#which is in the top three things i am still looking forward to

[recurring-polynya]

lol. LMAO, even.

[tinytennisskirt]

The Gymnast

College! Art x Patrick x Gymnast! Reader

Summary: (as requested) "college!arttrick with gymnast!reader in which they’re basically pervs with all the stupid questions but she matches their freak and they’re totally stunned would be hot i fear."

the boys sit in on a gymastics practice and the girl they take interest in happens to take the same interest in them.

warnings: mentions of weed. threesome, reader gets fucked by art and pat, fingering, handjob. smut! smut smut smut!

“Dating outside of tennis is a better idea, I’m telling you,” Patrick said as the boys walked down the Stanford sports building halls. The plan was to go play a few indoor games on the court, but the boys being boys, stopped at the cafeteria first, and both of them, eyes bigger than their stomachs, had too many hot dogs and no longer felt much like practicing. Patrick snatched a sheet off of one of the corkboards on the wall. “Girl’s sports.” 

“What am I doing with this?” Art chuckled, taking the list from Patrick.

“What are we doing with this? Finding a sport, going to watch. Something to do. Pick something that isn’t tennis, you know. See some girls doing their thing.” 

Art chuckled, “You don’t think that’s a little weird?” 

“Nah, games are meant to be watched, I’m sure there’s something good going on.” Patrick shrugged, trying to snatch the list back, but Art extended his arm so Patrick couldn’t reach it, grinning. “You pick then.” 

“Pickleball.” Art debated. 

“Too close to tennis, come on. Pick something hotter.” 

“Hotter? Thought you’d like the pickleball skirts.” 

“I do, but they’re just tennis skirts. Give me the list-” he took it from Art’s hand. “Rugby…Could be good, contact, girls on girls…” Art did a half-nod, thinking about it, but then he shook his head no. “Volleyball.” 

“I still have flashbacks from intramurals,” Art said. “Go down to the less popular stuff.” 

“Good idea…” Patrick’s finger trailed down the list. “Fuck yeah. Gymnastics?” 

“Done,” Art agreed. The boys shared the same stupid look on their faces as they looked at which gym the girls gymnastics in and they jogged over like eager little boys whose parents tell them they can get whatever they want from the candy shop. “What are we expecting from this? They don’t have games.” 

“Competition?” Patrick shrugged, pushing the door open. 

The boys spoke in unison, to their dismay, “Practice.” And they could have turned around, and walked out pretending like they just went to the wrong place, but Patrick took a few more steps in and there was no turning back after that, unfortunately.  Art groaned a little, following through, up a few stairs and past where a few other people were hanging out watching the practice. Not too far, but far enough that they could observe all the Stanford gymnasts. The boys took their seats and set their bags down. Patrick kicked his feet up. Art just leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. 

“This was the best decision,” Patrick said a little absentmindedly as he focused in on each girl. “Holy fuck.” 

“Uh huh,” Art agreed again, his gaze falling on all the girls on the mats and the beams, stretching, limbering up, doing their little cartwheels and flips

“It’s impressive,” Patrick added.

“So impressive. They’re very talented young women.” Art returned. Both of them did not let their eyes wander anywhere else. Girls doing all sorts of acrobatic bends and twists and tricks, it was mesmerizing. With the three brain cells shared between them when hot women were present, it was only a few minutes before their interests collided in specifics. On one particular girl. You. 

You had your leg up above your head on the wall, stretching. You were in dark pink shorts and a black tank top, talking to your friends. Your leg was so high up over your head, that both boys were thinking the same thing. “Holyyy fuck,” Patrick said under his breath. “She’s…” 

“Flexible.” 

“Hot.” 

Neither of them took their eyes off of you. You were laughing, engaging in conversation, your leg up on the wall like it was nothing. You shook your hair out of your bun to fix it up a little and the boys were practically drooling. Their eyes lingered on the way your body moved when you took your leg down, bending in odd ways that they both never thought they’d find hot. You spun like a dancer and you were light on your feet and you were probably the most gorgeous woman they’d ever seen. Deja vu, both boys were hard watching you bend and stretch and flip and twirl. You were flawless in every way… 

You saw them in your peripheral, lowering your voice and looking to your friend Tess. “Do we know them?” You asked her, a small smile on your face. “The two boys in the stands, I feel like they’re watching me, are they?” 

Tess pretended to yawn, glancing their way. “Staring. They’re staring.” 

“Are they cute?” 

Tess grinned a little, pretending to twist her back, looking back at them and then you, “They are. Oh my god.” 

“Really?” You giggled just a little. “Oh my god. And it’s me?” 

She giggled back, grabbing your hands for a second. “Here, wait, move over there,” she instructed. You did a cartwheel and back handspring and Tess watched their eyes follow you. She nodded and you both started laughing. “I have no idea who they are. The way they’re watching you, I don’t think they belong to any of these girls.” 

“I love that.” 

“As you should, as you should. If they end up talking to you, send one my way, mhm?” 

“Of course,” you replied, scrunching your nose. It could have been weird. Two strangers watching the girls practice, but their focus was on you. And you weren’t too concerned by it. You thought of it as some form of flattery. It was a good thing you couldn’t see their faces, watching you, entirely hypnotized, their dicks fighting the fabric of their jeans over the way you bent and twisted and twirled. You asked around a little to see if any of the girls knew them and the answers were all no. They truly didn’t belong to anyone. You did sneak a glimpse or two. They were both really cute. You returned to Tess as practice was closing, “They aren’t anyone’s boyfriend. Think I should say hi?” 

“The way they were looking at you? The way they still are? Please say more than ‘hi’.”

“I just might,” you said, pulling a mischievous little face. You said goodbye to the girls and as they all funneled out, you continued to do your exercises. Leg up, leg down, backbend, and flipping over from the backbend onto your feet. You stayed just an extra minute so that when you did start to get your things together, they were well aware of the lack of extra persons in the room. You grabbed your water bottle, looking up at the boys for the first time, dead on. “Hi.” 

Both boys had to snap themselves out of a trance when you called up to them. It was real, you were real, you said hi. You. Both of them didn’t have a word to say for a moment. Art stood up, “Hey.” He said, a little enthusiastically. Had you caught them off-guard? You smiled, walking up the steps. 

Patrick stayed seated, taking his legs off the back of the seat in front of him. “Hi.” He nodded your way. 

“Aspiring gymnasts?” You teased, sitting opposite them on the chair in front of them. Patrick pressed his tongue to his cheek, looking down at his knees. Art sank back into his seat. They’d been caught. “I mean, it’s not every day we get two random guys in here and they aren’t anyone’s boyfriend.” You smiled a gorgeous smile that almost made them both hard again. You were so much prettier up close. It happened you were thinking the same thing. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself. 

“Patrick,” he said. 

“Art,” Art introduced himself in return. You grinned wider. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone do so many flips in a row.” He gushed. You noted him fidgeting with his hands. It was cute. 

“It was impressive,” Patrick added on. 

“So you hung around because I do flips and it’s impressive. I am flattered, extremely. So when do I get to sit and watch you two do impressive flips?” Art and Patrick both chuckled. You looked down at the bags by their seats, recognizing their racket bags. You laughed a little, “Or play tennis. You’re tennis guys.” 

“Might be,” Patrick replied. 

“We are.” Art admit. 

Your eyes widened, “Oh my god, I’ve seen you guys play! You’re the fire and water guys, I didn’t even realize.” You pointed at them and they smiled to each other. Patrick mouthed ‘water’ at his best friend, grinning. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was in the presence of such a talented duo.” 

Art leaned forward just a bit, flattered you knew who they were. Sort of. “You like tennis?” 

“When we’re bored, me and my best friend Tess go watch the men’s tennis to hear the noises they make when they hit the ball.” You nodded, “The only time men can grunt and moan out loud and women can enjoy it publicly.” 

Patrick chuckled a little breathily. You were perfect. Art shifted the way he was sitting, laughing to himself as well. It was hard to talk to you, they both found. You were almost too gorgeous to look at. “Haven’t heard that one.” Art said a little sheepishly. He turned to Patrick, “Do we-” 

“You do,” Patrick nodded. “Loud.” 

“Mhm, I think I can remember.” You grinned. 

“No.” Art grinned, bashful. Patrick laughed. 

“You too, though.” You cut into his laugh and Patrick leaned forward to defend himself, but he just ended up laughing with you and Art. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, with all the impact, tennis can be very sensual.

“Gymnastics isn’t?” Patrick said, looking you in the eyes. 

You narrowed your eyes with a smirk that sent shockwaves through both of their nervous systems. “I never said it wasn’t. It’s why you were watching, after all?” 

Both boys were moving to adjust themselves at this point. You just kept that smile on your face. Art pressed his cheek to his closed fist, trying not to smile too wide. “Are you free right now?” 

Patrick looked over at Art, then at you again. You tilted your head, “I think so.”

“You smoke weed?” Patrick asked. 

“Are you a cop?”

“So yes,” Patrick smiled. 

You chuckled, looking over at Art whose nose was a little pink. “Yes. Do we need that though or are you asking me to hang out?” 

“Asking you to hang out,” Art said. He twisted his ring around his finger. “If you’re up for it.” 

You twisted your mouth to the side, “How is later? So I can shower ‘n get pretty?” 

“Later is good,” Art nodded. Both boys straightened out at your immediate yes. Almost like they weren’t hearing you right. You were gorgeous and perfect and you said yes. To them. Without weed involved. “Where?” 

You stood up, moving back over to the stairs. “Where’s your dorm?” You were inviting yourself over and both of them were in awe, much too excited. Art didn’t mind, just meant he had to run back to his dorm and get rid of all of Patrick’s chip bags. “If you don’t mind. If not, we can just meet out-”

“His dorm is fine,” Patrick chimed in, small chuckle. “310, red building. See you when?” 

“Nine.” You nodded. “That’s okay with you, Art?” 

His name in your voice sounded angelic. “Yeah- yes, it’s okay with me. We’ll see you at nine.” 

You smirked once more, laying a finger aside your nose. “Bye.” 

Both boys said goodbye to you in return, watching you turn and go down the steps, grab your things, and leave. They both had their hands tight around the arm rests of their seats in just a little bit of shock and disbelief. You were hot. You were really hot and you were perfect and funny and dirty… And they would be seeing you later. In Art’s dorm room. 

“That was real,” Art breathed out. “Holy fuck.”  

“Gymnastics was the way to go.” 

Around eight-thirty the boys had just finished shoving all the laundry into the little cabinet in the corner. There were no more chip bags or empty cans laying around. The place looked decent. They even made the bed and cleared off the desk in the corner. Art sprayed his cologne on the doorframe and into the air of the room. Patrick finished tidying up the bathroom. Done with their cleanup, Art sat on the floor next to his bed and Patrick sat in the desk chair. 

“I can’t stop thinking about her leg over her head. Fuck, imagine how good it must feel to fuck her like that.” Patrick said, staring at the wall, dazed. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Just her…”

The boys stayed almost wordless, having their own individual fantasies. Until you knocked on the door. Art and Patrick were comfortable, so it made sense you would be too. Art and Patrick rushed to open the door to face you, your hair down, a different, thicker-strapped black tank top that was cut to just above the edge of your loose shorts. You had a sweater on, but it was slipped off of both of your shoulders, the fabric bunched up at your elbows. Both boys had their breath sucked away from them, like someone pressed all the air from their chest. A smile creeped up your lips. “Am I late? Early?” 

“Hi.” Art said, just a little late. “No, you’re fine, come in.” 

“Hey,” Patrick greeted you. You smiled his way, scrunching your nose just a bit, sitting at the head of Art’s bed. Both boys climbed onto the other end of the bed, Art with his legs crossed and Patrick with one leg up, one leg off the bed. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, I’m good, you?” You returned. Art leaned into his palm, looking at Patrick. 

“I’m great.” He nodded. “So, this is you showered and pretty?” 

“I wouldn’t self-title,” You smirked at his callback. “So what’d you guys do all afternoon? Tennis, video games, endless cleaning and shoving laundry in places laundry doesn’t go?” 

The boys looked at each other, wondering how you knew about that. Art grinned, “The last one, yeah. Mostly. Um… What about you?” He was nervous, you liked that about him. 

You leaned back against his wall, looking around his room. He had various tennis rackets against his wall, a nice computer, a little fridge. It smelled good, too. “Showered, had dinner, got ready and came over here. Not very entertaining.” 

Art looked at you, eyes travelling down your form. You were in his bed, it was hard to believe. “Interesting enough. So… how long have you been in gymnastics?” 

“Since I was five? Or six. But competitive mostly, then acrobatics, then contortion, then dance, and then back to the basics.” 

“Contortion?” Patrick questioned. His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek again. Art nudged Patrick back at the mention. “That’s where you can twist in weird ways, right?” 

“Mhm, most people find it freaky, but it’s fun.” 

“So you’re really good at what you do, then.” Art said. “That’s incredible, most people can’t even do one of those. I can’t even do a handstand.” 

“He can do a cartwheel, though, I think that’s really important,” Patrick said, grabbing Art’s shoulder firmly. “I can’t do either one.” 

You giggled at the thought, “I’d love to see that sometime, you have to show me this cartwheel. You should pull that out in a tennis game, during a rally or something. Oh! Speaking of,  I did find a really interesting video. Doubles, Junior US Open. You guys are really fucking good.” 

Art put his face in his hands, “Forgot that was recorded.” 

Patrick just smirked. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. “Guess we all have our thing.” Art was staring at your thighs, his lip between his teeth, Patrick watching your lips as you spoke. “Have to say, was a quiet game though.” You joked. Both boys were stunned for a moment. You were so… honest. Too honest. It was hot, really fucking hot. 

Patrick grinned, nudging Art gently. Art smiled, “We weren’t loud enough for you?” 

“Hardly.” Patrick and Art laughed quietly at that. You grinned, back at them, giggling to yourself. “Tennis isn’t much fun for me to watch otherwise.” 

“Could say the same about gymnastics,” Patrick rebutted. 

You tilted your head, “Don’t need to be loud in gymnastics. There’s no impact, no big swings. It would be a little strange if I bent over and made a noise. I prefer having a reason to make noise when I’m bent over. A whole other story.” Both boys just blinked, a little taken aback by how blunt you were. But a gorgeous grin spread up Art’s face along with a tint of pink in his cheeks. “Like you mentioned earlier. It's not like gymnastics doesn’t have its suggestive moments. Frankly, all of it is suggestive.” 

Art ran his tongue over his top teeth, listening to you. “Find it helps at all?” 

“With?” 

“Everything,” Patrick answered, a smirk growing on his face. Both boys had to adjust to hide just how hard they were from this conversation, remembering back to your leg over your head just earlier. Their personal fantasies flashing in the front of their minds. “You know.” 

“No, I don’t think I do,” you said, leaning forward just a bit, moving to sit on your knees in front of them. Art and Patrick just laughed to themselves, nervous, caught in your web all too well. Your perfect lower lip between your teeth had the both of them almost drooling. You were so blunt but you played dumb so perfectly… “What do you mean everything?” 

Patrick and Art both couldn’t form the words. Not for a moment. Even less when you chimed in again, “By myself or with someone else?” You asked. They had even fewer words. Their minds were wiped clean by your easy seduction. God, they were so cute and so fun to play with. 

Art’s cheeks were a shade of pink. He was so pretty, you noted, also taking in Patrick’s bashful grin. “Everything,” Patrick restated, his mouth a little open, tongue still pressed to the inside of his cheek. Cocky, almost. 

“It’s handy,” you replied. Art had to shift around again. He was so hard that it hurt. “I’m sure tennis has its pros.” You looked at their hands. “Wouldn’t be the same, but they’re your own.” 

“For sure,” Art agreed. “But gymnastics… I mean you have to be…” 

You scrunched your nose at him, “Flexible.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, fidgeting now with his lower lip. “Flexible. Especially with the contortion thing, that’s crazy, that must be-” 

“I want to know about that one thing that can happen when you stretch a certain way,” Patrick interjected. “Is that true?�� 

You giggled, eyes widening. “I forgot about that!” Patrick referred to the stretch-induced orgasm that was fabled, but entirely possible. “It’s real, I’ve heard about it, but personally, no. From gymnastics or even stretching, I’ve never been able to…” 

“Come,” Patrick grinned. You grinned back. 

Art looked at you, “But you’ve done things related to your gymnastics? I mean, the moves you can pull are amazing, they must be… convenient.” 

“I’d say so,” you said, leaning in just a little closer. You pretended like you couldn’t see the boner he was hiding under his wrist. “But Sigmund Freud once wrote about tennis saying that hitting tennis balls without competition was akin to masturbation. And that live competitive games are comparable to sex. I’m not a big fan of Freud, but where do you stand on that?” 

Art’s eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and the fact he could see the edges of your bra. “Might be comparable, but nothing close to the real thing.”

You nodded just slightly, looking to Patrick for his answer, your gaze something perfect and breathtaking. Art pressed slightly on his boner when you weren’t looking at him, something, anything for a little relief for how hard he was. Patrick locked eyes with you, “I’d ask you if you’ve ever actually played.” 

“I haven’t.” You replied. “Would I find it comparable to sex? If I played against you?” 

Patrick grinned, “Depends on how into the game you are.” 

“I might be really into it, would it feel the same?” 

“In some ways, maybe.” He nodded, looking at Art. Art looked at him, then you. The tension in the room was thick and these boys were growing more aroused by the second. “Doesn’t feel the same physically but it might if you let your mind wander.” 

Art chuckled a little, “It can feel good. Winning. Even losing, sometimes. It’s all emotion, I mean, everything is. And without the tension with your opponent, it’s not really tennis, is it?” 

“No, I guess not,” you paused for a beat, looking at them both. Your sultry gaze, perfect features, perfect body, and perfect lips made them more and more dazed, lost in you. Their only thoughts were how badly they wanted to fuck you. It felt a little perverted to be so attracted to someone for the way they can bend, twist, and move, but there wasn’t any harm in it. “You’re both making me reconsider my sport,” you laughed. “Sounds worth it.” 

“Might be,” Art replied. “It’s nothing compared to the flexibility thing, though.” He chuckled, so fucking nervous, so fucking attracted to you, “I mean, I wish…” He rambled. Patrick wanted to laugh, but he was more focused on how you continued to lean, placing your hands on the bed in front of you. 

“You wish?” You giggled, slowly moving closer. Art felt his face grow even more hot, his dick pulsing. “You wish you were flexible?” You giggled a little more, your lip settling between your teeth. Patrick let a breath slip through his parted lips as you advanced on Art. Both boys had their hearts pounding in their chests and in their dicks. Art swallowed hard. 

He couldn’t say or do anything when you slowly crawled into his lap, sitting on your knees, your hands gently pushing his hair behind his ears. Art swore his heart was going to jump out of his chest and that this wasn’t real, you weren’t on his lap. Patrick repositioned himself, eager, so eager. Art looked at you with eyes wide, clouded with obsession and lust, and god, he wanted you so bad, but he let you look at him for a moment. You could feel him hard underneath you, his hands sliding up your hips and to your waist just bracingly. “I can show you, if you want?” You smiled. Art let out a sigh, he was so whipped. 

There wasn’t much more room for air when you kissed him, pressing your lips to his. His mouth open, kissing you back, a little dazed, but so fucking into it. You felt his grip on your waist increase, pulling you closer. He was so cute and a great kisser. Modest, matching your pace. Shy, almost. So you picked up the pace, grabbed his face harder, kissed him harder, pressed your body against him harder and he groaned through the kiss at all the impact, feeling you flush against his body. 

“Oh fuck…” Patrick mumbled, watching like it like it wasn’t happening in front of him. It was and it was hot. Watching the way Art’s jaw moved, kissing you. His eyes trailing down your thighs, braced on either side of Art’s. The way your body moved so fluidly as you pressed against his best friend. It was a sight easy to get lost in. He watched Art’s hands slide up under your sweater and your hands momentarily left the place on your jaw to remove it. You tossed it on the floor and in doing so, you pulled away just slightly from the kiss. 

Patrick, instinctively, leaned in, kissing you. You met him in the middle, your hands crawling up the back of his neck and into his hair, still straddling Art. Your waist was twisted- if it was anyone else, Art might have worried a little. Patrick’s large hands slid around your back and Art’s hands gripped your thighs gently. You were so perfect, his hands slid up and down the skin of them as you kissed Patrick. He was completely lost in you now. He’d just kissed you and it was perfect and it was real. 

Patrick kissed with passion. It was hot, demanding, needed. You began to pull yourself backward, away from him, but grabbed the front of both of the boy’s shirts, pulling them with you as you kissed Patrick on your back. Art’s body on one side, Patrick’s slightly over yours, but on the other side. He kissed you like he was hungry- like he needed you. Art’s hand traveled the curve of your waist, your hip, back down to your thigh again, fingers dipping into your flesh perfectly. It was with his touch that you pulled away from Patrick and kissed Art again. 

He took it, he wanted it more than anything. Like you were a drug, he kissed you like he was desperate for a high. Kissing him, Patrick moved your hair to the side, beginning to kiss down your neck and collarbone, Art’s shoulder bumping him just a bit, but not too much for it not to feel good. You hummed into Art’s mouth, feeling those warm kisses spread goosebumps down to the thigh Art’s hand was grabbing so perfectly. Your own hand slipped down between your body and Patrick’s, finding the bulge in his shorts and pressing, just slightly with an open palm. Patrick groaned, just slightly. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck. 

You grinned into your kiss with Art. His hands carefully found the bottom of your tank top, pulling it up over your head with the arch of your back to help. It helped neither one of their painful boners to find out you didn’t have on a bra underneath. It must have been built in… Patrick’s gentle kisses slowly strayed down your chest, kissing your breast. Art’s hand grabbed the opposite one, gently squeezing as he kissed you, his hard-on pressed against your hip for friction. The sensation of both was fucking amazing, your fingers curled in Art’s hair and your other hand pressed harder against Patrick’s crotch. Both boys made a satisfying noise of the same genre, lighting a fire between your legs. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet by the second. Poor Tess didn’t stand a chance with one of them when you had both fawning, touching, kissing, and sucking over your body. Patrick took your nipple in his mouth, gently rolling your nipple between his tongue and the tip of his teeth. Your back arched due to the subject of your pleasure and as much as you liked it, you needed something real to feel… now. You broke from the kiss with Art and his lips were immediately down the opposite side of your neck. Both boys kissed over your chest, you were going to grab Patrick when their lips met in the middle. 

