our time together worth the wait. Thank you for choosing me, baby. Let me work on making sure you never regret that decision.”

A slow clap took over the room, first from two sets of hands that Terry expected, making his shoulder slump from relief.

“Shit, now I gotta remember all that.”

“Don’t worry, we recorded,” Zorah assured.

But there was still applause. He whipped his head around to investigate the extra spectators and found his parents beaming from the room’s threshold.

Diedra spoke up first as she made a beeline for her son. “Oh my God, oh my God! This is really happening. My baby is about to be somebody’s husband.” She claimed his face with her hands, distributing doting kisses on both of his cheeks. “Beautiful vows. Remind me of your father’s.”

“Not nearly as eloquent,” Marvin laughed, joining the conversation. “Matter of fact, I don’t think I got past the to have and to hold portion without stuttering. The pastor had to move us along because I was so tongue-tied.”

“Yeah, but the feeling is the same. Your heart’s in the right place.”

“Not right now,” Terry laughed before kissing her forehead. “My heart is in my ass, Mama. Stomach too.”

The Richmond family laughed harmonious laughs, providing the first bit of ease Terry had felt all morning.

Marvin reached out to grab his boy’s shoulder for a small squeeze. In all his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a better man than Terrence had become. All the rearing, the man-to-man talks, the tough love, and every stern redirection had become another foundational brick in not only a worthwhile man but a spectacular human.

He looked around the room at his girls and wife, trying to hide the overwhelming rush of emotion tightening his chest. “Can you ladies give us a moment?”

Zanah released a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, here we go. They about to cry a river in here. Come on, y’all. Patrice says they’re opening another bottle of champagne and you know I don’t like to miss hearing a cork pop.”

“You honestly need to talk to somebody about that.”

“We talk all the time, Zo!”

Time winding down turned advice into a hot commodity, transcending social groups as the sunset drew closer. Everyone had an opinion, an unsolicited tidbit on how to navigate the peaks and valleys of marriage. A hodgepodge of dos and don’ts thrown out like casual information whether Patrice wanted it or not.

Don’t go to bed angry. Have sex every night. Make sure there’s a separate account for personal emergencies. Keep the kids out of your bed. Some were helpful, others mostly nothing but projections and special circumstances veiled as some sage secret that Patrice and Terry should offer special thanks for receiving.

Nerves were turning into embers of annoyance. By late afternoon, they’d both requested for rooms to be emptied and questions to cease. They’d had enough. No more information. No more guidance. Anything left to learn was up to the test of time, not a bunch of people who meant well, but would ultimately return to their own lives with no say so in what went on between the newlyweds.

Reprieve came when the white chairs were in perfect rows on either side of a flower-lined aisle, ties were neatly draped underneath starched button-up collars, and dresses were pressed to perfection. The sun had begun to dive behind the clouds, leaving the sky full of pink and orange hues. A half-moon hung high in the sky as if it were invited to witness a show made especially for the cosmos. Guests took their seats without care given to which side belonged to the groom or bride. They were all family now. A beautiful mix of lineages and temperaments bonded for as long as Patrice and Terry saw fit.

At the altar, Sybil stood under two Spanish moss trees towering high above the rest, her gray hair pulled up into an ornate headwrap that matched her dress. She smiled up at both trees as if saying hello to living, breathing beings before asking stragglers to take their seats.

From the kitchen’s sliding door, Terry bounced on his toes, waiting on his cue to step into the early autumn chill. A tailored suit hugged him close, finally fulfilling its duty to carry him down a path lined with his love's favorite flowers to forever bond himself to the woman handpicked for his unwavering fidelity.

This was the moment. Fate had willed it so. He wouldn’t turn back for any reason. Destiny had come knocking and he welcomed her in with open arms.

Dreamy chords from a baby grand piano served as the soundtrack to his final walk as a single man. Measured steps carried him forward, his chest puffed with pride and his shoulders rolled back in the type of relaxed confidence only afforded to people who had no doubt that they were on the exact path they’d been ordained to traverse.

