#when i sit down to write the chapter the scenes are all coming together quite quickly and i am v excited about this one

[whinlatter]

Helllloooo! Happy New Year!!!

I just wanted to say that i cant wait for a new chapter in the most possibly less urgent way 😭 Dont listen to me just take your timeee (but cant wait hahhaha)

tfw you promise the next chapter will be up by january and it is in fact now january

[zordanna]

𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓮

A fluffy fic inspired from this old drawing I did🍃

English is not my first language and I hate writing so don’t expect too much. It’s just a small scene where Sebastian realises he’s in love with my MC, you can imagine yours there too of course! I ain’t stopping you🫡 enjoy I guess?

Sebastian yawned softly as he kept silently reading his history of magic notes while sitting on the carpet and resting his back on the couch, Eleonora was next to him laying fully on it while reading the chapter trying really hard to not fall asleep.

“Ugh I swear I’m failing this time”

She mumbled while flipping pages. Sebastian rolled his eyes and spoke back with annoyance.

“You literally have the highest grades of all the students in our class, shut up-”

Eleonora huffed and gave him a soft nudge with her knee in response.

“Just because the competition prefers wandering in the restricted section more than studying actual subjects. You know- instead of  forbidden ones”

Sebastian groaned and rested his head on the couch seat cushion to look at her better.

“You are a pain in the ass.” He breathed out glancing back at his notes pretending to ignore her.

“The feeling is mutual”

She ruffled his brown curls gaining a soft laugh from him , the boy rested one cheek on the  cushion and gazed at her while his notes ended up spread around the intricated embodied carpet of Russel  living room. Sebastian  glanced at the book and got an idea.

“I can read it for you, if you want, so we both learn something at least”

His proposal sounded quite nice to Eleonora, she gave him the book and set herself comfortable as he cleared his throat. He started reading and he could almost feel her gaze caressing his skin, Sebastian didn’t know how he managed to say the words correctly without fumbling while having that lovely pair of blue eyes staring at him, the warmth of her presence, her sweet scent of lavender and soap pervading his nostrils…Merlin help him!

On the other side Eleonora’s eyes were looking at his freckles, she always thought they looked like a starry sky , sometimes she would find full constellations in them while stealing glances at her friend’s features. She  glanced  at his lashes, was it even legal to have them so long and soft? The way they fluttered while he was  reading, the way the sun was making them shine with a warm orange shade. She was mesmerised. That’s for sure. The words sounded like a sweet lullaby rather than an actual lecture on how their ancestors channeled magic trough the years, her eyes felt heavy and her body a little too relaxed. 

Maybe if she closed her eyes just for a second…yeah that should do it.

Sebastian was reading the last paragraph when he heard  soft snoring coming from his right side ,he turned his head a little to check on Eleonora and a warm smile formed on his lips as he realised she had fallen asleep. He closed the book putting it away before adjusting himself leaning closer to the sleeping girl. He rested his elbow on the couch cushion careful to not disturb her rest, as usual Eleonora needed her afternoon nap.

Memories of their third year flashed in his mind, rainy afternoons spent napping all together on the same couch down in the undercroft between a mess of books and unfinished candies. Anne was still…well Anne. No curse, no pain just Anne, sleeping peacefully while her tiny head would rest on Ominis shoulder as he was  nestled up almost like a cat. Eleonora’s long blonde hair would tickle his nose as he often found himself using her soft curls as a pillow. They always smelled so good it wasn’t his fault they felt so comfy.

Instinctively Sebastian brushed off some of her blonde strands that were framing her face, very carefully as if she was made of porcelain. Her long blonde curls that once were left wild and free were now tied up in that blue ribbon he gifted her almost two years ago.

“You keep wearing it all the time mh?”

He mumbled softly more to himself than to her. The soft blue satin fabric was a bit smudged near the knot after years of wearing it every day, that’s what happens with the things you love most isn’t it? They change. 

Sebastian always questioned why she would refuse to buy another one, a prettier one maybe made from the most expensive silk with embodied details but she always said that one was just perfect. She loved it.

And he loved how beautiful she looked with it. He loved the way it always made her eyes stand out matching their colour, he loved how it swayed like a swallowtail when she would rush around the hallways late for classes trying to not trip on other students. Swallows are a sign of hope and freedom, he was certain that if she had to be an animal she would be one of them. She was always there trying to see the good side of everything, which in his darker days was both infuriating and yet comforting. It was reassuring  having her slapping some sense in his thick skull sometimes, he couldn’t deny it.

He also loved that, her scolding tone, her stubbornness and resolution whenever he was acting like a complete ass. He loved the way she would ruffle his hair to annoy him, he loved how her soft hands were making him feel butterflies flying around his stomach every damn time…

Sebastian’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Eleonora’s delicate face as the sudden realisation hit him like a whole bombarda in his chest.

He was falling in love. No. He was in love. Utterly. Undeniably in love. 

He didn’t realise his face was few centimetres away from hers till now, his lips dangerously close to hers. Before doing something stupid and reckless he pulled away slightly and took a moment to gain his composure, his eyes wandered around the luxurious living room of her family’s manor, the paintings of the Russels were almost staring at him, judging him with their cold gaze.

Who was he trying to fool? He was nobody compared to her family, an orphan living in a cottage with his grumpy uncle, it would never be fair to her. Knowing her parents Eleonora had probably her life planned since day one, as her older sister Ofelia once told him they lived in a golden cage with all comforts but still a cage. It was all doomed from the start so- for now it was better to suppress those feelings. To pretend they never had been there.

For now having her friendship was more than he could hope for, Sebastian looked at the big wood carved clock and checked the time, it was getting pretty late, he sighed and with a soft spoken tone called for her.

“Hey…Birdie”

The world would never want them together, that’s what he was telling himself, yet when he saw those blue eyes and that warm sleepy smile greeting him Sebastian thought that the world could burn or destroy itself in that exact moment.

The world would know Lady Eleonora Russel but Birdie. Birdie was just for him and that was all he needed.

“Birdie? What am I a chicken?”

Eleonora said with a snort while sitting up and stretching a bit letting a yawn escape her lips.

“No more like a goose.”

Sebastian retorted with a cheeky grin. She had no idea of what passed by his mind all the short time she was asleep.

“Ouch- did I snore loud?”

“Terribly. I mistaken you for a troll or something at some point.”

Eleonora laughed at  the statement and crossed her arms in a proud stance. 

“Was I annoying you?”

“Terribly.” Sebastian said faking an exasperated sigh.

“Good. I can consider my mission accomplished then”

She added with a chuckle while they both got up to walk towards the kitchen for stealing a snack or two. Luckily her parents wouldn’t be back till next early morning considering their habit to attend balls and ceremonies  maintaining their high social status connections. That was a relief for the two of them but also for the servitude. The house elves were quite fond of Eleonora, a true ray of sunshine in that toxic household.

The afternoon passed by with their usual playful bantering like any other. It was better pretending nothing happened for Sebastian, it was for the best really.

Was it? Only time would tell. For now they were just fifteen, sitting on the kitchen counter munching a stolen slice of lemon tart while yapping about how they were both convinced Professor Garlick was hiding “special plants” somewhere in the greenhouse. 

It was a normal  spring afternoon during the end of the 19th century.

Flowers were blooming , birds were chirping and the air smelled like clean laundry and soap.

Winter was just a distant thought, none of them could ever imagine how everything  would irreversibly change in few months.

Moments like these would be soon turned into distant faded happy memories but for now…it was all that mattered.

[chocosvt]

HER | part five.

✧✎ 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: 23.8k 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.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

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

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

 “And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’  Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze. 

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!” 

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

 “Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,��� she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place?  But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.” 

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

 “Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions. 

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.��

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

[oh-katsuki]

bird of prey (tendou x reader) - chapter 2

series masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tendou x Reader, Bokuto x Reader

Series Summary: Satori Tendou is your best friend, but you fuck for fun.

Chapter Title: Act I, Scene 2 — People I Want You To Meet

Chapter Summary: You and Satori attend a party together after an awkward moment in the car.

Chapter Content Warnings: afab!reader, college au, friends with benefits, no strings attached, angst, car sex, semi-public sex, jealousy, teasing, dirty talk, substance use (casual), mentions of tendou having previous sexual partners

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: here's chapter 2, im excited to write the rest of this and flesh out the story woo hoo

prev | next

Satori has never seen something so lovely. Your silhouette in the streetlight’s dim glow through the back window of his car and the roll of your hips across his. You’re panting like an animal and there’s nothing in the car but the quiet sound of breath and whines.  

An hour ago he’d stopped by your place to pick you up. His intentions for the evening had been truly innocent. You were going to go get some food, maybe from the convenience store or from a quick curry house, then eat it before dropping you back off at your house. That was the plan. He’d pulled up in front of your house, you got into the car, and Satori drove away. Somehow, he’d ended up here, parked out at the top of a lookout with the engine turned off, just out of the direct light of the street lamp. 

You’re fucking him in has backseat and he’s leaned somewhat uncomfortably against the backdoor. Your legs are on either side of him, back hunched forward, and you’re using one of your hands to brace yourself on the window, the other on his chest. 

There’s no real goal to this besides making you cum. He’s not going to toy around or play, and he doesn’t quite feel like teasing you the way he usually would. His hands are spread over your hips, guiding them while you ride his cock with a practiced ease that makes him a little jealous to think about. What? Jealous of himself? He’s not all too sure, but he knows that he feels it, his fingers digging into the soft flesh on your hips. 

You whine, letting your head fall forward as you rock the car, hand slipping on the fog covered window. It’s cold out tonight and were you not being so active in the backseat, the car would be too cold to sit in. The outside temperature makes the condensation on the windows look almost impenetrable, save for where your fingers mark and melt the water on the inside and the frost on the outside. 

Satori moans unabashedly and his stomach winds into knots. When you reach down to touch his face as if to calm that rising pressure in him, your fingertips are cold. Cool like the window, sending a slight shiver down his back. He laughs a little. A low one from the back of his throat, accented by a slight tremor that almost makes him sound like he’s in pain. 

“All right,” he grits out, his fingers digging into your hips. “Come here.” 

You push your body against his and Satori’s slender arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest as he turns you over in the seat. It’s an awkward clamor of limbs and he slips out of you as he does, hissing at the loss of contact. 

When he has you on your back, hips settled between the plush and trembling flesh of your thighs, he guides a hand up your forearms. You mold to his touch and connect your wrists to each other. His fingers slide up the skin, holding both of them as he places them on the window behind your head. You look almost hungry, as if his actions were a deliberate tease. Truthfully, he had only been looking to see whether you would obey him or not, and when you do, Satori feels a pleasant hum in his lower gut. 

Satori, at times, feels like he has some divine right to fuck you. It’s almost like a gut feeling, this idea that your body belongs to him the same way it might belong to you. Things just tend to fit when he’s inside of you and when you let him have his way, he can’t help but feel that there are other forces at play. Divine ones. Universal forces that draw the two of you together. 

At times, he almost feels possessive over you, especially when you are connected to him like this. Realistically speaking, he knows that he has no right. You could get up from underneath him and close your legs, tell him that you’re finished, and he’d drive you home and never utter a word of protest. But there are times when he feels that you and he were specifically meant for this. 

He slides his thumb along your jaw, almost as if it were slowly consuming the flesh it touches. Your skin is soft, warm with the flush of exercise, and Satori finds that you delightfully lean into it. Your mouth is dropped open a little, eyes glazed over and full of longing. It’s an expression that Satori quite likes on you. It makes you look almost desperate, needy in a way that you never look otherwise, and were he to think about someone else seeing it, he’d get indescribably jealous. 

His thumb hits your lower lip and you open your mouth, making room in yourself once again for him as he pushes it down against your tongue. Spit pools in the well his thumb creates, your mouth watering at the sensation of being touched. It coats the digit, covering it in a wet and glassy sheen. Then, he pulls it from your mouth and lowers it between you two. 

Satori momentarily pauses to look at where you connect, your legs spread wide open so that he can disappear inside of you. His cock disappears into your wet body under a patch of pubic hair and he can see the way his lower stomach heaves, causing his happy trail to move as if it were alive. He supposes that it is, seeing that it’s part of him. 

You whine when Satori places his spit-soaked thumb on your clit and he lets out a low laugh at the noise you make. Your cunt squeezes him as he fucks you in time with the careful movement of his thumb. Your fingers leave marks on the window, less recognizable in shape compared to the one you’d left before. Random marks caused by the flexing of them, by your grasping for leverage as the movement of Satori’s body rocks your own. 

Your hips push up against his, heightening his pleasure as you chase your own and he drops his head to groan. It’s habitual, almost involuntary, and the movement of his finger pauses as he’s consumed by the feeling. 

“I fucking love this,” he says into the space between you, leaning forward to catch your mouth. 

You nod your response, moaning gently into his mouth as you part your lips. 

“Love fucking you,” he babbles. “It’s always good. Always so fucking good.” 

He’s not really thinking about what he’s saying. It comes to him in the moment and Satori runs his mouth. It’s not a lie though. Satori does love fucking you. Generally, he loves being around you, but fucking you takes a special place among his favorite things. 

“You love fucking me?” you say, grabbing the back of his head and pulling it back down to you. “Only me?” 

There’s no real venom in your voice, but you sound jealous. His cock jumps inside of you and he feels a fresh rush of blood in his abdomen. The statement surprises him because, truthfully, Satori isn’t all too ready to jump into bed with anyone else. It’s different with you, better because Satori can really let himself go and you’ll never misinterpret what he says. 

“You jealous?” he breathes. “If anyone here should be jealous, it should be me, you know?” 

He speaks through a sly grin that makes his words sound slurred and liquor-dipped. 

“Hah,” you huff, though it’s more of a pleasure-soaked whine than a response, “and what on earth would be making you jealous?” 

His hips still fuck into you at a steady pace, your words interrupted by each flick of his hips up into you, occasionally cut off entirely by the pleasure. 

“You’re the one who’s got two,” he drawls, his lips curling up in a smile. 

It gives him a kind of satisfaction to know that, even though you’re casually seeing Bokuto, you’re still here with him. It sort of scratches this possessive itch in him, even if it’s a little perverse. 

He wouldn’t say that he minds. In fact, Satori cares very little who else you talk to. It would be overstepping the boundaries of your agreement were he to really care all too much about who else you’re fucking. After all, for a while, Satori was fucking other people too. Not for nearly as long, and though you remained the only consistent partner, there was a period in which it happened. Of course, you knew and it never bothered you. 

That’s what he likes so much about you and your agreement. You don’t get caught up and when you say it’s just sex, you mean it. 

When you’re finished, the two of you lay in the backseat for a moment. Your face is pushed up against his chest, warm breath fanning out over it as you lay directly on top of him. There’s not much space to move around in here and Satori finds that he needs to keep his knees bent to properly fit like this. 

He’s comfortable with you and his finger absentmindedly plays with a small lock of your hair, touching it lightly before letting his fingers run down your exposed shoulders. He feels the way goosebumps rise on your skin against him, a shiver that he feels against his own body. Satori hums with satisfaction, the sweat on his forehead beginning to dry. 

“Keep doing that,” you mumble. “It’s nice.” 

Satori doesn’t offer a verbal response and instead obliges with a small chuckle. His fingers run across the skin of your shoulder and back, consuming space like fire as it creeps up on dry brush. Your breath hitches when his fingers touch your side and you laugh because you’re a little ticklish. 

“You’re fun to touch,” he comments, whispering the tease. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he says.

He’s a bit sleepy now and he’s content to stay here for the rest of the night. The car is humid and the windows are fogged, trapping your body heat inside for the moment. It’ll get cold in a bit and Satori will wrap his arms around you and pull you nearer under the guise of warmth. Yeah, that’ll be nice. He looks forward to it. 

Things get like this between you both sometimes. Quiet and calm, as if you could stay like that forever. Sometimes, he’s still inside of you when it does, cock warming between your legs as you drift quietly off into half-sleep. 

Satori looks at his hands over your back, turning them over. Moments ago, they’d been all over you, grabbing at your flesh. Pinching and pulling and caressing whatever they could. Now, they are strangely idle, taken over by some low vibration that makes him feel like they are quietly alive with something other than him. 

You stir, turning your head to rest your chin on his chest. Satori’s eyes drift down to you, exploring your features before they settle on your gaze. You don’t say anything, sitting there for a moment like you’re waiting for something. Then, Satori cranes his neck forward and kisses you. 

It’s gentle, hardly something that hints at a deeper desire, and it betrays an almost romantic fondness that he feels for you in this moment. Your eyes flutter closed for only a moment and when Satori pulls away, they are open again. He searches your face for something—he’s not sure what—before watching as you push up on his chest into a seated position. 

“We should go eat,” you say bluntly, reaching forward to grab your underwear and jeans from where they’d been discarding in the backseat of his car. 

Satori pushes himself up on his elbows, seemingly in far less of a hurry than you are. “Worked up an appetite?” 

You hum your response, avoiding his eyes as you quickly attempt to wrestle on your shirt. You let your arms fall in your lap, your shirt halfway pulled up, leaving your back exposed. Your body language almost reads as turned away from him and in the dim glow of the streetlamp, he can see the calmness of your breathing. Satori doesn’t dare move. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” You say, not sounding particularly insecure. 

“Sure,” he says, nodding his head. 

“Friend,” you emphasize and Satori’s eyebrows pull up. 

“Right,” he responds, “we’re real friendly.” 

You look at him over your left shoulder. Your expression is urgent, almost sad, and it gives your features a quality he’s seen before in tragic paintings. Maybe you’re a little tragic. Not just in expression, but as a person. Maybe both of you are. 

“I’m serious,” you say. 

“I know,” he says, a bit more insistent this time. “I am too.” 

It seems to Satori that you’re a bit more caught up in specifics. Sometimes, he’ll touch you and you’ll shy away, calmly warning him of the line that you’ve drawn so clearly between the two of you. To you, the line is far more important and you very seldom cross it. To Satori, it’s all the same. Touch is touch and sex is sex and he cannot tie strings that don’t exist, so why bother getting worked up over the specifics? So what if he kisses you like that? Or runs his fingers along your air-chilled skin in the backseat of his car? 

“So what I’m hearing is you don’t want a round two? Or six?” He cuts the tension deliberately, bored of the conversation. 

You blink at him for a moment before smiling and breathing out a laugh. Your head rolls across your shoulder and you reach to shove his chest before pulling your shirt over your head. 

“Just put on your clothes already,” you say. “I’m hungry.” 

“Mmm, so that’s why we’re being weird and grumpy.” 

He leans forward with a grunt and you shake your head. Satori doesn’t even have his pants halfway up his thighs before you’re opening the backseat door and getting out, letting a rush of cool air into the car that feels like it hits Satori in the face. 

“Woah, whatever happened to privacy?” He drawls and you look at him after opening the passenger door. 

“You’re quick to take your clothes off but so slow to put them on,” you comment. “It’s no wonder we can’t get anywhere on time.” 

Satori pulls his shirt over his head and climbs out of the car, walking to get into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t waste time starting the engine, rolling the back windows down to rid the car of any remaining condensation. 

“It’s not like we have a reservation for the convenience store,” he snorts. 

Satori drives a manual, beat up car. He’d bought it his senior year of highschool after getting a job for the remaining half of the semester that he wasn’t playing volleyball. It’s not a very pretty car, but Satori keeps it clean and in good enough condition, though he doesn’t drive very often. It usually stays parked in his apartment building’s underground lot, out of the way of the sun, snow, and weather until the next time he uses it. He really only does so for you. Not that he thinks about it that way, but when he considers, he realizes that he only ever drives the thing for late night runs with you or to be the occasional designated driver after a long night out. 

He throws the car in reverse, placing his hand on your seat and looking behind him as he does so, a small laugh escaping his throat as you huff. You cross one leg over the other in the car, reaching to mess with the settings on the bluetooth so that it’s connected to your phone. 

“What?” he says. “This your car now?” 

You toss him a sideways glance and laugh, refusing to comment. 

As he drives down from the lookout, you stare out of the passenger side window. Satori can see you out of the corner of his eye, barely able to make out the somewhat conflicted expression on your face. He wonders, briefly, if he should pry. He’s strangely worried that if he does, your response will not be one that he likes. Ignorance is bliss after all. It’s a shame that Satori can’t be ignorant when it comes to you. 

He picks up on the little things. Changes in your breathing and demeanor that giveaway a larger emotional turmoil. For Satori, the picture practically paints itself and it doesn’t take long for him to have fit together the pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t even realized you’d given him. 

“You okay?” he says, tilting his chin in your direction. 

“Huh?” you turn to look at him. “Yeah, I’m completely fine. Just thinking is all.” 

“About?” He drags the word out. 

You shrug your shoulders, the corners of your mouth turning up in a delightfully false smile. “Nothing important, really. I’d tell you if it were.” 

Satori nods his head and turns his focus back to the road entirely. 

“Jeez, lighten up,” you laugh, throwing your head back against the headrest.

“I would if you didn’t have this expression on your face like you’re in some kinda drama,” he laughs. “Excuse me for giving a shit.” 

“Since when have you ever given a shit?” You say. The comment clearly isn’t meant to be harsh, but there’s a strange bite to it that Satori feels at the base of his head and neck. 

“You give me too little credit, doll,” he says. The words almost sound slippery and he pauses for a moment before asking again. “So what was it?” 