Art and Patrick kissed hard. You watched, propping yourself up on one elbow. Patrick’s hand cupped Art’s jaw, tongue diving into his best friend’s mouth. You just grinned watching them get into it, taking matters truly into your own hands, slipping your hand down the waistband of Patrick’s shorts. With his free hand, he pulled his shorts down and you had the freedom to slowly start moving your hand up and down his cock. He groaned into Art’s mouth and you watched contented as they kissed like they were going to devour each other. They moved, sat up just the slightest bit, which gave you perfect access to Art’s leaking dick. You found your way to that too, having both hands working at the same time, eliciting noises from both as they kissed over you. You didn’t mind, how could you mind? 

But it didn’t last forever, you were good with your hands, and both boys didn’t want to finish early. Patrick broke off first, diving back into kissing you, both boys pulling their dicks away to let your hands rest. They went back to their worship of your body, Patrick’s hand on your chest as you kissed messily. Art’s lips trailing down the side of your stomach, carefully out of Patrick’s way, then kissing back up. You were bold, pulling Art’s hand down to where you needed it, over the cloth of your shorts and underwear. He was happy to do whatever he could for you, gently pressing over you. He could feel how wet you were through two layers of fabric… He was immediately on taking them off. He pulled your shorts down to your knees and you kicked them the rest of the way off, busy kissing Patrick passionately. 

Not too busy to feel when Art’s fingers moved your underwear aside, his thumb on your clit. The pressure of his gentle hands in this sort of mix was amplified by how much you were feeling. “Mmm- fuck,” you mumbled into Patrick’s mouth. He grinned. Art kissed your ribs gently, goosebumps once again spreading throughout your entire body once again. His fingers slowly slid over your folds, feeling how wet you were. He wanted Patrick to feel this, he couldn’t not. Art grabbed Patrick’s hand and guided it down. Both boys had their hands on your pussy now. And it was a wordless joint effort to remove your underwear. 

Your chest rose and fell heavily, sharing your air with Patrick, who was still so focused on kissing you, mumbling, “You’re so wet…”  Another wordless agreement between the boys took place and Patrick’s fingers began to rub circles on your clit while Art’s pointer and middle finger slipped into you with ease. Your free hand gripped Art’s curls again, his lips staying on your warm skin. You grabbed whatever you could as pleasure began to overtake your body. Both boys focused so much on making you feel good, Art’s fingers pumping in and out of you and Patrick’s focused on teasing that perfect bundle of nerves. 

You felt euphoric. Their hands doing their work like it was all they knew, like it was what they did best. Their collaboration was getting you there so fast, you could hardly keep up with how fast the waves of pleasure washed in and built up. You were a bit of a moaning mess, never having been so thoroughly fingered with dual attention to detail. Patrick had the perfect pressure and Art had the perfect angle, hitting the places you needed to be touched in so well, so perfectly. “Oh my god,” you managed, “Fuck me…” 

“Yeah?” Patrick grinned. Art smiled against the tit he was currently kissing. His dick was out and hard against the bed he pressed himself into, leaking pre-cum like he never had before. You moaned out and both boys knew they just had to up the pace a little. Patrick, flat-handed, rubbed your clit faster and Art fucked his fingers into you a little harder, and in seconds, he felt you tighten around him. He almost moaned himself feeling it all, hearing you. He knew he had to be inside of you. 

Patrick and Art kissed over you again, letting you rest for a moment, both so fucking aroused and taken by your sounds, by your being. So completely fucked that they needed to share how they were feeling by kissing hard, mouths a little open, tongues meeting in the spaces between. Harsh breaths from their rapid movement not caught because your hands were back on their dicks again. Both of them moaned into each other and it was the hottest fucking sight. You watched as they removed each other’s shirt, Patrick’s hand sliding down to his own cock, letting that hand fall between your legs. You’d be unable to finish for another minute but it didn’t stop you from touching yourself at this perfect show. Art’s hands in Patrick’s curls and Patrick’s hand jerking himself off fast and hard at all of this. 

Art is trying his best not to finish at your hand. He wants to be inside of you more than fucking anything so when you use your leg to pull him in, away from Patrick, he doesn’t stop it. He crawls over you, kissing up your neck, up to your ear, over your jaw and cheek and he kisses you on the mouth, lips warmed from Patrick’s kiss. You can hear Patrick still jerking himself off, groaning quietly. You heard the pace pick up as Art slowly lifted your leg, farther and farther back until it was above your head. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. You just grinned and it was honestly a little evil. You were in a position equal to the splits and it made you tight as he slowly pushed into you. You moaned into the room as Art filled you. He filled you so well and in this position, you could feel everything. 

Patrick was groaning quietly still as he continued to jerk himself off to the sight. You were flexible and it did come in handy, “Oh my god, you feel so good, so… perfect.” Art mumbled, thrusting into you. “So perfect.” 

“So flexible, fuck, I told you it’d feel good,” Patrick managed through his own pleasure. You smiled at that. They talked about fucking you, that was good to know. You watched Art’s pretty face as he focused on fucking you, the perfect pace, the perfect amount, the perfect angle. You breathlessly watched his pretty eyelashes as he looked down at where you connected, his perfect hand gripping your thigh above your head so hard. His lips just a little parted, breathing hard, so pretty. So fucking pretty, 

“Harder,” you told him, using a free hand to tilt his chin up so he had to look at you. His eyes were gorgeous, all clouded up with lust and need and desperation and he fucked you harder. It was easy, it was cut and dry thrusting and it felt like you might die and go to heaven, the sensations rippling through your body. “Oh my god, it’s so good, it’s so good.” You moaned. You reached over for Patrick, excusing his hand and taking his dick back in your own hand. He didn’t stop you, letting you take over the best you could. It was more than enough, watching Art fuck you so hard, the room filled with moans and the sound of skin on skin. You could hardly breathe with the work done on you and the work you were doing, but it was perfect. You felt Art slow just a little. “You’re close?” 

“Ye-mmmphhh, uh-huh,” he answered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You can come in me, baby,” you assured him, free hand cupping his cheek. It was hard to talk over how much you were feeling and doing. Your words, the theory of it all seemed to give him the momentum to fuck you harder, slamming into you until it got sloppy and he came undone, spilling into you. God, you were fucking perfect, Patrick thought. They’d just met you and you were thoroughly fucked already. Not fucked enough, though. Art pulled out and was met by Patrick’s hand on his oversensitive dick. He made a noise close to a whimper and there was a beat before his lips crashed back onto Patrick’s. His dick was still hard and completely coated in his own cum. You watched them kiss, your hand unable to follow Patrick’s body when it was so close to Art’s. Semen across Patrick’s lower stomach from how close they were when they kissed, up on their knees. You lowered your leg, feeling Art’s load in you seep out and onto the bed as you did. 

Art leaned Patrick back onto the bed, Patrick’s hand working Art’s cock gently as they went. Your lips met Patrick’s shoulder, kissing over his bicep as the boys continued kissing. They couldn’t fuck, you knew that, they didn’t see this coming. You didn’t think they’d be so into each other, but you did not give that much of a fuck. They were best friends, it was bound to happen. 

Art moved off of Patrick for you, letting you climb over him, still dripping from Art, but it was a half-second before you were sitting on Patrick’s cock. He had slipped in so easily with you all soaked. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Art leaned against the wall, still breathing hard from everything, just watching as you rolled your hips, starting to fuck him. Your core strength was up to bat with how fast you rolled your hips, your waist following. Fuck, you were so gorgeous… Was a good thing he’d stayed at your practice or he wouldn’t be about to finish a second time somehow untouched, just watching you and Patrick fuck. He never thought he’d be so into any of this, but you were taking over every thought in his brain…

Patrick groaned, “Fuck, you’re so tight… so wet, so perfect, fuck.” His moans came like breaths, heavy sighs. “Can’t compare this shit to tennis, hm-”

“I’ve yet to play,” you grinned, beginning to bounce on his cock. Patrick grabbed whatever he could, your ass, your waist, everything. Art’s mouth stayed just a little open. “Oh god-” Patrick’s dick curved perfectly into you. You’d ride him into tomorrow if he let you- and he would. You wouldn’t expect it from the one who came off more dominant, the way he seemed to melt as you fucked him into the mattress. Art was more than contented watching. Even more contented when you slipped your own hand down your front, middle finger working your clit. Both boys watched as your head tilted back. You were the most gorgeous person on the fucking planet at this very moment. A little sweaty, but so fucking gorgeous. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-” you moaned out. Art’s dick still, painfully, stood at attention. It couldn’t get enough of all of this. Patrick dug his finger into your ass so hard you were sure you’d have fingerprints as he, without warning, finished inside of you as well. You followed suit just a few seconds later, slowing your bouncing to a dull rock. Both of you with chests heaving came to a stop and you let him pull out, the semen gushing from you, leaking a little down your leg. 

You lay between the boys, naked, breathing hard, lips pink from all the kissing and both boys gladly took their break next to you, trying to sort out how all of what just happened was real. And it was possibly the best sex they’d ever had. You were just as into it as they were. You laid there for a while before inevitably getting up to use the bathroom and Art’s shower. 

Art and Patrick washed themselves off as well and put their shorts back on. “Fuck,” Patrick breathed, still in a state of disbelief. Completely stunned, their fantasies lived out. “Unreal.” 

“She’s real, she’s in my bathroom,” Art replied, dazed. “And she’s really flexible.” 

“Uh-huh,” Patrick nodded. They were interrupted, sitting up when you came out of the bathroom in your clothes again. You crawled into Art’s bed again, laying between them once more. You kissed both of them gently, nicely, and you rested your head down on the new bedsheets Art had changed them to when you were in the bathroom. Both boys, a little confused, both didn’t mind putting an arm around you. 

"Loud enough?"

"More than."

[sombrashe]

fingertips ∿ nam-gyu x reader x thanos

smut

content reader has a vagina, threesome, oral m!receiving, fingering, drug mention (reader takes one of thanos' pills)

notes the longer version of this post

"Two truths and a lie, ready? Go."

"I have two sisters, I've been out of the country, and I breathe air."

The guys whisper among themselves each one dramatically looking in your direction every so often. You played with your nails, weeks unemployed has led them to get rather long. Scratching at a dry patch above your elbow they finally have an answer.

"The lie is-"

"Wait, shit. It's just one lie? I did one truth, ha. Well, I fucked up. Your turn."

You give them a wide smile, your eyes drooping as whatever Thanos gave you started to take hold. They look at each other before Thanos takes your hands in his. Long fingers bind your hands together and you're yanked.

Embarrassment floods heat to your face as you land sprawled over his legs. Your hands are pinned under you and your only solace is the placement of the bunks kept you three out of most people's view. Just as fast as you were pulled down, you're righted back into a sitting position. Only this time your back is pressed against Nam-gyus chest.

"Two truths and a lie. I'll go."

"I am a rapper, this is Nam-sus first time trying these pills, me and him fucked before."

"Well, the lie is obviously that you two fucked before." They seem to pent up to have fucked before or else they would have again by now.

"Wrong." Nam-gyu lifts his sleeve and shows off the track marks littering his inner elbow. You look between the two of them and their hungry grins as you take in the information. Then you start laughing. It's soft at first, a few quick bursts of laughter mixed with silence.

"That shit would be funny as fuck." Your laugh has upgraded to a genuine cackle as you imagined it. Leaning back, you genuinely can't figure out which one would be on top. Thanos has too much of an ego to bottom but Nam-gyu would be the perfect amount of pathetic to top Thanos.

There's a shout and a ring-clad hand covers your mouth. You all wait a moment, giggles muffled behind flesh. When you've finally calmed down enough you take Nam-gyus hand and hold it against your heart.

"Funny as fuck." You mouthed to a grinning Thanos. He leans forward and tilts his head as if he's going in for a kiss. Passing your lips he whispers low enough for you two to hear.

"Wanna know the story?"

You rub your cheek against his with an excited yes. He pulls away and his surprisingly still fluffy hair tickles your nose. Getting comfortable, you and Nam-gyu have upgraded from a simple hand on your chest to playing with each other's fingers as you listened.

"Our first time smoking together. It was just weed really. Well, we had just smoked a blunt. I think we also did Ketamine, maybe some coke. We start smoking and next thing you know we're both hard and with no señoritas around we took care of each other."

You listen intently. Your lips parted and your head slotted against Nam-gyus neck. Wow. You blink in his direction for a moment.

"Who fucked who?"

"That's not important. Now we need to know if you're gonna join us."

"Obviously, but first I want to know who fucked who."

"You let us have some fun and we'll show you."

Nam-gyu finally speaks up and you sit up at the prospect. Grabbing one hand from each boy you place them over your chest and give their hands a squeeze for them. Slipping out of the bed you pad your way to the door in the far corner. You don't hear them but you know they're both right behind you.

"I have to go. So do they."

The guard hesitates for a moment but eventually lets you three out. Staying a few steps ahead of them you walk up the stairs with them trailing behind you. Entering the bathroom you make sure it's empty before pulling both in for a kiss. It's messy and doesn't work out quite right but you'll be damned if you didn't get your fill. Pulling away you're already panting with restrained excitement.

Neither one wastes any time stripping your top half completely naked. Shivering in the conditioned room, goosebumps litter your skin as you wait. It takes a few minutes, both admiring your tits. A few minutes is all they last before you're being nipped at. Thanos has teeth on your shoulders while Nam-gyu focuses on your jawline. Each one takes a handful and starts toying with your nipples. The sharp pain of teeth against flesh tingles your toes while the pleasure from their eager hand movements has your thighs clenching. You don't know what to do with your hands so you keep them balled up at your side. Only once blood starts staining their teeth do they pull away.

Pain is replaced with a tingling sensation as the pill covers your senses. Wetting your bottom lip you sink to your knees in from of Nam-gyu. Your jacket is folded to kneel on and you look back at Thanos. Once he joins you reach up and yank their sweats down with a little too much enthusiasm. With Thanos, it's a clean pull, just his sweats, his briefs restraining his cock. With Nam-gyu you accidentally catch his briefs in your pull and his cock springs free to slap against you. He lets out a laugh and you glare up at him motioning with chomping teeth what you'll do if he continues. Covering his laugh with a cough you go back to removing Thanos' briefs. You watch as his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen.

Biting at your nail you take in the scene; two leaking cocks waiting for you to play with. Lifting your chin you maintain eye contact as you lick a stripe up Thanos' cock. Your tongue follows the small vein on the underside before you give his tip small kisses. Pulling away you mimic your actions with Nam-gyus and memorize each of their reactions. Taking a moment to gather some spit you let your tongue drip some down onto the tip of Thanos' cock. Using your hand you jack him off while your mouth is occupied with taking a few inches of Nam-gyus down your throat. Of course, Thanos starts complaining.

"How come he gets head first? I am Thanos the Great, your mouth should be over here."

You flip him off before continuing your movements. Taking Nam-gyu further your nose tickles as his bush brushes against it. Spending a few minutes ignoring Thanos and annoyance has you fucking up your rhythm.

"Shut up for two minutes and I'll give you head."

Going back to bobbing your head the silence doesn't last long. Thanos continues to voice his concerns for a few more minutes until he catches Nam-gyus face change. Hands tangle in your hair and drool drips down your chin. Silence falls over the bathroom and the only sounds that are amplified are your muffled hums and the wet movement of your hands. Two minutes wiz by and you reward Thanos by popping off Nam-gyus dick and onto his.

You work your way down until he's a lump in your throat. Bobbing your head you're only able to get a few breaths in before he's shoving your head down until you're choking on spit and pre-cum. His sounds are much more intimate. Low groans and praise fill the space. Nam-gyu only participates with heavy breathing and long sighs. A little while later you're being yanked off Thanos with a sharp inhale.

Your hand is replaced and both jack the other off until they finish on your face. You're given little warning to close your eyes but you make perfect time and you get a rush of adrenaline. When their breathing evens, you blink your eyes open. Standing, you pop your back and look between them.

Painted nails grip the clean skin of your jaw. Each one spends moments cleaning your face with their tongues. Every so often their lips brush against one another's and they spend time swapping cum. You're thoroughly covered in spit when they're done.

Groaning you grab some paper towels and clean your face with a damp one. Turning you see them both situated and talking amongst themselves. Pushing past them you gather your shirt and jacket and throw it back on. A manicured nail is placed against your chest and you're pushed back against the wall. Nam-gyu slots himself between you and the wall and lets you push up against him.

Two sets of hands are shoved down the front of your sweats. Long fingers pet themselves past your folds and into your dripping core. Cool metal causes your abdomen to clench as it presses against your skin. Your clit is pulled and scratched at. Instead of pain, you feel pure ecstasy at the feeling.

"Oh, holy fucking God."

Grinding your hips forward, deft fingers move in and out of you. Slick sounds fill your burning ears. Burying your face into Nam-gyus neck he leans forward to give you the escape. You're played with for only a few minutes before your orgasm washes over you. Your earlier activities having worked you up enough to cum twice already.

Your jaw clenches and your body tightens. Leaning there you attempt to catch your breath. Removing themselves from you, fingers are then shoved into your mouth and you're ordered to clean them. Whining around them you suck Thanos' fingers clean, your tongue moving between his digits to clean every inch. Pulling his hand away from your mouth you take the back of your hand and remove the extra drool that fell down your chin.

Thanos grins and wraps his arm around your shoulder. Laughing he starts going off about a rap he plans to complete once he gets out of here. You catch Nam-gyu on his other side holding onto his sleeve as he gleefully listens to Thanos ramble on.

[mr-cha-n]

Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude. 

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting. 

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital void. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for. 

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it. 

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

Best regards,

The Editorial Team

Opus Magazine"

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes. 

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button. 

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision. 

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

Best,

Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car. 

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation. 

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment. 

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion. 

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore. 

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door. 

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect. 

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame. 

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye. 

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air. 

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens. 

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet. 

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors.  It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm. 

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation. 

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you. 

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it. 

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out. 

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him. 

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning. 

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink. 

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag. 

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were. 

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him. 

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words. 

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease. 

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear. 

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning. 

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

 “It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward.  But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far. 

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera. 

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding. 

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly. 

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster. 

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else. 

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly. 

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts. 

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that. 

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still. 

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants. 

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?" 

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him. 

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves. 

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question. 

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air. 

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure. 

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight. 

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor. 

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours. 

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips. 

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter. 

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you. 

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out. 

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more. 

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him. 

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him. 

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

[princessbrunette]

so i know i always say that rafe is strictly a girl dad. well, he is. but sometimes i like to humour myself with the universe where he’s the father to the sweetest little boy ever.

the universe would be ironic like that. rafe foolishly knocked you up when he was 22 — the boy still having alot to learn. he was still walking around with that pistol tucked into his waistband, fighting pogues, mouthing off and going on coke rants. you had been terrified, wondering what kind of a father rafe was going to be — even when he promised time and time again, “i’m — i’m getting my shit together alright? i can, hey — we can do this? okay?” with sweat gathered at his hairline and tears in his eyes. thus, when the universe decided to play the hilarious prank which was having the doctor tell you ‘its a boy!’, your first thought was ‘shit.’

because he was bound to be just like rafe, right?

you had seemingly prophetic visions, a spoiled little brat — just like his father was, thundering around in a brightly coloured ralph lauren polo from the baby range, demanding the teet when he saw fit. a girl would have been fine — you’d seen wheezie grow up around rafe and turn out totally fine (aside from the likely trauma.) but a boy? what did rafe cameron know about raising a boy? was your son next up to become a drug slinging, pogue hating, maniac? (with no offence to rafe of course, you were unfortunately very much in love with him but contrary to popular belief that did not disrupt your common sense.)

rafe was over the moon about you being pregnant with a boy too, which did little to comfort you.

the anxiety subsided the second that baby was out of you, his sticky, slimy little body placed onto your chest with rafe crowding your space — his bravado dropped for a second to reveal a childlike awe. his own baby. you could tell it was only now that things became very real for rafe. his eyes well up, covering his shaky grin with an even shakier hand, saying stuff like “shit, oh uh nah i probably shouldn’t cuss infront of the baby anymore right? yeah… my god, you did it baby. brought me my boy. should be so god damn proud.” he croons as his hands dig affectionately into your sore shoulders, smearing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “ahh, aha — what the hell kinda man am i cryin’ at this huh? shit.” he sniffles as he wipes his eyes but you’re not listening. you’re staring at your perfect boy.

he grows into something perfectly reminiscent of both you and rafe’s features, all whilst smushed into the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. you were aware every parent said that about their child, but no — you were certain. he was pampers commercial level cute. ‘top ten cutest babies’ buzzfeed article level cute. sarah would often hold him to her chest and something would be healed as she’d whisper “i can’t believe you came from my brother.” into his wispy hair. he was a true blessing.

with big doe eyes that took up half his face and an appearance that somehow replicated a baby lamb that had been turned into a human on the basis of a magical spell — you had long forgotten about your worries regarding having a boy.

a few years down the line and not much has changed. your baby boy is three years old, chubby fists clutching his empty plastic lightening mcqueen plate as he toddles out onto the porch where rafe sits spread out opposite barry, sipping on a can of beer in the early evening. your son is distracted by a decorative plant, and the two men pay him no mind as they continue talk.

“but — but that’s the thing, right, barry? i dont do that shit anymore and… and i sure as hell am not looking to start again.”

“man i get that rafe you a father now, all serious and shit but think about the money. you thinkin’ with your husband head and not with your cameron head. your daddy was a piece of shit but he had that business mindset that you gotta adopt, bro.”

rafe’s expression flattens, finishing his can before leaning forward onto his elbows. “well uh, newsflash — i don’t wanna be anything like my dad. now if we’re done here…” rafes attention is caught by the mini him waddling into view, holding his plate infront of him.

“more please?” comes the sweetest voice in the world, blinking up at the man he viewed as his entire universe, much like you at times.

“finished your icecream already huh? where’s your mom?” he cranes round, but doesn’t bother searching much further when he hears the padding of your footsteps.

“aye buddy, you know we was just talkin’ about you.” barry leans forward with a smarmy grin and your son gets shy, lifting his shoulders practically to his ears and looking down, glueing himself to rafes leg.