Candles and soft, white light from paper lanterns hanging nearby provided romantic theatrics to accompany his every step. Voices whispered, some calling his name, others leaving comments as he passed. In his periphery, he caught a glimpse of his family. DeeDee’s eyes welled with happy tears as Marvin rubbed her back for comfort. His sisters, both beside themselves with excitement, flashed Terry a look at the wedding bands as a final check-in on their whereabouts.

At the altar, Junior waited for his arrival as his best man. Terry had requested his presence during a surprisingly heartfelt conversation where Junior had all but lifted his brother-in-law off of his feet to show his appreciation.

“I love my sister, man.” He repeated over and over under the spell of brunch liquor. “I’m happy it’s you, T. I’m happy it’s you for my sister, man.”

Junior tapped his right hand over his chest and nodded at Terry, jumping right back into the masculine display of affection that had escaped him when no one else was around.

Patrice watched it all unfold as she carefully made her way into the kitchen at the tail end of a secret mission to hide her from her husband. Imani trailed her with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in one hand and the train of her dress in the other. If not for her heels clacking against the black and white tile on the floor, Patrice was sure that her cousin could hear her heart thudding against her sternum.

“Alright, girl, this is where I leave you,” Imani spoke, a small smile forming as she took another look at Patrice. She tucked a stray curl back into place and presented her with the flowers. “You look beautiful, P. Stunning. My friend is all grown up. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Imani. For everything. Let’s not allow too much time to pass before we see each other again, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be back for Christmas. But, don’t focus on me. You gotta get down the aisle, Mrs. Richmond.”

Patrice sighed and grinned at the mention of her new last name. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, baby! It’s time.”

A final hug connected the two before Imani was out of the door and comically announcing the bride’s arrival before taking her place as maid of honor.

She stood behind that glass door, beaming as all in the area stood in anticipation of her entrance.

You fix your makeup just so

Guess you don’t know that you’re beautiful

Try on every dress that you own

You were fine in my eyes a half hour ago

Terry had mentioned the song in passing once, commenting on how he heard it in a department store and found John Legend kind of corny. What he didn’t mention was that he was in the department store getting fitted for the very suit he wore as he watched Patrice walk toward him and how he took the song as a sign that he was doing exactly what God intended.

That cheesy song from a cheesier artist was the reason he was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles to stop the incoming tears.

In a lovely satin dress with a high halter neck, Patrice was the center of attention. Imani had specifically chosen a white dress without any reverence for outdated tradition. If her girl was to be wed, she’d be in the appropriate color, no doubt. A split in the front was a personal gift to Terry, a peek at her oiled legs with each step immediately catching his attention.

Her bantu knots were unraveled, leaving behind shiny, bouncy curls that framed her face just right. Soft makeup enhanced ancestral facial features. Minimal jewelry kept the look tailored to her flare for the understated.

When she waved at Terry, he waved back with a smile so wide that it made his cheeks burn. In all of her glory, every perfect inch from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, was his to cherish.

And this evening, I won’t let the feeling die

I never wanna leave your side

Before the music could fade to make way for the ceremony, Terry had already found himself unable to hold back emotion. His fingertips were damp with tears as he assisted Patrice onto the low platform.

“Sorry,” he whispered while she pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to clean his face. “Think they got all this in the photos?”

“I hope so. Might get a couple wallet-sized prints to carry in my purse.”

Patrice chucked as she tucked the pale blue fabric behind her bouquet’s stem and smoothed Terry’s collar. He captured her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

Sybil cleared her throat. “We aren’t at that part yet, but I love the enthusiasm. Should we get to the good stuff?”

Patrice hoped the good stuff was captured in ultra HD on a camera somewhere. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the flowery words and intricate language. She tried her hardest to listen for her name to avoid embarrassing herself in front of everyone hoping to see something movie-like unfold in front of their eyes. But seeing the light etch beautiful reflections and shadows on Terry’s skin was all she could lend her focus to in the moment.

Luckily, she made it through her vows without stumbling, even managing a joke that garnered a communal chuckle.

“Honestly, we’re lucky this is happening now instead of at 18 like you said you wanted. I got to see Juicy J at homecoming one year and that wouldn’t have happened if I was chasing behind you in my 20s. You cute but not miss a Juicy J concert cute.”