“Post-nut clarity?” You speculate, giving him a lopsided grin and effectively shutting down the conversation. 

“Oh, you’re beyond nasty,” he smiles and you shrug your shoulders in response. 

The lookout isn’t far off from the city and it’s only a short while before you’re back in the heart of it. He watches as the trees on the hill become a somewhat flat landscape of glowing electric signs and stores. 

Satori feels that there’s something he’s not fully piecing together. There’s a piece of information that he doesn’t know, or refuses to accept, obscuring a usually-whole picture from him. It feels almost like dread, a discomfort that Satori is slow to name or recognize. 

—

The clock in Satori’s room reads 9:30 pm. It glows red, casting the side of his bed in a dim, hardly noticeable electronic glow. You’re sitting next to him by the window, wearing one of the outfits that he’s seen you in a million times. 

It’s open, the double doors of it pushed so that they protrude from the side of the house and you both lean with your backs up against the wall. He looks to the red of the clock and then to you. You’re holding your arm out of the window, a half-smoked joint between your fingers. The gesture does little to keep the smell from making its way back inside, but it’s something and he thinks the natural way you do it makes you look so casual in such a lovely way. 

Satori reaches with his free arm to take it from your gentle grip, giving you a little smile as he does. He lifts the burning thing to his mouth and feels the damp spot where your lips had once been, taking a long drag. Wisps of gray smoke float up from the end of it, drifting unevenly toward the ceiling where he imagines it sticks like glue. The taste of it isn’t anything Satori particularly likes, but he does like the way it seems to round him and the world out. It smooths out rough patches, soothing over cracks he finds until everything is delightfully heavy and spherical. 

“Party started half an hour ago,” you say calmly as he takes another drag. You seem to suggest that the two of you should get up to go soon and Satori leans his head back with the joint in his mouth. 

He finishes taking his drag, pinching it between with pointer and thumb as if to inspect its wrapping before tilting his head back to exhale out of the window. 

“Do we have to?” He groans. “I’d much rather stay here and do… other things.” 

Satori leans forward, holding the joint away from you as he tucks his face into the crook of your exposed neck. His mouth rests unmoving against it and he inhales, nudging you gently. The high makes the touch feel softer somehow. 

“Mmm,” you hum, taking the joint from him and hitting it quickly before extinguishing it on the window sill and setting down the remainder. “You always prefer that. It’s good to get out and make new friends, Satori.” 

You’re not chiding him. Your tone is actually rather light, almost as if you agree with him. 

Satori has never understood the importance of making new friends. Sure, there’s always people worth meeting, but he doesn’t understand the obsession with excessive collecting. He feels no need to be recognized everywhere he goes, nor does he think that any interactions could be benefitted by adding new people. 

He’s not sure why you’re so insistent on spending time with anyone but him or the people you already know. It’s not that he judges you for it, but rather that he can’t seem to get where the desire comes from. There’s no need for anyone else in Satori’s little world and he’s perfectly content to sit here smoking this joint with you forever. It’s already interesting enough. 

“They’re always so boring though,” he says into your neck. “This is more fun.” 

Satori snakes his hand up your shirt, his cool hand coming into contact with your warm belly and chest. There’s no goal and the touch is casual, feeling you up like he’s done it a million times.

“I know,” you breathe, reaching into your shirt and pulling his hand from it. You momentarily interlock your fingers before letting go. “But I made some promises, so I gotta go.” 

You stand up from the window, pulling your shirt down to cover the part of your stomach his hand had left exposed. Satori watches you for a moment, his body sinking into an awkward position against the wall, his tilted head leaning against it. 

“To Mr. Popularity?” He grins, his eyes heavy and low-lidded. 

“He’s got a name, you know?” You laugh.

Satori leans forward and makes a show of standing up. His limbs feel a little off-centered—a result of the weed, no doubt—and his brain feels fogged up in an almost blinding way. He can tell that he’s squinting and if he looked in the mirror, he’s certain that he’d find his eyes 

bloodshot. 

“Fine,” he says, grabbing his phone off of the nightstand and tucking it into his pocket. “Let’s go.” 

Satori walks up behind you and puts his hands on your hips, snaking them around to the front of you and snapping your waistband lightly against your body. 

“But it’s only ‘cause I’m such a good friend,” he hums before letting go of you and smiling at the way you shiver and laugh at his touch. 

He’s not sure why he felt the need to touch you at that moment. It felt different from most of the other times he touches you, almost as if he were proving some kind of arbitrary point. Sort of a look what I can do. 

“Hey, by the way,” you say a few minutes later as you climb into the back of the cab with him, “I’ve got some friends from my major that’re gonna be there. A few of them want to meet you.” 

“Yeah?” He says, scrolling through his phone. “Girls?” 

“A few,” you say. Satori can feel that you’re looking at him, but he feels no real need to look up. “I think they’re mostly curious about who I hang out with all the time.” 

Satori snorts.

“‘Kay,” he says, “I’ll play nice.” 

His voice has a pleasant, teasing quality to it. A kind of tenor that betrays some sort of joke or non serious aspect within the conversation even when he is being completely serious. 

“Any of your friends going?” 

Satori looks up from his phone at this, raising his small eyebrows and giving you a coy smile. 

“Oh come on,” he responds, “You know you’re my only friend.” 

You suppress a smile. 

“Oh right,” you say. “Those girls from the Pharmacology department aren’t your friends.” 

Satori just hums a noncommittal response. He hasn’t spoken to any of those girls in months. Not since soon after he’d started sleeping with you and lost interest in the rest of his toys. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’re upset with him the next time he sees them. After all, messages have gone unanswered and conversations have been dry. 

Don’t get him wrong. It’s not that he doesn’t think they’re not worth the time. It’s more like… well, it’s more like Satori isn’t really a good person and he doesn’t see the need to pretend that he is. Besides, most people know what they’re signing up for when they involve themselves with him. His noncommittal, teasing, aloof demeanor usually cues people in on the attitude he takes with physical encounters and it never really comes as a surprise to anyone when things just don’t work out. 

He puts down his phone, leaning his head up against the glass of the window. Sometimes, Satori thinks that he might be a romantic at heart. He’s really quite affectionate, more so than a lot of the people he’s been with. Satori likes to touch and to keep, but he never really holds on all that tight and when things start slipping, he finds that he simply lets go rather than holds on. 

Maybe it’s about control. There are certain rules and customs that Satori doesn’t quite like to abide by. The whole concept of dating and relationships, he thinks, is twisted by this perpetual idea of normalcy. What’s normal? There’s nothing normal about any of it because love makes people a little crazy. He knows that it would make him crazy. There’s an irritating aspect to courting and the chase which he particularly doesn’t like. This idea of coyness, of behaving in a way that is respectable to others, makes his skin crawl. 

He doesn’t appreciate other people’s way of playing the game and though he can’t pinpoint the exact reason, he knows that he’d rather not do it at all than phone it in. With you, he doesn’t have to. He likes the way that you play the game, open-minded to the point that it almost makes you feel detached. Many times, Satori will think to himself that you’re one in the same, but that comfortable distance still prevails. You can be together and entirely separate all at the same time and he never has to pay all too much attention to the labels or semantics of it. Maybe it’s because it’s not real, but any idea of normalcy—of rules—is out of the picture. Satori never stops to think about what’s appropriate, he just does what he wants and you let him. Well, you let him most of the time. 

He thinks that makes him a bit of a romantic, as odd as it sounds. It’s a romantic thought, the ability to do whatever he wants without consequence. But he finds that consequences often come creeping up anyway, no matter the agreement or feeling. 

—

When Satori is at parties, he gets the distinct feeling of being just outside of the collective. Like a cog separate from the machine, he can turn on his own and affect no one else. Occasionally, you will join him and he’ll get the sudden feeling that you are now two cogs, turning each other but never affecting the whole. 

To say that he’s unpopular would be a lie. Satori has many friends, most of them acquaintances, some of them close, but none are as close as you. People know of him and they see him around, though he’s unsure if that’s his own magnetism versus just being around you a lot of the time. You often tell him that he has a gravity about him. You’ve told him before that it almost feels like being sucked into a separate place and that conversations with him often feel like they occur in some liminal space different from where you’d been only moments earlier. He’s not quite sure what that means, but he believes you. 

When you both arrive at the party, it is in full swing. His eyesight is pleasantly hazy and the world is well-rounded and muffled. He can hear his heartbeat in his chest over the sound of the music, thumping rhythmically against his ribcage as he follows you through groups of conversing people. A few stop him to say hello, gripping his shoulder with a firm hand and asking how he’s been. Then, they give him a knowing smile as he shrugs his shoulders and grins at them. Short, like-minded exchanges that don’t extend past niceties.

Whoever’s house this is, it’s spectacular. For a college student to live in a place like this is unfathomable to Satori and he briefly wonders if it’s been rented out for the event. That’d be a lot of trouble to go through for a party they weren’t even charged for. Though, maybe he wasn’t charged because he’s with you. 

“Satori,” you call as you stand with a group of people, motioning your head for him to follow. He slinks away from the people he’d been conversing with in one fluid motion, coming to stand beside you. 

The people you’re with look vaguely familiar and he glances at each of them individually. A girl with cropped short brown hair wearing a white cardigan, one with thin rectangular sunglasses and a particularly stylish look, and a girl with thick curly hair that comes to her shoulders. He raises his eyebrows at them and then turns to you for introductions. 

“These are the friends I told you about,” you say, introducing each of them in turn. 

“Literature majors?” He grins, tilting his head down as the corners of his lips curl. 

“Yup, you the photography major?” The girl with sunglasses, introduced as Yuki, speaks. Her voice is low and husky, and her gaze carries something guarded and judgemental. 

“Sure,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m Tendou, good to meet you.” 

Yuki doesn’t respond, interrupted by her friend. 

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” says another. Her name is Alice and you smile pleasantly when she talks. 

“Alice is an expat from Europe,” you say, almost impressed with the idea. 

Tendou grins a little, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “And she’s a Japanese lit major?” 

“Expat is an extreme term to use,” Alice says through a small laugh before giving Tendou a rather pointed look. “I was raised here. Japanese is technically my first language.”

“Mm,” he hums. “So you’re a technical expat.” 

“Sure, whatever you wanna call it,” she laughs. 

Alice appears to be the most easy going out of the group and she doesn’t seem all too bothered by the somewhat old-fashioned line of conversation. You elbow him lightly in the ribs for his teasing and he looks at you over the tops of his cheeks momentarily. 

The girl in the white cardigan, Keiko, is silent, but she looks like she wants to say something. In her two slender fingers, she holds a burning cigarette and when she speaks, Satori thinks that the vice doesn’t suit her at all. 

“How long have you two known each other? ____ says it’s been three years but I think they’re lying. They like to keep secrets, you know?” Keiko says. 

Satori laughs a little, his small eyebrows pulling up in the center. “Three years sounds about right.” 

“So you met in first year?” She tilts her head and takes a drag off the cigarette. 

The girl has a particularly innocent look about her and her voice is high-pitched and curious. Still, Satori can see a distinct calculating look in her eyes, one that’s usually characteristic of the people you hang out with, him included. 

Satori only nods and Yuki laughs a little, rolling her head on her shoulders as she speaks. 

“How did that happen? You’re incompletely different majors.” 

“I wonder,” Satori hums, not really keen on rehashing the somewhat boring story. The truth of it is that when he’d started school, his major was undecided. He’d been indecisive about his future then, he still is, but he thinks that his indecisiveness isn’t really all that important to where they are now. 

Someone calls your name. It’s a loud, booming voice and when people hear it, they turn their heads and instinctively smile upon seeing who it is. Bokuto approaches the group, carrying three drinks precariously in his arms. They slosh in the cups and Satori watches to see if he’s going to spill any. He doesn’t and you take two from his arms and hand one to Satori. 

He takes it and thinks for a moment about how subtly cruel it is to have the guy you’re sleeping with bring a drink to the other guy you’re sleeping with, not that he particularly cares about the logistics of it. If you notice the cruelty, you don’t show it, handing him the drink and then turning to Bokuto. 

“You’re back,” you say with a light smile. 

He shrugs his shoulders and smiles bashfully. “Someone wanted me to slap the bag, how could I say no?” 

The little one, Keiko, looks at Satori as she takes a drag off of her cigarette. Her eyebrows are pulled up a little, like she’s concerned about the outcome of this interaction. Satori just tilts his head down at her and gives her a little grin. Maybe to scare her out of his business, he’s not really sure. She raises her eyebrows quickly and exhales, tossing the cigarette butt on the floor of the veranda and stamping it out with her shoe. 

She seems to be the only one of the three who obviously knows about Satori and you, and she’s probably the worst of them at keeping secrets. If the others know, they don’t let on and instead smile amiably at Bokuto. Yuki, the more guarded of them, seems more relaxed speaking to him compared to how she had been with Satori and it wouldn’t be a far off guess for him to assume that she also knows about their unique arrangement. 

“Oh, sorry!’ Bokuto says, as if a thought has just occurred to him. “I’m Bokuto!” 

He steps forward into the circle, reaching his arm across you to extend a hand. Satori glances at it for a moment before pulling his from his pocket and shaking it. Bokuto’s grip is tight, very firm and bordering on too firm. 

“Tendou,” he responds through an even smile, his eyes curled into crescent moons. 

“Oh!” Bokuto says, “You’re that friend of theirs!” 

Satori nods his head. “That’s what I’m best known as.” 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, man,” he says pleasantly and Satori is a bit perplexed by his reaction. 

Satori just grins at him through his eyelashes. He doesn’t have a response for that, seeing as Satori has heard very little about Bokuto on account of how tight-lipped you are surrounding your connection to each other. 

“Uh oh,” is all he says, shrugging his shoulders. 

Keiko giggles a little behind her hand and Satori’s eyes slink down to look at her. She’s covering her mouth with the back of her hand, almost like she’d suddenly hiccuped. Then, she smiles somewhat apologetically. 

“Sorry,” she says. “His reactions are funny.” 

“What’s so funny about ‘em?” Satori asks, teasing a little. Keiko definitely knows and Satori has found a new target for amusement. 

“Keiko thinks everything is funny,” Yuki says, nudging her friend a bit harshly with her elbow. Keiko doesn’t seem to mind this though. In fact, she blushes a little and Satori tilts his head at the perplexing response. 

Bokuto looks at this short exchange and then smiles broadly like he’s figured something out. Then, he leans in and whispers something quietly into your ear. You laugh and furrow your eyebrows before quickly shaking your head. Bokuto insists on whatever he’s said and you stand on your toes to speak into his ear. He bends down to listen. His expression goes from confused to a bit surprised and you nod your head and laugh a little. 

If your friends notice the somewhat intimate exchange between the two of you, they pretend not to, too wrapped up in their own conversation. Satori gets the feeling that he’s meant to be listening to it, so he hunches forward a little, still watching you and Bokuto from the corner of his eye. 

Your connection to Bokuto appears to be in the early stages and Satori feels simultaneously relieved and oddly unsettled. It’s obvious that there is something there, likely in the same way it’s obvious that you and Satori do what you do, and the thought makes him a bit uncomfortable. The perverse idea comes to his mind of you in bed with Bokuto and the fact that he gets to hear the delightful sounds you make. He imagines you wrapped in his bedsheets, panting as Bokuto touches you beneath the thin fabric. 

Unsure of why he’s so caught up in the image of it, he shakes out his shoulders and turns his attention to the girls in front of him. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” he says, interrupting the conversation with the tenor drawl. 

“You’ve got one in your hand,” says Yuki and Alice raises her eyebrows in response. 

“I don’t like beer,” he gives a sly grin. “But I’d hate to be rude to Bokuto over there.” 

“I’m sure he won’t take it too personally,” Alice offers, a grin creeping up on her features. 

Satori kisses his teeth and then straightens his back, giving them a small wave. Then, he turns to you and places his hand on your shoulder. His pinky brushes the exposed skin at the base of your neck, close to your pulse point and he leans close to mumble his plan to you. 

You glance at him, your face a little too close to his. He can smell your breath, the cranberry vodka mix of it, and it’s warm against his face. Near intoxicating. Satori smiles lightly, pats your shoulder once, and then heads in the direction of the drinks inside. 

Just inside the kitchen, there is an island filled with hard liquor and mixers, as well as a keg in the corner and a few cases of beer stacked on top of each other, the bottom packages unopened. Satori hovers over the drink table for a moment. Truthfully, he didn’t have another drink in mind. The beer actually suited him just fine, as he’s not particularly picky about what he drinks with the goal of getting drunk in mind. 

For some reason, he just wanted to be away from the conversation, from Bokuto and your friends who seemed to simultaneously know everything and not know anything. Satori likes the way it feels to read people, but he’s both settled and unsettled by being read so plainly himself. Going into a conversation where people know more than him makes him too curious for his own good and if he hadn’t left, he’s certain that he would have stuck his nose somewhere he’d regret. 

Keiko’s cigarette smoke clings to his clothes. He can smell it on the worn knit sweater he’s wearing, clinging to the thick stitches. Satori likes to smoke cigarettes occasionally and he doesn’t mind the smell all too much.

“Sorry,” someone says to him as they bump into him trying to slip past. 

Satori glances down at whoever it was. She’s considerably smaller than him and she keeps her eyes down as if to avoid conflict, carrying three red solo cups in her arms, half filled with a red liquid. He keeps looking at her, examining the crown of her short blonde hair. He’s seen it before. Then, as if horrifyingly aware that someone is watching her, she tilts her head up slightly. 

Big round eyes stare back at him, wide and anxious as if she’s being looked down on by a predator. She looks at him and he looks back, his expression blank as he tries to figure out where he knows this girl from. 

“Did I spill something? I’m so sorry,” she starts, glancing around to see if he’d gotten any drink on his clothes. He hadn’t. Satori’s drink still sits comfortably in his cup. He shakes his head and she stares up at him. 

It’s like he’s watching a deer caught in headlights and his lips turn up a little. It’s an interesting reaction and he tilts his head as she puts her head back down to look straight ahead and continue a bit faster in the direction she’d been going in previously. 

“Hey,” he calls after her, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear over the music. She turns around slowly. 

“What?”

Her voice is high pitched and timid, the kind that almost makes you feel bad for speaking to her at all. 

“You’re in some of my classes, right?” He says. Satori is actually certain of it. She sits in the back of his self-lead project class, by the window and just behind him, so he can never actually see her. 

“Maybe?” She says, like she’s unsure of saying anything definitive. 

“You are,” he confirms with a sly grin. “You usually sit by the back right?” 

“Oh,” she says, her eyes growing wider as she tilts her head. “You’re the guy with those pictures of that person in bed.” 

Satori laughs a little, looking at her with his head tilted down. “So that’s my legacy.” 

“Not that it’s bad!” She says defensively. “Just memorable.” 

Satori nods a little. 

“Your name is Yachi, right?” He tilts his head and he can see that it makes her nervous that Satori knows her name. 

“Uh, yup!” She nods. “And you’re…..” 

The girl trails off, her face turning red at the fact that she can’t remember his name. 

“Tendou,” he concedes, “Satori.” 

“Ah, right,” she blushes and glances at her shoes. 

Yachi has an interesting air about her. Satori can tell that she’s shy and when he does see her in class or on campus, she almost scurries like a small animal. She reminds him a little bit of a hamster. She’s small and a bit plump in the way that sweet girls can be, and she’s got an innocent face. Her hair is cropped short at the shoulders and her eyes look like wells of anxious emotion. He tilts his head at her. 

“You don’t seem like the party type,” he grins. 

“I’m not,” she deflates, her shoulders slumping forward. She seems relieved that someone has noticed and taken pity on her. “I’m here for a friend.” 

Satori glances behind him. Through the doors, he can see you talking to Bokuto on the veranda. Your friends have wandered off and you’re alone with him, leaning against the bannister and smiling as Bokuto speaks animatedly about something. 

“Me too,” he offers, turning back to her. 

Yachi glances around Satori’s body, following where his gaze had been. 

“Is that the person from the pictures?” She asks, her lips pinched together. 

Satori doesn’t answer and just gives her a knowing look. Yachi’s face turns bright red and she glances at him and then the ground, mumbling an apology. He doesn’t really think she needs to apologize. Satori doesn’t really care if people know he takes pictures of you, but he’s not sure if you’d like for everyone to know that you’re the person in them. 

Yachi looks at him like she’s waiting for him to say something else. Her mouth is slightly dropped open, revealing the bottom of two large front teeth. He hasn’t really got anything else to say, so he just motions his head in the direction she’d been walking in. 

“Your friends are probably waiting,” he grins, getting the distinct impression that she’d wanted to speak to him longer. 

“Oh!” She says. “Right! Sorry! Uhm, nice to formally meet you! Sorry again!” 

She shrugs her shoulders at him in a makeshift wave and he waves back, lifting his cup and following her figure as she joins two people standing by the back entrance to the kitchen. One of them is a tall, beautiful girl wearing glasses. The other is a surly, average looking guy with a buzzed head who immediately reaches out and grabs Yachi by the top of her head. She squeaks and spills part of the drinks she’d been holding. The dark-haired girl slaps his stomach and takes the drinks from Yachi with a gentle smile. 

Satori has never seen those people before, save for Yachi, and he marvels for a moment about how there are people in this world he’ll never meet or see in his life.