“conversations done, actually.” rafe reminds him, lifting the boy to sit on his hip as he hoists himself to stand. as he does so, you appear in the doorway to the patio— sundress clad belly swollen with another baby.

“rafe could you bring him in? it’s too hot out there for him without his hat.” you furrow your eyebrows, deciding to ignore barry’s presence all together, which of course doesn’t stop him from conversing.

“shit, i ain’t seen you in a while mama. he got you again? you two stay busy, huh?” rafes oldest ‘friend’ chuckles, gold tooth glinting in the sun light, and like your only child — you shy away, sending rafe a parting glance that said ‘just hurry up and rid of him.’

rafe adjusts the baby boy on his hip, now staring down at barry.

“talk to my girl again n’i’ll bring out the old me alright, you don’t want that. go do somethin’ barry, i don’t care what it is just get off my goddamn property yeah?” rafe drawls tiredly, crushing the can in his hand and dropping it carelessly into the wastebin beside barry before heading inside, your son turning to stare sweetly at the dark haired man over his dads shoulder, offering a sticky, wide fingered salute in parting.

atleast rafe was still his usual charming self, son or not.

[jiniretracha]

ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 ‘𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟒 ꕤ

Bang Chan x fem!reader: size kink

summary: Your boyfriend loves how fucking small you are compared to him.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (m!receiving), i posted this from my phone sorry if it sucks

word count: 1.1k

kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi

Bang Chan never thought of himself as someone tall.

In fact, someone who’s 5’7’’ feet tall, shouldn’t consider himself tall at all.

But when you came into his life, that changed almost instantly for him. You were this small bundle of joy that came into his life in the form of his cute girlfriend. As he was a bulky person, a gym bro in other words, he felt huge around you. You were so tiny next to him and he thrived on it. He loved the fact that it made him feel such an enormous amount of protectiveness around you.

Chan would be by his desk at home, just answering some small emails while having you on his lap, and he’d still have enough space to do things with you on top of his legs.

It was one particular day, in which you were doing just that, you sitting on his lap while he was working.

“Babe…” you exhaled, feeling frustrated that your boyfriend wasn’t giving you enough attention, instead focusing on the stupid emails he apparently was so interested in.

“Hmm?” he just hummed.

“Can we do something else? I know you’re working. But I’m bored…” you whined, almost bouncing on his lap.

Chan chuckled and pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck before shutting his laptop.

He pulled away and sighed. “What do you want to do, darling?” he asked, turning you around with ease on his lap.

You licked your lips and gave him a sultry look that easily gave away what your intentions were. “Wanna go to the bedroom?” you whispered with a giggle as you leant forward to kiss his lips.

Chan surprised you by picking up and throwing you over your shoulder, making you yelp.

He chuckled at the sound you made and slapped your butt with his whole palm.

“Come on, babe” he smirked and, once he reached the bed, he threw you in the middle of it. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” he whispered before leaning on top of you without waiting for you to stop bouncing on the mattress.

You giggled and traced his shirtless chest with your hands, making him sigh as he kissed your mouth, lips sucking yours with lust.

Chan’s hands went to the hoodie you were wearing, which was his and it was three times your size, and threw it away, his eyes widening like plates when he discovered that it was the only thing you were wearing except for the nice white lace panties you had on sitting on your hips.

He growled while his hands enveloped your breasts, making him bite his lip at how ridiculously hot it looked that his huge ass palms looked way too big on your breasts.

He then grabbed your panties and pulled them off your legs, throwing them away on the floor without a care and second wasted.

When he was about to press his face between your legs, ready to devour the sweetness that laid there, you grabbed his hair and pulled him away, pulling him towards your face.

“Not- not now, please, I need you to fuck me” you moaned, your fingers tugging at the strands of hair. “I’ve been waiting the entire hour you had me sitting on your lap for you to just fuck me, Channie”

Chan licked his lips and let out a chuckle before ridding himself of his pants along with his boxer briefs. “Poor baby, let me give you what you want, hm?”

You nodded and moaned instantly when Chan inserted himself inside of you. “Shit, Channie, you’re so big!”

He moaned when he felt you clenching around him and even more so when he noticed the familiar bulge on your stomach. It happened every time you had sex with him. And he loved it.

He pressed his fingers over the slight but evident bulge on your stomach. “Do you feel me? Do you feel how fucking big I am, babe?”

“Y-yeah, I do” you nodded desperately.

He grabbed your legs, pulling them over his shoulder and started thrusting at an ungodly pace. “You like that?”

“Fuck, yeah, right there!” you yelled, pressing the back of your head against the pillow under it.

Chan continued thrusting for a few minutes, his mushroom tip hitting the sweet spot inside of you, before pulling away and throwing you easily into an all fours position, inserting his cock back inside of you.

Your body shook violently at the force of his thrusts. It made your toes curl at the thought of your boyfriend manhandling you into any position he wanted because of how strong and big he was.

“Ah! God, you’re so deep, Channie, shit!” you mewled, arching your back as he slid even further.

“I am, babe. Are you close?” he asked you, pressing his fingers over the bulge on your stomach once again, making your walls flutter around his veiny length.

You moaned, clenching your eyelids shut. “Y-yeah, fuck, so close!”

“Come on, baby, come around me”

You let out a scream as you creamed around his cock, making him groan at the feeling.

He pulled away from you and you scrambled around to get on your knees as he jerked himself off. You quickly replaced his hand with your mouth and he moaned at the vision of how small your mouth was compared to his cock.

“God, it barely fits in there, you slut” he chuckled as you continued to try and get him off by taking him further inside your mouth.

He didn’t need much more sucking as he soon came inside your mouth, his seed hitting the back of your throat.

He moaned in satisfaction while you cleaned your lips with your tongue. His eyes fell to you and smiled, his palm caressing your small cheek.

“I love you, baby” he murmured softly, contrasting with the roughness he had showed you earlier.

You smiled back and pressed a kiss to his palm, knowing that he was a sweetheart even after fucking you like a whore. He always made sure you knew how much he loved you.

And you wanted to let him know as well.

“I love you, too”

── .✦

taglist: @annhearttihaehe // @frequentlykit // @alexisfeliz // @jeonginsleftcheek // @yaorzu-blog // @jisunglyricist // @leeknowinggg // @ka0ila // @minghaosimp // @lixies-favorite-cookie // @yn-x-them // @chrizrizz // @madkati // @starzystay // @pancake-freckle // @velvetmoonlght // @regardsto-hell // @jaiuneamesolitaiire //

[wsoc-gay]

World Cup Results

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: It seems as though you and Ona make big decisions after big matches.

(This was originally going to be longer, but then it became too long. So, instead, I am breaking it into two parts, second will be out soon.)

You and Ona had met during her time playing at Manchester United while you were still at Arsenal. Arsenal was your childhood club you had made your way through the youth system until you finally made your full-team debut at 16. As growing through the Arsenal ranks you also were an up-and-coming player in the England youth system making your international debut at just 17. 

You met Ona when you were 18 after she had first arrived to United, one of your best friends from the National team, Alessia, introduced you two after a match. From that day forward you two were nearly inseparable. For your years in England, it was a relationship full of afternoon drives after training and early morning goodbyes to be back to London in time for the next, but nevertheless you two did it because you truly fell for each other fast.

It was three years later that Ona decided she wanted to return to Barcelona, she wanted you to come with her, but you were hesitant at first. Your whole life was in London all you ever knew was Arsenal, but also you two weren’t public and you weren’t sure about the swarm that would come from it. Your families and friends knew about your relationship, but with how young you both were you wanted to keep it out of the spotlight, you didn’t want the media focused on your relationship over your football. However, after a year of playing in two different countries you decided you had enough a followed her to her home.

You were one of the best players in the world at the time, so it did not take a lot for you to get a contract from the Catalonian club. While you still weren’t saying anything about your relationship to the public fans quickly started to notice the undeniable connection between you two, the walks into matches, the looks during training, Ona always being your first hug after scoring, and everything in between. You slowly started to be less secretive about your relationship until the only thing keeping fans from knowing you were dating was a kissng photo. 

It now was the 2027 World Cup final; you and Ona had been together for 7 years and were now meeting for the second time in a World Cup Final. You hugged and placed a kiss on the short Spaniard’s temple during the prematch pitch inspections, but then went on your way as you both were here for business.

You scored early into the match, just a mere 15 minutes in is when you broke the deadlock. It was a brilliant through ball from Kiera that you were able to calmly finish past Cata, you immediately ran towards the corner flag to celebrate in front of your country’s fans as your teammates chased after you.

It wasn’t long after that Aitana scored the tying goal and brought the game even going into halftime. The speeches weren’t long, both teams knew what they had to do going into the second half. It was tight for the majority of second half, Spain doing what they do well and passing around your team, but you and Kiera used what you’ve learned there to hold them. 

It was the 87th minute that La Reina, herself, scored the winner for Spain. The English team and fans could do nothing but tip their hats to the Spanish captain as it truly was the perfect goal to win a World Cup with, a beautiful passing display starting with their backline which found their captain sitting alone at the top of the box and hit a first time shot perfectly into the top corner. 

As soon as the whistle blew you fell to the ground with your head in your hands sobbing, severely disappointed for now the second time. So close to being on top of the world but failing right at the summit. 

Ona knew better than to come comfort you right away, in the years of you playing together and against she learned that more than comfort at first you simply needed time to yourself. If she were to come over to you now you would’ve just shoved her away and told her to go celebrate. 

It was after the medal ceremonies when she came and found you sitting on the turf knees tucked tight against your chest. She sat down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you against her chest, “I’m so proud of you, mi amor,” She kissed your head.

Whenever you lost to the brunette, she always followed it up with this comment. She knew better than to apologize for winning as you would never take this from her. You let out a light chuckle, clearly still emotional, “Still can’t quite beat you, can I?”

Ona let out a breath when she heard you laugh, she was hoping to lighten the mood a bit, but didn’t expect for your comment to be the one that did it, “You’ll get to try again in four years, don’t worry.”

You sat up straight and turned so that you were facing he Spaniard, “You know if I can’t win them, I’m glad you’re the one beating me.”

She smiled and her cheeks reddened slightly at the comment. It was true if you weren’t the one winning you were glad the love of your life got to accomplish what was both of your dreams, “I take home the World Cup medals you bring home the Ballon D’ors.”

You laughed again, “I’ll see what I can do about that.” At just 26 years old you had won the last two Ballon D’ors, but you knew as well as anyone that after a World Cup year it would almost inevitably go to one of the winners.

“I think I know what could make you feel better,” You gave her a suggestive look, she leaned into whisper in your ear, “Vamos a tener un bebé.”

You couldn’t believe what you just heard and leaned back in shock, “What did you just say?”

Louder and in English this time, “Let’s have a baby.” 

The comment was dropped slightly to the Spaniard’s own surprise. She wasn’t expecting to say it at this time, but she had been thinking it for a while now. It slipped out in the moment of pure joy for her, and she couldn’t imagine a time better than coming off a World Cup win to start their family.

The topic has come up many times throughout your relationship, but always ended on saying that it was something for the future. Ona knew she wanted to carry for you both, but you always settled that it was something for the future, you didn’t want to interrupt the Spaniard’s career. However, there simply was nothing more than either of you wanted than to have a family one day, to get to see your love encompassed into a family. Both of yours love for family was one of the reasons you first fell in love, nothing came before family for either of you and that would one day include a family of your own. 

The conversation on the field quickly was pushed aside as you joined Ona and some of her Spanish teammates on their post-World Cup holiday. It was a vacation full of boats, sun, and many, many, drinks. You all had all agreed it was one of the nicest holidays and breaks from football you had in a while.

After returning from you holiday you both returned to your normal lives of training and preparing for matches. The topic still hadn’t been brought back up until one day after returning from training you noticed Ona was a bit quieter than usual at dinner.

“Is there something bothering you, mi amor? You’re quieter than usual.”

 “No, nothing is wrong,” Ona looked down at her plate as she spoke, in the tone reserved for when she was upset over something. It was quiet, slower, and slightly sharper causing her accent to come through a bit more in her English words.

“Babe, I can tell something is wrong, please tell me,” You were nearly pleading with her now, as your eyes searched her expressions for any details and as your mind raced through the contents of your day in efforts to find what had upset the short brunette.

She continued to look down at her plate, “It’s nothing I promise.”

Ona stood up from the table and collected the plates before walking into the kitchen and over to the sink. She began washing the dishes as you followed her to the kitchen. You stood a few feet away leaning against the counter, you didn’t want to startle the smaller girl by touching her, “Talk to me please, I want to help.”

She kept her focus on washing the dishes and spoke softly as if she was worried for your response, “I just thought we would talk about starting a family soon, but you don’t seem like you want to.”

Ona didn’t look towards you, but saw you freeze as soon as the words left her mouth. She was worried about your response so continued cleaning the dishes as if she hadn’t just dropped the one thing that hadn’t left your mind since the final. 

You walked over to her and gently reached for her chin to turn the Spaniard to face you, “What did you just say?” You said hushed, but sternly.

Ona’s cheeks flushed under your hand, “It’s just that you seemed excited at the final when I brought up having a baby, but you haven’t mentioned it since and I seriously meant it,” She began rambling when you suddenly cut her off with a soft kiss to her lips.

You leaned back slightly enough that she still felt your breath against her lips, “Sounds like were going to have a baby then.”

The shorter woman placed a hand against her chest and leaned back slightly with a big smile plastered against her face. Your free hand found its spot wrapped around her waist you hold her upright, “Really? You want to have a baby?”

You moved your hand holding her chin to the small of her back and pulled her flush against you, “Of course I want to have a baby with you, I didn’t want to bring it up because I didn’t want it to seem like I was pushing you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to put your career on hold for this.”

Ona’s hands found their place around your neck as she leaned into place a kiss to your cheek, “I don’t want to tell our kids stories of us playing, I want them to be able to be there, to be able to experience it themselves.”

You leaned in to passionately kiss her then pulled away with a gleaming smile, “Sounds like were going to have a baby then.”

You began the reciprocal IVF process almost immediately, both of you getting tested and screened to make sure that you both were in good enough health to begin the process. These thankfully all came back with positive results allowing for you to continue forward. 

There was worry and stress looming throughout your house during the early stages of the process. Many nights spent talking through fears and uncomfortable conversations which always ended in you both feeling more optimistic and hopeful.

Ona was there to hold your hand for every injection you took, and you were helping her with everything in the house to give her as little stress as possible. For every appointment she had you were sat right there next to her just as she did for you. You both knew that no matter what you were there for each other, and you’d be okay.

The egg retrieval day was stressful, you were worried about the procedure and weren’t quite fully sure what to expect, but as always Ona was right there for you calming you down as your leg bounced in the waiting room. Once you were in the room and the doctor walked you through what would happen you were much less stressed and more excited than ever to get further in the process.

After the first implantation you had to wait two weeks for the blood test to find out if it had stuck. It was a very anxious two weeks for you two full of trying to find ways to distract yourselves, and of Ona claiming she had symptoms even though you both knew it was too early for that. 

On the fourteenth day you were sat in the waiting room with your knee bouncing like there was no tomorrow. You wanted to be strong for Ona, but you knew you both were just as nervous as one another. The Spaniard was brough back alone at first to get the blood draw, but then was led to the room where you’d wait for the doctor.

Once you were brought back into the room you walked beside the bed your girlfriend laid on and took a hold of her hand. 

You brough the back of her hand to your lips to lay a kiss before you stood to look at her, “If we don’t get the news, we’re hoping for we’ll be okay. I’m still so proud of you and it won’t be your fault.”

Ona had a slight pout on her face and looked up at you with those deep brown eyes you had fallen in love with all those years ago, “I really hope it worked.”

You let up a small smile at her as you leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, “Me too baby, but it’s rare it sticks on the first try. We’ll be okay no matter what, we can try again whenever you’re ready if we have too.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you-”

You cut her off before she could finish, “You could never disappoint me, mi amor. I love you no matter what and I’m right here through it all.”

You both felt like you were drowning under the weight of the anxiety in the room but knew that no matter what either of you would say in that moment nothing could quite calm the nerves you both were feeling. 

You could’ve sworn time had never moved slower, as you stood there waiting for the doctor. There were so many times in your life, on and off the pitch, that you have wished to be able to freeze time and stay in those moments forever, but now more than ever you wished time would pass by sooner. You both wished to escape the anxious feeling deep in your bodies and for the doctor to come in and tell you the words you’ve been awaiting since beginning the process.

You were beginning to zone out, imagining a future with Ona and your family, when suddenly a slight knock on the door led in a woman dressed in a white coat holding a folder, with what you assumed were the results.

You were stood there trying to read the expressionless face of the doctor standing before you, trying to gauge any sense of what she was about to tell you both. “Are you both ready?”

Ona looked up at you, “God, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

You moved your hand to rub it along the side of Ona’s face when the doctor spoke again, “Trust me you want to know.”

Ona’s head whipped around back to the doctor, you swear she could’ve gotten whiplash, “What?”

“Congratulations, you’re officially two weeks pregnant.”

Ona collapsed back onto the bed as tears immediately filled both of your eyes. You had a hand covering your shocked expression, and Ona had one covering her tearful eyes. 

You leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, “You did it, mi amor, we’re going to have a baby,” You whispered through tears.

She looked up at you with matching tear-filled eyes, “Lo hicimos, hay un bebé ahí adentro,” You hand found its place on the side of her face as the other one still hasn’t let up its grip on her hand. 

Once you both were recovered enough to refocus on the doctor, she explained further into what expect for the coming weeks and advice on keeping Ona as healthy as possible for the baby.

You listened as closely as possible as you knew you were going to do everything you could for them both, starting now.

[januaryembrs]

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard. 

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already. 

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears. 

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger. 

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly. 

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line. 

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about. 

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour. 

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard. 

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl. 

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?” 

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog. 

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails. 

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy. 

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven. 

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with. 

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in. 

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was. 

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode. 

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous. 

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was. 

He was just a kid. 

They were just kids. 

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult. 

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him. 

And if that had been true, then where were they? 

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering. 

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours. 

Which was when he ran to get his dad. 

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank. 

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks. 

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been. 

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier. 

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son. 

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together. 

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave. 

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about. 

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien. 

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel. 

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,” 

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other. 

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do. 

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him. 

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military. 

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell. 

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was. 

-

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life. 

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again. 

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning. 

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,” 

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on. 

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it. 

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left. 

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly. 

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated. 

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder. 

“I missed you too,” 

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here. 

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person. 

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,” 

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly. 

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together. 

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias. 

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway. 

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard. 

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. 

She was a mother. 

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers. 

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body. 

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again. 

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?” 

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself. 

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite. 

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him. 

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight. 

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.  

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked. 

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way. 

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely. 

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them. 

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,” 

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?” 

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave. 

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in. 

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.) 

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful. 

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-” 

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely. 

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset. 

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes. 

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them. 

[sizzleissues]

Its May.

Okay so this is in the same AU I had last year its just changed and evolved while also being the exact same. Except now I have 15,000 words of it written, like 7,000 words of planning and lore and hours upon hours of research that I will be pointedly ignoring. Will be posting more stuff this month about the AU and my hopes and dreams for it

Also slight art improvement check? I’ll put their original mermaid designs below the cut.

It’s Marinette as a mermaid and … its not Adrien or Chat Noir but a third worse thing (Catwalker but in the purest manifestation of it being a curse and not who he wants to be) I will be making designs for mer!Ladybug, and mer!Adrien as its own thing later on.

Okay if you want to indulge me look below the cut

Old mermaid designs first. I am going to be talking about my design thoughts, thoughts and ramblings about this AU and what I’ve been up to. You have been warned

As you can see, some things have changed but neither design I hated, I just wanted to go further with it.

My brain is quite specific about mermaids and how I want them to generally look. I wanted to distinguish biological merfolk from transformed humans by having them being anatomically different. So Adrien has a vertical tail instead which is also way faster underwater. His transformation is quite distressing for him and very chaotic. Of course when he accepts it he’s not so raggedy.

Marinette similarly avoids her life as a mermaid by becoming human and I wanted her mermaid design to hint toward her fascination with humans. She wears a top she fashioned from human fabric she found in a sunken merchant vessel. In general all other merfolk either forgo clothes or wear things fashioned from materials available to them. There’s deep fear of humans and human things so even though human clothes are available to them (off dead bodies but…. Whatever) they choose to difference themselves as much as possible. The same taboos don’t exist for them and their bodies are already adapted from the temperature of their environment. Adrien has stray bits of netting and seaweed on him because he’s not exactly the best at controlling his speed and often crash’s through fishing nets and patches of seaweed resulting in stuff being caught on him.

A lot of their designs are still being worked but I’ve definitely pushed them the right direction!

On to the AU. You might have seem me cryptically talk about something I’m writing the past few weeks. This is because it’s been in my brain since last May and been on and off writing it since then. I decided I’d talk about it once May came back around but and then when I finished writing it, start posting sneak peaks and more spoilery art until it was fully edited and I felt confident in it to post with an aim for it to finish posting once May rolled around again. Oh god.

It’s set in the late 1700s in a fictional version of France that’s actually fragmented over a bunch of islands. I have done more fashion research than I ever thought I’d do and in the end we will still be taking creative license but know I do know what they actually wore! I ALSO did a butt tonne of research about sailing ships and turns out they are super complicated and now I know too much and yet too little still about them. It should be super fun and action packed if I can manage. Have some really good scenes already in my head I know you’ll love. We’re already three ships battle deep and I’ve only written four chapters. (It chills out for a bit after that)

This is entirely self-indulgent by the way. I’m writing this for me, you guys are just a bonus. I literally don’t care as long as it satiates my rabid need for the fic that only lives in my brain at the moment. Saying that, I do want to put my best foot forward.

The next thing I will be posting for this is their human forms and more blabblerings about that. For I am insane and all.

[moonstruckme]

soft sirius x reader pleasee 🙏🙏 either established relationship or fwb/friends to lovers vibes you decide

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“You ought to start locking the door,” Sirius calls out as he enters your flat. You tug out one earbud to hear him better. “I could be a serial killer.” 