She listened to Terry sniffle his way through heartfelt lines, occasionally wiping under his eyes to clear his vision. He gripped her hand tight and bathed her in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down her spine.

What she was present for, however, was the grand finale.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” Sybil asked Terry though she was already sure of his answer.

His top lip almost disappeared from being stretched so wide in his smile. “I do.”

Sure as he knew his first name, Terry affirmed his decision with two words and all of his teeth on display. Sybil looked to Patrice, finally seeing her niece as a woman and not the little girl that kept her on her toes every summer.

She took a deep breath and then laughed. “Lord, now I’m crying!” The family laughed, some using the moment to wipe away their own tears. “Okay, I’m back. Do you take this man to be your husband -”

“Yes! I do! I mean you can finish if you need to, but that’s my answer. One billion times, yes.”

There was no need. Under the twinkle of ancestors acting as stars and God showing his splendor in the marvelous brightness of the moon, man and woman became one. Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, free to jump hand in hand over a small, decorated broom to honor the folks that had come before them.

Well wishes came in abundance. Gifts big, small, and monetary spilled from a small table onto the rug beneath. Toasts became the preferred way to start a conversation. Buttons and ties had come undone from tight collars. High heels swapped for sensible shoes. Couples already squarely in the mature stages of partnership rushed to slow dance in the center of the communal area between tables. Pictures memorialized a wondrous occasion. They’d sign official paperwork another day. Tonight was for celebration.

While the party raged on, Patrice and Terry sat in the center of the table wrapped up in one another. His chin rested in the palm of her hand as he watched her lips move in time with the lyrics to a line dance song her parents led on the makeshift dancefloor. Her fingernails gently scratched at his jaw, an absentminded habit she’d picked up recently. He nudged her temple with his forehead like a cat begging for affection.

“Hmm,” she hummed, not looking in his direction. He repeated his actions to receive the attention he craved. She finally looked over and giggled. “What, baby?”

“Nothing. Just wanted you to look at me.”

Patrice pressed her nose to Terry’s before placing a soft kiss on his full bottom lip. “Let’s get away from here for a second. Follow me.”

Without question, Terry allowed Patrice to tug him along, past the throngs of dancing guests, away from music blasting out of jumbo speakers, down a shallow hill, and to a small lake shimmering in the night.

He held her steady when she stopped short to remove her heels, saying something about needing to feel the grass between her toes. She jogged the rest of the way to the lake with Terry holding her shoes and taking long strides to catch up.

She carefully lifted her dress before stepping into the water, only allowing it to cover the sides of her feet as she tilted her chin to the sky. Terry watched her with a placid grin and low eyelids.

“You having fun,” he asked as he placed her belongings on a tree stump and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Mhm. You?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

He watched her for a few seconds more, admiring the way she seemed to salute every piece of nature in the vicinity.

“You know, we didn’t get a first dance.”

Patrice stopped creating ripples in the water with her toes and looked over at Terry. “Oh shit, we didn’t, huh? Wanna go back and do that? I don’t even have a song picked out. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” he answered, still smiling. “We can dance right here.”

He presented his hand for her grab, pulling her from the lake with care until she was up against his chest. They swayed to nothing for a second while Terry fiddled with his phone to find something worthy of their time. Patrice closed her eyes to listen to the breeze, more content with the wind as a soundtrack than she expected.

Soon, Etta James came rolling through his phone’s speakers.

Terry dropped one hand just above Patrice’s backside, the other wrapping around her back to lead them in a slow dance. A waltz of sorts in the blue moonlight.

Her hands snaked up to the top of his head and pulled him as close as he could be, his nose so tight against her neck she could feel the slight suction and release from every breath.

They stayed there, moving side to side under Etta James’s sweet song of found love until all distractions faded and left them in the fullness of each other.

Patrice angled her head upwards as Terry kissed along her collarbone. Then her ear. Her cheek, her nose, and, finally, her lips.

As he said I love you without words, Patrice tried to place the sweet taste of citrus and apple on his tongue. Was it dessert? Maybe her lip gloss or the fancy compote from their dinner plate?

No, none of those.

She closed her eyes tighter to taste more. There it was. The ghost of her fantasy. The secret marker of her one true love.

Champagne.

---

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#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

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