He makes his way back out on the veranda, realizing that more time has passed than he intended. When he gets out there, no one is familiar and he sighs deeply before taking a long sip of the drink he’d had to begin with. Satori isn’t uncomfortable being alone and it really isn’t long before he’s found a group of people that he knows smoking in a circle on the lawn. He sits with them and decides to forget for a moment who he’d come to the party with in the first place. 

— 

It’s a long while before he sees you again and by the time he does, Satori is thoroughly hammered. He’d kept the drinks coming and whatever smoke people offered him, he’d accepted readily. Despite being as intoxicated as he is, Satori seems to have his wits about him. At least from an outside point of view, the only real perceivable difference is that his eyes somehow look even sleepier than they usually do. It’s probably why Semi kept passing him the joint, not particularly worried about Satori’s well-being. Besides, if Satori didn’t want anymore, he’d stop. To him, his limits are very clear cut. 

“Hey,” you tap him on the shoulder and he turns his head up toward the sky to find you looking down at him. 

Your eyes look pretty from his angle and he has the urge to kiss you. You smile at him, glancing at the people in the circle. 

“I wondered where you ran off to,” you say. “You ready to head out?”

Satori’s got tunnel vision and right now, he is only capable of registering you in his field of vision. When he spins around with his legs crossed to look at you, he gets a better picture. Your hair is messy and your mascara is smudged on the right side. Your lips are puffy and swollen, either like you’ve had far too much to drink or you’ve been sucking a little too much face. He frowns, reaching up to touch the side of your cheek. He looks like he’s going to say something romantic. 

“I don’t know,” he says through the goofy grin that creeps onto his face, “I haven’t stood up in about an hour. I’m worried I’ll fall.” 

You laugh, crouching down. “You won’t fall.” 

“Will you catch me if I do?” He says leaning forward, his smile slick and completely conscious of what he’s doing. 

Goshiki whistles behind him and you offer an apologetic and somewhat embarrassed look to both him and Semi. 

“Sure, Satori,” you say. “Now get up, we’re heading back.” 

Satori laughs a little and gets to his feet. He’s actually quite stable and when he tucks his hands into his pockets, he thinks that he probably doesn’t look any different from how he would if he were on campus. 

He tilts his head to look at you, examining further the state that you’re in. He doesn’t like that he can tell that you’ve been with someone tonight. It makes him feel unusually needy and somewhat jealous. He hates even more that he knows who it is. 

Satori steps close to you and you let him, grinning up at him as he slips a hand from his pocket and wraps it around your lower back. The action is possessive and he pulls your hips flush against his when he does it, resting his head on your shoulder and speaking by your ear. 

“We getting a taxi?” He drawls. 

This behavior isn’t all too unusual for him when he drinks or smokes, so you laugh and hold his upper arm, mumbling a quiet yeah as you do. Satori knows you well enough to know that he’s probably made you a little wet.

“My place?” He asks, a little needier than he’d intended. 

You let out a loud laugh, pulling him away from your body and holding him by the shoulders. “Duh, all of my stuff is there.” 

Satori nods sagely, letting the moment of jealous behavior pass. He follows you down the front steps of the house and onto the curb, where it appears that you’ve already called a cab to take you both back to his place. Even in his high state, Satori pulls the door open for you, leaning into his slouch a little more than usual. Then, he climbs in behind you and shuts the door. 

You stare out of the window, leaning your head against the glass. Maybe it’s to keep yourself from getting carsick, he’s not sure, but he watches you anyway. You yawn lightly, making a soft sound at the back of your throat. 

“Tired?” He asks, resisting the urge to reach across the seat and touch you. He always gets touchy when he’s like this. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “It’s bedtime soon.” 

Satori chuckles a little. “Seems to me like you’ve already been in bed.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, your mouth open in an incredulous laugh. “What’s it to you?” 

Satori thinks that’s a stupid question and just closes his eyes and grins a little, settling into the seat and leaning his head to the side. 

“Nothing at all,” he responds with a hum. 

He can feel you looking at him, but he doesn’t open his eyes, instead forcing his expression to stay in that contented, somewhat teasing, position. Truthfully, Satori thinks that it does matter to him who you sleep with, because it matters that you keep sleeping with him. He likes this arrangement you have and it suits him just fine to continue. 

It was dumb of you to ask what it matters as if he doesn’t fuck you three times a week. Even the least sensitive of people could see that. He’s not all too sure why he cares and he furrows his brows lightly as he considers it, snuggling up against the side of the cab door.

Satori can hear you breathing in the seat beside him. You take deep, even drawls of breath that tell him you might be falling asleep. That’s just as well, he may fall asleep too. What matters is that he gets up when the cab pulls up to his apartment, where he’ll take you inside and tuck you into his bed. You’ll spend the night and leave in the morning, apologizing briefly for the intrusion, and then you’ll call him over later in the week when you need it. When you’re wet between the legs and aching, desperate for him to touch you. When it’s over, you’ll tell him he can’t stay for long. Satori, being Satori, won’t even dream of asking to. 

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Wormdebut! Wormdebut has published 18 fics on AO3 all in the steddie tag!

@thefreakandthehair recommends the following works by @wormdebut:

Tell Eddie He Looks Sexy With His Hair Pushed Back

Kiss Your Knuckles (Before You Punch Me In The Face)

Hell Bent For Leather

All You Have Is Your Fire

It Feels Like Fourteen Carats But No Clarity (When I Look At The Man Who Would Be King)

Worm is incredible! For a humble worm, they sure know how to write fanfiction. ;) But seriously, Worm has a way of exploring different dynamics in such depth with an immense amount of care that's so obvious in the finish products! -- @thefreakandthehair

Below the cut, Wormdebut answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

These two idiots inspire me. I mean look at them. I think the thing I love about Steve and Eddie is that to me they are destined to be together. Post-Canon, Alternate Universe. It doesn’t matter. They are meant to be together in any scenario. I could and will write about these two forever.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Rockstar Eddie, baby. I love some good sex, drugs and rock and roll.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Is safe (mostly)sane and consensual BDSM a trope? I like to write that. 😂

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

Tuesday’s Gone With The Wind - Thisapplepielife there is nothing quite like reading this for the first time. I truly thought I was going to explode as it was being updated.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Omegaverse! I have a fic in the worm vault that will come out eventually. Wormegaverse. It’s coming. I’m fucking stoked for it.

What is your writing process like?

Hoooboy. It’s a mess. I cannot write an outline to save my life. (I’m looking at you King of Hell Eddie fic. I know you need an outline okay?) I tend to write in order, but if I get stuck I will skip a scene or two ahead so I can figure out how to squish two pieces of a story together OR I will write little notes about my intentions and skip it and come back. (My favorite note of all time is when I wrote “spit kink shit.” So I could remember my very pure intentions)

Do you have any writing quirks?

Boy do I! I tend to go into like writing fugue states where I will just bust out thousands of words in a sitting and if I am not doing that I am thinking and over thinking about when im gonna fugue out again. I also get really stressed when it actually comes time to write a sex scene? Weird, I know. But every single one is super important to me and I want to make sure they read well. My friends can attest that I am an absolute basket case when it comes to me writing Steve and Eddie getting down and dirty.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

God when I’m done. I am NOT great at posting chaptered fics but I am trying to get better with it? I prefer writing larger pieces though. I am an over-thinker to a fault and for some reason I stress less with one-shots.

Which fic are you most proud of?

It’s gotta be Kiss Your Knuckles. That fic is everything to me. But my Boys Who Kiss series is also so fucking important to me. Those two have so much more to tell y’all and I can’t wait to share their lives with you. I’m a musician so any of my fics that are heavily laced with performance and song are very special.

How did you get the idea for Kiss Your Knuckles (Before You Punch Me In The Face)?

I remember listening to Twin Size Mattress one day and I was like—Holy Shit, this is so Steddie-Coded it hurts. And it’s post-canon AND Rockstar Eddie? Incredible. The words just screamed Eddie Behavior and I knew Steve had to write a one-hit wonder about how he felt.

When writing Kiss Your Knuckles (Before You Punch Me In The Face), what was something you didn’t expect?

Oh I sobbed when I finished it. I couldn’t believe that I had actually finished it. It truly means the world to me and I wanted to share it with you all so badly. I cried for like an hour.

What inspired It Feels Like Fourteen Carats But No Clarity (When I Look At The Man Who Would Be King)?

Honestly? Tumblr user @ghosttotheparty had made a post about the scenario that Fourteen Carats is about and I messaged them and was like hey listen I want to take a shot at this, if that’s okay. Fourteen Carats is the first fully formed fic that I have ever posted aside from tumblr Drabbles and while I personally don’t love it I keep it up just in case someone somewhere does. 😂

What was your favorite part to write from All You Have Is Your Fire?

OH. Absolutely just eluding to Tattoo Legend and Icon, Jim Hopper. God he so fucking hot neat.

How do/did you feel writing Tell Eddie He Looks Sexy With His Hair Pushed Back?

I felt some type of a way, clearly. I think this is my favorite Eddie that I have ever written (My favorite Steve is Kiss Your Knuckles Steve) and he just kept getting more and more interesting. Like who the hell fucks you and speaks French while they do it? Tell Eddie Eddie does. And thank god for that guy.

What was the most difficult part of writing Hellbent For Leather?

Writing sub/bottom Eddie! I did this fic as a gift for tumblr user @gorgeousgreymatter-x (love you bitch) and it was hard because I don’t often write that dynamic, but god damn I loved these two Steddies.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Ah— “It is, and I do.” Something about French chef Eddie, really—yeah. I am proud of everything I have written but if I can be honest with you I rarely remember what I have done. I often joke that it’s simply Steve and Eddie in my brain just writing what they want, because people will quote my work or talk to me about a scene and I’m like—‘I wrote that?? Nice.’

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

WELL. Once I can break myself out of this accidental hiatus I am so excited to share more of For Your Entertainment with yall. I am also so fucking excited to share King Of Hell Eddie with the world. I can’t fucking wait. I am working on a ‘Came Back Wrong’ fic that is less scary and more comedic and I am stoked for that. I have quite a few things that are happening and I am just so fucking excited to share them all with you. 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just thank you. Thank you for reading and thanks for letting me be a part of all of this. I have not felt this inspired and loved in a long fucking time and I’m not going anywhere so I hope yall will stick around for the wild ride. Fucking love you.

Thank you to our author, Wormdebut, and our nominator, @thefreakandthehair! See more of Wormdebut's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[cascade05]

Book Girl

Heads up: Language, suggestive but definitely not descriptive, also Bakugo Katsuki (he comes with a warning), and unedited—super unedited

Kay, so, hear me out… Bakugo Katsuki and an author reader. Yes, ooh, ahh, I know I know. For those of you, and I am sure there are many, who have no idea what I mean, lemme explain:

Bakugo with a reader who asks him the strangest, borderline worrisome question about his work. “What’s it feel like to get stabbed?” “Have you ever gotten shot? With a gun? Explain it to me. How did it feel?” Sometimes he thinks you’re a little psycho but it’s oddly therapeutic for him to explain the worst parts of his job and not care about being judged so he don’t mind none.

Bakugo with a reader who patches up his wounds like a pro and mumble “this would be perfect in chapter twelve.” And he’s just staring at her like “ma’m I’m dying plz don’t immortalize this in literature.”

Most importantly (the thought that had me on this tangent), Bakugo Katsuki with his cute little writer baby who tests things on him. It’s never easy to deal with things either. It’s not, like, fighting related things. You don’t go up to him and ask him if you could put him in arm-bar or ask him if he could put you in an arm-bar (Actually you did ask him to do that cause you wanted to know how to get out of one but—)

She does this… thing where she goes up to him and whispers the nastiest shit in his ear, like, you know, innocent book girl shit. Ya’ll know what I mean. Book girls are fucking wild and they read the sauciest shit. So she whispers some knee numbing curse and Bakugo freezes like a little schoolboy who just found out what puberty hormones are and she has the audacity to take a step back, examine him like he’s a fucking lab rat or some shit, then ask him if that made his heart flutter. Like, bitch it made something flutter, the hell did you think saying that would do? Does he answer? The first few times it happened, he couldn’t. The next few times he tried to deny it but mumbled and slurred his words like a drunk. When he wasn’t caught horribly off guard, he started just throwing her over his shoulder and showing her what it did to him. (It really helped her with that one scene—)

But that’s not the worst of it. No. No no no. You see, before Bakugo, she had never been in a relationship before. She had never been in love before and she most certainly had never done anything physical with someone else before. He was her first everything. So she has trouble writing particularly steamy scenes, at least when it comes to describing everything and it has to be perfect. Well, that’s what a boyfriend’s for, right?

So, there are times in Bakugo’s life where his writer girlfriend just decides to make out with him. That’s a normal thing to do, they’re together, but she doesn’t just kiss him. Remember, book girl shit, girl goes fucking—well, Bakugo doesn’t know what but it’s ridiculous.

Kay, first time it happens: She comes up to him all casually and cute-like and asks if she can try something. Blissfully unaware Bakugo raises a brow but lets her and she takes his breath away with a kiss that’s all passion and it’s hot—he’s hot. He’s melting, actually, and she takes it further and put her hands in exactly the right places and just when he’s getting ready to go all the way with it, she pulls back. Bakugo’s never felt whiplash quite so jarring but there she was asking him how it felt because she wants to write the scene from a man’s perspective. She asking him all these questions and bro’s on a different planet right now, he can’t answer, kay. Like, give him a second to breathe cause he can’t find the air, ya know. And it happens, well not all the time but enough for the poor man to think she just isn’t in to him like he’s in to her. If she was, she would’ve been frustrated too, right? But she wasn’t and there he was, sitting alone like a fool while she ran off to go write it all down before she forgot.

But, well, book girls, right? Those freaky shits know how to please a guy so you can bet your bottom dollar that she made it up to him. Thoroughly :)

Or, alternatively, writer gf who doesn’t write steamy shit and just does all of this to fuck with him cause his reactions are *chief’s kiss*

[owlwithanapple]

Fate Chapter 01. — Lost Girl

Roronoa Zoro X OC X Trafalgar Law

Zoro appears first, Law appears later

I tried to write a heroine from a different world who meets the character of One Piece. The content will have two different world concepts, which are not completely based on the plot of the anime.

It’s a boring world, boring day, doing the same thing every time when open your eyes. The things you must do after getting up are brushing teeth, taking a shower, changing into school uniforms, and taking the subway to school after leaving home.

You have to squeeze into the subway every morning and live this life all day. Arrive at school and enter the classroom. The class is full of noise. The teacher's job is to give lectures as usual, and the students' life is to study or get sleepy.

When the school bell rang, packed your schoolbag and went home. There are many club activities but you just can’t get interested. There are more people on the subway after school, but don’t want to squeeze into the subway with them, so you go home late and go to convenience store on the street.

As usual ran to the convenience store near the school to buy some snacks. Chose my favorite snacks and paid. Find a bench in the park, sit down, unpack the snacks and start eating.

You don’t hate your current life, and also like what you do every day. You just a student, have nothing else to do except for parents to support you in studying. Your parents abroad will feel at ease knowing that your academic performance remains stable.

Part-time jobs are only available on Saturdays and Sundays. Your parents will give you living expenses every month, but sometimes prefer to spend your own money. But students still have to take care of their studies. If focus on work, grades will rise and fall any time.

After parents see the results, it will be troublesome to ask for explanations. Your parents are talented people, and both of them hold senior positions in an overseas company. For the sake of parents’ face and image, you must remain excellent.

The park is as usual with a group of children playing together, an old man walking his dog, some students playing football, and you eating snacks on the bench. Even don’t look at these things you experience every day, you will know them by heart.

Oops, after talking so much, forgot to introduce yourself. Your name is Yuki. 17 years old. Is a student. Don't think of hobbies at the moment, just a passerby, living a cyclical life every day.

You found the snacks had been eaten and empty. Before knew it, the time had come and almost time to go home. On the way to the subway station, the scenery of the city is quite beautiful.

Your life goes around in cycles every day, but the scenery can change every day. Nature is so magical and mysterious all at the same time.

After the traffic light turns green, you start walking on the road. What lights the traffic lights display will change accordingly for people and traffic. When the red light is on, it means stop, when the green light is on, it can move.

Even though there are traffic lights for everyone's safety, accidents will always happen suddenly. An out-of-control car is coming from the left, and in front of you is a little girl who fell on the road.

Everyone around you has fled, except you. The little girl who fell on the road and the out-of-control car are rushing towards you two. Today is the first time in your life that you have experienced such a terrifying situation.

Subconsciously, you lifted the little girl up and pushed her aside, while the out-of-control car rushed towards you. Your legs are trembling and can't move at all.

You closed your eyes unconsciously fell into darkness, but didn't feel any pain when you were hit. You only heard the sound of water, the chirping of birds and felt something shaking.

You open your eyes sit up see that you are on a small boat surrounded by the sea and a group of animals flying in the sky. The scene in front of you makes you tremble with fear. It is a sea and a bright sun.

You was clearly on the road just now, but in an instant was floating on the sea. You look around there is nothing nearby, just you, a boat, the sea and birds.

You pinched your cheeks hard asked yourself, "What's going on! Why suddenly at sea!" The pain felt on your cheek definitely real, you wanted to stand up to see what was going on but the boat started to rock.

It's better not to move. There had just been a car accident on the road, and now you was in trouble at sea. But you are still wearing school uniform, so you were transported here?

But where is this? You are in a boat and then drifting across the ocean, even don't know where you are or where you drifting to. The sun on the sea is so bright and hot, making you so thirsty.

Sitting on the boat doing nothing just drifting on the sea, calling for help but there was no one around. Guess this is the world after death. You are the only one wandering on this sea alone.

You sighed "Am I going to die here? Maybe it would be better to die. It's not uncommon to live such a boring life every day!" You lie on the boat and look at the blank sky in a daze.

Suddenly a big wave came up the boat shook violently. You quickly hold on to the boat and a huge black shadow envelop you. It is a big ship with a sun face sailing on the sea.

The big ship collided with your small boat and crashed, you falling into the sea. You screamed for help desperately hoping the people on the big ship would notice, but your voice seemed unable to reach them.

You are tired, hungry, no strength and finally sink into the sea. This is the scene under the sea, a ray of light and clear water. You have died once, now you have to die one more time. Even death is a cycle.

You close your eyes stop thinking prepare to die peacefully. When you have given up all ideas, suddenly someone jumped into the sea grabbed your arm swam to the surface.

"Hey! Come and help get her up!" a rough voice shouted.

His companion picked you up and took you to the ship "Call Chopper!" another man said.

"Don't crowd here, get out of the way!" A cute voice used his little hands to unbutton you clothes leaned against your chest to hear your heartbeat. He put his hands on your chest and pressed it quickly.

"Don't die! Give me a reaction when you hear my voice!" He shouted to you while giving first aid in a panic. After a golden period of rescue, you finally opened your eyes slightly and started to react a little.

You just accidentally fell into the sea and the sea water choked your throat so uncomfortable you quickly coughed it out. When open your eyes again see a few people surrounding you "Are you okay, miss?" A man with curly eyebrows and a suit says to you with a smile.

There was a green-haired man with three swords hanging from his waist who was wet and drying himself with a towel. He was the one who jumped into the sea to save you. You slowly sat up and stared at the tanuki that saved you?

"Tanuki," you accidentally said.

He jumped around angrily and yelled "I'm not Tanuki! I'm a reindeer!".

After calming down, he pointed himself and said, "My name is Chopper, you?".

After listening to what he said, you inadvertently found that your school uniform was soaked by water, which penetrated your underwear and still half-dressed. You wrapped your arms around yourself to cover it.

You had no idea what was going on yet , woke up and was being looked at by others. Suddenly someone wrapped a towel around. It was the man in a suit. He had a nosebleed. "My name is Sanji. I'm sorry. Chopper was in first aid just now, so..." he comforted you.

You were already trembling in panic, not knowing what was wrong. You died in a car accident and almost drowned in the sea, but after being rescued, you were frightened and overwhelmed by the people in front of you.

But they all kept a distance and didn't force you to do anything. You clenched the towel and covered your face, not knowing what to do and hesitating about how to speak.

"What should we do? She didn't say anything." A woman with long orange hair asked Sanji and Chopper.

The green-haired man came over and said, "Let her calm down first."

A dark-haired woman approached you and gently poked on the back smiled and said, "I hope you're okay."

Seeing the strange and cute appearance of the reindeer named Chopper, you unknowingly let go of your guard. After all, they saved your life but you just kept your mouth shut before thanking them.

They turned their backs to seemed to be discussing something. Out of curiosity, you prepared to eavesdrop on what they had to say but it seemed like were done talking. You hesitated for a moment and just said your name should be fine.

"Yuki."

After everyone heard you speak, immediately turned their heads watched intently. In the awkward situation, you quickly covered your face with a towel. Being in a strange place and with strange people makes you feel uncomfortable and lonely.

The orange-haired woman put her hand on her chest and said, "Hello, Yuki. My name is Nami. The one who saved you just now was Zoro." She pointed at the green-haired man.

"Yuki-chwan! I'm so glad you're okay!" Sanji said with concern through a nosebleed.

"Umm, Sanji, your nosebleed..." You pointed at his face.

Zoro sighed helplessly pulled Sanji away from you "This guy is like this when he sees girls, don't worry about it.".

Sanji was unhappy with Zoro's tone and started to fight.

You survived, who is the person who saved me? A talking reindeer? A cosplayer with three swords hanging from his waist? A pervert in a suit? What kind of world have you arrived in and why are there so many weird things?