“Right, sure,” you snark lightly, washing dishes double-time. “And you ought to start calling before you come by, but we both have our bad habits.” 

“Like you’d pick up if I did.” He saunters into the kitchen, taking in the mess and then pretending not to notice. He leans against the counter beside where you’re working. “I just thought I’d drop in and see if you have a bit of free time.”

“A bit?” you laugh. “Looking for a quickie, Black?” You stack more dishes on the drying rack, jolting forward to steady them when a bowl on the top threatens to tumble. “Sorry, no time. The kitchen’s been a mess for days, I have to clean up before my flatmate gets home from class and murders me.” 

“But she seems like such a nice girl,” Sirius muses, taking the precarious bowl and drying it with a towel. “Anyway, doesn’t your flatmate’s last class end at, like, six? It’s hardly three.” 

“It’s weird that you know that.” It’s not, really. You know a freakish amount of details about his life, too, but it’s easier to keep up the casualness of this arrangement if you pretend you’re not quite as close as you are. You go into the living room, collecting dirty dishes and talking whilst you walk. “She does, but I have to revise my essay, and if I don’t get this done before I start on that, it won’t be finished before she gets home. I’ll forget, I know it.” 

“Hm.” Sirius takes the kettle down from its cabinet, nudging you aside to fill it from the tap. “Why do you have to revise your essay tonight?”

“Because it’s due in three days,” you explain, taking his place at the sink as soon as he’s out of the way to dunk more dishes in the soapy water. “And I have another essay due in four days, so if I don’t work on this one now, I won’t have enough time to finish that one. And besides those, I’ve got my regular work to keep up with.” 

Sirius is quiet for half a second, which is unusual enough that you look over to check that he’s still here. He’s giving you a look you know too well, one dark brow and one corner of his mouth quirked up suggestively. “Sounds like you need to blow off some steam,” he says. 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a snort. “Oh, fuck off. And quit looking at me.” 

You don’t look up from your task this time, a particularly stubborn piece of food requiring your attention, but you can tell Sirius is pouting at you from just his voice. “A cruel demand, and one I can’t abide by. Sorry, gorgeous.”

“Freak.” You continue scrubbing at the dish. Finally, you give in, using your fingernail to attack the crusted-on piece of mystery food and doing your best to ignore the grossness of it. It comes off, but your nail breaks. “Damn it!”

“Hey.” The teasing tone drops from Sirius’ voice. “Take it easy, dollface. You’ve got time.”

It doesn’t feel like you have time. There’s been alarm bells going off in your head since you’d woken up on Monday morning and realized all you had to do this week, and there’s no time for any of it. There’s a dangerous pressure building behind your eyes, but if there’s one thing you definitely don’t have time for, it’s a breakdown. You force a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. 

“I know,” you tell Sirius. “Thanks.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests lightly. 

You cut a knowing look his way. “I do not have time for a shag right now, Sirius.”

He grins, showing his teeth. “Not what I was thinking of, but as always, let me know if you change your mind.” You roll your eyes, and his smile drops. “Just, like, an actual break. You seem kind of stressed.” 

“I am,” you say, like duh, “but I don’t have time for a break either. I’ll be less stressed when everything is done.” You just have to make it until then. 

Sirius goes quiet again, but you don’t bother wondering about it this time. It’s fine if he’s worried about you. You want him to be, a little bit. You want someone to see how hard you’re trying, even if it doesn’t look like your efforts are producing much. You’ll wash the dishes, and your flatmate will still be annoyed you’d let them pile up in the first place. You’ll turn in your essays, and they’ll be just okay enough to pass. You can work all day, from the second you wake up until you fall dead asleep, and sometimes it feels like it’s for nothing. But what’s the alternative? Stop, and watch your barely-together life fall apart completely? No, you just have to get through this week. Just this week, and then you can rest until the next hard week. 

You stack the last of the dishes on the drying rack, and your hand has barely left before the three on top slip off. You lunge forward on instinct, like you think you can catch them. You can’t. The crash is loud, but you barely hear it. You bring your hands to your face, cupping your mouth between your palms. Your horrified exhale blows hot air back onto your chin. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” Sirius’ voice is soft, as is his touch on your shoulder, encouraging you back from the glass shards. “You’re alright, just be careful, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you say, and you try to laugh, but what comes out is a dry sob. “Oh my god, fuck me.”

“I think we’ve agreed now’s not a good time,” Sirius jokes, taking a dish towel and using it to scrape together the bigger pieces. “Do you have a broom, love?” 

You shake yourself out of your stupor. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll grab it.” 

You step over Sirius, and he makes a half-suppressed sound of alarm when you come too close to the glass but takes the dustpan when you hand it to him. You sweep up the glass, going farther than necessary from the site of the damage to ensure no one ends up with an impaled foot later on. Sirius dumps it in the trash. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, trying to reorient. “Okay, I need to—”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Sirius cuts you off, going to the stove. “It appears I’ve put the kettle on. Must be habit. Sit and have a cup with me, doll?” You give him a look that says you know what he’s doing, and he shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Just for a few minutes. Please.” 

You relent perhaps too easily, picking out mugs for the both of you and accompanying him to the living room. You curl up against the armrest of the couch, and Sirius settles in next to you, his thigh touching your hip. They’re your usual spots, but what’s not as routine is the arm he wraps around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You sip at your tea as if you don’t notice. The warmth is soothing as it goes down your throat and seeps into your insides. Sirius turns on the TV, and it’s obvious by now that you’ve been lied to, he doesn’t intend to let you go after a few minutes, but you’re losing the will to hold him to it anyway. You let your head lie on his arm as he begins to trace slow, smooth shapes into your shoulder. 

And though it feels nice, you say, “I don’t need you to coddle me.” 

You feel Sirius shift to look down at you, and you tilt your head to meet his eyes. “But you’ll let me,” he says, “won’t you?” 

You don’t know how to answer that. Sirius doesn’t seem to be waiting for one, pressing a casual kiss to your head and then focussing back on the screen, his doodles on your shoulder never faltering. You rest your head on him again, and you suppose that’s answer enough. 

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Be Mine - Chapter 2

Summary: With work out of the way for the time being, you’re able to spend your time on more interesting things.

Warnings: Minor Language, Sexual tension

* * * * * * *

Work consumes you in the following weeks, leaving you confined to either your office at the company or your office at home.

Aside from the needed breaks to eat and shower, all of your time is taken up.

The non white collar aspect of your work had your head very deep in the books. Despite having numerous people running the business of your other establishments you still very much had to manage the finances of all of them. It was up to you to decide how to spend the money that was coming in, between paying all your people and allocating the appropriate amount of funds to each business, you were swamped.

The very legal business you were running saw to it that you had endless paperwork and video call meetings to handle, which led to consulting with your CFO and, at times, members of your board of directors. Kissing their asses was nowhere on the list of things you enjoyed doing at work but you did what needed to be done to continue prospering in all your business ventures.

“Miss Udaku I assure you, you have my full backing. The clowns who oversee my international relations aren’t always the brightest.” Your tone remains smooth, a charming smile thrown in to help assuage the Wakandan woman’s frustrations.

Hard brown eyes remain narrow, the woman leaning back against her sleek leather office chair with her arms crossed. After a pause her accented voice speaks up,“ if they don’t know how to handle things I would rather not go through them in our future dealings.”

You nod,“ I will send you my personal contacts as soon as possible. No middlemen, you will always speak directly with me.”

That seems to chip away at the attitude she had when she first called. A curt nod is given to you as her shoulders relax in the slightest.“ Their little run around game has set my operations back by weeks.”

“I understand, and I apologize for that.” Your hands clasp together as you lean forward on your desk.“ I am more than willing to offer my finances and resources to you. I believe a good friend of mine has some prototypes that would be of good use to you and your project.”

“Prototype of what?” Her voice holds controlled intrigue and you know you’ve gotten her exactly where you need her.

Your gaze shifts from the monitor on your wall to the door as it opens, Steve stepping in with two cups in hand. The instant the slightest whiff of the caffeine in the cup hits your nose, you nearly groan.

Before you get lost in your need for caffeine, you focus on the woman on your monitor.“ Nano tech. Top of the line and very exclusive.”

She’s silent. Then she smirks.“ How soon can you get it to me?”

“Three days tops. I’ll make sure it’s more than a big enough sample.” You assure, giving her a smile that she returns.

A few minutes are spent hashing out the finer details of the deal but she’s satisfied with it in the end, so you hang up feeling accomplished.

With a heavy sigh, you collapse back onto your couch. Steve crosses the room and hands the coffee cup over, watching as you take a long sip and drop your head back.

“Long day huh boss?” Steve drops back into the armchair beside the couch.

You huff, finally opening your eyes then nodding.“ I had to convince Xu Xialing not to terminate our contract and just finished talking Shuri Udaku out of looking elsewhere for a partnership. Between the two, my INT. department is completely fucking up. Now I’m going to have to kiss Stark’s ass to get my hands on a sample of Nano tech.”

“Good luck with that.” Steve snorts, knowing how difficult the billionaire could be. His massive ego and sarcasm is mainly to do with that, otherwise he’s not as much of a pain.

Sighing, you take another sip of coffee just as your phone pings. It’s no doubt just a notification reminding you of yet another meeting, one probably less important than the ones you’ve already had today but still something that you planned to handle.

You get up to go check it, finding that it’s exactly what you thought it was. It’s a pitch meeting. Technically speaking, you could have whatever presentation there is sent to you or you can send your assistant and she could handle taking notes for you and you could go over them at home tonight or tomorrow.

“You know,” Steve pipes up, turning in the chair a little,“ Buck wanted us to swing by tonight.”

“Oh is that so?” Amusement laces your tone.“ I’m almost positive that the invitation was mainly extended to you.”

The blonde can’t deny that, of course his boyfriend wanted to see him. But you’re also his friend and they both love spending time with you. That, however, wouldn’t be quite convincing enough for a workaholic such as yourself.

“True. But he’d still love to see you,” his blue eyes divert to his cup of coffee,“ and I believe a certain redhead is working tonight.”

Now that, that certainly grabbed your attention. Your gaze slowly pans from the papers on your desk to the man sitting across the office. There’s a knowing look on his face that makes your eyebrows raise.“ Do you have something to say, Rogers?”

With a small smirk he says,“ just that I noticed the way you watched her dance. We’ve seen dozens of girls on that stage but none caught your attention quite like she did.” Your jaw drops in the slightest at his words, eyebrows practically shooting into your hairline.“ It’s either her or we drop by the bar and see if the other redhead shows up. I saw you slip her your personal number.”

“Steven,” you pause to come up with a response which just makes him laugh softly,“ I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Is your best comeback.

He snorts, then stands and walks over.“ Come on boss,” a gentle hand lands on your shoulder as he looks down at you,“ time for a break. A real one.” He adds when he sees you about to rebuttal.

The two of you enter a stare down. If you weren’t trying to intimidate him with your glare, you might’ve outright laughed at the situation. The moment reminded you of your earlier days together.

You and Steve have known each other since your freshman year in high school, having met in a class you shared and finding out you had many things in common, the two of you became best friends fairly fast. He was the kind of person you knew would be a lifelong friend and you were right.

Through the years you noticed that you were far more well off money wise than he was. In freshman year of college, his parents passed and his finances got worse. He was struggling to get by and was close to dropping out of school when you had what you deemed the most brilliant idea ever.

At the time, you were a pain in your parents’ asses. You knew of the family business and understood the dangers it presented to you, but you also believed you could handle yourself and you hated having black suited men follow you around campus. This always led to you ditching the bodyguards they assigned to you.

Your idea was for Steve to become your bodyguard. You trusted him with your life already and he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb in school, your parents also saw him as a son so that was a plus. It was considerably easy to convince them with the promise of behaving added to your request.

Steve was soon trained by your parents’ best guards and has been your guard ever since. The two of you have gone through more life or death situations than most best friends but those moments only drew you closer. In between those scenarios, were the ones such as this, the two of you trying to convince each other to do something.

This time around, it’s Steve who wins your stare down.

“Alright, fine. We can go see your boyfriend.” You grumble, shutting your laptop and collecting your stuff before following a smiling Steve out of the office.

On your way down to the car, Steve’s idle chatter fading to the background, your mind wanders to the topic of conversation in your office.

Steve was absolutely right. Since the moment you saw her step on stage, Natasha has been in your head.

Her attitude towards you wasn’t surprising, she no doubt dealt with a bunch of rich assholes all day and wasn’t impressed in the slightest that you owned the club. Your charm might not have meant much either. It seemed you got her with your comment on her eyes though, but you just chalk that surprise up to the fact that she’s probably used to sexual compliments on her body rather than genuine ones regarding anything else.

Yes, you did admire her body because she’s drop dead gorgeous. But you especially couldn’t get the image of those green eyes and that little smirk out of your head. The sound of her sultry voice also plagued you, it being something you wanted to hear again.

Alongside her was the redhead from the piano bar, Wanda. She too was gorgeous, but her looks weren’t the focus of your thoughts on her. She was also mysterious, maybe even more so than Natasha. Her marriage failed and she seems to like strawberry margaritas, and that’s all you knew. You want to know more but the likelihood of her ever calling some random stranger from a bar for “a distraction” was very low.

Work kept you from obsessing over the women, but they crept into your mind whenever the opportunity arose.

A knock on your window startles you from your thoughts. Steve’s expectant expression meets your eyes through the tinted glass and you realize you’d made it to the club, not even sure how’d you gotten into the car with the way you were so lost in thought.

Throwing the door open, you get out, adjusting your suit jacket and the collar of your shirt.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, brows pinched together.

You respond with,“ just peachy,” delivering a slap to his arm before you make your way towards the club.

The place is much more packed tonight, which is expected with it being a Friday evening. Much like last time, music plays from the speakers scattered around the building, dim lights add to the ambience.

Bucky is quick to approach and you give him a greeting, falling into brief idle catch up before you b-line for the bar, leaving the two men to their alone time.

The bartender is quick to approach, taking your drink order and making it along with a few other cocktails. Once you have the whiskey sour, you turn to the stage. One of the new girls is gyrating and twerking to a fast paced song, the men surrounding the stage throw cash and shout vulgarly at her.

A roll of your eyes accompanies a sigh. Crossing the floor, you plop down onto the cushions of a luxurious leather couch in the corner. It’s no better than the couch in your office but the change of scenery does. . . something, so you sink into the couch, head laid back with your eyes closed.

It’s far from silent here and the chatter gets louder when Bucky and Steve join you in your section. The shift of music suggests a change in dancers and the type of music lets you know you won’t be much interested in who is on stage.

With the occasional sip of your drink and an eventual refill, you unwind in the slightest. A waitress comes by and you hear Steve place an order, your ideal meal from here being listed among the others.

As you’re sitting there, a part of you wishes you’d just gone home. Your bed would be a million times comfier, you might’ve actually fallen asleep. Steve might not have agreed though, knowing that you somehow would have made your way into your office.

The thought of going home is quickly dashed when a familiarly sultry voice sounds from above you.

“You look stressed sugar, want a dance?” Her voice is accompanied by the feeling of her hand trailing up your arm to your shoulder.

Smirking, you crack your eyes open to look at the redhead standing right in front of you. When you lift your head, face no longer bathed in darkness, you can see the way she falters ever so slightly: smirk replaced by a small frown of surprise.

Purposely, you wait to respond, using that time to both drink in her appearance and make her sweat a little.

“Now that you mention it, I’d love a dance.” Your hand lifts, palm facing up, waiting to see if she’ll take it.

Her hand smoothly slips into yours and she shifts to hold it properly. Standing up, you let her guide you away from the section, eyes catching onto the sway of her hips.

The private rooms are down the hallway parallel to the one occupied by the staff/office area. It’s a slight shift in scenery: the walls aren’t as dark, the lights a little brighter, and the music more seductive than raunchy.

Natasha takes you into one of the rooms, the curtain being drawn shut after you’ve both entered. The back wall is curved, a plush black sectional fitting perfectly into the space. In the middle of the semi-circular sectional is a golden pole, sitting on a platform underneath a ring of light.

The redhead raises an expectant eyebrow at you, with a chuckle you walk over to the couch and sit down, spreading your legs as your eyes roam over the room.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to come back.” Comes her voice, making you look at her with blatant shock.

Shifting to sit up straighter, you ask,“ and why is that?”

With a shrug to appear nonchalant, she presses a few buttons on the panel on the wall, plunging the room in a dark red light as she responds,“ this is your business. And with the way some of the girls spoke about you, you’re here often.”

A light chuckle falls from your lips, head shaking.“ Often huh?” You then stand and cross over to the bar cart to fix two drinks.“ What exactly is often meant to mean?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs again, trying not to look awkward as she steps onto the small platform to wait by the pole,“ one a week maybe.”

You nod.“ Well I certainly don’t come often. This isn’t my only business and even if it were, I trust Bucky and Melina to run things without me hovering.”

Turning back, you allow a small frown to fall over your features. Admittedly, her expecting you to actually want a dance is fair, given that’s what you said. But in truth, that’s not what you accepted her offer for.

“You don’t have to,” setting the glasses on the table, you hold your hand out to her,“ dance I mean.” She hesitates, eyes narrowed suspiciously.“ Don’t get me wrong, I’d enjoy watching you, but I really said yes so that we could talk.”

“What, are you going to fire me?” She remains on the platform, watching you as if your response will determine if she takes your hand or not.

Shaking your head, you tell her,“ not at all. I just- our first meeting left me curious, I want to know you, Natasha.”

As you partly expected, the denial of you firing her results in her taking your hand and allowing you to guide her to the couch. The two of you sit, drinks in hands seconds later. While she remains upright, back perfectly straight against the back cushion, you tuck one leg under yourself, uncaring of the wrinkles the position will cause in your suit.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” is your immediate and honest response, followed by a sip of your drink.“ But perhaps we could start with whatever your willinging to share.”

You certainly never missed her hesitance toward you, attributing that to her not trusting you or your intentions. She’s likely met many men in a position such as yours who had very clear intentions that were far from what yours are. She’s probably heard a million and one lies from people trying to get something from her that she wasn’t happy with giving. If she’s anything like the other girls, she has every reason to question people.

“I’m 30 years old, I live in Manhattan-”

“Okay, okay, maybe we can try something I didn’t read in your employment file. Like uh, what is your favorite song?”

The inconsequential question makes her laugh quietly. Head shaking, she tells you,“ at the moment, I’ve been kind of obsessed with Cheap Thrills.”

“By Sia?”

“That’s the one,” the smile she gives is borderline shy.“ I like the beat and it puts me in a good mood.”

When you smile, there’s nothing but genuineness in it. So much so that Natasha cracks a real smile for the first time.

Shifting closer, her knee brushes against yours, as she leans her shoulder against the back of the couch.“ What’s yours?” Green eyes shine slightly with intrigue.

You laugh softly and answer honestly,“ I’ve been a little obsessed with Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers.”

“Ooo, I really like that one.” In a completely unexpected display of how much she likes the song, Natasha begins to softly sings the lyrics of one of your favorite songs.

As if you weren’t fully captivated by her before, your jaw slackens and your eyebrows raise in the slightest, every shred of your attention now solely devoted to watching and listening to her sing. If anyone else were in the room, they would say you full on had heart eyes while looking at the woman.

Her singing voice is soft but still carries the heaviness that her speaking voice has.

Whatever metaphorical spell she casted on when you first saw her dancing, you fall further under it at this moment.

A knock from the other side of the curtain pulls you out of your reverie and stops Natasha from singing. Both your gazes snap to the offending sound and, admittedly annoyed at being interrupted, you bark out a,“ what?”

“We gotta go boss, it’s urgent.” Comes the voice of Steve.

Cursing, you tell him you’ll be right out, before you down the rest of your drink and stand. Natasha follows suit, setting her glass on the table and adjusting her set.

Not wanting to just walk out, you turn to her.“ I’ll likely be too busy to come back this week but I’d still like to see you again, soon.”

Gazing at her expression makes you frown slightly as it appears to revert to what it was before you came in here together, her walls are back up and her skepticism has returned.

“Look, Natasha,” the way her name rolls off your tongue has green eyes snapping to yours unwaveringly,“ I understand your reluctance to believe me when I say that I want to get to know you. This place has a certain clientele and unfortunately, the men who frequent here are a dime a dozen-”

“And you aren’t?” Her tone is clipped but you don’t let it deter you.

“Not at all.”

She lets out a disbelieving huff.“ So, you’re not looking for some way younger than you, blonde little thing that you can take to all your important events and show off?” She challenges.

“Definitely not. Flaunting has never been my thing, I’m quite selfish in that way,” you admit, slipping your hands into your pockets.“ When I find a remarkable work of art, I buy it and keep it to myself.”

One of her perfectly arched brows quirks up.“ So you wish to buy me?”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. You certainly didn't think getting her to believe you would be easy and you were right in thinking so.“ No. My only wish is to earn your time, your trust, your respect. And prove myself worthy of keeping it.”

It’s clear that your words take her by surprise, even though she clearly tries to hide it. For the first time in minutes, her gaze drops from yours.“ How would you earn it?”

“Well, I could tell you but given that my words don’t hold much weight with you as of yet, I’d prefer to show you.” Slightly tilting your head down, you catch her eye, offering a small smile.“ I just need one chance.”

Another knock sounds, more urgently and you huff, knowing you can’t stay any longer. You’re sure that, given another minute or two, you’d be able to sway her.

Just before you draw the curtain, she speaks up.“ Lunch, tomorrow at 1, the bistro over on 5th.”

“I’ll be there at 12:45.” You respond, shooting a wink over your shoulder at her.

Due to your back being turned, you don’t see the little smile that Natasha pulls.

[advisorykitty]

Is it oo if u do randal x reader who has a similar personality to him? No rush and you dont have to do it if you dont wanna! :D

You and I

Randal x Reader oneshot!!

tbf i actually kind of liked this one! There is also Sebastian since i haven't written him for a while so hope u enjoy that!!

Randal first saw you crouched near the playground, dragging a stick through a patch of mud with impressive dedication. Most kids were playing talking about more 'trivial' matters, but you? You were sculpting what looked like… an angry face with sharp teeth.

“What’s that?” Randal asked, appearing beside you out of nowhere like he always did.

You barely glanced at him, but a small smirk tugged at your lips. “A monster. His name’s Chuck. He eats toes.”