"Yohohoho! It's so lively." You turned around and saw a talking skull with an afro hair, you were shocked and dumbfounded.

"Hello, miss." The skull greeted you, but you were already stunned by him.

You are careless, this one is weirder than those people. Nami kicked the skull away and lightly slapped your face, but already fainted and unconscious. Chopper quickly arranged you go to the infirmary for examination.

"Is Yuki-chwan going to be okay..." Sanji said worriedly.

Zoro said seriously, "She's wearing weird clothes."

Sanji kicked Zoro "Marimo! You are not allowed to look at Yuki-chwan with that despicable look!".

"You are the one who is mean!". Zoro fights with Sanji.

Don't know how much time passed before you woke up from a coma. You lay on the soft bed looked at the lights on the ceiling. You thought it was an illusion but now it feels so real. There are many books in the room, the medicines are neatly placed in the cabinets, and a Tanuki wearing a pink hat?

"Tanuki!" you shouted sitting up and pointing at him.

He yelled angrily, "I'm not Tanuki! I'm a reindeer! Chopper!"

"It's not a dream..." You slapped your face so hard that it really hurt.

Chopper holds your hand to stop from hitting yourself. The pain means you are not dreaming. You pinched your face hard and slapped it several times. Chopper was so scared he ran out and shouted for help.

"Someone come here! Yuki is hurting herself!" Chopper yelled as he ran around in a hurry.

After hearing this, Nami and Sanji ran directly into the medical room saw you pinching face. Nami grabbed your hand to prevent from continuing, and Sanji quickly wrapped ice in a cloth and applied it to your face.

"What are you doing! Why are you hurting yourself?" Nami cursed at you angrily.

"Yuki-chwan, I won't allow you to do this to yourself!" Sanji told you worriedly.

"It's really not a dream..." After confirming that was not dreaming and you had really arrived in another world, tears flowed unconsciously from your eyes.

"Yuki-chwan! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have scolded you! What should I do?" Sanji nervously reassured you.

"What happened, Yuki?" Nami let you cry on her shoulder.

Zoro saw Chopper shouting around in a panic. He walked to the door of the medical room and saw you crying, Nami comforting you, and Sanji frantically thinking of ways to tease you.

"What happened to Yuki?" Chopper hid behind Zoro and watched secretly.

"How is she?" Zoro looked at Chopper and asked.

"She fine, it's just weird when she wake up." Chopper said worriedly.

"Hmm..." Zoro just remained silent and stood outside the door watching.

"Zoroooooooo! Chopperrrrrrrr!" came a loud voice.

You heard a voice coming from outside the door and saw Zoro standing in the doorway with Chopper hiding behind. There was a man in a straw hat, followed by a man with a long nose who excitedly ran up to Zoro while grabbing a fish.

"You are here! Zoro! Look at the fish I caught!" The man in the straw hat excitedly showed off the fish to Zoro.

"I know! Keep the fish away!" Zoro dodged the fish in Luffy hand.

"What are you looking at?" The man wearing a straw hat came into the infirmary.

"Hello..." You waved to him.

"Look! I caught the fish! Who are you?" After showing off the fish to you, he suddenly asked who you are.

"Stay back, Luffy!" Nami hit him on the head.

"It hurts..." The man in the straw hat sat on the ground and whispered.

"My name is Yuki..." You said your name.

After hearing your name, he excitedly stood in front of you said loudly, "My name is Luffy! Monkey D Luffy!"

"Why is Yuki on our ship?" the long-nosed man asked with a confused look on his face.

"Due to some minor accidents, Yuki-chwan will be on the boat temporarily." Sanji picked up the fish Luffy just caught.

"Hmmm...I see." Luffy stared at you with curious eyes.

When you were frowning, suddenly Luffy pulled his cheek to make a face. His cheeks were flexible and as soft as rubber. You couldn't help but laugh when saw his face making a weird face at you.

Nami saw your smile hugged you tightly and gently stroked you head to comfort you. Although you was transported to a very strange world, the people here were so warm and you felt a little warm.

"Yuki-chwannnn, smile more!" Sanji danced happily.

"Fnally laughed." Nami laughed.

"Don't always have a sad face!" Luffy smiled as brightly as the sun.

"Thank you, I feel much better." You responded to them with a smile.

"Yuki, do you want talk to us?" Nami asked you with concern.

Nami called everyone to the table to discuss current situation. You are a strange girl meets a ship with some strange cosplayers. Sanji made tea for everyone and put it on the table. You can smell the delicious tea.

There are currently 8 people: Luffy with retractable body, Zoro as a three-sword cosplayer, Nami with long orange hair and tattoos, Sanji with a nosebleed and a suit, Chopper as a reindeer, Brook as a skeleton, Usopp as a long-nosed and black-haired Robin.

Now a tall blue-haired man named Franky came forward, wearing only a underwear and a pair of robotic hands. What a weird group, maybe they are members of a band, you really feel confused about the current situation after reading it.

You clear your throat and briefly introduce everyone, "Ahem. My name is Yuki. I'm from Japan. I'm currently a high school student."

"Japan? What island are you from?" Luffy asked excitedly, standing on the table.

"What's the occupation of a high school student?" Ussop asked curiously.

"Japan is a country, and high school students are students." You explain to them seriously.

"Hmm. A country I've never heard of." Franky looked confused.

"Yohoho. That's why high school students wear short skirts like this. Can you let me see your pantsu?" Brook said with a smile at you.

"Sinful short skirt..." You looking at Sanji's whispered with nosebleed.

"What about you, are you all the cosplayers of some group?" Seeing their strange looks, couldn't help but ask.

"What is a Cosplayer?" Chopper asked doubtfully.

"Cosplayer is like everyone wear some character costumes." You simply explained to Chopper.

"We are not role-playing! We are a pirate group! I am the man who wants to become the Pirate King!" Luffy stood on the table and raised his hands in the air.

"Ha!? Pirates!? What era are we in now!" You stood up grabbed Luffy's collar and kept asking.

"The ○○ era..." Nami said.

"It's different from my time..." You let go of Luffy's collar calm down and muttered to yourself.

"Yuki, I'm curious, what era are you from?" Robin raised her hand and asked.

"I'm from the ○○○○ era..." Robin looked shocked after you answered.

"There is a possibility that Yuki is a person from a different world and era. I have read it in books, I always thought it was a dreamlike existence." Robin told everyone about your possibility.

"Hey! That means Yuki comes from a different world than us!" Sanji was shocked by Robin's conclusion.

"Wait! Could it be sent by the enemy?" Ussop suddenly mentioned.

"If it's true, just cut her off." Zoro stood up held his scabbard in hand.

Ussop mentioned this speculation, Zoro has become wary of you. It makes sense for them to speculate and be wary of you. Most people can ignore a girl wandering at sea, but they saved you.

Sanji stood up raised his feet to stop Zoro from drawing his sword. The aura of the two of them was too strong. You can feel the oppression and intense pressure from both of them while sitting nearby. It's such a terrifying situation.

"Stop it now!" Nami threw tea at Zoro and Sanji.

"I understand your caution. But if she is really innocent, wouldn't it be tantamount to bullying the weak?" Robin said calmly.

"Hahaha! Robin is right!" Franky said with a laugh.

"Yohohoho, if Yuki really wanted to harm us, she could have attacked Chopper in the medical room." Brook gave a simple metaphor.

"Yeah, it was just me and her at that time. It was a good opportunity to make a move." Chopper said seriously.

"Robin-chwan is right! Yuki-chwan is innocent! Marimo!" Sanji complained about Zoro.

"Let's have a fight! Curly cook!" Zoro and Sanji got into a fight.

It’s incredible they all can live together and get along even though all with different looks and personalities. It’s not like you’re dealing with the same people and the same things every day.

You clenched both hands and fell into deep thought. Maybe as Robin said, you and them are in different worlds and just happened to be transferred here or this is the world after death.

"Yuki! Look at me!" Luffy suddenly called.

"Erm?" You raised head.

When you heard Luffy calling, you looked up and saw him sitting on the table, making faces and laughing at you. His expression was so funny that you couldn't help but hold your belly and laugh.

"Oh, laughed again." Robin said with a chuckle.

"Yuki-chwan! Smile more! Your smile is a salvation!" Sanji looked at you with loving eyes.

"Luffy, how on earth did your face stretch and contract like this?" You asked him, wiping away the tears of laughter.

"Hehehe, I became like this after eating the Gomu Gomu no Mi." Luffy proudly showed off to you.

"Gomu Gomu no Mi?" You pulled Luffy's face hard to confirm this fact.

"Devil fruit. After eating it, you can gain certain superpowers. Doesn't it exist in your world?" Ussop asked you after explaining.

"I was only born in an ordinary world that is not as sci-fi as your world." You said about the worldview you lived in before.

"What do you usually do in your world?" Nami asked curiously, sitting next to me.

"It's all about studying and working. I don't have any other hobbies or interests." You told her vaguely.

"So boring..." Luffy said to me with a bored look on his face.

"I feel bored too." You lowered your head whispered.

It is indeed undeniable that your life is boring. Maybe you don’t make friends or participate in outdoor activities. Maybe you are introverted or just weak and incompetent.

You lowered your head clasped the corners of your skirt with your hands remaining silent. You feel so reluctant to let Luffy tell you the truth, but what he said is the truth. You have no reason to deny it.

At this time, there is a sudden gurgling sound in your stomach, which means are hungry. You shyly held your stomach and looked up find Sanji and Luffy smiling, Nami standing behind you putting her hands on your shoulders.

"Sanji, our guest is hungry." Nami said with a smile.

Sanji lit a cigarette, took a puff and exhaled, "No problem!"

Sanji ran away immediately when he heard your hungry voice and Nami's tone. For some reason, everyone was very happy to see Sanji leave, especially Luffy who jumped up and down with Chopper excitedly.

"Hehehe, Sanji is the chef of this ship." Robin said with a smile.

"So that's it." You said with a chuckle.

"That's right! Sanji's cooking skills are top-notch! He's not inferior to the chefs outside!" Ussop tells you excitedly.

"Ussop... I'm curious, do you often lie?" Seeing Ussop's nose reminded of some fairy tale plots.

Ussop quickly stepped back when he heard this, "Why did you say that!"

You smiled told him, "I read a fairy tale book that said that a puppet was born to lie and because of the fairy's spell, his nose would grow when he lied."

Ussop shouted in surprise and thought seriously, "NANIIIIIII, there is such a story! Could it be that I have a long nose because of a fairy casting a spell..."

"It's possible." Chopper came over to gossip.

"Yohohoho, what a funny story." Brook said with a smile.

"It's really strange that skeletons and reindeer can talk. Did you two also eat devil fruits?" You asked curiously.

"Yohohoho, that's right! Are there no skeletons in your world?" Brook asked curiously after laughing.

"Can the reindeer talk?" Chopper asked curiously.

"Skeletons usually only seen on Halloween, but people pretend to be and scare people for candy. I read about reindeer in books. Most of the records are four-legged animals that don't talk." You explain.

"Why do scare people and ask for candy?" Brook tilted his head and asked.

"It's a holiday custom. People dress up as various ghosts and knock on the door from house to house, asking for candy. If they don't give it, they will cause trouble." You said.

"Yohohoho! It's so fun! I want to participate if I have the chance! I have no body but a skeleton body!" Brook raised his hands excitedly to express his happiness.

"What about the cyborg?" Franky asked curiously.

"I've never seen with my own eyes, but I've seen it in science fiction movies." You smiled.

"What is a science fiction movie?" Franky asked, putting his hand on his chin in confusion.

"It's similar to what's shown in TV series." You might make a gesture like drawing a rectangle with your hands.

"What a strange world structure." Franky said with a smile.

Chopper, Brook and Franky excitedly ask you for stories about your world. We all live in different worlds, encounter different things, experience different lives, and live with all kinds of people.

Zoro thought you were suspicious, he stood aside and silently observed your every move. Luffy and Ussop ran to the kitchen to make trouble, while Robin and Nami were listening to what you said.

For the first time, you feel so amazing that you meet a stranger in a strange place. You think each other is weird. After all, the world you grew up in is different, but you feel so at ease with their company.

"Everyone! Food!" Luffy jumped up holding the food in both hands.

"Yahoo! I'm starving!" Ussop happily followed Luffy.

"Hey Luffy! Don't do this! You'll spill the food later!" Sanji held the food and followed Luffy.

"Okay, stop hanging around Yuki. Come over and eat." Nami put her hands on your shoulders and told Chopper, Brook and Franky.

"Bring me the wine." Zoro walked away.

"Let's eat together." Robin smiled and invited you to enjoy it together.

"My new friend Yuki-chwan is here today! I have shown my true skills!" Sanji clenched his fists and said enthusiastically.

You sit at the dining table look at the delicious food placed in front of me. The last time you just ate lunch boxes and snacks from the convenience store, the sumptuous food in front of you was so appetizing.

"Yuki-chwan, please taste it. You can give me a review." Sanji smiled, poured you water and handed you a knife and fork in a gentlemanly manner.

"Okay." You took it from him.

"I caught this fish!" Luffy confidently showed off to you.

It is a different kind of fish from your world, you cut a small piece and stare at it. After taking a deep breath, carefully put it into mouth and chew it slowly and tasting it carefully.

It's different from the fish you usually eat. Although it doesn't suit their food taste, you chew it, swallow it and take a sip of water. Luffy said it was fish but the texture seemed a bit strange when chewed but the taste was delicious.

"How does it taste Yuki-chwan?" Sanji asked with nervous hands shaking.

"Erm...the ecological species of fish are different from mine, so I can't get used to it." You told Sanji your thoughts.

"So it's delicious?" Sanji looks forward to your reply.

"It's delicious! Thank you! Sanji!" You responded to him with a happy smile.

"Yuki-chwannnnnnnn~The most important thing is that it suits your taste~" Sanji jumped up excitedly when he saw your smile spurting nosebleeds.

"Sanji...your nosebleed..." You tried to comfort Sanji but he seemed unable to control it.

"Don't worry, he's always like this." Robin put vegetables into your bowl.

"Thank you Robin." It feels like Robin is like a sister taking care of your diet.

"Yuki, how do you plan to live in the future?" Ussop asked while chewing food.

"I..." You were silent, having no idea after what to do.

"Nah! Do you want to join us for an adventure? It will be fun! Hahahaha!" Luffy said, holding a large piece of fried chicken in his hand and filling his mouth with food.

"Me?" You pointed at yourself.

"We can't let you live on the streets for the rest of your life." Nami said with a smile.

"Yohohoho! Fate has brought us together!" Brook said happily.

"I'm happy to have an extra nakama." Robin chuckled.

"Superrrrrrr~" Franky raised his hand and put the stars on his wrist together.

"Yuki~" Chopper took your hand.

"Then...thank you." You stood up bowed to express your gratitude.

"Yuki-chwan~Welcome~" Sanji was so happy and put a lot of food into your bowl.

You see that the bowl is full of food looks like Sanji is overly excited. But getting along with them is not a bad thing, everyone is very warm to welcome you as a stranger.

"Yuki-chwan, what else do you want to eat? I can get it for you~" Sanji served you considerately.

"Eat more for yourself." You cut a small piece of fish put it into Sanji's bowl.

"Yuki-chwannnnn so gentle~ This piece of fish is so delicious!" Sanji was moved to tears.

You see that Zoro is not at the table and ask Sanji "Zoro, doesn't he eat?"

Sanji frowned sighed helplessly, "Ignore that Marimo."

"Sanji and Zoro don't get along." Robin whispered in your ear.

"So." You finally understood.

Luffy's appetite for food, how big the portion is and how quickly he stuffs all the food into his mouth. You were almost full, but remembered that Zoro hadn't eaten yet, you put some food in the bowl and gave it to him later.

"Yuki-chwan, where are you taking the food?" Sanji asked curiously.

"Zoro hasn't eaten yet, I'll give him some." You stood up and left the table.

"Damn Marimo! Let a girl serve the food!" Sanji shouted angrily.

"You're so noisy Sanji!" Nami yelled at him.

You looked for Zoro with a bowl filled with food, and you saw him sitting and drinking while watching the sea. You slowly approached behind him feeling a strong sense of oppression coming from his back.

His vigilance never slackened from the beginning as he drew his sword pointed it at you. You were so frightened that you stopped quickly because his sword was pointed at you and your legs began to shake.

"What?" Zoro showed a fierce expression.

You were afraid that he would stab you with his sword, but you still swallowed your saliva and said, "...You didn't come to eat. I'll get you some food while Luffy hasn't finished eating, otherwise you'll starve."

He put the sword into scabbard and say "put it there." then continued to drink.

You put the food in his designated place and leave silently. Before leaving, you looked at his back thought for a while. Even if he made you feel scary and powerful, bu still had to say what you should say.

"Zoro...thank you for saving my life." Although he didn't look back , you still bowed to his back to express your gratitude.

"..." He just sat there silently.

"Don't just drink, remember to eat." You reminded him warmly again that the food was just there and left.

After you left, Zoro looked back at the food you put aside. He put down the wine, held the bowl, took a fork and started eating. He gulped down the food in the bowl, burped, put the bowl down and continued drinking.

You came back to the table and saw Robin waving to you "What's wrong?"

"I'll take you to your room." Robin stood up and walked to the room with you.

Robin is really beautiful. She has long black hair, is knowledgeable, and has a slim and tall figure.You couldn't help but keep staring at her, feeling very envious of her figure and you just a short girl.

"Why are you staring at me?" Robin glanced at you.

You panicked and covered your face with your hands, "I don't mean any harm, I just think you're beautiful."

"Hehehe, thank you." Robin chuckled.

You followed Robin to the room opened the door see Sanji and Chopper all well organized and waiting for you to come in. You stepped into the room and saw that although it was just a simple small room better than sleeping on the roadside.

"Thank you very much." You smiled.

Robin pointed to the clothes on the bed, "They are old clothes, if you don't mind."

"Why would I mind! I'm so grateful!" You bowed.

Robin leaned against the door. "Hehehe, is bowing also a custom in your world?"

You put your hand on the back of your head smiled, "It's actually a custom in the country where I live, to express gratitude. Everyone does this even if they pick up things for passers-by."

"I see. There are really rules." Robin chuckled.

"Yuki-chwan~ You don't need to do that here. We are more relaxed here." Sanji lit a cigarette and smiled.

Chopper jumped and raised his hands, "If you feel uncomfortable, you can come to me. I'm a doctor."

You squatted down and said, "Wow, that's awesome, Chopper."

Chopper is shy "Your compliments don't make me happy at all.~"

You looked at the shy Chopper "This is what happens when you are praised..."

Sanji held a cigarette and proudly said, "You can come to me anytime if you are in danger, hungry or need a hug."

"How considerate." You smiled shyly.

Sanji saw you blushing and nose bleeding, "You look so cute when you are shy!"

"Hehehe, let's leave first. See you later." Robin waved and left the room.

Sanji and Chopper followed Robin out of your room. You collapsed onto the soft bed and sighed. After what you have experienced now, you are sure that you are not dead yet, you are in another world.

The world of pirates...it's incredible. How on earth could you be suddenly transported to this world? Is this the so-called world without wonder or the world full of unknowns?

It’s really tiring to have to accept so many weird things all at once. You were about to die but did not die. Instead, you went to another world and almost died but was saved again. You feel exhausted, just closed your eyes and slowly fell asleep.

To Be Continued—

*If you have any ideas leave them in the comment section, and I will try to add in the story.*

[thesparkling-diamond27]

The Second Bridgerton And I: Part 6

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Y/n Clearwater is named the “Sparkling Diamond” by Queen Charlotte herself, but she doesn’t know what to do with all this attention. Of course she has her family, but sometimes that doesn’t seem enough. But what happens when she encounters a specific Bridgerton, which changes the course of her season.

Author’s Note: I am so sorry for not posting sooner. I have been a lot more busy with work, but I am on vacation for a week, so I have more time to write :).

Author’s Note: This chapter includes scenes from season 3 episode 3 of Bridgerton. Down below is the link to the part 5 and part 7. I hope you enjoy!

My family and I have decided to stay a little later for evening tea. I was currently sitting at the small table in the drawing room, playing a card game with Gregory, Hyacinth, and Alex. It was a pretty intense game, but I was good at this game, so I had a feeling I might have a victory.

“It is your turn Gregory!” Hyacinth said.

“I know I am overviewing my choices.”

“Well you are taking forever. Right Y/n?”

I was surprised she addressed me so bluntly.

“He is taking a while, but that is good. That means he is paying attention to the game.” I replied.

“Ahh! I’m bored. I am going to see what Colin is doing.”

Hyacinth placed her card hand on the table and walked over to the couches where Colin was sitting with Noah and Benedict.

“I am leaving too.”

Gregory copied Hyacinth’s actions and went over to Colin as well.

“I am afraid I have to leave you too dear sister. Have fun!”

“What?! Rude!”

Alex ignored my protest, ruffled my hair and decided to join the group as well. The cards were scattered all over the table, so I decided to help the maid out by cleaning up this mess. I slipped the last few cards into the box, closed the lid and looked around the room.

The room was filled with laughter and chatter and it was nice to be in such an eccentric atmosphere. My family does this, but my family is not as big as the Bridgerton family. I wonder what it was like with Anthony and Kathani. Probably even more lively.

“Do you like what you see?”

I turned to see Benedict standing beside me.

“I do. My family does things like this, but it is not as lively as it is now. I believe it is due to us being outnumbered by your family.”

“It is quite nice. Maybe you and your family can come over for dinner more often.”

“I would love to.”

Benedict walked a literal closer and spoke in a lower tone.

“Leave the room in a few moments to go to the chamber pot and meet me in the hallway.”

He walked out of the drawing room and left me with my thoughts. I wonder what he wanted to talk about. I decided to gravitate to my mama, Violet and Adeline until it is time to meet with Benedict. I waited a while and asked Violet where the chamber pot was.

“To the left and down the hall dearest. Do you need a maid to guide you?” Violet said.

“That won’t be necessary thank you.”

Violet gave me a comforting smile and I began my way towards Benedict. I turned left just like Violet said and I noticed Benedict waiting for me. Benedict grabbed my hand and started guiding me down the hall.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“To show you my paintings.”

We entered a room that was two doors down from the drawing room and I could still hear Francesca playing.

“Are you sure this is safe. I do not like the idea of someone possibly walking in here and seeing us alone together.” I said.

“I am sure. No one comes in here except for me.”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes I promise you.”

We both stared into each others eyes for a moment. Then he stuck out his hand and I placed my hand into his. He walked over to the double doors that were to the left of the room and we both stepped in.

“This room is my art studio.”

I entered and took in the scenery. The floor had patches of beige cloth in case paint dropped to the floor. There were two easels placed opposite from one another where blank canvases sat on top. Next to one of the canvases was a small table with a wooden palette on top. The palette was washed clean, but there was still traces of paint still left after being previously used multiple times. But what amazed me the most was at the back of the room.

There were many canvases leaning against the wall, and as I got closer I realized that they were all finished artworks completed by Benedict. I found myself walking towards the wall to get a closer look at them. There was a wide arrange of different paintings such as still life, abstract, landscapes and even a couple of portraits in a bunch of different sizes. They were all truly magnificent and I could not believe how talented Benedict was.

“Benedict…These paintings are amazing.”

“No you don’t have to say that.”

“But I do. They are incredible truly.”

“I do try my best. Thank you for the compliment.”

“You deserve it.”

Benedict lightly chuckled and started searching through the canvases. After a little digging he pulled a decent sized canvas from the pile and he presented it to me.

The painting in front of me was beautiful. It was magical and whimsical and everything in between. My finger traced the trail of the rainbow of colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, white. And even more colors due to the mixture of paints.

I couldn’t tell what it was, but that was the beauty of it. There wasn’t anything specific in the painting, so the person looking at it can interpret it in their own way.

“This was the painting I was mentioning earlier.” Benedict said, “The one that I was reminded of when we were gazing at the sunset.”

I continued to stare at the painting.

“I have no words. I love it!”

“Do you want it?”

I looked up at Benedict.

“Really?! You will let me have it?”

“Yeah sure. I don’t have any certain attachment towards it and you seem to enjoy the story behind it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh when he said that. It would be nice to have a good laugh and think about Benedict whenever I looked at it in my room. Not to mention that the painting was beautiful.

“Thank you. I shall cherish it.” I said while hugging the painting close to my chest.

“I am glad.”

“We should head back now. I am supposed to be at the chamber pot remember.” I said with a teasing smile.

“You are right.”

Then his face expression changed like a light bulb lit inside his head.

“I have something for you. Stay here before I forget.”

He then ran out of the room before I could protest. I grabbed one of the blank canvases from the easel and replaced it with the painting that Benedict gifted to me. The painting was where it should be. Placed for everyone who walks in to see.

Benedict came back into the room panting and out of breath. It looked like he ran a marathon.

“Give me a second to catch my breath.” he said.

“You did not have to run. You could have taken your time.” I scolded.

“I know, but I don’t want your family to become suspicious of where you are. Anyway, here I picked these books out for you from Thomas’s book store.”

He held out a stack of three books. I took the books from him and looked at him confused.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to buy me these books.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” He motioned towards the books in my hands, “Read the titles.”

I looked away from Benedict and began to read the titles that he wanted me to read.

“Daisy Miller by Henry James, Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, White Oleander by Jane Finch…I’m confused.”

“It’s a bouquet of flowers from me to you. I know they are not really a bouquet of flowers, but I know you enjoy reading and the titles of the books are flowers. You mentioned how you would like to receive flowers one day, so I thought this was a unique way to give you “flowers”.”

He made quotation marks with his hands as he said the word flowers.

When Benedict and I talked yesterday, after Lord Debling saved me from the balloon, I mentioned how I wanted to receive flowers one day. I only said that because earlier I mentioned how you can tell spring is here due to the flowers blooming.

I did not expect him to go out of his way to give me “flowers”. He definitely did not have to do this for me and I appreciated that he decided to. I also received these books on such short notice. Our conversation was yesterday and I am receiving these in the evening the next day. He must have visited Thomas’s shop earlier today.

The flowers weren’t the only things that were blooming. I felt my heart beat faster by the second, while I thought about the gesture that Benedict had done.

I placed the books on the nearby table and walked to Benedict to wrap him in a hug. He immediately brought his arms around me in response.

“Thank you.” I mumbled in his chest.

“You’re welcome.”

I pulled away and looked into his eyes and I became mesmerized one again. Benedict stared back and it was as if time had stopped. Usually around men I am extremely cautious, but when I stared into those crystal blue eyes I did not feel nervous. It was so easy with Benedict and when I am with him I don’t hold back.

I slowly inched closer as he did the same and Benedict’s hand reached to cradle the side of my face sending shock waves throughout me. How a single touch can have such an effect on me baffled me, but that did not concern me in this moment. He used his hand to guide my face to place my lips onto his.

I have read a lot of romance novels and I have always enjoyed reading about the love interest’s first kiss with one another. The anticipation and buildup leading to the actual kiss and then the feelings being felt after was always something beautiful to me. But reading a bunch of romance novels never prepared me for the real thing.

The kiss was slow and gentle, rather than rough, but I could still feel his passion and devotion as we continued. His other hand found its way to the small of my back and Benedict gently pulled me closer to him, if that was even possible. His touch was soft like I was made of glass and if he pulled me too hard I would shatter into a million pieces. As if he did not want to let me go and he was afraid I would disappear . I am glad he is taking this slow because I want to embrace and enjoy the moment while it lasts. If this lasts. Wait what are we doing?

Suddenly I was taken out of the strange haze I was in and pulled away from the kiss. Our foreheads met at the middle and I felt his breath blow upon the skin of my face. I slowly stepped away from Benedict and took a few steps back.

What just happened? Oh I know exactly what happened. Benedict and I kissed!How? Why? I was so confused and a million thoughts were rushing into my head all at once. We kissed, so what does this mean for us? Are we still friends or something more? Benedict broke the silence.

“Y/n?”

“We should…uh……probably return to the drawing room.” I said

I looked at his facial expression and it was hard to tell, but he almost looked hurt.

“Benedict…”

I waited for him to speak.

“Like you said earlier. You are supposed to be at the chamber pot.” His tone made me frown. It didn’t have the same joking quality that he had earlier.

I continued to stare at him and his expression turned cold and stand offish and I wanted to ask what had changed, but I knew there was nothing I could right now , even though I very much wanted to do so.

“Right….Yes of course.” I said.

I went to retrieve my books and painting and then Benedict and I exited his art studio. The air was awkward and I did not like it. I hope our friendship did not falter because we kissed each other.

—————————

Tonight was Lord Avcott’s ball and Adeline, mama and I were currently in the carriage on our way to the event. Father, Noah, and Alexander were in the carriage behind us.

I looked outside the carriage window and looked at the shops that we were passing. Even though I couldn’t see them, I could feel the eyes of my mama and sister on me. I have been quiet since dinner with the Bridgertons yesterday and my family knew something was wrong. My brothers already tried to get me to talk this afternoon, but I didn’t have the energy.

I was feeling a lot of emotions all at once and this carriage ride allowed me to collect my thoughts.

1. The conversation I had with the Queen

At the balloon event two days ago, when my family and I greeted the Queen, Queen Charlotte mentioned how she suggested Maxwell to my parents. I thought the Tewkesberry family were old friends of the family, but that seemed to be a lie. My mama wanted to talk to me after the Queen spoke her words and this afternoon like my brothers, but I never gave her any chances. I was angry that my parents made a choice for me. They did say that I didn’t have to marry Maxwell, but it is implied when your parents introduce you to another young man that you should marry them.

2. Penelope said she had a secret to share with me.

I know Pen has no intention to hurt me, but the fact that she is keeping a secret from me worries me. I thought we didn’t keep information from each other. I hope whatever she has to tell me isn’t anything terrible.

3. What happened with Benedict yesterday.

I have not spoken with or seen Benedict after we kissed and I am nervous to see him tonight. He didn’t seem pleased after we kissed and it hurt my feelings. Is he that repulsed by me? Did he react that way because he only sees me as a friend and will never see me as a lady? I hope what happened between us doesn’t change anything, because even though it looks like we won’t be anything more, even though I would like to be, I still want him to be my friend. As I thought of this I knew that my mama wanted to say something to me and she did.

“Dearest are you sure you are alright? The offer to stay at home still stands. David can drive you back home after he drops us off.”

When mama offered for me to stay home earlier today I almost considered it. I didn’t feel like facing Benedict again and it would be nice to ride with my favorite foot man David. It had been awhile, since we had a decent conversation.

Then after careful consideration I realized that I shouldn’t have Benedict dictate my choices. It is my choice to decide where I want to go to spend my days and nights. But I also haven’t seen Penelope in some time, and after reviewing both points, I decided it was best to go to the ball.

“I am alright mama. Thank you for asking though.” I responded.

I tried to give the best smile I could muster, but I knew the look that my mom was giving me: I am letting you off the hook for now.

“How are you and Lord Harvey sister?” I asked to try and change the topic.

“Lovely! He hinted at a proposal, so I can expect one very soon.”

“Oh that is great news Dara!” My mama said, “Soon we can start planning!”

My mama and Adeline excitedly began to talk about wedding preparations which I thought was absurd because Adeline isn’t even engaged yet. But it was nice to be off the spotlight for the time being and all this wedding talk made me think about Maxwell.

I received one letter each day, for the past couple of days, from him. He is currently in Paris dealing with a family estate with his father. He mentioned how he visited several pastry shops and he thought of me every time. He even purposefully purchased raspberry macarons because he wanted to be closer to me. The thought that he thought of me brought a smile to my face, but it simultaneously made me feel guilty.

Here was this kind and faithful young man, who had been thinking about me by sending me letters and buying things that reminds him of me, and I went and kissed one of my friends behind his back. What a girl I am. I hope Maxwell doesn’t notice a shift in my demeanor when he returns.

—————————

Penelope

I stood on the dance floor as I fiddled with my empty dance card. People were continuing to file in, so people were still mingling with one another as we waited for the first dance to commence.

I looked around the room at all of the couples when my eyes landed on the back of a particular person I hoped to see tonight. I began to walk towards him when I noticed Cressida, across the dance floor, looking at him as well in the corner of my eye. We made brief contact before we both realized we were after the same person: Lord Debling.

Cressida began walking towards Lord Debling and I began to pick up my pace. I had to get to Lord Debling before Cressida does is all I could think about as I walked past the crowds of people. I took a quick glance upon her and noticed that we were neck and neck. I could get there first if I scurried over towards him. I was about to reach Lord Debling when Cressida took several quick long strides and got to him first. It’s situations like these where I hated my height disadvantage.

“Lord Debling.” Cressida said.

I awkwardly turned around, so Lord Debling wouldn’t know that I was nearby. My plan completely backfired I thought. I wanted to set things straight with Lord Debling tonight. Our conversation at the balloon event was a disaster and I wanted to clarify and fix things. If only Cressida haven’t reached the table first!

The first dance was about to begin and couples began to join one another, so I stepped out of the way. I was going to wander around to see what more Lord Avcott had to offer for tonight when I noticed Y/n being a part of one of the couples about to dance.

————————

I was sipping lemonade by the refreshments table when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Lord Findlay and he brought a smile to my face. We haven’t seen each other since he showed up at my house to call upon me. It was nice to see a friend again.

“Lord Findlay how wonderful to see you.”

“We’ve been over this Y/n! You can call me by my first name Micheal.”

I do recall him mentioning calling him by his first name.

“Very well Micheal.” I said with a smile.

“Lovely. It has been some time since we spoke with one another. I was wondering if we can catch up.”

“I would very much like that.”

“May I have your dance card?”

He motioned to the dance card tied around my wrist and I slid it off for him to sign. As he signed my dance card he said,

“I’ll see you for the first dance of tonight Y/n.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He retuned my dance card and walked away to converse with others in attendance.

“Oh my dear Y/n.” I turned around to see Violet and Francesca in front of me and smiled.

“Hello Lady Bridgerton. Francesca.”

“Y/n dear we have been over this. Call me Violet.”

It seemed like everyone was telling me to call them by their first name these days.

“Alright Violet.”

“Where is your mother Y/n?”

“With my father and brothers near the dessert table.”

“And your sister?”

“With Lord Harvey.”

“Ah. Well Francesca is off to go talk with some suitors. Hopefully she can ignite a spark with one of them.”

I turned to Francesca. She looked hopeful and it didn’t look false. Maybe she took my advice from dinner yesterday and was also trying to please her mother in her own way, by introducing herself to suitors who she connected with.

“I hope to talk with you later tonight Y/n once I am finished.”

“I would love to.”

We both smiled at each other.

“We will see you later Y/n.” Violet said.

I could tell Violet wanted to begin introducing Francesca to some suitors, so I nodded in response and was once again brought into solitude.

The decorations were quite nice for tonight’s ball and I found myself eyeing the appetizing dessert table. The Orchestra that Lord Avcott hired was exquisite as well and I found myself tapping my fingers, against my lemonade glass to the beat.

As I my eyes trailed upon the decorations on the railing of the staircase, I made eye contact with Benedict. I sent a small smile up at him, and he just stared back. I tried to study his face to see what he could possibly be thinking, but I saw nothing. It was as if he put up a wall and I somehow felt like the wall was specifically for me.

I wanted to walk to him, but before I could he went into a nearby hallway and disappeared. It seemed like my worst fear had come true. Benedict doesn’t want to see me. But why? What did I do wrong? All we did was kiss.

“I believe it is time for our dance Y/n.”

I looked up and saw Micheal with his hand extended ready to approach the dance floor. I turned and looked back up to where Benedict once once. Even though the space was empty it was as if he was still there staring down at me. My heart wanted to run away from Micheal, run up the stairs and approach Benedict to find out what was wrong.

But my mind knew that I could not do that so, I took Micheal’s hand and followed him as he took us to our place to begin. The violin began the first few notes of the piece and we started to go through the motions of the dance steps. Even though we were dancing, my mind was on something else, and Micheal seemed to notice.

“Something seems to be troubling you Y/n. You can tell me, but it is alright if you wish not to.”

We reached the part in the choreography where we had to separate. I turned to look at the empty space and it was once again filled with Benedict, but he walking down the stairs with a woman I did not recognize. The only piece of information that I knew about her was that she was a widow.

Eventually I reconnected with Micheal and responded to what he had said earlier.

“I am having some trouble with….with a friend of mine.”

“I hope the friend is not me.” He joked.

“Oh no! Definitely not!…It’s my friend Benedict Bridgerton.”

“Benedict Bridgerton?” His eyebrows raised in surprise, “I did not realize you two were friends.”

“It has been a recent friendship this season. He saved me at Lady Danbury’s ball from Nigel Berbrooke and we have been friends ever since. We recently got into an argument and never had a chance to resolve our issues.”

I did not mention that we kissed because if I did my reputation would be compromised. I know Micheal would never share such information, but you never know who can he listening nearby and I didn’t want Micheal’s perception of me to change. Also if Micheal found out we kissed, than Benedict and I would have to get married and although it’s sad to admit, I don’t think Benedict would want that. As long as people don’t find out.

“Well I am sure you and Mr. Bridgerton will work this little tiff out.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I’m always right.” He joked.

I let out a few laughs. His mission to make me laugh was accomplished. We continued our dance with ease and when we finished I slightly curtsied as he bowed.

“It was a pleasure dancing with you Micheal.”

“The pleasure is mine. Excuse me I see some friends that I would like to speak to.”

“Go ahead.”

Micheal gave me a smile before walking over to his so called friends. As I walked off the dance floor a couple of suitors approached me to dance. I politely declined after mentioning that I had a few dances reserved with some other suitors, which was a lie, but I wanted to search for my family or Penelope and I did not want any distractions.

I returned to the lemonade table and noticed Penelope talking with Lord Debling and things seemed to be going well between them. At some point Penelope looked at me, smiled and motioned towards the corner of the room and I knew what she was trying to say: Wait for her over there until she finishes with Lord Debling.

—————————

Penelope

As Y/n was dancing on the dance floor, I noticed Lord Debling alone and I knew this was my chance to speak with him.

I quickly avoided the dancing couples in order to reach Lord Debling before someone like Cressida can swoop in.

“Lord Debling.”

“Miss Featherington. Any more encounters with wayward balloons?”

He seemed to be joking, so this might be a good sign.

“Not at present.” I responded.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am fetching Miss Cowper a lemonade.”

I stopped him from going to Cressida.

“Lord Debling. I am afraid I have not been honest with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“About…grass. I do not love it.I— I do not hate it, but I much prefer being indoors.”

“I see.”

“The person I was two days ago…I was pretending to be someone I am not. And I do not wish to do that anymore. The person that I am, I’m someone who enjoys society and gossip, even if I do occasionally hide at a soirée. I am someone who enjoys a good book more than exploring the natural world, someone…who does enjoy watching birds, but specifically from the windowsill, I’m someone who is over explaining themselves at the moment.”

I waited for him to respond. I hope what I said was the right thing to say. He did say that my frankness was immensely refreshing at Lord Tremble’s estate. I hope he still found my frankness refreshing today.

“How many yous are there exactly? And where do you hide them all?” He asked.

I inwardly sighed with relief.

“It does not bother you that I do not wish to spend my time exploring the wilds of nature?” I asked.

“Heavens no. If I only ever talked about nature, my dinner party invitations would cease altogether. I do not wish to court someone exactly like myself. I want to be with someone who knows who they are and embraces their own peculiarity, as I do. As I believe you do as well.”

I smiled at Lord Debling and he returned the favor. He placed one of the glasses that was in his hands in front of me, which was originally for Cressida, and I took it with silent triumph. We both simultaneously sipped our lemonade.

It felt good to be honest. This whole time I was trying to impress Lord Debling and I became someone I was not. Being myself was easier and Lord Debling seemed to like that version of me the best.

It made me want to be more honest with more people and one person who came into mind was Y/n. I turned from Lord Debling and back to the dance floor to where Y/n was. She looked happy as she danced with Lord Findlay and it made me want to make her happy. I knew that I had to be honest with her.

I didn’t tell Eloise my secret and look how that turned out. If I want to keep her as a friend I cannot keep secrets. It might mean that I will loose her forever, but at least I will be honest in the process.

————————

I made my way to the area that Penelope gestured with her head, and it looked “secret” and discreet. A perfect area to talk without being interrupted. As I sat by a nearby bench, my eyes drifted to the couples who were currently dancing. I scanned through the couples and was shocked to see Benedict dancing with the lady I saw with him earlier.

He looked happy with her and he had a smile on his face as he looked down on her. Seeing him like that broke my heart and my original mindset to try to mend things started to crumble. Here I was being upset about the way things were between us when he couldn’t care less and was with someone else.

“Hi Y/nn.”

I looked up and saw that Penelope had sat down next to me. She must have finished her conversation with Lord Debling. She looked at where my eyes were before and looked back at me concerned.

“Y/n are you alright?”

I gave her a tight lipped smile and nodded.

“Are you sure? Is it Benedict?”

I looked at her and realized that I couldn’t lie to her.

“No I am not alright.” I said with a sigh, “But I do not wish to talk about it right now because it is inappropriate for this type of setting.”

Penelope looked at me curiously, but decided not to pry, which I was grateful for. Then Penelope broke the silence.

“Remember when I told you that I had to tell you something?” She asked.

I nodded in response.

“Well I’ve decided to tell you now.”

Before I could say anything, Penelope grabbed my hand and led me out of the ballroom. I was confused with where she was taking me, but I didn’t complain.

We made it outside where fire pits were placed to keep warm if you wished to be outside. Penelope passed several people and the fountain before we arrived at a completely deserted area.

“Why must you tell me here?” I asked.

“Because I can’t let what I’m about to tell you be heard from other people.”

I was intrigued before, but now I am even more intrigued. What is so important that she can’t risk it getting out to someone else. The only thing I could think of is….Wait. Did she do what I did with Benedict with Colin again? And maybe something more?

“Pen….Did you and Colin…”

“What oh my goodness no! It is nothing of that sort. We did nothing more besides that one kiss.”

Relief traveled my body. I thought Penelope and Colin had relations and I got frightened for a moment. Many young girls throughout the ton do not know what intercourse is, but I do. My mama wanted to make sure that my sister and I didn’t get pregnant accidentally, so she told us about it about two years ago.

Around the same time Penelope found out about Marina Thompson’s condition, and she wondered how that came to be, so I told Penelope about it (which is how Penelope knows about intercourse, well most of it because I didn’t tell her everything).

“So if the secret wasn’t that then what is it?” I asked.