Randal cackled, crouching down beside you. “Toes, huh? Nice. Can I add something?”

You shrugged. “Go for it.”

Randal snatched another stick and started adding spiky hair and a pair of wild, mismatched eyes to Chuck’s face. By the time recess ended, the two of you had turned the mud patch into a whole grotesque masterpiece. And just like that, you were friends!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Fast forward a few years, and not much had changed. You and Randal were still inseparable partners in chaos, thriving on mischief and mayhem. Which is why you were currently sitting on a tree stump in the middle of the forest, waiting for him.

“He’s late,” you muttered, flicking a pinecone across the dirt. It wasn’t unusual for Randal to lose track of time, but it was still annoying. You had big plans for today—things involving mud, trees, and possibly fire if you could get away with it.

Finally, you heard the familiar sound of mismatched footsteps crunching through the underbrush. “Hey, bunny!” Randal called, grinning as he emerged from the shadows.

“About time,” you said, standing up and brushing dirt off your jeans. “What took you so long?”

Randal shrugged, his grin widening. “Luther made me clean up my dolls before I left. He said if I didn’t, he’d ‘lock me in the bad boys closet.’” He mimicked Luther’s deep, monotone voice, then rolled his eyes. “As if that would stop me.”

You snickered. “Big brother sounds fun.”

“Oh, he’s a blast,” Randal said sarcastically, waving a hand. “Anyway, guess who I brought with me?”

Before you could ask, Sebastian stumbled into view, looking as miserable as ever. His costume was rumpled, his hair was a mess, and his expression screamed help me.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Sebastian muttered, glaring at Randal.

“Yes, you did,” Randal shot back cheerfully. “By not running fast enough when I grabbed you.”

Sebastian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why am I here? I have better things to do than.. indulge .. you two ..psychos.”

“Because we’re fun,” you said, grinning as you leaned against a tree. “And because Randal said so.”

Sebastian sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath about “crazy people” and “needing a better escape plan.”

After some bickering and a lot of laughter (mostly from you and Randal), the three of you decided to play hide and seek. Randal, of course, was the seeker.

“Thirty seconds, then I’m coming for you!” Randal announced, turning to face a tree and covering his eyes. “One… two…”

Sebastian immediately began running.. and running?? clearly aiming to get as far away as possible. You, on the other hand, had a better plan.

Spotting a tall tree with thick branches, you grinned and started climbing. The bark was rough under your hands, but you didn’t care. You loved heights—the higher, the better.

By the time Randal yelled, “Ready or not, here I come!” you were perched near the top of the tree, peering down at the forest below. You could see Sebastian skulking around the base of another tree, glancing nervously over his shoulder his breath ragged from the previous running.

“Hey, Sebastian!” you called, waving.

He looked up, his jaw dropping. “Are you insane? Get down from there!”

You laughed, swinging your legs. “Why? Afraid of heights?”

Sebastian scowled. “No, I’m afraid of you falling and breaking your neck. Which I’m not helping you with, by the way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, standing on the branch like a circus performer. “It’s not that high.”

“It’s at least twenty feet!”

“Whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Watch this!”

Before he could protest, you jumped. The air rushed past you in a thrilling blur, and you landed in a crouch a few feet away from Sebastian.

“Ta-da!” you said, throwing your arms out dramatically.

Sebastian stared at you, his face pale. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Yep,” you said, grabbing his arm. “Now it’s your turn!”

“What—no—hey!” Sebastian yelped as you started dragging him toward the tree.

Ignoring his protests, you climbed the tree again, this time with him in tow. He clung to you like a terrified cat, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

“Relax,” you said, grinning. “I’ve got you.”

“This is not relaxing...”

By the time you reached the top, Sebastian was practically vibrating with anxiety. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate Randal.”

“You love us,” you said, laughing. “Now look! Isn’t the view great?”

Sebastian hesitantly glanced around, ,his expression hardened.

“No it isn't."

“Ouch.”

Down below, Randal was wandering aimlessly, calling out in a sing-song voice. “Sebaaaastian… Y/N… I know you’re around here somewhere!”

You grinned mischievously, leaning down to yell, “Up here, loser!”

Randal’s head snapped up, and his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Awesome! Can I join you?”

Sebastian groaned. “Please don’t.”

Of course, Randal ignored him and started climbing the tree.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As Randal climbed the tree, you shifted your weight on the branch, causing it to sway slightly. Sebastian immediately clutched the trunk like his life depended on it.

“Can you not?” Sebastian hissed, shooting you a panicked glare. “This thing’s going to snap, and we’re all going to die!”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, waving him off. Then you turned to Randal, who was dangling precariously from a branch below you, grinning up at you like a lunatic.

“Nice tree,” Randal said. “Plenty of room for everyone, huh? Kinda cozy.”

“Yeah, cozy,” Sebastian muttered sarcastically.

Randal ignored him, pulling himself up to sit beside you. “So, guess what I found this morning?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Randal reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny doll. Its painted eyes stared blankly, and its hair was matted like it had seen better days. “Her name’s Matilda. Found her in the dumpster behind school. She told me she was lonely, so I took her home.”

“She told you?” Sebastian asked flatly, looking at Randal like he had grown a second head.

“Yeah,” Randal said casually. “She’s shy, though. Doesn’t talk to just anyone.”

You tilted your head, studying the doll. “I get it. I’ve got one like that. Her name’s Clementine. Found her in an old attic. She doesn’t like sunlight, though. Says it burns her eyes.”

Randal’s grin widened. “See? You get it. Dolls are way more interesting than people.”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re both insane.”

“Thanks,” you and Randal said in unison, clearly taking it as a compliment.

“Hey,” Randal said, nudging you. “If Matilda and Clementine ever meet, do you think they’d get along?”

“Maybe,” you said, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “But Clementine’s kinda territorial. She doesn’t like sharing her shelf.”

Randal nodded, completely serious. “I get that. Matilda’s the same way. Maybe we could set up a playdate and see how it goes.”

Sebastian blinked at the two of you, utterly baffled. “You’re actually planning a playdate… for your dolls?”

“Yeah,” you said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Why not?” Randal added, shrugging.

Sebastian opened his mouth to say something, but then shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Randal turned to you, his expression mischievous. “So, do you name all your dolls, or just the special ones?”

“All of them,” you said, smirking. “Even the ones that don’t have heads. They’ve got personalities, you know.”

“I knew you’d get it,” Randal said, practically beaming.

Sebastian, meanwhile, looked like he was ready to throw himself out of the tree. “This is my nightmare,” he muttered.

You and Randal ignored him, falling into a deep conversation about doll maintenance. You compared notes on cleaning techniques, how oil made their eyeballs shinier, repair methods, and the best way to keep their clothes from fraying.

“I use a sewing kit,” Randal said, pulling out a needle from his jacket pocket. “Got it from Big Brother's room. Don’t tell him, though. He gets all cranky when I ‘borrow’ his stuff.”

“Noted,” you said with a grin. “I usually just glue things back together, but sewing sounds cool.”

Before Randal could reply, there was a loud crack.

All three of you froze, glancing at the branch beneath you. It groaned ominously, swaying under your combined weight.

“Uh… guys?” Sebastian said, his voice rising an octave. “This branch isn’t—”

SNAP!

The branch gave way, and the three of you plummeted to the ground in a chaotic tangle of limbs. You hit the dirt with a loud thud, Randal landing on top of you and Sebastian sprawled awkwardly beside you.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Randal burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “That was awesome! We almost died!!”

Sebastian groaned, rolling onto his back. “I hate you. I hate both of you.”

You laughed, brushing leaves out of your hair. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“No, because it was terrible,” Sebastian grumbled.

Randal sat up, still grinning. “Let’s do it again!”

Sebastian’s eyes widened in horror. “Absolutely not!”

You smirked, nudging Randal with your elbow. “He’s no fun.”

“None at all,” Randal agreed.

Sebastian groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I just wanna go home..”

Randal's eyes gleamed for a second before turning to you.

"Oh yeah if forgot! Big brother said i had to be home by 7pm, what time is it?"

You quickly pulled out your old pocket watch and struggled to read the time.

"Uhh its 11pm"

Randal blinked, then burst into laughter, leaning back against the tree trunk with a manic grin. "Oops. Guess I’m grounded again."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you dusted off your clothes. “What else is new?”

Sebastian groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “You’re both insane.

[fanficwritinggirl]

My prerogative (Fred Weasley)

"Love?" your eyes look up towards Fred who is standing in his pyjamas in the archway to the stairs up to the boys' dorms, his hand rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. "What are you still doing awake? Its 3am," he walks closer to you and all you can do is offer him a tired smile, you had been up for hours, you hadn't even changed out of your uniform.

"Studying, its only a few weeks until our O.W.L.s Fred, if I want to move...," Fred cuts you off.

"If you want to move onto the N.E.W.T.s you have to do well," he finishes for you. Rounding the couch, he plonks himself down next to you leaning fully against the back. "You're going to do well love," you shake your head at this.

"You don't know that, Fred. I mean I have been studying for weeks and it just seems that there is not enough time to revise all of this information. I mean if I fail an Owl then I am going to be held back," your heart was racing, you could feel tears threatening to fall.

"Oh love," Fred leans forward pulling you into his arms, your head falling into the crook of his neck, your tears now free falling. His hand rubs comforting circles on your back as you cry which now had turned into full blown sobs.

"You don't need to worry love, you'll pass," you shake your head, pulling your head away you look at him.

"But you don't know that. I'm not like you and George, I'm not someone who can just trust that everything is going to work itself out. It just seems that my brain won't shut off Freddie," Fred face scrunches up before pulling you into his arms again.

"I hate seeing you like this," he whispers to you, his own tears now threatening to fall. Fred didn't know how long he lay there with you in his arms before realising that you had fallen asleep. Fred smiled at this, thankful that you were finally getting some proper sleep. Carefully he moved the both of you so that you were sprawled on top of Fred who had now moved to lie fully down on the couch. George looks over at the roaring fire and sighs as he looks back at you. He was going to help you if it was the last thing that he did.

"Wait you want to do what?" George looked at his twin like he had three heads.

"Come on Georgie, its for Y/N. She's been really stressed out with the O.W.L.s coming up and I just want to see her smile is all. I'm not asking you to do it with me just to help out," George was shocked. He and Fred had done some silly things in the past but nothing like this, this was taking the cake.

"You are really whipped," is all George says before walking off. God this better be worth it.

You were exhausted, you could feel yourself falling asleep. "Y/N," fingers clicked in your face snapping you awake. You look over at Hermione whose eyebrows are frowned. "You were falling asleep again," you give her a small smile before taking a sip of your coffee that had now gone lukewarm.

"Have you been getting any sleep. You know what Professor McGonagall said, we need to not only be studying but getting good sleep. There is no point in showing up to the O.W.L.s falling asleep," you nod your head.

"Just feels like there is not enough time is all," Hermione nods at this, knowing what the pressure felt like better than anyone. Just as you are about to speak you hear a loud bang. You and it seems everyone else in the great hall jumps, heads turning towards the source. You were shocked when you see Fred standing on top of the Gryffindor table. Your eyes meet and Fred just gives you a smile before nodding his head towards George who is standing off to the side with what looks like a speaker.

Within seconds the start of the song starts, and you instantly recognise it. My Prerogative by Bobby Brown was one of the first muggle songs that you introduced Fred too and it was one of your personal favourites.

Fred starts dancing to the song causing everyone to start laughing and cheering him on.

Everybody talking all this stuff about me.

Why don't they just let me live?

Fred dances his way down the table, making his way towards you and you couldn't help but smirk, shaking your head. God he was an idiot, but he was your idiot.

I don't need permission to make my own decisions.

That's my prerogative.

Fred comes in front of you and you both look at each other and can't help but laugh. This was one of the most ridiculous things anyone has ever done for you. Jumping off of the table Fred pulls you into his arms. "So, what did you think love?" you laugh and shake your head.

"Ridiculous but very entertaining," Fred smirks at this and nods.

"I'll take it, if it means I get to make you laugh love," and God did your heart melt and this.

"I love you Fred," you whisper to him. Fred smiles, taking your face into his hands.

"I love you too, love" he brings his lips to yours and the room burst into cheers from everyone who was soaking up the entire situation, loving it.

"MR WEASLEY," Professor McGonagall shouts as she marches towards the pair of you. Well maybe not everyone loved it.

For all of by book readers, you will get this chapters reference.

[phan3145]

Title: Slippery Slope. Fandom: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Cursing, Implications, Intensity) Pairing: Eventual Noa x Human!Reader.

***Notes: Sorry I haven’t updated in a hot minute everyone. Life has been kicking my butt as well as my husband’s. We had to prioritize, and then afterward I didn’t feel like writing. Not promising regular updates again, but I am consistently working on this. As always, thank you for your support and kind comments. I love you all.

Chapter 13: Not the First

You

You had gone to bed last night, stomach burning and body restless from the day that had transpired. The only comfort had been that Micheal apparently did not care about Anaya’s scent all over you the way the apes cared about his. He had snuggled in close to you as you laid there, thinking about how you would handle the balancing act between the two- no three, species moving forward. Anaya accepted Micheal, at least he stopped trying to kill him once he knew you cared about him. If Noa knew you cared about Micheal, maybe he would also leave him alone? Maybe, he could understand you caring about another animal? He cared about you, didn’t he? At least a little bit. Certainly enough to come talk to you after a fight.

That had caused you to toss and turn even more, not really knowing why Noa had shown up. Maybe he had still been angry, but seeing the situation with you and Anaya had distracted him enough to let it go temporarily. You could only imagine what you had looked like, the definition of sheer panic coming to mind. Noa had always been attentive to your feelings…he probably did push his anger to the side when he saw you were scared. You believed he did anyway, that was just the way he was. Caring, patient, and understanding to a fault.

That thought only served to remind you that the next morning you needed to face him. You needed to apologize for hitting him, maybe talk about the future between you and the clan. You were obviously putting him in a tight spot with the elders. That’s not even speaking about the rock and hard place you were placing Anaya in by having him keep your secret. The elders expected you to show yourself…you had no idea how you would manage that either. If Soona, Anaya, and Noa were there with you, then you should have no trouble feeling safe, but there was something else that made you shudder at the thought. You had this feeling you would be losing something, this small peace you found with your three ape friends. That small, fragile peace built on mutual respect and trust.

You had scoffed at that. Today was an example of how easily trust could be broken, but also re-built. In all fairness, the apes never really expected much from you. Noa even took great pains to make it clear to you that you could always say no. If they asked you to do something you didn’t want to, they wouldn’t force you…but this Caesar Council was a different animal all together. Anaya wanted you to be a part of it, which meant you would be a part of the clan…even if it was indirectly. Either way, it changed things. Anaya said Noa had created new laws, and this council was one of them. That would need to be something you discussed with Noa down the road…probably not tomorrow.

You had almost rambled yourself to sleep at that point, when your eyes had flown open wide and you realized you never decided when you would meet Noa at the rock. Anaya had simply said he would show him where it was. You had groaned and snuggled in deeper under your blanket, knowing you had an early start the next morning.

So here you were, sunbathing on your chunk of safety in the middle of the creek. You were soaking wet from your swim, making sure to scrub away Micheal’s scent as you made your way to your rock. Thankfully, you had sense enough to wear a dirty top that needed to be washed anyway, as well as your singular pair of shorts your reserved for the extreme heats of summer. This summer had not been too bad so far, but today the garment served a new purpose of keeping your modesty while you swam. You would not be caught naked in front of Noa like you had with Anaya. You knew he hadn’t seen anything of course, but you still were not going to repeat your actions and risk the possibility of Noa seeing you naked.

You rubbed at your eyes, a yawn sneaking up on you as you became more comfortable. You were sure Noa didn’t care about your body anymore than Anaya did, but it was the principle of the matter. Humans and their pride…not that you had much to begin with. Still, you clung to the slivers you did have.

You had just fully settled in, sleep creeping along the edges of your consciousness, the early morning sun warming you perfectly, when you heard the hoots of apes. You stretched, turning your head to glance to your right, but did not see hide nor hair of Noa or Anaya. This confused you at first. Did you imagine the noise? You closed your eyes again, only to have them fly open when you heard it again. This time, it was to your left…on the other side of the creek.

You froze for a moment, daring to turn your head at a snails pace to your left. The noises were clearer now. While you were sure they were chimpanzee hoots, they definitely did not sound like gorilla noises, you were still uneasy. Once your head was fully turned, you were surprised to still hear the noises, but see nothing on the other side of the creek.

You sat up slowly, hesitantly, confusion spiking as you looked left, then right once more. Nothing. You pushed yourself up onto your knees, frantically searching for the source of the sounds. You swiveled around on the dry stone, turning in a full circle as your eyes desperately scanned for something that simply wasn’t there. Were you going crazy? You swore you could hear ape noises. You stopped, closing your eyes and listening more intently.

There!

It was coming from your left, as you originally thought, but no matter how hard you looked, you could not see anyone approaching. The tree line was clear up and down stream. Still, you heard the noises, and the longer you heard them, the more pitiful they sounded. Was someone in pain? Were they hurt? What if they were calling for help? You rose into a standing position, practically on tip-toe, blocking the sun from your eyes with your hands in an attempt to see better.

Finally, you spotted the smallest of movements along the bank. It seemed it was just a baby chimpanzee, crouched down on the edge of the creek among the bushes. You felt your lips turn down into a frown, the scared looking chimp tugging at your heartstrings. How did they get here? Why were they all alone? You opened your mouth to call out to them, but immediately stopped yourself, dropping back down to plaster yourself flat against the rock.

No baby would be left alone like this.

You suddenly felt very exposed, creeping yourself back to the edge of the rock before quietly lowering your body back into the water. You stayed behind the rock, on the opposite side of the chimp, who did not seem to be aware of your presence at all. You peaked around the edge, wanting to keep an eye out, but not wanting to be seen. You couldn’t leave the baby alone, but you were still wary to approach them, lest an angry mother burst through the clearing and see you as a threat.

You waited silently, patiently. After a few more minutes of the chimp hooting and no one coming, you heard the noises change. It sounded like- were they…crying? Could apes cry? You floated there, transfixed by the tiny chimp, who curled its arms around itself and sat there sobbing. You fought the urge to reveal yourself, but in the end your heart overruled your head. The chimp was just a baby, you couldn’t leave them there alone and scared.

You carefully maneuvered around the rock, making your way towards the sobbing baby on the bank. You stopped when you felt muddy earth between your toes, water still up to your chest. You called out softly, so as not to scare them, “Do you need help? Are you lost?”

Your soft and careful voice did nothing to soothe the chimp, who jumped back from the edge and started screeching louder. You winced, muscles tensing and nerves screaming at you to swim away and leave. Something in your brain decided against that though, your hands coming up from the water to quickly sign, Friend. No hurt. Safe. Need help?

The baby went silent before you even signed the question, staring at you as if you suddenly became the most fascinating thing they had ever seen. You watched their eyes dart from your hands, to your eyes, to your body in the water, and back to your hands. You repeated the four phrases, wondering if they understood sign yet or if they were too young. Then, after another moment of intense staring, they raised their hand. It was hesitant, but they signed, Alone. Help. Afraid.

You swallowed, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Another moment of hesitation, then a nod and a signed, Yes.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath. “I’m going to come to you. I’m going to walk up to the bank and sit with you. Alright?”

They nodded again.

You returned the nod, slowly walking up the incline until you made it to the edge. The baby did not seem to realize how big you were, head tilting back as you continued to approach. When they could no longer lean back they scrambled to their feet, crouched on all fours before backing up a few steps. You couldn’t blame them, Micheal was easily twice their size. You ran a hand through your wet hair, body slipping down into a sitting position before you crossed your legs. You didn’t want to frighten them anymore than you already had, so you sat and waited. After a moment or two the chimp made their way to you, knuckles brushing against your exposed thigh. They flinched back immediately, as if you would strike at them like a cobra. You let out a breath, trying to smile as you signed, Friend. Safe. Protect.

The furrowed brows and downturned mouth of the chimp eased into something more neutral, more curious, as they decided to climb into your lap. You fought the intense urge to lock up and stiffen your muscles in preparation for an attack. You tried instead to think of the baby as if they were Micheal. They were more open than him though, pinching and pulling at your wet clothes in fascination. That didn’t hold their attention for long though, as they poked at the meat of your upper arms. That forced a giggle out of you, watching them get closer and continue to poke the exposed flesh.

You bit your lip in concentration then, fighting off more laughter, “Do you know where your parents are?”

The chimp paused only long enough to shake their head.

You blew air out of your mouth then in a slow exhale, “Do you have a name?”

The chimp paused, making a gesture over and over that you did not understand. You shook your head, trying to explain that you did not understand. The chimp pouted, opening up their mouth suddenly in a widely comical elongated fashion. You heard a few intakes of air before they huffed and screeched, “E…E…E.”

The loud noise was shrill against your ears. You winced slightly, holding up the hand they weren’t clutching onto, “Okay, okay, easy there. Don’t strain yourself. You can’t talk yet, that’s okay. E is good enough for me.”

E nodded once, puffing their cheeks, before they continued to poke and jab at your arm. You became increasingly confused, watching them and trying to parcel out the reason. Then, they noticed the fascination in their gaze as they dragged a finger down your arm in a slow push. You saw your skin lighten in color from the pressure before darkening again, and you smiled. The color change was something they had probably never seen in an ape before. You let them play to their hearts content, so focused on them that you had lost track of your surroundings.

Then someone called your name.

You snapped your head up, finding Soona standing a few feet in front of you, an unfamiliar Eagle perched on her arm. You breathed a sigh of relief as she began to screech and hoot in delight, “You…found her.”

“Her?” You parroted.

Soona pointed to chimp in your arms, who seemed happier, but reluctant to leave your side. The Eagle on Soona’s arm was given a signal and quickly flew away as she explained, “Wandered off…have been searching…long time.”

Your brow furrowed at that, “Wandered off? Your village is far from here, how did she get this far by herself?”

Soona shook her head, trudging over towards you and practically falling down next to you. She seemed exhausted. “Not from…village…from group of…younglings…upstream.”

Soona held out a hand, which the smaller ape happily grasped a finger of. When Soona reached for her though, E gave a small shout of protest before moving to the opposite side of your body. Soona looked surprised, the young ape becoming fascinated now with your wet, matted hair. She stood on two legs, leaning against your chest for balance as she pulled and tugged at the strands. You winced slightly, but chuckled good naturedly as you locked eyes with Soona.

She broke eye contact for a moment, gaze turning towards the empty forest off to the side. Before you could ask if something was wrong, her attention was back on you, head tilting slightly as she asked, “You are…better…than yesterday?”

You shrugged a shoulder, catching E starting to braid the pieces of your hair that were almost dry. “I guess. I hope you know that I never meant to offend you, or your clan. I’m sorry if you were expecting me and I never showed. I just wasn’t…prepared to see your village.”

Soona hummed, “Noa…should have told you…should have told us…sooner…I am…sorry…that apes have not…always been kind…to you.”

E tilted her head up then, her question obvious though she could not voice it. You shook your head, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It wasn’t you who was un-kind to me. You, Anaya, and Noa have been nothing but kind to me…for the most part.”

“You are…still angry…with Noa?” Soona asked carefully.

You puffed out a long breath, thinking, snickering as E did her best to mimic your noise. You pulled more hair from your back to your front, noticing she enjoyed braiding. You hoped it would keep her distracted from the conversation, “Can anyone truly stay mad at Noa?”

Soona seemed to brighten at this, but chose to remain silent as you continued, “I understand why he did what he did. I don’t like it, but I understand it. The real problem that day…well…it’s just…. I know there are barriers between our species. It’s more than just speech, and I…I mean, these problems probably have carried over from hundreds of years of differences. You three have been great, but the part that upsets me is that Noa seems to choose to ignore the fact that apes and humans don’t normally co-exist peacefully. We do, but I’ve also experienced the other end of the spectrum between our species. And Noa just…”

Soona hummed, “Think he…does not see…the differences…in you…but you cannot help…but see them…in us.”

You hesitated, but ultimately nodded in agreement. “I don’t hold being apes against you or your clan, I just…wish he understood what it feels like. To not know if you can trust the person- ape, next to you. To not know if they are going to turn on you, betray you, or even hurt you.”

E, who you assumed had been distracted by her task, stopped immediately. She looked up at you then, a soft coo leaving her as she patted your shoulder. You snorted, using a single finger to mirror her actions. She hooted in clear amusement, leaning her head into your shoulder, rubbing her face against you before sliding down into your lap. She seemed tired now, curling into your side and closing her eyes. You felt a smile slowly creep onto your face, carefully using two fingers to stroke the top of the chimp’s head. She snuggled in closer then, gripping tightly onto your shirt as tears threatened your vision and you thought your heart was actually going to explode.

Get a grip.

Your hormones must be crazy right now. At least, that’s what you told yourself, as you brushed a hand along the loose braids along your shoulder. Soona, as she tends to do, had remained quiet during this exchange. She studied you, noticing how emotional you had become, scenting the air quietly before admitting, “Noa does know…what it is like…to be betrayed.”

This surprised you, your attention quickly brought back to the present conversation. Your eyebrows rose, curiosity peaked as you asked, “By a fellow ape?”

Soona shook her head, causing confusion to drown your mind until she spoke, “By a…Echo…you are not the first…that could speak…that Noa has met.”

You felt your jaw go slack, trying to contain your excitement as you asked, “There are other humans around who can speak?”

“There was one,” Soona answered, lips pursed as she noted your disappointment. “We do not know…where she went…left five seasons ago…have not seen her since…her name was…Mae.”

You nodded, urging Soona to continue, “What happened with Mae? You said she…betrayed Noa? How?”

Soona sighed, “We do not…normally speak of her…she was a source…of much pain and…confusion for Noa…think…you should know.”

You waited, allowing Soona to collect her thoughts. “There was ape…Proximus…he was king of apes…he searched for Mae…killed other humans that…were with her…wanted to get inside…a human vault…it held great weapons…that would make Proximus…more powerful.”

A shiver ran down your spine, remembering the ape Sylva that Anaya had spoken of. He never mentioned this Proximus ape though. Wanting a better idea of the situation you asked, “Who was Sylva to Proximus?”

Soona seemed completely surprised you knew that name, but nevertheless answered, “Sylva was…his General…not sure if that is an ape word…or a human word.”

You swallowed, “It’s human…Proximus seems to have already been an advanced ape.”

Soona curled more into herself then, “He was….we all were afraid…if not for Noa…and Mae…Eagle Clan would not…be here.”

“Proximus ordered your clan to be stolen, and Sylva carried out his orders.” You connected the dots then, “What happened to Proximus?”

“Noa stopped him,” Soona answered without hesitation.

This surprised you. You were aware that Noa killed Sylva, but Proximus as well? Noa did not seem like he was violent, or capable of such great strengths. You assumed he had killed Sylva, a gorilla, by outsmarting him…but Proximus? How? Was Noa secretly more dangerous than you gave him credit for?

Soona grunted then, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Noa says…Mae hid from Proximus…in our village…Noa accidentally…lead them to us…the entire clan was taken…Noa tracked us…for many days…Mae followed…Noa did not know she could speak…until she called his name…Sylva was close…she was scared…she chose Noa as…lesser of the two apes…to fear.”

“So, she lied.” You offered, “Noa was betrayed by her traveling with him but he didn’t know she could speak, or that Proximus was hunting her.”

Soona nodded, “More than that…when Noa and Mae…were taken to Proximus…he learned she shared…the same goal…as Proximus…she wanted to…get inside…get a book…that could help humans…learn to speak…again.”

“That…” you hesitated. You wondered how much to say. A book could not bring back human’s ability to speak. You either were immune or you were not…unless there was a record of some sort. Maybe a cure…a vaccine? Had humans halfway across the world developed their salvation but been unable to share it with anyone outside the vault?

You remembered your vault constantly sending out a signal using the available satellites orbiting Earth, but they never received a response. So much had been lost to time…and if there had been a cure all along? You swallowed the bile in your throat at the thought of how many millions died over time who couldn’t even speak.

You shook your head, “That sounds incredible. Did she find what she was looking for?”

Soona nodded, “Noa helped…we helped her…but she…did not help the clan.”

You tilted your head, “What do you mean?”

Soona huffed, clearly agitated, “The reason…we do not…speak of her…she flooded Proximus’ kingdom…killed many apes…in the process…then ran away.”

“I’m sorry…” It was the only thing you could think to say as silence engulfed the both of you.

“Noa…” Soona began, attention once again towards the forest at your backs. You waited, brows raised as Soona turned back to you. “Noa was…different…after meeting Mae…is different…with you…now.”

Something about that sentence sent chills down your spine. There was many implications, and you chose to ask the most obvious of them, “Does Noa think I’ll turn out to be like Mae? That I’ll betray him? Hurt him or the clan? Is that why he’s always watching me, always careful around me?”

Soona shook her head, “Noa knows…you are not like Mae…you are…what he wished…Mae was…wants to make sure…he does not become….like Mae…to you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, “I…I threw a rock at him yesterday. I made a mistake…I already hurt him. He shouldn’t think that I’m not like her…I could be. I’m human after all.”

“Human…” Soona began, hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Does not mean bad…ape…does not mean good…Noa says…wants others to learn…we are better…stronger…good and bad…together…more alike…than either side…wants to speak of.”

Still cradling the sleeping E in your lap, you leaned your body into Soona’s, head coming to rest between her neck and her shoulder. Her hand slid from your shoulder to the back of your head, leaning in to return your half-hug as well. She patted your head a few times as you sighed, “Thank you, Soona.”

There was silence, peaceful this time. E breathed heavily in your lap from sleep, and the creek next to you trickled soothingly while the sun climbed higher in the sky. You took a deep breath, feeling more prepared to speak to Noa than you had been before. There was a distinct crack sound behind you, causing both you and Soona to turn.

You saw some leaves fall from a tree not to far back, but couldn’t make out anything more than that. You thought you saw movement for a moment, shielding your eyes with your hand once more, when Soona’s Eagle tore through the canopy and landed next to her on the ground. She stood too quickly then for your liking, looking upstream before turning back to you.

Her eyes were pleading, almost desperate as she said, “Do not…be scared…do not run.”

You were confused, until you heard the litter patter of many feet moving towards you. You leaned your body to see past Soona, body tensing and breath freezing at what you saw. Many apes, children from the looks of it, were running down stream towards the both of you. You suddenly did not want to be on the ground.

You carefully scooped E from your lap, holding her close to your chest as you practically leapt to your feet. Whether from being moved or the sudden frantic beat of your heart, E woke with a start. She began to hoot and squirm in your arms. You clutched her tighter to you, feeling your breathing become labored, taking a step or two back in fear. You didn’t get much further, Soona’s arm coming up to hold your arm.

You jerked towards her with frantic eyes. Hers were still calm, concerned as she tried to comfort you. “I am…here…trust.”

As the apes came closer, you swallowed hard, nodding a few times before taking a step closer, behind her. She hummed, screeching at the apes a few moments later. They came skidding to a stop in front of you, all of them transfixed, as if they had never seen a human before. You reasoned, that perhaps they hadn’t. You tried to take deep, discreet breaths to calm your nerves. None of them were taller than your waist, but the thought of so many surrounding you still made you nervous.

Suddenly, the biggest of the bunch stepped forward, sniffing at your feet for a moment before glancing up to meet your gaze. His held tilted in confusion as he demanded in a voice that sounded much younger than he looked, “Why does Eden…get to be carried…by the Echo?”

[yellowjestertfs]

Altered State: Part Six + Epilogue

Story is finally finished I can't believe it. Sorry this last part took so much longer then the others. I had a epilogue written but I sort of hated it and so decided rewrote the whole thing which took longer then I would have liked. As always Part Five, Four, Three, Two and One are already up. Thank you so much for everyone who has read what at this point is basically a book length story. I had so much fun writing it and would love to eventually write an Altered State 2.0 though I am going to try to stick to shorter projects in the meantime (Will see if I stick to that). Hope you enjoy and don't hesitate to reach out!

I like you, Leon, I have always liked you and not just in a friend way or a sexual way” Edward felt like he was going to throw up but he pushed forward. Watching Leon fight Hunter had solidified his feelings. They were too intense to let lie even a moment longer, his friend had to know how he felt even if he didn't feel the same. “but also like you in a -“

Edward didn't realize his feet were off the ground until he was already flying through the air. He let out a scream but it was too late. The metal claw wrapped tightly around his waist dragged him quickly and roughly through the air towards the towering contraption on the street like a harpoon reeling in a big fish. 

Edward’s whole body shook as the metal chain fully retracted the claw into the mech’s arm reattaching firmly. His head hurt and he suspected he might have a concussion. Edward struggled but his 5.4 strength was pathetic compared to the pressurized machinery holding him. 

Edward turned to face the pilot. A large colored plastic dome that looked as if it had been salvaged from a playground, sat on top of the mech distorting the appearance of the person inside. The floating name tag above their head however was visible and made Edward’s breath catch. “Alvis, Level 20 Technocrat”

Edward internally groaned. It was clear something had happened to Alvis besides him gaining 20 levels and a mech. He looked physically different. Through the semi-transparent plastic Alvis looked like a baby or a sickly child. His head was now mostly bald and extremely oversized, especially for his tiny body. His eyes were bright with a vast intelligence but the rest of his face had somehow gotten uglier.

“Alvis, what are you doing?” Edward asked, kicking his feet as he fruitlessly tried to escape.

Alvis ignored him. Instead he looked over Edward with a hungry gaze then in a voice amplified by a mic hidden somewhere in the mech said “wow you really are a pretty one. I’m starting to understand why that lout is so obsessed with you. It’s too bad your both assholes.”

“Let’s talk about this Alvis! I think there has been a misunderstanding.” The grip on Edward grew tighter making his words come out strained.

“Misunderstanding” Alvis’s nasal voice shouted “You and Leon are the worst most selfish roommates ever. You ignore me, you touch my things without asking and you fucked in my bed!” The last accusation came out as a screeched and Edward paled. He had no idea how Alvis knew that but it would make reasoning with him a lot more difficult. 

“I’m sorry about that. Put me down and we can talk. You don’t have to do this” Edwards said trying his best to work his charm though it was hard dangling in the grip of a giant robot talking through a barely transparent colored plastic spear.

Still, diplomacy seemed the only way. Edward tried to focus on his sage sense but he didn't understand what he was feeling. Alvis’s true desire had something to do with a basement, not particularly helpful at the moment. The countdown for the quest was down to a minute and thirty seconds. Edward had regained just enough energy points to use an emotion bomb on Hunter but the act had drained him of his reserves. A single point had regenerated since then and he was due to regenerate another soon, though that was still too little to use any of his techniques. He had no doubt Leon would try to play white knight and save the damsel from King Kong but he would only get himself hurt. Besides having a giant robot, Alvis was eight levels ahead of both of them with a whole host of abilities or techniques to be sure. 

Edward wasn’t particularly surprised by the level gap. Video games were one of the only things Leon and Alvis had in common. He knew Alvis was a power gamer, someone who focused on making his character as strong as possible while bypassing other things like the story. Edward always thought that approach took the fun out of the game. Edward also knew Alvis was brutal with the power he had, quick to kill an NPC or even his own allies if it amused him or served his ends.

“I don’t have to do this?” Alvis asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t you understand, don’t you ever think with more than your dick. They sent you here to stop me because they know what I am going to do. It’s awake now and there is no putting it back to sleep. If they want to give us power then they need to live with the consequences.” His words became increasingly forceful and a bit deranged.

“Alvis I don’t understand what you are saying, who are they, what is it? Can you give me some proper nouns here?” Edward could see his charisma start to take hold, making Alvis more talkative. Alvis had never been the easiest person to get along with but Edward suspected his new class might have driven him a touch insane. He supposed such a sudden increase in intelligence might do that. 

Alvis chose to ignore all of Edward's questions and continues with his madman’s rant. “I overloaded it once and so much had already changed under the surface. But of course you can’t see. Its getting smarter more complex, leaning from those who join. If that was just one frat house imagine a whole block, imagine the whole campus, the whole city. You and Leon are blinded by the glamor, I won’t let myself be, I can’t. The game speaks to me, its voice is getting louder. It wants to make our desires manifest but they don’t want it to. They are going to kill us, kill it kill our god. We can’t let them, we need to help it, help it, help me, I’m going to kill you.”

Edward blanched. It was clear something was seriously wrong with Alvis. His words were choppy and halting and at times sounded as if someone else was speaking. Still there were nuggets of truth hidden in his rantings things Edward could learn about how the game worked or at least how Alvis thought it worked. The “critical mass” notification from earlier must have been from when Alvis had played the disk for the frat and added them to the game. Adding that many players had updated the game to version 1.2. It seemed Alvis wished to add more players to update the game again, though Edward didn’t know why. Could that be the purpose of the device? Did Alvis truly think the game was alive?

He knew if he had time he could calm Alvis down and get a proper answer out of him, but he didn't get the chance.

From above there was a sound like an airplane taking off. Leon, in all his naked glory flung himself from the hole in the second floor. He had grown, a lot, he looked like a superhero, flying forward fist extended in a high ark, surging over the front yard and landing onto the street just in front of the robot. The concrete cracked under his bare feet and a shockwave blasted out from where he landed which rocked the mech but didn’t topple it, nor did the grip on Edward loosen.

Leon looked pissed, an expression made scary by his now hypermasculine square face adorned with a mustache and stubble. He looked like a Norse giant or an especially large and pissed-off gay porn star.

A crack had appeared in the plastic bubble over Alvis. Through it Edward could more clearly see  the Technocrat’s face which seemed surprised by Leon’s demonstration of force and anger, but not concerned. Leon rushed forward, in his giant form he was almost two-thirds as tall as the massive machine though still substantially less wide. Edward knew Leon would try to pry him free of the machine, and so did Alvis. The mech's other hand pivoted slowly on rusty loud gears, then suddenly sprung forward as if the mechanism had become butter, likely due to one of Alvis’s techniques. The arm slammed into Leon mid-charge and flung him back into a car parked on the street, denting the vehicle and causing its alarm to go off. The few college kids who had gathered on the street filming the fight on their phones cheered at the blow. 

“Leon stop” Edward yelled. He knew he could talk both of them down if they stopped for a second, but the two were too busy with their masculine antics to listen to him. Leon picked himself up from the ground. If not for his Animal Endurance and Armored Skin, he would likely be dead. As it was Edward could see Leon now had a limp. He charged once again, his giant body causing the ground to shake under his pounding feet. 

Alvis activated another technique and every piece of technology within a large radius around him exploded. Cars, street lamps, fire hydrants, and even the phone in Edward's pocket all deconstructed themselves into component parts and flew toward Alvis like he was a magnet. A large car door flew into Leon, throwing him off his feet and the metal components and electronics of Edward’s phone dug painfully into him as they tried to reach Alvis by tearing a hole in his leg. 

Leon was stubborn. He got back to his feet, dodged a wildly whipping electrical line then charged at Alvis, using a flying telephone pole as a javelin. The wooden pole smashed into the center of the robot toppling it onto one leg. Alvis furiously worked the controls, preventing the machine from falling, but in the process the claw around Edward’s waist loosened enough for him to slip out. He fell to the concrete rolling painfully.

Leon saw this and tried to run to Edward but was kicked away hard by the mech’s foot, Alvis’s attention fully focused on Leon thanks to his Punchable Face perk. Edward ran away from the mech, his Effortless Grace allowed him to do a decent job dodging the flying technological debris but he still accumulated a series of cuts in the process. He would have given anything for a few of Leon’s perks at that moment. 

“You destroyed my car!” Leon yelled accusingly, ripping up a mailbox from the ground and hurling it at Alvis. A laser shot from the mech’s other hand and sliced it in half. 

“You used my game system without asking” Alvis shot back voice slightly distorted by the speaker. 

“Those are not equivalent things!” Leon yelled. The two could have been siblings fighting on a road trip if they were not both hulking behemoths capable of taking down a house. “And I smashed your stupid machine,” Leon shouted up at Alvis, trying to get a reaction. 

“Which one?” Alvis asked cooly. Edward’s heart sank. He should have known someone as paranoid as Alvis would have multiple contraptions set up. He saw Leon’s eyes go wide as well. Edward suddenly remembered what he had felt with his sage skill. In the basement, the machine had to be down there.

All it took was one look at Leon and his friend knew. Edward made a break back towards the frat house. The surges of debris had slowed allowing him to reach the house in a matter of seconds. At the front door Leon had kicked in, Edward risked a look back and saw Alvis had attempted to pilot his mech to go after him but was being physically held back by Leon pulling on a leg with Herculean strength. On instinct Edward cast out with his captive serpent technique, burning the two energy points that had regenerated on Alvis before rushing into the house. 

Edward sprinted to the door he had seen with his sage perk and was grateful to find it unlocked. It was clear the basement was used normally for storage. Boxes, dusty shelves and other junk filled the floor expect for cleared out area where the contraption sat. It looked like the one from upstairs only slightly smaller. Satellite dishes hung from the side and in the middle was yet another copy of the “Altered State” game disk. Edward had no idea how Alvis had gotten multiple. 

There were only twenty seconds left on the quest. The machine was working up to something big, a loud whirring noise came from the center part of the machine and the LED lights along the edges began to blink faster and faster. Edward grabbed a rusty length of metal from the ground, maybe once used in some scaffolding or as a fire poker. Outside he could hear the clash of titans, metal slamming into reinforced skin. He hoped Leon was alright.

It was amazing to him how much he and Leon’s lives had changed because of this game. In the course of a day, Edward had gone from an insecure ugly nobody drifting passively through life to someone with the power and autonomy to take what he wanted. Leon was always a superhero trapped in the body of a fat kid. Sure he could be quick to judge and a little immature but he ultimately wanted to do so much good but rarely could. The game had allowed him the opportunity to become what was always on the inside. And the game had brought them together. It was so silly to Edward that he had spent all that time dreaming about having someone special in his life when he already had it all along. He wanted Leon and only Leon. 

He thought again about the quest reward offered for spoiling Alvis’s plans. A love potion. He imagined giving it to Leon, imagined his friend looking back at him with the same amount of love he had for him. He lifted the length of metal ready to smash the machine, but hesitated. 

It wasn’t the ethics of a love potion that stayed his hand. No, the game wouldn’t have given him the Snake Charmer class if Edward was morally opposed to bending wills. Instead, it was what Alvis had said.

If he understood correctly, which was far from a sure thing, this machine was intended to bring more people into the game. Alvis seemed to think it would only affect the surrounding city and with one machine smashed it might be even less effective. Yet even so Edward wondered if he could really deprive others of the opportunity he had gotten. Sure there were those out there like Hunter and the guys in the frat who would abuse the power but Edward firmly believed there was more like Trent and Tag or him and Leon who wouldn’t. Edward knew it was stupid to trust Alvis. He was a weasel and without a doubt had his own motivations that were less than pure, and yet ultimately they agreed on the outcome that had to occur.

Plus there was the fact that Alvis seemed to think the game was alive. Edward was pretty sure that belief was due to his roommate having gone fully insane, and yet with all he had seen, he struggled to fully reject the idea. If so would Edward stopping the machine kill it, or doom it to a life of simple servitude? Was Edward willing to do all that to be with Leon?

In the one second before the countdown hit zero Edward was left with the agonizing decision so many have faced before. His desire for good and his desire for love waged war. In the end he made his decision with a deep breath and a step back as he watched the countdown hit zero and accepted his fate to live life without love. 

The machine let out of loud nails on a chalkboard screech, shook violently then sent a beam of light into the ceiling. For a few seconds, there was nothing then Edward blinked finding his vision suddenly filled with a rapid series of notifications and to his surprise tears. The two remaining quests marked themselves as failed though luckily he didn't become a Wretch for it.

Instantly Edward’s mind went to Leon. He felt a strange cocktail of mourning, guilt, and acceptance which made his stomach hurt. Mourning for the potential life of love he could have had with his friend, guilt for what he had just unleashed, and acceptance knowing that whatever came next he had to accept. He needed to let this dream, this delusion of anything more with Leon die.

He pocketed the copied Altered State disk then left the basement resigned to his fate, feeling uglier then he ever had before.