I looked at Penelope and noticed that she was playing with her fingers. She was really nervous. I grabbed her shaking hands and led her to a nearby bench, so she could be more comfortable.

“You can take your time Pen, or you don’t have to even tell me, since you are so worked up about—“

“No I want to tell you. When I was talking to Lord Debling earlier, I told him that I have not been honest with him and that I was pretending to be someone that I am not. And I do not wish to do that anymore. And after our conversation I realized that that applies to you as well. You deserve to know who I am.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“No I don’t expect you to, but you will once I tell you…it’s just that last time someone found out about this, they didn’t look at me the same way and we are no longer friends.”

I thought about who that could possibly be.

“Are you talking about Eloise?” I asked.

She nodded her head and I grabbed her hand once again.

“Whatever you tell me won’t change how I perceive you. You will always be my friend Pen. Never forget that.”

Penelope smiled with appreciation.

“Thank you Y/nn. That means a lot.”

Penelope took her hand away, straightened her hair and smoothed out her gown.

“I…I…”

I encouraged her to continue.

“I am Lady Whistledown.”

[peppershark]

WOLFER --- The real California history behind the Tomione Fic

Convict Lake Camp (OwensValleyHistory.com)

When I was a kid, my family frequently visited Bishop, California. I can still feel the light-headed enchantment of hopping out of the van at a relative's green, creek-watered ranch shadowed by towering granite faces of the High Sierras. The dusty road and sage-sharp aroma propelled my imagination two hundred years into the past.

Wolfer is set in 1890 Bishop Creek, and while some of the location names are changed to fit the story, the town really had ranching barons like the Sacred 28 families, churches which exerted certain levels of social power with the well-to-do folk, boarding houses for mill workers and on-farm worker housing for fruit pickers and cowboys--or perhaps the odd wolfer.

It's amazing what you can dig up when you're procrastinating working on your WIP, lol. I did a lot of initial research while writing a Gingerrose fic set in post Civil War Bishop Creek.

Here are some things I found.

Main Street, Bishop Creek 1880 (OwensValleyHistory.com)

In Chapter 1, Tom rides down Main Street to the marshal's office (played by a grudging Severus Snape) and runs into Hermione.

Way off into the upper right you can see the steeple of the First Baptist Church on Main Street.

East Line Street, Bishop Creek (OwensValleyHistory.com)

Tom chases Hermione to Line Street, where he pushes her up against the Brown's Machine Shed, which is of course re-named to fit Lavender Brown's family.

(OwensValleyHistory.com)

Check out that snow! Sitting at 4,000 feet of elevation in the foothills of the East Sierras, the snow can get quite voluminous.

W.D. Roberts Ranch, Round Valley (OwensValleyHistory.com)

The ranch near the dry saltbeds of Owens Lake where Draco visits Harry, (by way of Mad Eye Moody) might have looked like this.

Cerro Gordo photo taken some time between 1871 - 1879 (OwensValleyHistory.com

We get a brief glimpse of the Cerro Gordo silver mine when Draco and Harry ride off into the sunset together for a night of wild debauchery. The brothels and bawdy houses within these sprawling mining towns would have perhaps been some of the only public places for late 19th-century gays to be themselves. Miss Lola's was among the more famous, and I'm struggling to find the website where I originally learned this this but I believe she hosted queer sex workers and provided space for an early LGBTQ+ scene.

The silver mine itself brought together a richly diverse group of fortune seekers. I accessed California census documents and found that while Bishop Creek was mostly white, Cerro Gordo had a much more diverse population (interestingly all marked with 'I', even Latinx names).

I did a phone interview with the Inyo Historical Society and chatted for an hour with a local historian, telling him I was getting context for a novel. (He didn't need to know that my novel was also a fanfic, hahaha.) The historian told me the mine had Mexican, Black, Chinese, and Indigenous populations working as miners, teamsters (people who drive wagons), cooks, brick masons, farm laborers and all kinds of interesting jobs related to running the mine.

Main Street in Bishop Creek, 1878 (OwensValleyHistory.com

One thing that sticks out in my mind from the conversation with the historian is how the white and Mexican ranchers demolished the irrigation canals the Numuu Indigenous tribes had dug to create a green landscape in Owens Valley. Native Americans have been 'farming' America's landscape for thousands of years in a low-impact way. In Chapter 4, Tom muses on this detail as he's setting a wolf trap on Rosier's ranch.

Perhaps the most illuminating account of the region comes from Sarah Winnemucca, daughter of Chief Truckee (after whom the town is named). Sarah travelled as an advocate for Indigenous rights and cataloged her experience and the story of white settler colonization in her book, Life Among the Pauites: Their Wrongs and Claims which you can read for free here.

Thank you for diving into California history with me!

Read Wolfer here.

[kinardsevan]

im just curious, what are your thoughts about finishing your fics? i know right now it probably seems impossible as it does reading them, but just wondering. your writing is so good & i love it so much 💙 do whatever works for you, just was wondering 🫶🏻

i was actually planning to address this ❤️💙

So. Here's my current mindset:

I did start a fix-it fic last night. I have another idea swirling around in my head atm for another version of one. My brain is at this point quite literally wired to create. (Even if I'm only doing ceramics and painting this semester 😛). Those will get finished.

-Empty Bones will continue to see updates. Especially with my need to put the icky feelings somewhere. I'd be lying to you if I said I haven't considered writing another whump fic solely based off of Tommy really fucking shit up for us all last night. But that idea may live in my head (or on my hard drive for a while). I don't know how often they'll come, but they'll still come.

-the devil doesn't bargain has always had plans to get wrapped. i just need to find the time (and creative outlet) to do so. I know where it goes and how it ends, it's just getting there.

-never til now... right now I don't have an answer for that.

But I'm not stupid. I know why you're asking.

ANEURYSM FIC:

so I'm not going to lie. I haven't written much on it in weeks, solely because of the amount of work that goes into it. I know where the next scene that's been in my head for a few weeks goes, I just haven't actually gotten to putting it down. I went through a stretch in the past few weeks where I worked or was at school for 24 days straight and barely wrote during that time. As it sits at this moment, chapter six is just under 11.5k. I view it as reaching roughly 20, possibly 25.

the problem lies in the fact that the end of this story is so FUCKING happy. when I tell you I already have part of the wedding night written and all the emotion that goes into it... there's so much work and thought put into it, but right now, if I'm being honest with you... finishing aneurysm fic might not happen. this week was already gutting me before the show aired last night, and that really felt like being kicked while so many of us were already down. so to that end, I really struggle to be able to find a way to want to touch it when it really requires me to tap into a certain part of my creativity that feels really broken right now.

I know some of my friends have said that they're done, and that they're not going to finish their stories, or have even posted what they had written so far. that's fair and valid. i won't be doing that, at least not right away. i will work to finish them as long as there's an audience who wants to see them come to fruition. I really want to believe in the part of fandom that says that it's more than just when a couple is together on screen, and that there will be people who continue to write bucktommy because I truly do enjoy doing so, and I enjoy reading it. This couple brought me back to fandom and fanfiction in a big way, and right now I can at least tell you that I'm not done with it. I don't know how long it will take to roll out updates, or what happens with my relationship to the show, but I know that much.

[audi0med1c]

Hey girl! Found you on tumblr! (I have the same icon on AO3 😋)

Just wanna say how much I love reading "Is It Over Now?". It's the first story I go to when I finally get in the reading mood!! ❤

I'm trying to avoid looking too much at your page rn cuz I haven't caught up and I don't want spoilers. 😆

You're a writing fiend! How do you keep your 'writer's block' at bay?

Thanks girl! 🫶🏼 I do recognize the icon😉

and the BIGGEST thing that keeps my writers block at bay is the fact that I have a creative collaborator for this story, @darkomen-carey (🙌🏼🤍🫶🏼🫠🥰)who I can always reach out to and tell her the scene I’m stuck on and why and then talk thru it together. Usually it’s because I’m struggling with conveying the proper emotions or HOW to bridge a scene into what’s coming next / how to setup other characters/their mindsets/etc. (and more often than not the solution is her giving me a virtual BONK over the head telling me I’m waaayyyy overthinking or over complicating whatever it is for no reason😭)

Having someone able to talk through things and give feedback or ask questions that help me formulate better visions in my mind is not only helpful but WAY more fun and enjoyable than struggling alone racking my brain for the right “thing/ dialogue/ scene” I can’t figure out.

**PERFECT example: I’ve struggled with writing a lot of Clarke POVs this deep into the story because it’s HARD for me to justify her mindset, how she can be SO OBTUSE and blinded to Lexa’s struggle and true feelings. (I don’t think you’re quite at this chapter yet or maybe you just passed it, the struggle/writers block hit hard writing Clarke’s bath tub spiral following the vegas trip/mall encounter) But @darkomen-carey relates to her better than I do and helps tell me what sort of things would likely be going through Clarke’s mind to drive her actions… and even threw together a quick visual for me (posting it below👇🏻) to help remind me of “how it all looked to Clarke” leading up to their breakup…. what triggered her paranoia spiral and this new lens she started seeing Lexa through that she’s not been able to really switch off since…..that really helped me settle into Clarke’s mind better to write her scenes.

She also sends random images/edits that either apply to later parts we’ve already discussed, therefore helping establish that scene/visual better for me once I get there, or inspires a new scene entirely bc I want to include those image somehow.

honestly my little celebrity idiots consume my thoughts and attention at ALL TIMES (to the detriment of most everything in my real life) so it’s just a constant loop of scenes and dialogues playing out, so whenever I do finally have time to sit down and write I’m never wondering WHAT happens next but more which scenes am I plucking out in what order… how to bridge them together the right way… what planned arcs/scenes maybe don’t make sense without adding on a bunch of other chapters haha

👇🏻The Video by @darkomen-carey showing “Prequel” Clexa spiral/ Clarke’s descent into paranoia that eventually lead to the breakup and why she views Lexa the way she does where the story picks up 2yrs later:

[cinnamontails-ff]

Why this is the perfect cover for "Accountant's Guide"

Alright, folks! It’s been a week of coming to terms with my overflowing emotions regarding this beautiful piece of cover art for the Ukrainian translation of Accountant’s Guide, and I am ready to wrestle it all into an essay.

Spoilers for the story ahead! It’s been finished since September 2023, so either read it here or proceed at your own risk!

First off, a huge, huge thank you to Marko_Wowchok for taking the time to translate my work and of course, the incredible @razinbee for creating a cover that, quite frankly, I could see as an ad for the next Studio Ghibli movie. You are both so very talented and your love and care for my story is so, so appreciated!

Now, as for the piece itself: Let’s start with the choice of showing just their hands, clasped intimately atop a piece of paper. It’s something I never would have come up with in a million years, but it’s absolutely genius. There’s a sense of subtlety to it. It leaves room for imagination because you don’t actually see what they’re doing; it’s simply implied that they’re most likely going at it on the desk (again). I love this. Because while I wrote Accountant’s Guide as a romance (and it does contain explicit spicy scenes), my goal was always to write Astarion and Scarlett as partners first and lovers second. I am really not a fan of romance stories that rely on physical attraction alone. Basically, if the story wouldn’t work with both of them being ugly, it’s not for me.

Astarion and Scarlett come together as reluctant allies at first. Scarlett offers him a deal to take out Cazador together and Astarion agrees mostly as a way of keeping himself entertained. He does not believe for a moment that she might actually succeed and he is actively planning to throw her to Cazador’s feet at the earliest convenience. But simply by working together, they start to grow closer over time.

Scarlett is the first person in centuries to treat him like a normal guy™. She is a very practical person - she has to be in order to willingly cooperate with the man who’s led her sister to her death. And while she isn’t immune to his flirting, she ignores it because she is painfully aware that he’s way out of her league and nothing good can ever come from that. It is only when she starts to see his vulnerable sides that she develops feelings for him and he, in turn, for her. At this point, however, they’ve both already saved each other’s lives several times. She has fed him when he was starving and he has slaughtered a bunch of guards that interrupted his poorly planned heist/date idea. They know each other, trust each other, rely on each other – they are a team in every sense of the word. When they do eventually share their first kiss in chapter 13, it is a powerful scene (if I do say so myself), but it is also really just one more layer to the bond that they have cultivated over the course of many months. Showing their clasped hands and nothing else is such a fantastic way to visualize the depth of their connection. It is a gesture of companionship and trust as well as intimacy and romance.

Then there is the positioning of their hands: Astarion’s on top of Scarlett’s, his fingers pinning her down, while her fingers are splayed out helplessly - dare I say, ecstatically. It is a stunning representation of their romantic dynamic. Astarion is the experienced, confident sex god who usually takes the lead, while Scarlett hasn’t done a whole lot of things before meeting him and is generally happy to go along with whatever he has in mind. He is her first. He is the one who shows her everything her body can do and he is careful in taking things step by step, working her up from missionary to slightly kinkier stuff all the way to her sitting on his face in “Pocket Money”. His hand on top of hers, holding her and guiding her, is a beautiful depiction of that.

At the same time, I like how the tenseness of his fingers in contrast to her more relaxed posture indicates how much he clings to her. After two centuries of being Cazador’s slave, Scarlett is literally the first time Astarion has anything that is his own. She is his first genuine connection, a lover he’s picked for himself, as well as his savior in helping to break him free from Cazador. He is terrified of losing her, so much so that he even tries to convince her to let him turn her into a vampire, so she won’t die before him. None of that is a perfectly healthy relationship dynamic, mind you, but who could expect that from him after what he’s been through? She is his lifeline. His anchor. The one glimmer of hope in two centuries and this man is ready to eviscerate any vampire lord, spawn, or magic teacher (sorry, Gale!) who so much as threatens to come in between them.

I also want to shout out how the softness and subtlety of their clasped hands reflects how their relationship has to unfold in secret. The second half of Accountant’s Guide lives off the tension of them plotting their plan B while living under the same roof as Cazador, both of them bound to him in different ways. They are in his house, their every move under constant scrutiny by Cazador as well as his spawn, and one wrong step could be the end for both of them. Those are absolutely cruel circumstances to be building a relationship in. Astarion has to make up lies to Cazador as to how he has gained access to a more regular blood supply. He has to pretend to be disgusted with her, so Cazador will continue to send him to comfort her, not one of the other spawn. Scarlett has to hide her bite marks and (awkwardly) flirt her way out of Cazador’s attempts at getting closer to her. There’s a sense of powerlessness to their situation that makes the intimate scenes they get even more special to both of them. I am generally a fan of subtlety, a big proponent of “less is more”, and I couldn’t be happier with how this is conveyed in the simplicity of their clasped hands on the desk.

Finally, the ink and fountain pen. Fountain pens have accidentally become one of my defining characteristics as a writer and I am not at all mad about it. I love heroines who succeed through cleverness and tenacity rather than Strong Female Character syndrome™. When I designed Scarlett, I really wanted someone who would throw Astarion for a loop. Someone he’d have no clue what to do with, someone so different from him and his reality, her every word would cause a flood of error messages in his precious brain. I wanted someone down to earth, someone who would play off him and make all his silly lines sound even sillier - and I wanted someone who’d be able to free him from Cazador through nonconventional and meme-worthy means.

And so I made her an accountant.

I have spoken about this before, but I hail from a family full of accountants. My research for this fic was every single family dinner I have ever attended. I love the ridiculousness of defeating a vampire lord through tax fraud because it plays on the inherent arrogance of Cazador. He is immensely powerful, physically as well as in his social influence, but he, too, can be brought down by a very diligent, very detail-oriented accountant who can demonstrate just how much money he owes the government, thus motivating them to step the fuck up and put him behind bars. It’s the epitome of the (fountain) pen being mightier than the sword. Scarlett is a character who has been underestimated her entire life and she doesn’t really mind it because when the time is right, she knows she can brandish her fountain pen and show everyone what’s what. She has a very quiet, unassuming type of power about herself that I have seen in the many badass accountants in my family and I love how this is reflected in the fountain pen, the ink pot, and of course the infamous ink stains on her fingers. Scarlett does not care about the ink on her fingers – she cares about getting shit done. And I love her for it. And Astarion loves her for it. But he will use every chance he gets to tear her off her work and bend her over the desk because he is also absolutely crazy about her.

This piece is sexy without being graphic. It is beautifully intimate and soft, yet still holds that tension between the two of them with Astarion holding on to her as hard as he possibly can and Scarlett practically melting at his every touch. It shows how a very unassuming, very mundane pencil pusher went and took down the immortal vampire lord with nothing but her mind and her fountain pen (and, well, math magic). The simplicity of it all is what really kicks me in the gut, I think. Because their love is simple at its core. It’s inevitable from the moment they first strike their deal in chapter 4. They don’t have a lot of grand gestures or epic fight scenes (the only fight scene is largely taken care of by The Gang as Astarion is stuck to the floor and Scarlett goes one-on-one versus Laiara). Even their love confessions are quiet and unassuming. They just grow together in a way that has always felt very natural to me and then they hold on and weather it all together until they emerge on the other side, together.

This piece hits right into the core of my story and I couldn’t be happier to see something so beautiful emerge from what I have created. Thank you. I will treasure this forever.

- Cin

[geralts-yenn]

the natural thing to do

Mikey (Hellraiser) x reader (female reader, no race, bodytype, or physical features mentioned)

summary: After another breakup, instead of your best friend you only find her brother Mikey at her home. The guy you had a crush on since you were 12…

warnings: mention of relationship problems, smut: fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-i-v sex (be smarter than these two and protect yourself, guys!)

word count: 2,8k

A/N: This is my first time, be kind, everybody.

I‘m writing a longer fic right now but I just can’t help myself to write the chapter that needs to be written. So I started this small story that came into my mind one morning because I think we definitely need more Mikey fanfics.

I‘m not a native speaker, so there will be bad grammar, vocabulary and typos. Also, not beta‘d

Inspo board

You stop at the door, gasping for breath. Not sure if it was the stairs up to the fourth floor or the exhaustion of crying like mad for the last hour. You know you look like shit but you don’t care. Cathy knows you well in the state you’re in right now. It’s not the first time you show up at her door in the middle of the night after you split up with some guy that you thought would be your prince, only to turn out he’s just a frog. You ring the door and wait for Cathy to get up and let you in. You hide your face in the palms of your hands, trying to steady your breath.

When you hear the door being opened you let your hands fall down to your sides. Your eyes fall onto a face that you didn’t expect to be there. You freeze in shock, your mouth agape. „Sweetcheeks, hey, everything okay?“ Mike looks at you with an expression that is quite unusual for him. Instead of his signature smirk that was plastered on his face most of the time, right now his eyebrows are drawn together to a frown.

Of course he looks confused, you probably woke him and now you stare at him like an idiot with smears of mascara in your face. You are still not able to form a word. Mike cocks his head and lifts one hand to grab the back of his neck, his long fingers running through his dark curls. When he steps to the side, a silent invite for you to enter, you realize he is only wearing some loose boxers. Your look falls onto his wide chest. His body isn’t the same as you remember it when he was younger. There are muscles that you didn’t recognize and you also notice the soft hair that covers his chest and stomach. 

You enter the hallway, toe off your sneakers and throw your jacket onto the chair in the corner. When you look up to Mike again you finally realize that you still haven’t said a word to him. Your mouth is dry and your voice sounds rough when you finally speak to him. „Sorry, you must think I‘m mad. I wanted to see Cathy. Isn’t she here?“ Mike leads you to the living room. „She’s with Ryan. I don’t know when she’ll be back.“ You notice pillows and a blanket on the couch. The TV screen shows a paused scene from ‚Nightmare on Elm street‘. Following your gaze Mike explains: „She lets me sleep on her couch tonight. My roommate asked for a little privacy. He and his girlfriend want to celebrate their anniversary.“ There it was again, his signature smirk, accompanied by an eyeroll. 

He gestures with his arm for you to sit down. As you walk over to the couch Mike leaves the room. You let yourself fall onto his makeshift bed. As soon as you lean back you close your eyes and take a deep breath. It smells like Mikey. A scent that is so familiar to you. That you smelled so often when you were at Cathy‘s home, back then when all of you were still in high school. That you haven't been able to smell since Mikey left for college. A scent you didn’t know you missed that much. But now that it fills your nose again it feels like you found a treasure you had long forgotten.

Mike comes back and sits down next to you with crossed legs. He hands you a bottle of water that you take with a small smile as a thank you. „Wanna talk with me instead, Sweetcheeks?“ The soft expression on his face surprises you. You don’t think you have ever seen him like that. You take a sip from the water bottle to gain some time. In your mind a million thoughts are fighting to come to the surface at the same time and yet not one of them seems to make any sense. Mike wraps an arm around your shoulder and slowly rubs with his thumb over your arm. „It’s okay, Sweetcheeks, take your time. I just want you to let me know if I need to kick someone in his balls.“ For a second his smirk appears on his face again before it changes back to a warm, soft smile.

„No need to kick anyone, Mike!“ you say, chuckling. "Actually it's pretty silly that I'm crying. I split up with my boyfriend tonight. It was my decision. But it hurts nevertheless." Mike watches you intently. When you pause, he puts his hand onto yours. You appreciate the reassuring gesture. It seems as if Mike learned to be a little more sensitive in the last months. You half expected him to tease you with a mocking comment. But he stays silent, waiting for you to go on. "It‘s just so frustrating. Everyone else seems to find someone that makes them happy. But I can go on a thousand dates, every guy that is interested in me is an idiot.“ Mike licks his lips and gives you a sympathetic look. „Oh, Sweetcheeks, you‘ll find someone, too. I’m sure of it. You are sweet and you are beautiful. And most of all you are funny and laid back.  Every guy should be glad to be with you.“ Mike‘s words make you feel heat crawling up your cheeks. Feelings that you had buried deep down in your heart suddenly fill your whole chest. Your heart is racing. You can’t avert your eyes from Mikey‘s plush lips. It takes all your willpower not to crash into him and kiss him. 