-

Leon, for about the hundredth time that day, had no idea what was going on. As the countdown on the quest reached zero and a grating mechanical noise emerged from the house behind him Alvis let out a sinister laugh, face twisting into an evil satisfied grin. “Looks like your boyfriend chose chaos over you,” the technocrat said. Then he pulled a lever on his mechanism and the cockpit shot out like a rocket, blasting Alvis and the mechanical core of the mech high and far into the air before a parachute deployed and Leon’s evil roommate drifted slowly to the ground laughing all the way.

Leon didn’t have time to watch Alvis’s descent. A wave of notifications blinded him coming at first in rapid succession before coming slower like the last few stubborn popcorn kernels in the microwave. Around him, he heard the other students on the street yell in alarm and confusion. 

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.2 to version 1.3.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.3 to version 1.4.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.4 to version 1.5.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.5 to version 1.6.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.6 to version 1.7.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.7 to version 1.8.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.8 to version 1.9.”

“The player count for this version of Altered State has reached critical mass. The system has upgraded itself from version 1.9 to version 2.0”

When he focused on any of the notifications two smaller ones popped up.

“A full list of changes is available to all players with above 100 in intelligence or with a technology-based class. Thank you for playing Altered State.” 

“Altered state is a product of the HunkTech corporation. Any unauthorized tampering with any version of this product will result in an immediate correctional effort.”

Leon felt something shift and then pop within his brain as if he had rapidly descended into the deep ocean. The appearance of the UI superimposed onto his vision by the game changed becoming more sleek and modern. Before it had looked like a 90’s RPG with blocky text and bold bright colors. Now however all the lines were clean and simple, adjusting themselves into a more unobtrusive and intuitive places in his vision. New tabs also appeared on his UI, there was one for stats, another for his quests, and a third for his inventory, which was currently empty. Another tab had a list of contacts. Edward, Ruth, and some of his more friendly acquaintances were on there along with most of his professors, though his family and friends from home were missing for some reason. Looking closely he saw he had the ability to start chats with any of them or invite them to a party. There was also a tab for achievements, one which had a map on it, and the last tab which was an auto-populating journal that listed with detailed information all the classes, perks, items, abilities, and game related things he had encountered. Leon knew he could, and would spend hours reacquainting himself with the new features and the changes to old ones but first, he needed to find Edward. 

The bulk of Alvis’s robot still lay on the street, dented from the multiple places Leon had hit it with thrown debris or his own fists. The road and surrounding front yards were marred from the battle, big chunks of electoral and water lines having ripped themselves up from the ground and flooding the street with dangerously electrified water. Leon heard some loud voices coming from the other side of the street and slowly made his way over. 

As he navigated the debris he felt himself slowly shrink back down to his usual size, his Size Up ability having finally run its course. Leon felt suddenly weak without his boosted strength and inhuman muscle size, though he knew he was still clinically speaking totally jacked.

Leon felt his breath catch as he saw the source of the commotion around. The dozen or so onlookers who had been filming the battle now stood on the street all talking over each other with panic or disbelief. A few stared blankly into space with the familiar glazed look of reading a notification or checking out their stats. 

Sure enough, all the onlookers now had name tags floating above their heads which listed their name, their classes, and their level, which for all of them was level one. A few houses down a group of sorority girls walked outside looking for answers. All of them too had classes now listed above their heads, some made sense like the Cheerleader, Bookworm, or Pop Star class; while others seemed more bizarre like a short blond girl with the level one Radiant Knight class or another with the Park Pigeon Lady class. 

More people came out of their homes or got out of their cars, nearly all of whom had classes now listed above their heads. Leon even saw a dog on a leash that now had the class Best Boy above its head and a squirrel that ran by with the class Nutcracker.

“Leon” he heard a familiar voice yell. Leon turned to see Edward making his way towards him. Leon felt like scooping his friend up in a hug and never letting him go but Edward seemed strangely sheepish and hesitant so he kept his distance. 

“All this, was it really Alvis’s plan?” Leon asked gesturing to the confused level one people around them. 

“Part of it at least I think.” Edward said surveying the chaos with an odd detached look on his face “Did you get him?”

Leon shook his head “He got away.” 

“That's alright. I got him with my captive serpent technique.”

“What does that do again?” Leon asked. 

“Prevents him from being able to cum.” Edward said handsome smile slipping onto his face for a moment.

“Oh, he’s not going to like that.” 

A dark sad look came back over Edward’s face and they stood there in awkward silence, the first Leon could remember since they had first met.  “So, what now?” Leon asked trying to bring a lightheartedness back.

It didn't work on Edward. “I guess we just go home,” he hesitated and looked like he was going to cry for some reason “or you could go out to a party and pick up a girl if you wanted. I’d understand.”

“A girl?” Leon asked laughing “What are you talking about?”

“I saw a level one cheerleader. She was really pretty. I’m sure you could pick her up now with your body and stuff.” Edward said, spitting the words out like they were burning his mouth on the way out. 

“Edward,” Leon said trying to interrupt his friend. 

Edward kept going. “I’m sorry about our hookup before. It was fun and all but I know you probably want something more serious and -.” 

“Edward” Leon said again louder stepping forward.

Edward continued stubbornly adverting his gaze away from Leon “And about what I was saying before, I don’t know what I was thinking. I know it was just physical between us and that I kind of forced you into it with my perks and that you wouldn’t want anything more with-“

“Oh, will you shut up already,” Leon said placing one large hand over Edward's mouth, feeling the erotic thrill of the touch. Edward tried to say something but his words were muffled by Leon’s fingers. He looked up at Leon with eyes that looked so sad and hopeful and tired all at the same time, eyes that made Leon’s heart melt. 

“I like you, Edward. I like like you. Yeah, I want things to be like they were before. I want to play video games together and hang out every day and tell you all my stupid jokes. But I also want to do other stuff, like snuggle in bed with you, and kiss you and I really want to have sex with you like 100 times a day.” Edward gave a weak laugh from under Leon’s hand, still obviously unconvinced. Leon’s no-fear perk made him bold and he continued to dump the thoughts that had been brewing in his mind all day. “Edward if something happened to you I don’t know what I would do. I care about you a lot, you're like my favorite person in the whole world. And I don’t really know what that all means, I still don’t think I’m gay but I want to have sex with you and to be your best friend and I guess that's basically like being a boyfriend. He said the last part as a question, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable and fragile, a thing he hadn’t thought he could ever feel with his physical size and strength.

He lifted his hand away from Edward’s mouth to reveal a brilliant charming smile that dimpled Edward’s face adorably. “Do you really mean it?” He asked like a boy opening presents for Christmas.

“Of course I do,” Leon said returning his own grin. Edward wrapped his arms tight around Leon’s naked back, hands barely able to meet with how wide his shoulders were. “So is that a yes to the whole boyfriend thing?” 

“Of course it is you dork,” Edward said. He laughed melodically and Leon lifted him off the ground spinning him in the air. The two kissed, slow and passionate and oh so right. Leon felt like he had beaten the game like this was what all the questing fighting and discovery had been for. Some of the people outside turned to stare at the two gorgeous men making out, though most were too preoccupied with their new classes and the quests they had just been given to notice.

Leon knew things were about to change. That the life he knew, the world he understood were now things of the past. Yet in that moment none of that seemed to matter. Leon couldn’t see the chaos around him, nor the displays superimposed onto his vision. All Leon could see in that moment was his lover, his best friend, his roommate, and now his boyfriend. He knew that so long as they were together everything would be alright.

-

Epilogue

“I’m not drunk” Edward slurred in a way that made it very clear he was completely sloshed. He slumped over into Leon’s lap eyes glazed over not from reading notifications but from the copious tequila shots and evidently very dirty Shirley he had just consumed. 

“Sure your not,” Leon said patting his boyfriend’s head efficiently. “I’m just going to chat Tag and ask him to make you one of those detoxing drinks. 

“Uhhh” Edward groaned into Leon’s lap. “Those taste like dog food. I should not have -” he hiccuped loudly “tried to keep up with you.” 

At least twenty shot glasses sat empty in front of Leon and he didn't even feel a slight buzz. Tag had invited him to the bar convinced his latest creation would be strong enough to get Leon drunk and while the drink, a mix of every alcohol imaginable, was strong enough to fry a liver from smell alone it was no match for the combination of his Metabolizer perk and his level seventeen Relentless Constitution perk which made him resistant to things like temperature, pressure, sickness, and poison. 

Leon was secretly a little miffed that he would be relegated to being the designated driver for the rest of his college years though the trade off’s offered by his class were more then worth it. Besides at the moment Edward was drunk enough for the both of them. 

Leon placed a dinner plate-sized hand on Edward's back and started to rub up and down causing his boyfriend to moan appreciatively. Leon felt an overwhelming urge to protect Edward which he knew was due in part to his genuine feelings towards his boyfriend and also the result of Edward’s level 17 perk, Protect Me, which compelled the men around him to protect him in times of distress. 

Leon navigated the tabs of his UI, a thing that had become second nature in the month since they had started their Altered State Journey, and opened up a private chat with Tag. “Could we get an order of your detox drink in the back? Edward's real housewife sloppy drunk.”

A moment passed then Tag sent a personalized emoji doing a thumbs up, and sent a message saying he would be there as soon as he made one for Trent as well.

A level eighteen weatherman with the bland generic handsomeness of a TV newscaster glanced their way as he walked by, bringing a pocket of cold air with him causing Leon’s nipples to perk up. Because they were going out Leon had managed to squeeze himself into a pair of XXL jeans though he couldn’t bring himself to put on a shirt. With his Naked confidence perk no one minded his lack of dress, least of all his boyfriend. 

As if alerted to the state of Leon’s nipples by a silent bell Edward sat up and began to massage Leon’s pecs, which had grown to the size of softballs to match his 62 strength, and squeeze it like a stress ball. His grip had some actual strength behind it thanks to the lean muscle he had managed to pack on from a few gym sessions aided by Leon’s Personal Trainer perk. While Leon barely felt the pressure of Edward’s grip through his naturally armored skin he did feel the effects of Edward’s Euphoric Caress. After two weeks with lots of physical contacts, the perk no longer overwhelmed him, though it still made him shift in his seat and his dick stiffen to attention. 

“That guy was totally checking you out.” Edward slurred in his drunken state, grabbing a fist full of Leon’s chest hair and tugging on it like an inquisitive child. 

Leon rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding he was totally checking you out.”

“I think he was checking us both out, maybe he could be our special unicorn,” Edward said giggling to himself before hiccuping loudly again and laying his head back into Leon’s lap. 

Early on the two had agreed that they were both secure enough in their bond to allow the other to have some fun on their own. Edward who was not lacking for willing and eager sexual partners had taken advantage of their arrangement a few times, though Leon had yet to. His feelings regarding his sexuality were still too confusing and there was still too much he wanted to explore with Edward for him to feel the need, though he didn't begrudge his boyfriends escapades. Edward had gotten it into his head that they should bring a third into their sex lives to spice things up and was now on a full blown hunt for a “Special Unicorn”.

From the other side of the bar, two glowing orbs of light trailing glittering sparks behind them flew towards their table. They spun in place before growing brighter and larger resolving into the shape of Tag standing and Trent hovering, as he now always did, in front of them. 

Though Leon hadn’t met either before they had been assigned classes on that fateful night he knew from Edward that Tag looked relatively the same as he had a week ago. Tall and fit with dark skin and tattoos, he wore a tight black shirt and baggy jeans that hugged his ass and crotch. Leon still wasn’t gay but being with Edward had given him an appreciation for good-looking men like Tag.

So far as Leon knew there were only two effects from the game that had changed Tag’s appearance so far. The first were the few workouts he had led Tag through which thanks to his level 13 Personal Trainer perk were much more effective at building strength. The second came from a special juice shot that Tag now drank daily which boosted his charisma a few points, making his face more handsome and his dick slightly larger.

Above his head, Tag’s tag displayed his name and his class, a Mixologist, though it didn’t show a level. This they had discovered over the course of the month since that fateful day was due to the fact that Tag’s class was considered a profession. Profession classes were often based off artisan occupations or other skilled jobs and gave related bonuses. Profession classes were less common but Leon had seen many in the month since Alvis’s machine had gone off like the Seamstress, Carpenter, Perfumer, or the Barber class which Alexi had received, making his haircuts even better and giving small stat bonuses to anyone who received his services. Unlike embodied classes which gave abilities or Conduit classes which gave access to Energy Points and techniques, profession classes didn’t level up. That meant they didn't gain perks or attribute points naturally. Instead, they had access to skills. 

Tag had reported that there were hundreds if not thousands of skills available. Things like walking, breathing, eating, or sleeping all counted as skills and were available to be leveled up by those with profession classes. Increasing a skill made a person better at that thing and also gave passive or active bonuses at each level depending on the skill. 

Not all skills were created equal, however. Profession classes gave huge bonuses to relevant skills. In the weeks since he had gotten his class Tag had managed to level up his Mixology skill to level fourteen while his sex skill, a thing Tag assured him he was doing a lot of, had only leveled up once. 

Tag theorized there were ways of boosting skill progression or even having more than one profession class at a time though he hadn’t yet figured out how to do either.

“I told you those Dirty Shirley’s were too strong,” Trent said taking in Edward's slumped drunken state. Though he was significantly shorter than Tag he hovered a few feet in the air on a pair of iridescent fairy wings making Tag have to look up to meet his disapproving gaze. 

Tag gave Leon a sheepish glance then walked over to Edward whose eyes were half closed and were muttering something to himself. “Yeah still working on that recipe. Just give me a second and I’ll fix him up.” 

Tag reached his hand into a small bag on his hip much further than should have been possible then removed his hand holding a large glass. He reached back in and procured a mug of hot coffee liquid, an egg, and half a lemon. Trent helpfully freed up Tag’s hands by making each ingredient float in the air with a wave of his hand as Tag pulled them out.

Leon knew Trent had specifically picked the level fifteen technique out of the three offered by his Pixie class that allowed him to warp the space of containers in order to make something for Tag to carry his mixology supplies around in. At the moment he could only work his technique on small bags but Trent had told him and Edward that once he had enough energy points he could do the same to a whole room or even a building, warping the space to make them bigger on the inside then the outside. 

Tag added each of the ingredients to the glass, stirred it exactly three times in each direction then offered it up to Edward. Leon sat Edward up and took the glass placing it to his lips, The unappetizing brown slightly lumpy looked like it tasted like dogfood but Leon knew the effectiveness of Tag’s brews and so tipped the liquid back between his boyfriends pillowy lips. Edward gagged before gulping the concoction down with a sour look on his face. 

Instantly color returned to his face and he sat up on his own, eyes focusing with their usual intelligence. “Have you really not found a way to improve the taste?” Edward asked wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and scowling at Tag. 

“Next on my to-do list,” Tag said sitting down on a stool next to Edward and giving him a cheeky grin. 

“As if. You just like to watch us suffer.” Edward said playfully shoving Tag.

Trent stayed hovering in the air on his wings but descended a few feet down and floated closer to the table so he was next to Leon. “I think the raw egg isn’t even necessary. He just add it to be a dick.”

“How dare.” The tag said in mock outrage. Leon watched his friend's banter with a smile. Once he might have joined in with his own playful jabs but ever since he reached level 20 a few days ago and earned the perk Stalwart Presence he had found himself content to be a more passive observer in group conversations. A pillar of good-natured strength rather than a participant. 

He felt strange about how that perk along with his level 8 No Fear perk and in some ways his Tip Top Testosterone perk were changing his personality. Sure he might be becoming a better person but it felt wrong to have that forced upon him rather than undergo that development himself. 

Edward too had received perks that changed his personality. His level 20 perk, Shed Your Skin, had made him more sociable, friendly, and flirtatious. The shy reserved Edward he had once known was now a thing of the past. In a way their dynamic had completely shifted and yet underneath it all they were still fundamentally the same people, at least Leon hoped. 

“It's been a few days since we have seen you, what have you two been up to other than fucking like bunnies?” Trent asked with an impish grin. He too had received a personality-adjusting perk at level 20, making him more playful and mischievous, better in line with his Pixie class. His appearance had had also changed as he leveled. Besides for the obvious wings he now had his face had gained a puckish handsomeness from the charisma he received at each level plus a perk that caused his ears to now end in points. 

Like how level five caused a rapid and drastic change to one’s body it seemed to be a universal thing as well that level 20 caused a change to one's personality. It was one of the reasons that a sizable amount of people given classes were hesitant to advance them. Level 20 it seemed was also a sort of soft level cap. Afterwards the game no longer provided the same regular relatively simple quests that were so useful in leveling up fast early. Instead, one was forced to level up relying on the XP gained from doing tasks related to their class or from XP rewards granted from rarer situational quests like event quests or combat quests. Edward and Leon hadn't yet gotten another of those and in the week or so since they reached level twenty and though both had earned enough XP to reach level 21 it had taken a few days of determined effort, a much slower process compared to their earlier rapid assent in levels. 

For Leon that meant he had to spend a lot of time in the gym or playing sports to earn Juggernaut XP, while Edward earned XP by talking to people, specifically men. With some experimentation, Leon had also discovered that intense sex provided him with XP while Edward received XP through foreplay. They did plenty of both, for their development of course. 

“I’d say this one is more a jackrabbit than a bunny,” Edward said gesturing to Leon with an equally devious grin. “It’s been weird trying to settle back into my old routines though.” Edward continued somewhat more seriously “I mean it’s just kind of hard to focus on my lessons when I know half my classmates can shoot lasers out of their eyes.”

All at the table nodded at that. Alvis’s device had caused the activation code for Altered State to be blasted onto every TV, phone, and device with a connection to the internet on campus and the surrounding areas. The code had remained long enough and had happened at a busy enough period to ensure that most of the the student body and faculty who lived in the area had joined the game and given classes. This had also overloaded the system and forced the game to update itself eight times to version 2.0. 

In the ensuing chaos the university had shut down. It became the fascination of international news as what first was first being reported as mass hysteria quickly became a story about the supernatural powers the local residents now possessed and the video game they claimed to be in.

The school had made the bold choice after only two week of closure to resume its usual functions, now with a dedicated department to honing and utilizing these new abilities and with lots of research grants given to those with professional classes. 

Tag had been given a generous stipend to pursue his mixology by the school. He often told the others how strange it felt to buy alcohol on the school's dime, though that didn’t stop him from doing so copiously and with a great generosity for sharing the results of his experiments.

Those however like Leon and Edward whose classes were not particularly beneficial to anyone but themselves were still expected to attend their usual course schedule. There were of course many who ignored this edict, too enwrapped by their new reality or afraid of it to attend class. However, there were also surprising number of people who were content to live life as they had before, mostly ignoring the video game display now permanently superimposed onto their vision and making little use of the perks and abilities they did earn.

Leon and Edward were somewhere in the middle. While they attended most of their University classes their focus had definitely shifted to experimenting and advancing their Altered State classes and enjoying the fruits of their efforts. Their educations just no longer seemed quite as important, especially when they received guaranteed increases to their intelligence each level. 

“I know what you mean,” Trent said agreeing with Edward's comments about classes. “My Early American Literature class has become impossible to focus in.”

“Why’s that?” Edward asked, “Did the professor get the pilgrim class?”

“No worse, he’s a DILF.” The table was silent for a moment and Trent rushed to clarify “that's his class I mean, and he’s high-level too.”

“That's a class?” Edward exclaimed surprised. “What type of perks does it give? Is it charisma or strength based?” He asked, a bit too excited for his curiosity to be purely academic.  

“Maybe both” Trent guessed. “He’s gotten all muscly and handsome over the past few weeks as he’s leveled up. I’m not sure about perks but his hair turned this really sexy salt and pepper at level eleven I think.”

“Oh my god, what time is your lecture?” Edward said all pretenses of casual curiosity gone as he turned to Leon with object joy on his face. “Maybe he can be our third! I could seduce him, you know I could.” 

“Maybe,” Leon said though the idea did intrigued him.

“What are you boys talking about?” A voice said from behind. Leon turned to see Ruth and a long-faced girl he recognized as Olivia, one of the Dagahir player who had fought Hunter with. She had been granted the Shieldmaiden class while Ruth had gained the Girl With a Giant Sword class, which as the name suggested had given her the ability to summon and wield a sword that was nearly the size she was. The sword, which was thick and silver with red ornamentation stood point into the floor next to her. Some gave it curious looks as they passed but most ignored it, as it was no longer an uncommon sight to see individuals carrying weapons granted by their class especially not to the mostly classed student patrons of the bar. 

Leon scooted his stool a bit more towards Trent to make room for the newcomers at the table. The others knew Leon’s friends they would be coming and shifted as well to make room for the two women. Trent flew over the table to hover by Tag so that Ruth could lean her sword on the wall he have been hovering by.

Since that fateful day Leon had attended a number of Dagohir meetings, ones made significantly more interesting now that a majority of the club had been granted classes most of which happened to lend themselves to medieval combat in some way.

“Trent was just telling us about this DILF class,” Leon said trying to involve the newcomers into the conversation. 

“A DILF class?” Ruth asked, “What department is that in?”

 “English” Trent said and Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. 

“That's the professor's class, in the game.” Leon clarified.

“Ahh,” Ruth said looking suddenly thoughtful. As soon as the two newcomers had arrived Tag had busied himself making them drinks from the supplies in his physics-defying bag. He hadn’t bothered to ask what either wanted, one of the perks of his class was that he usually knew on instinct.  “Don’t you think it's weird how gendered the classes are?” Ruth asked. 

“What do you mean?” Tag asked as he handed her and Olivia two white drinks that looked like Pina Colada complete with little paper umbrellas. 

“I mean just look.” She said gesturing at her and Olivia’s Shieldmaiden and Girl With A Giant Sword classes floating above their head then at a table in the corner of three goth girls labeled the classes Vampire Huntress, Vampire Seductress, and Vampire Priestess. “Don’t you think it’s strange that classes would specify gender in them? Plus from what I have seen the classes assigned to women tend to lean more towards fighting while all the guys classes sound like they could be gay porn categories.”

Trent snorted at that but Tag looked thoughtful. Edward shot Leon and meaningful glance and Leon nodded. Edward had informed him of what Alvis had said and while they originally chalked it up to the rantings of a madman they had started to reconsider the notion that the game might be alive in some form. There were just too many coincidences and and incidental happenings for someone not to be in control of the game, and from what Alvis had said it was unlikely to still be Hunktech. 