Like so many times before you remind yourself that you can’t be with him. Not like that. He’s your best friend’s brother. No matter how much you like him, you can’t risk your friendship with Cathy. You notice you're staring at Mike without saying a word, again. Nervously you look over to the TV. You need some distraction. „Hey, can I watch the movie with you?“ Mike reaches for the remote on the coffee table. „Yes, of course! Want some snacks?“ He jumps up and gets a package of chips from the kitchen. He lets himself fall back onto the couch and puts his feet onto the coffee table, right next to yours and offers the package to you. With a smile you grab a handful of chips as Mike presses the start button. You watch the Movie in silence, your hands meeting from time to time while fishing for some chips. One of the jump scares gets you so bad that you grab Mikey‘s arm. „Easy, sweetcheeks!“ he chuckles. „Sorry! I should have known. I have seen that movie at least 5 times already.“ But your hand rests on his arm for another few precious seconds to feel his warmth. 

After some time Mike‘s mobile starts to ring. „It’s Cathy“ he shows you. „Don’t tell her that I’m here. I’m sure she wants to stay at Ryan‘s. But she would come home for me. Let her have a nice night. I’m alright again, anyways.“ Mike grins at you and nods. He talks to his sister and as you expected, Cathy tells him that she’ll spend the night with her boyfriend.

After the movie ended you stand up, time to go to sleep before you get to think about kissing Mike once more. „I’m tired. I‘ll go sleep in Cathy's room. I’m sure she doesn’t mind“ Mike watches you through his long eyelashes. „Okay, good night, Sweetcheeks.“

When you lay in Cathy’s bed you are everything but tired. Restlessly you toss from side to side. Every time you close your eyes you see his handsome face, his curls, his chiseled jaw, his blue eyes and his cheeky smirk. The unplanned encounter with Mike hit you hard. Every emotion that you thought was long faded ran through your body and mind again. It was him. It was always him that filled your whole heart. No wonder you could never feel anything for someone else. He's the reason no relationship ever worked. No other guy could keep up to him. 

You think about all these hidden feelings that you denied to acknowledge for so long. The love you felt for Mike was always there. Since you’ve been twelve. But now it rushed over you with a force that swept you off your feet. 

Your mouth feels dry and you get up to fetch a bottle of water before you should finally try to get some sleep. As you enter the kitchen you see Mike squatting in front of the fridge. He doesn’t notice you. The light of the fridge illuminates his body and you can’t stop staring at him, thinking how desperately you want to kiss him, want to make love to him. A silent tear rolls down your cheek. Mike gets up and turns. His eyes go wide when he sees you standing at the door. But he doesn’t say a word. Slowly he walks over to you, stopping way too close. His face is only inches away from yours and you hold your breath. Mike notices the wet trail of your tear on your skin and rubs his thumb over it to dry it. 

And this tender touch is everything it needs to make your world turn upside down and crash all the walls you built around you. You see Mike’s pupils grow wide and in the next moment your lips crash into each other. Mike kisses you fiercely, sucking and biting on your lower lip. You stumble through the kitchen until your thighs are pressed against the kitchen table. Your hands start to wander over Mikey‘s body. He feels so good, silky skin over hard muscles. You inhale his scent and then open your mouth for him. You feel electrified as your tongues touch.

His big warm hands are all over your body. A moan escapes your mouth when you feel his hardness press against your core. Mike‘s lips travel from your mouth over your jaw to the tender skin under your ear. You rub your palm over the thin fabric of his boxers and Mike answers with a deep growl. One hand finds its way under your shirt and squeezes your soft breast. His thumb and index roll your hardened nub. „Oh god, Mikey!“ you say, pleading. His other hand lets go of your neck and his fingers brush over your chest and ribcage into the waistband of your panties. „Oh fuck!“ he moans when he runs his fingers through your wet folds and then pushes two of them into you. Slowly he pumps them in and out. 

But then, suddenly, Mike opens his eyes wide and takes a step back. Panting he looks at you with a shocked expression. „We can’t do that,“ he tells you. It almost sounds as if he needs to convince himself. Silently you nod. Another tear runs down your cheek when he starts to walk out of the kitchen. At the door he stops and turns. You see the pained look on his face. "I am so sorry. I can't ruin your friendship with my sister. And this is what will happen when I mess up. Like I always do. I'm just an idiot sometimes. Guess, I messed it up already. But I thought about kissing you so often, it felt like the natural thing to do."

Your heart beats like crazy. And you know it's time to take a risk. You get up and walk over to Mike slowly. A hand on his cheek, you shake your head. "You won't mess up! We won't mess up! Because THIS IS the natural thing to do for us." 

Your lips brush over his cheek, over his lips, carefully, almost not touching. Mike doesn’t move. Desperately, you increase the force of your kiss, press your lips on his. Slowly your heart sinks. Was it wrong to do this? But then he fists your hair and returns your kiss. The world stops turning for a brief moment. All the love you had in you for so long erupts into your kiss.

Mike grabs your thighs and lifts you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around him. He walks you through the kitchen and lets you down onto the table again. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and you help him dragging it over your head. Mike steps back and watches you with dark eyes. „You are beautiful, Sweetcheeks!“ 

Then his hands are on your bare breasts again. He spills wet kisses all over your neck and shoulder, slowly sinking lower until he sucks on your sensitive nipple. You gasp at the sensation. Mike sinks on his knees, his kisses following him from your breasts to your belly button. His fingers slip into the lacey straps of your panty and you lift your hips so he can drag them down. 

With his shoulders he presses your thighs wide open. Your heart races in your chest. Mikey purses his lips and blows over the wetness that covers your folds. You chuckle over his teasing and when you look down to him you see his smirk stretch over his face again. But your chuckling transforms into a loud moan as Mike’s tongue dips into your folds. You grab a handful of his dark curls as he works you with his lips and tongue. You‘re almost over the edge when you pull him up to you again. 

In a deep kiss you taste yourself on his tongue. Your voice breaks as you beg: „Mike, I want you inside of me!“ Mike lets out an animalistic growl. He pulls his boxers down and kicks them from his feet. Your eyes go wide when you see the huge cock in his fist as he slowly pumps himself. Mike runs his tip through your wet folds up to your clit and back to your entrance. „Please, Mike! I need you!“ With your plea he can’t hold back any longer and he pushes into you. 

Slowly, inch for inch he stretches your walls around his cock. You want him to go faster, but he takes his time until he finally bottoms out. For a moment both of you don’t move. Mike looks into your eyes. He is as close to you as he can be and if feels like this is exactly how it needs to be. The perfect moment. 

And then he starts to move his hips. He fucks you slowly and sensually. His lips and hands are all over your body. You hook your legs around his waist to press him closer, stilling the desire to feel him as deep as you can. Mike grabs your hips and finally he increases his pace. You arch your back when you feel you're coming close to your climax. Mike moves his fingers between you and when he starts drawing circles around your clit you fall apart. Your walls are clenching and milking him. With a grunt Mike crashes one more time hard into you and fills you with his seed. You both move slowly, riding out your highs. Finally Mike stops and takes you in his arms. He spills small kisses over every inch of your face and neck.

Once more Mike lifts you up and carries you bridal style into the bathroom. He puts you down onto the rim of the bathtub and starts to clean you with a warm, wet washcloth. „Thank you, Mikey!“ You say, your voice hoarse. You are totally spent. „I feel like my brain isn’t working at the moment, sorry.“ You giggle. Mike lifts his head and smirks. „Did I short cut your brain? Maybe I need to do the same thing once more so that it‘s working again.“ You both laugh. „I don’t think I need my brain anymore tonight. But maybe tomorrow when we wake up we should try.“

Mike takes your hand and you walk into the living room. You both crawl onto the couch. Mike pulls your back against his chest, wrapping his arm around your waist and letting his hand rest on your breast. He nuzzles his nose in your neck. „This feels good,“ he murmurs. „Good night, Sweetcheeks.“ You already drift off to sleep.

You both are sleeping deeply when Cathy opens the door of the apartment the next morning. Her gaze falls onto your jacket and shoes. The corners of her mouth curl up. On her toes she carefully enters the room and looks down onto the sleeping figures of you. You lay on Mike’s chest, your arms and legs are entangled with each other. Cathy pulls the blanket over you both. Slowly she walks over to her own room. With a wide smile she says: „Thank god, they finally gave in to their feelings.“ It was the right decision to go back to Ryan after she had seen your car in front of the building.

[endious]

CHAPTER ONE.

FEATURING 、JEFF THE KILLER X F!READER

WARNINGS 、FOUL LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, DEATH

NAVIGATION 、THE SMELL OF IRON AND 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘.

Sirens blare loudly, echoing down the streets and catching the attention of those that drive by or are in the area. Three cop cars, flashing red and blue are pulled over on the shoulder of the road, a couple officers stand beside the cars and talk as their sights are directed towards the ditch or what laid in it.

“That’s the fifth one this week.” An older officer says, voice gruff from age as he stares down at the bloodied sight of a body that had be brutally beaten. The face of the presume to be woman that had been missing for two weeks was a mangled mess in the ditch, her body in an uncomfortable position and her limbs tangled as she laid with her face in the soil beneath where all the disgusting bugs and worms resided. Her dark brown hair was tangled in knots and dirtied from the lack of care it received much like the rest of her body.

The older officer turns to two much younger men beside him, there’s a worried look in his eyes as his grey mustache twitches and he presses his lips into a thin line. “This is serious, more serious than we had thought.”

”Are they really connected?” One of the men speaks up, brows knit together as he gives the body a look of pity as she’s pulled into a body bag with care and carried into the ambulance that had arrived a few moments ago. The young man turns his attention back to the seasoned officer, “It just doesn’t seem real.”

”Well, these are the types of things you experience having a job like this.” The older man sighs, staring out at the woods just on the other side of the ditch. There’s a distant look in his green eyes that the younger officers can’t quite name but it seems somber the way he looks out at the trees. “We’ll find the bastard that did this. We got dna on ‘em this time, he can’t keep hiding forever.”

He walks away, a slow pace with a slight limp as he heads for his cop car and radios in to dispatch on the situation. The last two officers give each other a glance, dread of the future and what awaits when the time comes hanging heavy on their shoulders as they turn and walk to their respected vehicles and the crime scene is closed off shortly after.

The only thing that remains to be dealt with later on is the blood staining the earth as wind blows and birds chirp in the distance. The sun hanging high in the sky as midday rolls around and the area becomes desolate.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

There’s a throb in his skull that’s irritating and souring his mood. He huffs out a breath, glancing at his younger brother sitting beside him with narrowed eyes. Even the mere existence of his brother made him angry. He grumbles under his breath and opts to look out the window at the scenery beyond.

He can hear his parents bickering with one another in the front seats, talking on about the changes happening and how it will effect the family. Hah, what futile bullshit. His black hair cascades around his face as he looks down at the journal in his lap. His mother bought it for him nearly two years ago, “so you can get your thoughts out and onto paper whenever you need to express them, Jeff.” He thought- no, he still thinks it’s a shitty excuse to get out of actually being a parent but he could care less about that. He already knew how his parents viewed him. That was partially why his parents moved from neighborhood to neighborhood, state to state almost yearly it seemed.

He still wonders why he keeps the damn thing despite never writing a single thought onto a piece of paper within it. The black leather cover is smooth against his hand as he traces invisible lines into it with his index. He narrows his eyes, staring down at the inky color and contemplates whether he should throw it out the window or keep holding onto it like it will eventually bring him any benefit in the future.

”Honey, do you actually know where the neighborhood is? I can find it on my phone,” His mom quips, gaze casted to her husband in the driver’s seat as he idly taps his finger against the steering wheel.

”Christ’s sake, Jess, I don’t need no god damn navigation app to go a couple more miles down the road!” He exclaims with an exaggerated huff and she crosses her arms and turns her nose up as she looks out the passenger window.

”I just didn’t want you to get lost, is that so wrong of me, Laurence?” She huffs, seemingly hurt by his tone and words. They’ve been doing this back and forth yapping nearly the whole damn trip. It was such a headache.

”Hey, Jeff look at the sign outside!” His brother, Liu, says suddenly with a smile as he presses his cheek into the glass of the window and stares at the tall and large sign that has a town’s name on it. “‘Hives Forest’… Hey, Dad, is that where we’re going to be living?”

Their father glances up at the rearview mirror at his youngest son’s face before directing his attention back to the road. “Yep, it sure is..” He says but he doesn’t sound awfully enthusiastic about it.

Jess turns on the radio, turning the volume up just enough to hear whatever song was playing. The sound of a breathy female voice comes through the speakers and a beat Jeff often heard his own mother listen to meets his ears and he recognizes it as a Britney Spears song. He mentally rolls his eyes, annoyed he’d have to listen to the shitty radio station’s songs for the next 20 or so minutes.

His brother starts to hum the tune to a different song, tilting his head side to side as he smiles to himself. He acted like such a damn child it irked something in Jeff and the added annoyance of him humming only made Jeff’s blood boil a bit more than before.

“Do you have to hum some stupid song this entire ride, Liu?” Jeff suddenly snaps, brows furrowed together and his lips turned down into a frown as he glares at his younger brother. Liu blinks at Jeff, surprised by his sudden hostility before recovering almost instantaneously as he nods.

”It’s my favorite song, Jeff. Plus, Sully likes it too!” He smiles widely, gesturing to the small rabbit in a animal carrier on the carpeted floor of the car beside his legs that swing idly.

Jeff scoffs, rolling his eyes as he gives his brother a judging look. “You’re 15 and still playing pretend with your pet?”

Liu frowns, “And you’re 17. It’s weird you still carry that journal around.” Jeff nearly has an outburst, vile and rude words on the tip of his tongue as he twists his upper body to turn towards his brother when he hears his mother shuffling in her seat before turning her head to look over her shoulder.

”You boys doing alright?” She asks, staring at Jeff with a hint of confusion at his tensed up and awkward position before he sighs and leans back into his seat and stares out the window.

”Yeah, we’re fine.” He grumbles out and she looks over as best as she can at Liu who nods in silent agreement as he poked a finger through one of the large grids in the small animal carrier and gently pets the white rabbit’s head.

She hums quietly and turns to face forward once more. Her hands fiddle with one another in her lap as she stares at the road ahead and the houses slowly coming into view in the distance.

She shuffles a bit in her seat uncomfortably, messing with her seatbelt before fiddling with the radio and its volume causing Laurence to groan beside her in annoyance.

”God would you— stop fidgeting so damn much. We’re nearly there.” He scoffs, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and she makes a nervous sound in response.

”I’m just… I’m worried Laurence. A new house, new school for the boys, a new neighborhood…” She pauses for a moment before continuing in a whisper, “I don’t know how it’s going to effect them. I’m just worried about them, hon.”

“Yeah,” Laurence sighs, repositioning his hands on the steering wheel as he flips the blinker on and slows down to turn into a neighborhood. “So am I.”

Every home in the entire neighborhood looks like a bunch of copy and pastes. Boring, bland, typical suburban homes everywhere you looked. The streets were empty, no children playing outside in sight as they drove rather slowly down the desolate road.

Jeff stares out the window at the various houses. At least a few of them are different colors rather than being entirely cookie-cutters. He sighs through his nose, hands squeezing the journal in his lap absentmindedly before the car turns into a driveway and rolls to a stop at their new home.

Everyone exits the vehicle, staring at the house in all of its glory. The thing looked like shit compared to the other homes. It stood out like a sore thumb with its chipped and dark colored paint and it’s overall rickety looking exterior. The porch looked nearly as rough as the haunted-house wannabe itself looked. The wood of the porch deteriorating from previous days of rain seeping into it, Jeff was predicting which one of them would break a hole through the weak looking stairs and hurt themselves until his father puts a hand on his shoulder and tugs him away from his thoughts.

Jeff slowly turns his head just the slightest, staring at the shape of his dad in his peripheral vision.

”Care to help me and your brother get the boxes inside?” Laurence asks, voice laced with irritation as Jeff sees his mother head up the porch and unlock the front door.

Jeff doesn’t say a word, opting to stay silent as he turns and walks past his father and opens the back hatch of the suv. He grabs a box, hearing his brother follow his actions shortly after as he heads towards the porch.

The gravely trail that leads up to the steps crunches under his converse shoes before wooden stairs creak and groan as he walks up them and places the first of many boxes inside the home. He gets a small glance of the interior and it looks to be in far better condition than the exterior.

He walks to the back of the car as his father passes him heading for the house with a box in his hands, clearly struggling to do so. Jeff heads for the back of the car once more and grabs a rather large and heavy box with a small grunt as he turns to walk towards the home.

He nearly, nearly bumps into a girl just walking down the sidewalk by the car.

Her small gasp meets his ears right as he reacts in time and he stops himself mid-step. His brows furrowing together and his lips curling down into a frown as he huffs in annoyance. He peers over the box at the shorter girl and his irked expression falls, completely enraptured by the sight of her.

”I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were there.” She says, apologizing in earnest as her brows knit together upward and she gives him an apologetic look. It makes his blood run hot in his veins, makes his brain short circuit and he’s left unable to even say anything. What the hell type of effect does some girl that nearly walked into him have on him?

He manages a simple shrug but he knows he’s probably still got a look on his face because she chuckles nervously. It’s silent for a moment, awkwardly so as he stares down at her and she struggles to maintain his gaze before her pretty eyes are glancing over to the direction she was heading and she sees someone that she’s obviously familiar with.

The girl walks past Jeff, offering a gentle smile when her eyes lock with his once more as she gives him more space on the sidewalk before casting a glance at the rest of the family moving boxes into the home. It’s a small interaction, insignificant in the grand scheme of things and yet something about her made a seed plant itself inside of his chest. Her eyes that sparkled with innocence, and that short skirt that barely covered her ass… He nearly gets lost in a trance, eyes glued to her figure that slowly grows smaller the farther she walks away from him before his father’s voice snaps him out of it and Jeff glares over at the middle aged man.

”Hurry up with the box! We don’t have all damn day to waste, son.” His father yells out Jeff, causing the teen to silently seethe with anger as his fingers dig into the cardboard box and he walks towards the house. His head is filled with crude words he wants to spout out and maybe a few violent thoughts mixed in there as well but he doesn’t get to think on it for too long when he drops the box to the ground in the large living room and his father shuts the front door.

Liu looks over at his older brother with a smile as he holds the animal carrier in his hands, obviously struggling to which Jeff holds back a sneer at the sight.

”Jeff, why don’t we go check out the rooms? It’ll be fun!” It won’t be fun but Jeff would rather find his room so he can stay in there away from everyone else. Jeff shrugs and heads up the creaky stairs first while Liu hurriedly places the carrier down, Jeff hears his mom call out something along the lines of, “food will be ready soon!” but he wasn’t really paying attention as he ascended the stairs.

There’s two doors on the left and three on the right, one door is directly down the small hall but he immediately assumes it’s the main bedroom or a storage closet.

He glances to his left, walking towards the closest door and twisting the knob and pushing it open. The door groans as it slides open and Liu leans to the right to peer past Jeff at the room. It’s rather empty, with only a bed, some curtains that looked like it has some burn holes within it and the smell of smoke filling the room.

Liu’s nose scrunches up in disgust at the smell as he glances down at the carpet an odd color of dark gray with splotches of light gray within it. “Ew, it smells like a smoker lived in here.” His brows furrow as he looks at the wallpaper that looks soiled from water damage. “What the heck happened to the walls? I don’t really like this room..”

Jeff scoffs and turns to look down at Liu. “Who said you got first pick?” He grinned, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned on the doorway. “You haven’t even seen the other rooms.”

Liu’s mouth opens but nothing comes out so he closes it a moment after. He looks over at the next door and then back at Jeff. “Then let’s check all the rooms before deciding!” God, that cheery voice was really giving Jeff a headache.

Liu opens the next door, eyes wide with curiosity but his expression falls at the sight of a bathroom. The small space doesn’t look very clean and the sight of the toilet and gross rug by the shower makes him shiver in disgust. “Ew, the previous owners didn’t even clean this? It’s disgusting.”

Jeff doesn’t seem too bothered by the sight, mainly concerned over the discolored tiles on the walls and how they got so yellow. The place was seeming to become more and more suspicious and more of a health hazard than they had originally thought.

”Let’s just move on.” Jeff sighs, turning and walking to the other side of the hall and hearing the sound of his younger brother follow close behind like a lost puppy.

He reaches for the door on the opposite side of the bathroom. “Let’s see what’s behind door number three.” He says unenthusiastically as the door creaks open and he looks into it. It was a basic bedroom in seemingly better condition than the previous one they’d seen. How boring.

”I like this one a lot better.” Liu speaks up, implying he’s already claiming it as his own and Jeff rolls his eyes as he turns to walk towards the next door when Liu grabs at his hoodie sleeve.

“What?” Jeff sighs, turning and looking down at his brother who points towards the bedroom and more so pointing up at something. He raises a brow and takes a few steps towards Liu and leans around the open doorway to follow where his brother was pointing.

”What even is that on the ceiling?” His younger brother asks, brows knit together in confusion and then Jeff makes the same expression himself before stepping into the room. “Jeff! Wait-“

”Oh c’mon, are you really scared of a fuckin’ stain on the ceiling?” He sneers to which his brother shrinks in on himself in embarrassment. Jeff narrows his eyes as he looks up at the dark splotch and raises his hand to touch it. He can hear his brother make a disapproving sound over the action but Jeff didn’t care, his sickly pale fingers make contact with the stain and he instantly recoils his hand down with a look of disgust.

”It’s still wet,” He says, looking down at his hand as he spreads his fingers and watches the black substance web between his index and middle finger. He furrows his brows and with a grimace and groan he wipes it off on his black jeans. “Gross, sticky shit.” He mutters to himself, his fingers still hold a faded dark and inky black residue on the pads of his digits.

He turns to Liu with a look of annoyance. “Don’t fuckin’ touch it, it stains your skin.” He says with his jaw clenched to which Liu nods repeatedly yet his eyes are still focused on the black splotch on the ceiling, curiosity in his green eyes.

Jeff storms past his younger brother, his upper arm bumping into Liu’s shoulder as he walks past him and out of the room. Their names are called from downstairs from their father and before Liu can say anything to Jeff he’s already stomping down the stairs into the living room.

”In here boys!” Jess calls out to her sons and both their figures head towards the sound shortly after, staring down at the dinner on the table and Liu grins widely with excitement as he takes a seat at the table.

Jeff takes slow strides to the table and sits down beside Liu, eyes boring into the wooden surface before glancing at the plate of spaghetti still steaming in front of him.

Liu turns to his mom at one end of the table and smiles, dimples showing in his cheeks as he grabs the fork beside his plate. “Thanks, mom! I was starving!” She gives him a soft smile in return before glancing at her husband on the other end of the dining table who’s already eating without a single care in the world. It causes her to frown but she’s silent on it and begins to eat quietly. The sound of metal clinking against plates fills the room as Jeff continues to stare down at his food, clearly lost in thought.

However this doesn’t go unnoticed by his mother. She stops eating momentarily. ”Jeff, are you alright?” she asks in a quiet and concerned voice. It catches his attention, brings him back to the present but he doesn’t remove his gaze from the plate of spaghetti slowly cooling off.

”’m not hungry.” He says barely above a whisper and by this point the entire room is silent and their eyes are on him. He hates it, he hates the attention pulled onto himself.

His father scoffs, a sound that’s nearly mocking as it meets Jeff’s ears and he glares over at his father, finally looking away from the food. “Why don’t you go cool off, huh? See how nice the backyard looks.”

He almost, almost makes a remark but holds his tongue as he and his father scowl at each other. There’s an invisible tension rising in the air and Jeff clenches his fists tight under the table, imagining how tight he’d have to squeeze his father’s neck in order to see his eyes pop out.

”J-Jeff,” His mother says, struggling to come up with a proper solution to ease the anger bubbling up inside of him. “Your father’s right.. Why don’t you go outside— it’ll be good to get some fresh air!” She stumbles with her words, trying to sound convincing but the slight tremble in her voice just makes Jeff stifle a dry chuckle.

He stands up from the table, eyes glued to his dad for another moment before he turns and leaves the dining room and heads for the backdoor in the kitchen.

”Don’t be out there for too long, you hear me?” Fuck off you prick, Jeff thinks to himself as he clenches his jaw and pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek to hold back from saying something his father wouldn’t like.

He shuts the back door a little rougher than necessary, daring his father to come and say something about it before a few moments of silence pass and he relaxes his tensed up shoulders with a deep sigh.

He steps off the small back deck that’s there to offer and sits on the steps with a small huff through his nose. He rests his forearms on his knees and looks down at his hand, the faded smear of that black substance on his skin. He swore it still looked freshly wet, glinting on the pads of his index and middle in the pale light from the moon that hung high in the inky black sky.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

The snake

<<<Prev (Ambition) (at what cost) Next>>>

Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid reader

Word count: 1500

Warnings: mostly none, character death

Note: Work has become so intense all I do is come back home and sleep through the week even though I really want to sit back to write a chapter 😔

I've got four or so chapters left which will be up every Sunday!

I might continue to write one shots and flash backs from within this AU once the story is done, cause I can't let go of buggy yet 🥹

---

You fiddled with the ring on your finger as you walked down the corridor towards the archives. Hassan wasn’t there and your questions lingering in your mind didn’t leave you alone either. You were certain that the date of the coronation would have been given to you first. Hassan had promised. You clasped your hands together in an attempt to see through the plot that was at work here. Trying your best to work through this conundrum, all your clues and evidences scattered across the table without leading you anywhere.

With Eleanor always by Helge’s side, you eased. He would not be in danger from more threats while he had company too. The burden had been lifted off from your shoulders to care for him, he could now find what he was looking for with the woman who was vehement in keeping him safe. But with the engagement announcement and Theodora twisting the ring on your finger into a political element, it made the hairs on your arms to rise. Neither you nor Helge was free from this web of lies.

Buggy’s most vulnerable declaration of love now had turned into a piece in a puzzle. The man who rarely gave away a part of himself was now weaved into the tapestry of this mess. So you protected the aquamarine jewel on your finger more than anything, because you were carrying his heart. You knew the arduous journey of having to earn it, you weren’t going to drop it now.

But with the oceans having chosen him as their worthy king, he too had a stake in the game one he could chose to play or not. He had wanted to meet with his crew urgently since the events of this morning and though you trusted him, there was a voice that said he could still be ardent about the one piece. That what you had to offer was still not quite as worthy of what he was looking for.

All the preparations were well underway, the people of Maraka were thrilled to finally have a true Nerrocean on the throne and so soon. But you didn’t feel all too different. All you knew was to follow your heart and that wasn’t the best when dealing with the rules of court. It hadn't quite helped you solve this mystery either. You were no where close to finding the truth behind Helge's father's death, the instigator behind the revolt that led to the death of your parents and the one who was after your life now.

But a part of you though, it was ready. To stop running, to stand in the shoes of your parents who had left behind a legacy, a calling that felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. It was time that had ripped you apart and now had sewn you back together giving everything you had craved for, even though you had to hide under enclaves and not give away your smile the moment your pirate captain walked into the room masquerading as a joker.

It was all right in front of you, almost at your finger tips and yet it was still fragile. The adrenaline in your body never settling, making you stay alert that in turn it left you feeling fatigued. You couldn’t focus on the tasks at hand, just when you thought you were a step ahead, it was revealed that you were in fact three steps behind this hidden enemy. Who was working behind the scenes, wrapping their gnarly tentacles around your feet like a kraken that had awoken from its sleep.

You touched your forehead and your finger singed your skin. Your flaming hands just as volatile as your thoughts. You hid your hand in your sleeves as you headed towards the royal mage.

Otis was from the Banyan family line, he was still quite young having only been a young man when your parents had passed. He didn’t have much to do since then, with the royal line being put on pause till your return. He continued to live alone, exiled in one of the towers. But even with you back, he had never once ventured to visit you.

Now with your ability beginning to lose control ever so often, you had no one else left to ask for help but him. So as you stood looking up at the stairway that led to his quarters, you sighed. It was a long way up. You looked back down the passage you had come from, your heart and mind worried about Hassan’s sudden disappearance. It was in his nature to be away when he was researching something. Maybe he was alright. Maybe he had found something.

The overwhelming desire to protect everyone you knew pulsed through your veins and your fingers burned again and when you looked down at your skirt, burn marks had scorched the fabric.

You had no time to lose, if you couldn't trust yourself to help the ones you loved, you had to pull yourself together till you were capable enough to do so. So you picked up the edge of your skirt and started up the stairs.

The door loomed ahead of you, the dark wood looking like it had aged with time but there was light escaping through the cracks. Atleast that confirmed someone was here. You reached to knock but the doors opened on its own making a gust of cold wind sweep over you.

“Come in quickly before I decide to close the door on you.”, you heard a voice as you entered into a chaos filled space. Flying books, moving furniture, bubbling potions and a baby dragon fluttering around in excitement. But there was no one else here.

You stood still, taking in the environment around you, the warm light and the carpeted floor, but you could feel the presence of another being around you.

“You look dreadful.”, the voice said and it sounded rather close as though he stood near to inspect you. You dabbed your forehead to prevent sweat from trickling down your face.

“You never came to see me.”, you huffed a breath getting straight to the point as you looked around you trying to focus on where you had heard him.

Instead he laughed and it swirled around you.

“I was there when they brought you in.”, he said as though he had to go out of his way and that it had taken up a lot of his time.

“And you didn’t bother to stick around?”, you asked feeling rather irritated, one for his sense of nonchalance and the other for having climbed up ten storeys worth of stairs for nothing.

“You weren’t ready, I would have been wasting my time.”, he spoke but you could see him. His calm attitude began to get under your skin.

"Not like you’ve got much going on.", you mumbled at the solitude that rested in this place even amidst the chaos.

"I’ve always got a lot going on.", he bit back as though you wouldn't understand his dealings if he explained them to you. You heard the clinking of glasses, pages being turned, the little dragon cooing but a part from that, the mage was silent. You tapped your foot impatiently.

"You know what, I’m wasting my time.", you raised your hands up not bothering to know where he even stood.

"I should not have come up here.", you shrugged your shoulders as you turned towards the door. Anger began to bubble, worry deepening it's clutches on you as your mind wandered back to Hassan and Buggy and everyone else.

You felt your skin prickle when could feel your fingertips anymore, turning to look at your hands, you gasped. Blue flames had engulfed your skin from your wrist onwards. It's wasn't just a burn anymore, it danced over your fingers in full form, as though it held the ocean's rage and it's beauty.

But your pulled away from being mesmerized when you heard a loud thud of a staff ramming into the floors behind you and the doors in front of you rattling in the quake. When you turned, Otis stood in front of you with a wide smile on his face.

He looked like he could use a month of sleep. His curly brown hair extending in all directions not combed back, his beard well groomed and his green eyes rimmed with a lush set of eyelashes. He wore a mage's vest but his shirt collar held a distinct gold corner with the royal crest that distinguished his rank.

“The thing about mages is that we can only reveal ourselves when you’re ready.”, he leaned on his staff as he spoke to you.

“and I am now?”, you questioned shaking your hands which reverted them back to how they were.

"You are and I am honoured to serve you.", he bowed his head.

"Tell me, how can I be of assistance?", he asked extending his hand towards his table.

"I want to control the outbursts.", you replied as you moved towards him as he hummed in response list in thought.

"Your father had the same difficulty.", he tapped a finger on his forehead as though he remembered.

"Can I get it under control before the coronation?", you asked to which he shook his head.

"Gaining control over your ability isn't as simple, even more so if you have the mark of the sea.", He said as he turned to you.

"Show me your hands.", he said as he held his hands out with his palms facing up, you placed your hands it in his.

"You ability links your emotions with the strength of you mind, the more in sync, the more stronger.", he spoke as you began to feel his hands turn warm.

"Think of someone you love.", he instructed and it was easy. Buggy's smiling portrait emerged in your mind's eye and soon your skin began to flicker, threads of blue dancing around yours when you felt the burn. Otis held onto your hand even as it grew hotter. You couldn't think of anything else and the more your heart began to fill up in the love you had for him, the brighter your flames began to burn. And as you suppressed your cry that bubbled in the base of your throat, you saw a swirl of white light emerge on your skin, just like the brand Buggy had on his chest.

You looked at Otis but he looked serene, the heat not once hurting him as he focused on your hand instead and when the heat settled, your hand cooled turning normal but the brand stayed. He pulled up your palm closer to inspect it.

"You’re the first legend come to life.", he said, his voice turning giddy for second.

"You thrum with a magic that is ancient, like the sea is within you.", he held your hands in his gently.

"I feel it now", he stated as he closed his eyes.

"Do you?", Otis asked to which you closed your eyes and a moment later, you felt it.

The sound of the sea, the movement of the waves, the thunder, the rolling clouds, the storm and the calm. The surge of power in your veins, leaving you feeling refreshed and electric, you felt your lips stretch in a smile as you held onto the edge of the table, shocked at your capability.

"He should have a brand similar to yours", Otis stated, to which your gaze shifted to him.

"Who?", you asked nervously.

"Your pirate.", he smiled at you.

"I know everything.", he stated holding his head higher as though he could hear through the whispers in the castle. You assessed him, no one knew Buggy had the mark too. You knew Otis was powerful, if he was set apart to teach and guide the royals themselves. If he had wanted to kill you, you would have been dead already.

"He does.", you admitted to him as you took a seat.

Otis noded feeling pleased as he took a seat too.

"It’s never happened before.", he pushed back his curls from his forehead as he looked at you.

"What hasn’t?", you furrowed your brows in curiosity.

"The fulfillment of Meluminera and Tenebris's love story. The love between moonlight and the dark sky manifesting into reality. Giving you the power to control the sea and the weather.", he elaborated.

It began to make sense why you were a target. Once you were on the throne, you strength would only continue to grow.

"But he’s not the one you’re marrying are you?", he questioned based on the invitation that was on his table.

"I thought you knew everything." you remarked with a smile.

"Indulge me some gossip will you.", he rolled his eyes as he sat back into the cushions.

"The mercourt has decided to play a dangerous game.", you sighed not knowing where to start but it seemed like he understood without your explanation.

"They always do.", he pursed his lips, a haunting look passing over his features as he zoned out.

"Whatever you do, choose the one with the mark.", he advised, his eyes locking with yours.

"Cause if you don’t, the sea will take him back.", he said not wanting to elaborate further. But it gripped you, the truth behind his statement. If you vowed yourself to Helge, even as part of an act, it would kill Buggy.

"Now what else can I help you with?", Otis asked clasping his hands together trying to shift the mood.

"You said you know everything, how?", you asked in an attempt to ask about Hassan's disappearance.

Otis snapped his fingers dramatically and huge water droplets began to float around you both displaying everything that was happening this instant. You saw Buggy walking back to the castle. Helge and Eleanor standing together on a balcony, their fingers almost touching. Staff running around preparing the throne room. You skimmed through the rest as it marvelled you, the amount of information you could gather just from being in one place. But one droplet in particular caught your eye.

It was Hassan, resting on his cane as he clutched his chest with the other hand, as he rested up to thump on your door with fading strength.

You felt time stop, blood rushing to your head as panic surged. You looked towards the door in desperation, that no matter how fast you moved it would still be late. But Otis placed a hand on you shoulder as though he knew what to do. He spoke words in an ancient languages and the space in front of your ripped open to hold a portal. You squeezed his hand as a gesture to say thanks before you ran through the void. You felt your stomach churn as the darkness enveloped you and your feet felt the solid ground beneath them, you were an arms length away from Hassan to catch him as he fell.

He face contorted in pain as sweat dripped down his forehead, his eyes disorienting which he fought to place his focus on you. You held him as he heaved his breath, feeling helpless as he placed a shaking hand on your cheek. His eyes began to tear up while yours trickled down your face.

"Guards.", you yelled down the hallway in the hopes that someone would come.

But before you could call for them again, Hassan said your name to quieten you.

"I don't have much time left.", he held onto your hands as he placed a torn page in it.

"The snake.", he mustered his strength to speak.

"The snake is here.", he whispered as his eyes fluttered to a close.

He exhaled and slumped, his body weight pinning you down making it impossible for you to move.

"Guards.", you yelled again as you weeped, the paper in your hands fluttering down to the ground next to you when you head began to hurt.

The pain took over as you placed your hands on the carpet, your heart crumpling as you screamed, blasts of blue scorching it's way through the floor and up the walls.

The sound of guards marching up towards you, Hassan's still and cold hand resting next to yours as though he was asleep when the blue flame turned red as it burned. But nothing could console you, as your cry echoed down the walls.

You looked at the half scorched paper now by your side. On it a picture of a tattoo revealing the head of a snake. You took it as you wiped your tears, the only concrete proof towards who your enemy was. You snuck in into the corner of your sleeve as the guards approached you.

---

Tags:

@lotr-got @juhdoche @wooyoungsrightsock @mysingularitybts

[dearestvante]

stuck with you; kth. | 01.

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader , namjoon x fem!reader genre: non-idol au, exes to lovers (?), roomates au, angst, fluff (??idk), miniseries warnings: short chapters, lowercase writing, swearing, kinda toxic relationship, unrequited love, fear of commitment, use of petnames (baby & honey), tae is a menace and an asshole but that’s cause he loves you and you’re with someone else right in front of him wc: 1k

masterlist.

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your soft giggles fill the room as your boyfriend kisses you all over the face then moves down to your neck, even though he knows how ticklish you are.

“joon, stop, i might hurt you!” you say as your head falls back, against the armrest of the couch, still giggling.

“you could never hurt me, baby” your boyfriend replies, kissing you so gently, sometimes you wonder if he even wants to. you were not used to this softness, kisses with your ex were always so passionate, breathless, even.

nice, here we go again. you’re making out with your boyfriend yet still, you’re thinking about your ex. and his kisses. and the way his long, delicate fingers roamed your body every time he pressed his soft, pink lips on yours.

suddenly the lock on the front door turns and, speak of the devil, the person from your thoughts appears behind it. the scene doesn’t faze either of you, considering you still live together.

you push namjoon away, and sit up on the couch, smoothing out your clothes. your boyfriend does the same, though also throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his chest.

“don’t stop for my benefit” taehyung says as he walks through the living room, towards his room, a cocky smile spreading across his face. he always does that. no “sorry for interrupting” or anything, just a childish joke or an insensitive comment, and every time, you wish you would’ve just kicked him out the day you two broke up, instead of letting him stay until he finds a new place. but something inside of you didn’t let you do that.

“why is he still here?” joon asks you, with one eyebrow raised, his jaw tensed. he’s angry, and you can’t exactly blame him.

“cause apartments are not cheap” taehyung answers instead of you, ignoring the fact that he’s not really part of the conversation. “but i don’t expect you to know that, having mommy and daddy resolve everything for you”

namjoon is seconds away from breaking your ex boyfriend’s perfectly sculpted face, you can already see him clenching his fist. yes, he was wealthy - well, his parents were - but he never bragged about it, nor he took everything he got for granted. you knew about his status, because he was your boyfriend, but how did taehyung find out about it was a mystery.

you take namjoon’s hands, rubbing them with your thumbs, comfortingly.

“don’t listen to him, baby” you say, making taehyung scoff and retreat to his room. “he wants to see you pissed off, don’t give him that”

“next time, you’re coming over. i can’t deal with this shit anymore”

“i will. and i’m sorry” you say, lowering your gaze, but he lifts your chin up.

“it’s not your fault that he’s a dick” he claims, and leans closer to kiss you once again. and you’re waiting for those butterflies to finally wake up and cause that sweet feeling in your stomach, but they never show.

taehyung was standing in the kitchen, ready to enjoy his bowl of jjajjangmyeon, when your bedroom door opened, revealing you and your boyfriend, hand in hand, smiling at each other. safe to say, he lost his appetite very quickly. to clear any misunderstandings, you weren’t the problem. your angelic smile that turned his whole world upside down wasn’t it either. the buff, six-feet-tall man on your right, and the fact that he was the cause of your joy, that was the problem. he hated namjoon with every little cell in his body. not because he was such a bad person - he was quite the opposite, actually, which made taehyung hate him even more - but because he had you. he could hold your hand, kiss you, touch you. all the things taehyung couldn’t do anymore. but who’s fault was that, actually?

he turned his back to the two of you, but still kept watching, from the corner of his eye. namjoon talked about something as you walked through the living room, you watching him so attentively, even if it was something you didn’t really understand or cared too much about. the same way you used to look at him, every time he tried to explain to you one of his new projects. eyes glued on him, nodding continuously, always asking questions or sharing your own ideas to show that you care. cause you did, you always cared about him. the memory makes him smile faintly.

“don’t tell me your little prince has a curfew, it’s not even ten pm” he says after you close the door behind namjoon. “damn, maybe living in a luxury apartment for free isn’t all that”

“he doesn’t” you reply, as you walk into the kitchen area, with your arms folded, brows furrowed.

“want some?” taehyung asks, pushing his bowl of ramyeon towards you.

“taehyung, i don’t understand you. you broke up with me, now one minute you act like we’re friends and then in the next, you treat me like i don’t even exist. not to mention your attitude towards my boyfriend…”

taehyung’s jaw tenses cause of that last word, the one he wishes you would never use for anyone else. he doesn’t say anything, mind too blurred to formulate a coherent thought, so he just storms into his room. on his way he can hear your last words and your sigh.

“my point, exactly.”

he’s leaning against the door, aggressively wiping away the stray tears, born from frustration and anger. he’s not angry at you, he could never be. he’s angry at himself, for being a coward, an idiot, for letting you go so easily. he fucked up, badly. you probably hate him by now, and you have every reason to. you should hate him, he thinks, for treating you like this. but at the same time, he can’t help but selfishly hope that someday, somehow you might take him back. he knows he has to fix this, he wants to fix this, but he doesn’t have the courage to do what it takes.

he sits there for a while, like the sad, little boy who’s afraid of his own feelings.

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a/n. hey lovelies! i'm back, with a new fic and im planning on making this one mature, something i've never done before, so bear with me pls and minors stay away!!! anywayss i hope you will enjoy it as much as i did writing it hehe. take care ❤️��🩹