Ever since Alvis had escaped that night neither had heard or seen from him at all, and while his stuff still remained in their apartment neither had high hopes of him paying his share of next month's rent. Edward was convinced that Alvis had skipped town but Leon wasn’t so sure. Edward still maintained his Captive Serpent technique on Alvis mean the man hadn’t climaxed in at least a month. He doubted his incel roommate was to happy about that and suspected he would try to force Edward to release him sooner or later. To be safe Leon had gotten the local locksmith who had received the Locksmith profession to install new locks now imbued with extra strength.

“Also,” Ruth said filling the empty science her questions had left “have you guys seen a single hetero couple.” That stumped the table as all wracked their brains trying to think of if they had seen any. Leon had heard of a number of other individuals with sexuality-bending class features like Edward had though all seemed orientated towards same-sex relations.

“So you think the game has a gay agenda?” Trent asked smirking. Ruth only shrugged, face stoic. She had become a rather serious person, and Leon was realizing she might not actually be a great friendship match for the ever-playful Trent.

“To the gay agenda,” Edward said raising his Dirty Shirley in a toast breaking the tension that had begun to bubble. He took a sip of the Dirty Shirley Tag had made for him earlier and his eyes instantly took on an intoxicated look. Leon suspected he might need another of Tag’s detox drinks before long. 

Leon stood up from the table. While the shots he took earlier might not have gotten him drunk it did give him the need to pee like a fountain. 

“Kiss before you go, babe?” Edward asked sweetly. Leon shook his head ruefully. He knew firsthand the power a kiss from Edward had gained after the Snake Charmer had reached level 19. A perk called Venomous Kiss made it so that Edward’s saliva now contained a non-lethal toxin that caused any man who injected it to want Edward desperately and irresistibly. The toxin naturally wore off after half an hour or if the antidote, located in Edward’s sperm, was consumed. Leon had been under the effects enough the past few weeks to know that while extremely fun it was also nearly impossible to control himself while under the effect and that a kiss now would likely result in them having sex in the middle of the bar, scandalizing their new friends.

“Maybe later babe.” He said excusing himself from the table and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. He maneuvered between a level eleven Combat Medic and a level sixteen Exorcist with glowing red eyes, apologizing profusely as he brushed up against them, mindful of the space his 250 pounds 6’5” body took up and also feeling slightly scared of what the Exorcist who’s eyes glowed a malicious red might do if pissed off.

A table of low level guys gawked at him as he passed. One with the class of Nudist who was predictably nude whistled at him as he passed. “Flex for us” he practically begged. Leon gave a rueful smile, a slight bicep flex then went into the men's room. His level 18 perk, Mr. Olympia made his muscles extremely appealing to onlookers, and requests for such displays were not uncommon, though Leon still felt embarrassed being so openly objectified. 

Inside the bathroom, Leon approached the unoccupied of the two urinals. He fished out his dick from his pants which had grown even bigger with added levels thanks to his Grower and Shower perk, a jaw filling nine inches. In his peripheral vision, he could just make out the tag of the man peeing next to him. A level fourteen Big Dicked Wonder. Though it violated all urnal  codes Leon couldn’t help but cast his gaze down to the man's penis. 

The class name was no lie. The man’s dick looked like a prosthetic. It made Leon’s thick dick look like a shrimp. He felt his mouth began to water and had the sudden overwhelming desire to put the guys cock in his mouth. He suspected the sensation was a result of one or more of the man’s perks but didn't really care. 

The man saw his looking and gave a cocky wink. Leon felt like he was going to swoon. Maybe this would be his first encounter without Edward or even better maybe this man could be the third Edward had been searching for. He knew Edward at least could handle this big dicked wonder with his Charmers Basket perk and Leon could only hope his athleticism would let him as well.

Leon’s horny thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a muffled sobs coming from one of the stalls. He turned and felt his mouth fall open in shock as he saw the name tag floating above the stall. Hunter, level six wretch. 

With a deep sigh he stepped away from the Big Dicked Wonder and marched up to the stall, wrapping on the door twice with his fists, the natural ridges of bone grown up over his knuckles from his Brass Knuckle perk made a loud noise on the metal door that echoed around the bathroom. 

“Occupied,” a high nasally voice said from the other side sniffling. 

“Hunter opens up, it's Leon” he called.

There was a pause then Hunter shouted “Go away” from the other side of the door.

Leon sighed, then activated his inner strength ability and checked the door with his shoulder, snapping the lock and causing the stall door to slam open with a crash. The Big Dicked Wonder gave them a sidelong glance before somehow tucking his massive dick back into his pants and hurrying back into the bar.

Inside Hunter sat on the toilet with his pants around his ankles and his head in his hands. He looked nothing like the fit frat president he had once been and even less like the raging roided out muscle bull he had become. His limbs were shrunken and spindly, face blotchy and his dick sitting flaccid between his legs was minute, like a sad baby carrot.

“Don’t look at me.” He shrieked when he saw Leon “Haven’t you done enough.” 

Leon felt a wave of both intense satisfaction and pity. He wanted to both laugh and also to help his poor pathetic former rival. He chose the more compassionate of the two. “Hunter let me help,” Leon said in as calming a voice as he could manage. 

“No! You made me like this. Just go away” Hunter said voice cracking as he buried his head in his hands, to hide the tears Leon suspected. 

Leon opened his mouth and then closed it. Edward with his 61 charisma would undoubtedly know just what to say to calm Hunter down and get him to open up. Leon however had no such ability and so instead chose to just stand there and wait for Hunter to say more, blocking any path out.

Eventually, when it was clear Leon wasn’t leaving like he asked Hunter did. “Cassy left me. She’s a Flower Power Hippie now that makes plants grow just by being near them and I’m this.” He gestured to his shriveled skinny body then stifled a few more sobs.

“Hey, at least you're level six,” Leon said trying to comfort him. His words only made Hunter sob harder. 

“I had to pick up trash on the side of the road and give food to homeless people,” He said as if recounting traumatic memories from war. “And all I got were these stupid perks that made me feel all guilty and stuff for the way I acted.”

“How awful,” Leon said though his sarcasm was lost on Hunter.

Hunter looked up at Leon’s towering bulk which filled the entire stall with a mix of disgust, admiration, and jealousy. It was a strange reversal of the way not too long ago Leon might have looked at Hunter. “I wouldn’t bother with these quests except these stupid notifications tell me if I reach level twenty I get to change classes to something called a Repentant, which has to be better than the Wretch class,” Hunter said. It was clear he had been itching to confide in someone. “I’ll never get there though.” Hunter said again slipping into self pity “My level six quest is impossible. I have to apologize to someone I wronged.” 

Leon did his best not to laugh. “You could apologize to me,” Leon said and Hunter looked up confused. “You know for trying to strangle me,” Leon clarified.

“Oh,” Hunter said. He took a second to compose himself as if he was about to receive a lethal injection. “I’m sorry for trying to kill you, two times I guess. My memory is a little hazy after I got that class and I wasn’t thinking clearly but the first time I guess was my fault or whatever. I just felt threatened by you and took it out in unhealthy ways.” 

Leon was surprised by the genuineness of the apology. So too was Hunter, his face twisted in confusion then into a smile as the number above his head changed to a seven and he leveled up. The physical changes were small, Leon suspected Hunter was only receiving a fractions of stat points each level, but his pale skin grew a shade more rosy and his body which looked like it could be knocked over by a breeze grew a bit more hale. 

“That felt kind of good,” Hunter admitted sitting up straight. “Maybe I should apologize to Cassie as well.” 

“If you want I have a whole table of folks you could apologize to out there,” Leon said gesturing outside. 

Hunter opened his mouth to say something but a colossal boom drowned him out. The entire bathroom shook and Leon only stayed standing due to his level 16 Indomitable perk. Hunter cowered into himself and lifted his hands to shield his head. “Stay here,” Leon said before rushing out of the bathroom into absolute chaos. 

It took a moment for Leon to process what he was seeing. A hole had been blown in the side of the bar. While most of the students were hurriedly fleeing out the door Leon’s friends along with a few other high-level students were actively engaged in combat. Leon cursed when he saw with who. 

A notification filled his vision. 

“Combat quest: defeat Alvis, level 32 Technocrat. Reward for success: XP, Spiked Pauldron of the Bashful Basher.” 

Under the notification were two options.

“Accept this quest. Yes or no?” 

Leon quickly accepted the quest and then joined the fray. Trent and Edward were in the process of evacuating the bar, Trent causing pieces of rubble to float into the air and Edward calming people with his words. Tag had ducked behind the bar and was furiously mixing drinks. That left only Olivia and Ruth facing off against Alvis. 

Their third roommate had clearly not been stagnant over the months since his plan had come to fruition. He had made some serious upgrades to mech, which was no longer a blocky behemoth but now a sleek smaller suit armor that moved with alarming swiftness.

Beams of white energy shot from a cannon on the mech’s back harrying Ruth and Olivia. Olivia deflected each one with her shield while Ruth dodged them swinging her gigantic sword with impossible ease. Each hit of her sword were blocked by a holographic hexagonal shields that swung up around the mech before becoming invisible again. 

Leon felt felt his Sentimental Strength perk activate. The perk lent him a boost of strength when he felt intense emotions, like sadness or pain or arousal as Edward had been delighted to discover. At that moment all he felt was rage. 

Leon charged forward and roared, his voice dropping several octaves and becoming thunderously loud. Olivia who was had been slowly pushed back by Alvis’s onslaught surged forward and Ruth redoubled her efforts, both bolstered by his level fifteen ability Battle Cry which granted a boost of strength and courage to allies who heard his shout.

Alvis seeing Leon turned to face him. He dismissively activated a technique which caused an electrified net to spring towards Ruth shocking and entangling her. The level sixteen Combat Medic from before rushed to her side as did Olivia, blocking the beams of energy sent to finish Ruth off. 

“Look who is all grown up. You got bigger” Alvis said, amplified voice sounding more sane then it did the last time they faced. 

“And you got uglier,” Leon said though he couldn’t actually see Alvis through the thick metal of the suit. “What do you want?” 

“I want your boyfriend to release me from that chastity spell,” Alvis said swinging a metal fist at Leon. Leon activated his Inner Strength ability and caught it, though the force still sent his feet sliding back into a table flipped over by the blast. 

“Not going to happen,” Leon growled. 

“Then I’ll just have to kill you both,” Alvis said bringing the mech's other hand over his head to smash down onto Leon. 

“That’s not going to happen either,” Leon yelled diving out of the way. He rolled behind the bar right next to Tag who wordlessly handed him a faintly glowing yellow shot. Leon downed it and felt his muscles swell slightly and his mind speed up. He nodded thanks to Tag then dove over the bar. 

Trent and Edward having finished evacuating the students ran up to his side while Olivia helped Ruth to her feet and the two came to join as well so that they were all facing down Alvis, ready to give the technocrat a true fight. 

Most great adventures in video games tend to end with a defeated bad guy, a kingdom set back in order, and a victorious hero. Our’s ends with a bar fight with a mech. That's because real life tends not to be so simple, and because this was not the end for Leon and Edward it was only the beginning. 

[neoraso]

out of my league | pwb

this was requested a year ago and i've literally been working on it since then on and off. to the original anon I AM SO SORRY.. 2k+ wonbin wants to play things cool until it gets to be too much,, enjoy~~~

wonbin honestly did not know how he managed to woo you with his confession (what he thought was a disaster), and keep you on top of that, for the last three months. every day, he waited for you to get up and leave him, after realizing that he was not cut out to be with someone he thought was as perfect as you. someone so well-rounded, so mature with a good sense of humor. he tried so hard to keep up and seem just as put-together around you, but he felt his affections bursting at the seams just over a text from you.

you on the other hand were also starting to wonder if his nonchalance would continue forever or if he’d give up the act- if it was an act (fingers crossed) . it was something that enticed you to begin with, how someone as gorgeous, talented, genuine and kind as him showed interest in you- albeit restrained- but sometimes you wondered what was going on inside his pretty little head.

it wasn’t really as if you doubted his feelings for you. if the deep and lingering kisses weren’t enough, the meals delivered to your door, or even the way he couldn’t help but squeeze you once more before letting you go were all little signs that he cared more than he let on. so when he couldn’t 100% hide his smile when he teased you or held his breath when you threw your legs over his lap, it made you wonder what it would take to get him to crack.

his behavior nor his stiff reactions had deterred you thus far from showing him how much you liked him, but lately it made you falter, wondering if maybe you were being too much.

by the grace of the gods, both you and wonbin were homebodies to the same extent, to the point of your friends joking that one day you’d melt into your bed together (which made you laugh and grab his hand while he turned his face and tried to will the tips of his ears to stop burning).  it was convenient in the way that you never stressed each other with expectations of outings but also made days like this, where he asked you to wear something “cute” and he’d pick you up for a day at the water gardens, more special.

whatever “cute” meant you weren’t really sure, it always stressed you out a bit to keep up with your boyfriend’s fashion tastes especially because he didn’t even seem to notice or draw attention to the outfits you wore- at least not verbally. he could never help smoothing down your sleeves or pinching the collar of your shirts, but it hadn’t slipped past you how he hesitated to grab the strings of your hoodies or sweats or clenched his fist instead of patting your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

wonbin picked you up in a very timely manner as per usual, waiting outside.

you opened the door to see your boyfriend sitting in his car, looking nothing short of debonair also as per usual. when he saw your head pop out of the crack of the door, bouncing as you hopped around putting your shoes on, he got out of the driver’s seat, trying to bite back the giggle burning in his throat from how adorable you were. he glided over to the passenger door, bending down when you reached him to kiss your cheek.

“hi baby.”

he said nothing more, humming at your breathless reply. opening the door, he waited until you were safely inside before shutting it and cooly making it back into his side.

were you on the verge of foaming at the mouth from how good he looked today? yes.

were you still going to keep your hands to yourself to push him to the edge? also yes.

every woman has their limit and after three months you had reached yours. you just hoped you knew him as well as you thought you did so that this plan would come to fruition.

you noticed him glance up at you while he secured his seat belt, reaching over and checking yours too. he faced forward changing the gear into drive as he cleared his throat and spoke out.

“you look nice today. i- well…yeah.”

his incoherence was solidified with a thick gulp.

you were used to his sentences that trailed off more often than not. they didn’t upset you and you never pushed him. it was cute really, and his friends had recently mentioned to you in passing how nervous wonbin was in reality, sometimes shutting down to avoid embarrassing himself.

nevertheless, you simply smiled and thanked him, waiting.

he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as you placed your hands in your lap, resisting the urge to turn your head and ogle at him for the duration of the trip. meanwhile, wonbin tried to keep his cool persona up on the 23 minute drive while also trying to decipher what kind of agenda you seemed be up to.

at first, he was worried he had done something to upset you, but you had responded to him with a bright voice and an even brighter smile- the one he wished he could tell you he loved so much. usually though, by now you would’ve tucked his hair behind his ear or squeezed his arm or leaned over the console to silently ask for a kiss, anything. it wasn’t like he felt like it was your responsibility to initiate affection, but you seemed to do it so naturally. and truthfully, it had been weighing on his mind for weeks, wondering if he held back too much.

when wonbin first met you, he had to overplay it cool so you wouldn’t be able to tell how nervous you made him and think he was a loser. he is also painfully aware that he’s indebted to sungchan for introducing you to the friend group and bringing you around again after seeing how taken with you wonbin was. of course, that’s not to minimize how you stuck around him at group hangouts for some reason he could not figure out, waiting on his words patiently and sweetly conversating with him until finding a sly way to ask for his number. if you were anyone else, he might’ve thought you only talked to him because of his looks, which had happened more often than not with girls, but as cliché as it sounded, you were different. everything about you was so grounding and inescapable, he fell for you almost instantly then retreated just as quick once he realized how deep it was getting. he often wondered if it scared you as much as it did him. he cursed himself every hour he held back over the next few weeks from sending you pictures of things that reminded him of you or just to tell you he missed you. of course, he was much more comfortable online than he was in front of you, when he was distracted by your glossy lips or the way you styled your hair, but it was a constant internal battle of how much was too much that might drive you away.

now, none of that should’ve mattered because he had you, but as your fingers danced over your skirt and you looked out the window, he ached to reach over and pinch your cheek or grab your smaller hands in his, but he was just… frozen. when he was up at night thinking about you, his mind often wandered to the way he treated you. he wondered if you could feel how much he cared about you. if he acted on his affections, would it scare you away? it shouldn’t have frustrated him the way his friends complimented your outfits or the way your girlfriends pulled you onto their laps and kissed your cheek goodbye in front of everyone, but it did. there was no reason to assume you would be opposed to him all over you, but a part of him wondered if his biggest appeal to you was this tough guy thing he had going on. he wondered if you would still like him as much if he was as vulnerable and playful as he wanted to be with you.

all of this speculating took up his brain power for the trip and he realized he hadn’t said anything since you left your house which was exactly the kind of blunder that kept him up at night. after he had parked, you stayed sitting for a beat, looking over at him with a shy smile that made him want to say screw the date and uncharacteristically pounce on you. you probably saw the error code printed on his forehead because you simply laughed and reached to unbuckle your seat belt.

sort of, he guessed, to make up for his silence, he practically leaped out of the car to open your door and help you out. as much as he worried about seeing a hint of disappointment in your eyes, he was so enamored with you and addicted to the exhilaration your presence gave him, he couldn’t help but look at you. there was no disappointment or judgment in your eyes, only adoration with a glimmer of mischief which made him squirm.

did he forget a milestone day? did he have something on his face?

he bit back the shaky inhale and smoothed his expression over again into a lopsided smirk,

“what is it?...” he tugged a strand of your hair to emphasize his antsiness without having to say it.

“oh nothing,” you say slyly, “let’s go hm?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the rest of the date went actually rather smoothly to (mostly) his surprise but you noticed a palpable shift the longer you didn’t give in to having your hands all over him.

the snacks he bought at the food stall for the both of you were put right up to your lips, the corner of your mouth wiped immediately as soon as a crumb fell on them. he moved you around with an arm around your shoulders and snuck pictures of you as you admired the fishes in the pond and the flowers lining the road you walked on with intertwined fingers. once you reached the main bridge that overlooked the water you led the way, leaning against the railing and sighing thoughtfully.

“you’re being extra sweet today bin.”

you didn’t even say it mischievously, staring straight into the pond that had started to glitter in the sun that had hit its peak. your stray hairs were blown messily in front of your face in the breeze, and he was trying his very best to not disturb the moment and move them back behind your ear for you. he really was trying his best but eventually all of his racing thoughts from the last few weeks bubbled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. he put his hand on your shoulder, getting you to look at him before turning you fully facing him. it seemed your plan had worked but now the reward was starting to make you apprehensive with the twitch of his eyebrows and each tentative breath he took. he had both hands on your shoulders as he opened and closed his mouth debating where to start.

“you’re so… pretty.”

your eyebrows quirked as you wondered where this was going.

“wonbin…what’s the matter?”

“nothing is the matter. well- no i guess that’s not true i…” he trailed off as his hands slid over your arms and pulled you into an embrace. he couldn’t focus on talking when you looked at him like that.

“i just love you.” he felt your breath stop and the sun burned against his back. he felt like he was sandwiched between two stars. “i love you and i honestly don’t know how to show you- i don’t want to show- i don’t want to pressure you or seem clingy but i am clingy. i think about you all the time, i don’t want to miss you anymore i want to be with you all the time and tell you everything i like about you. i don’t want to lose you. i’m sorry if it ever seemed like i wasn’t interested, you seriously scared me at first i didn’t want to mess anything up.”

he hard stopped there when he felt himself start to stumble over his own tongue and realized you hadn’t said a word. now he was sure he’d said too much. you surely didn’t realize what you were getting into when you-

“wonbin.” you spoke against his shoulder, your hair brushed against his lips where he held you.

“i feel like i can hear you freaking out.” you giggled when you said it, but he didn’t feel ashamed, he felt…lighter. he laughed with you and loosened the grip he had on your shirt.

you raised your hands to belatedly reciprocate his hug, running your nails against his spine making him shiver.

“i’m glad to know it’s not just me that’s obsessed.” you pulled away as he averted his eyes to the ground. emphasizing the circling of your arms around his lithe middle you kept your eyes on his face. “i thought maybe you were just shy, then i thought maybe you just weren’t affectionate like that.”

 he looked back at you, eyes round and swallowing thickly, with a childlike pout on his face, “no i’m just dumb.”

now you really laughed, and it made him smile that he could finally be so open. “i thought maybe you wouldn’t like me if i wasn’t cool… or something like that…”

“ah, so you think i’m shallow...“

his eyes rounded in panic.

“no! no not- not shallow not- it’s my own thing i ma-“

“i’m just messing bin.”

“ugh don’t do that!” he threw his head back in desperation. “ i think you’re lovely and sweet and too patient with me. i…”

he couldn’t remember what he was going to say because of your lidded gaze on him. he knew what you wanted because he wanted it just as bad so he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. he drank in your sweet hum and nipped at your bottom lip when you couldn’t help but smile. his warm lips moved to the corner of your mouth and cheek when he gave up on kissing your teeth.

“so…” he snuck a kiss as you talked, “you love me bin?” he didn’t even mind the smirk in your voice when he gave an “mmhm” against your cheek. before pulling back in shock

“is that okay? you don’t have to say it back.” now the insecurity was setting in but he didn’t care when he was close enough to see every feature of your face.

“too bad, i love you too.”

“no it’s okay-oh. you really do?” he couldn’t have held back his smile even if he tried.

“yes, silly. now maybe we should continue this conversation at home i think people are starting to stare.” the idea that you were the shy one for once because of him made him feel like he was floating. it was more exhilarating to be this freely affectionate than to repress everything like his love was some sort of dark secret. you deserved nothing less than someone that was willing to give you the world and more. you deserved someone who told you every day how lucky they were to have you and he felt confident in becoming a man that was deserving of you.

he squeezed your cheeks together with one hand and leaned down to press a hard kiss against your face, chuckling when you yelped before slinging his arm over you. grinning as you both walked with purpose back to the car.

“you might actually get sick of me now you know.”

you rolled your eyes at him playfully, “not happening, w-”

“yes ma’am!” he cut you off, his heart racing in his newfound freedom. now he could slowly start to love you like he wanted and there's nothing you could do about it.