#working title for this was 'glowing eyes fic'

[25centsoda]

Whumptober 2024 Day 7 SW

Summary:

Imperials show up during a reconnaissance mission. Luke does something risky to get the rest of the pilots out - leaving himself behind. Day 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | “It’s us or them.”

Excerpt:

“Luke, are you okay?”

Luke turned around, ignoring the shivers that wanted to wrack him. “What?”

“You look pale, Commander.” Tycho’s face was pressed with worry.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s just…” He hesitated. Should he say it? No, his pilots deserved to know. “I think Vader’s nearby.”

Tycho swore. “What?! Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The Force is…distinctive around him.” Luke took a deep breath, and let it out. “I have to go to him. You guys have to leave.”

[marvelsswansong]

melting snow

summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)

☆ word count: 4.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

one: subtle praise

At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.

"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.

But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.

"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.

"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.

So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.

Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.

"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.

"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."

He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.

"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."

Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."

It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.

A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.

"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.

"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."

He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.

"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.

"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.

The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.

------------------------------

two: soft touches

Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.

After all, what is love if not vulnerability?

And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?

So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.

He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.

He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.

He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."

Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.

Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.

It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.

"I owe you, Coriolanus."

Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.

Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.

Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.

"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.

"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.

Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.

"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.

"O-okay."

The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."

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three: nicknames

Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.

Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -

He almost never calls you by your name.

Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.

"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"

Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.

Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.

"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.

"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."

"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.

"Come on you silly man."

He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.

Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.

"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."

"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"

When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.

"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.

"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."

That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.

"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.

"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.

My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.

Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.

As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.

You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.

Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.

And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.

But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.

It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.

"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.

"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.

"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."

Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.

His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.

-----------------------

four: lavish gifts and deep marks

Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.

Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.

"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.

His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.

"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.

You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.

"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."

Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...

He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.

So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.

You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.

You scrunch your face at the odd question.

"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"

Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.

"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."

And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.

Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.

"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.

"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."

You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.

After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.

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five: killing for you

Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).

At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.

No mercy, no hesitation.

After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.

The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.

He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.

Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.

The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.

The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.

The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.

And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.

"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.

"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.

"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."

Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.

Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.

"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.

"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"

And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.

It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.

"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.

"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.

"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"

He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.

But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.

"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."

No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.

"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.

"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"

"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"

"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"

The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.

"Corio? Love?"

The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.

Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.

"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.

You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.

"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"

"Hm?"

It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.

"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"

He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.

"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.

"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.

Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.

"I suppose."

The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.

"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.

The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.

"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"

He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.

a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.

please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!

ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺

[girlrotterr]

☆ 𓈒 ݁ I wanna hold the hand inside you. ๋ ♩ ⋆ ݁

ellie williams x ballerina! reader Summary: Ellie, an art school dropout working at a bookstore, has a habit of sketching strangers she encounters. One day, she becomes captivated by a rising ballet star practicing at a nearby theater. a/n: Happy holidays, my angels! I'm endlessly grateful for your support and kindness. To show my appreciation, here's a festive little fic to celebrate the season! 🎄

The first flakes of snow swirled against the inky sky, catching the amber glow of streetlights as if they were performing a pirouette in the winter night. Ellie slouched on her stool behind the counter, her gaze drifting to the frost-rimmed window. Outside, the world carried on with its holiday bustle—carolers huddled under lampposts, the tinny strains of their song barely audible over the rush of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. She dragged the edge of her sleeve across her face, smudging lead further down her wrist, and stared at the half-finished sketch in her notebook.

The shop was quiet, except for the soft hiss of the radiator and the muffled strains of an old jazz record spinning in the corner. The Christmas tree, barely taller than her arm, stood crooked in its stand, its few ornaments glittering under strings of mismatched lights. Ellie wasn’t much for festive cheer, but it had been her boss’s idea—a “charming touch” to draw in customers. So far, it hadn’t worked.

The bell above the door jingled, sharp and sudden against the quiet. Ellie glanced up, expecting the usual—a hurried shopper looking for last-minute gifts, maybe another student trying to trade old textbooks for cash. But the figure standing in the doorway was neither.

You hesitated there, framed by the frosted glass, the soft glow from the streetlights catching on the gold buttons of your coat. Snow clung to your hair, melting into shimmering droplets that slid down your scarf. Something about the way you stood—poised yet uncertain—caught Ellie’s attention. You stepped inside, the sound of your boots muffled by the threadbare rug, and the door swung shut with a gust of icy air.

Ellie straightened, wiping her smudged fingers on her jeans. Your eyes flicked around the store, tracing the shelves with a kind of deliberation that made Ellie’s skin prickle. You moved with a grace, like you carried some secret rhythm only you could hear. A dancer, Ellie thought, though she couldn’t explain how she knew.

“Can I help you?” Ellie’s voice came out rougher than intended, the words blunt in the stillness.

You blinked, startled, your gaze snapping to hers. For a moment, you didn’t speak, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your coat. Ellie noticed the way your hands moved, smoothing invisible creases, your knuckles brushing against the buttons as if trying to iron it out. 

“Yes,” you said at last, your voice soft but steady. “I’m looking for an old choreography journal. I heard this store might have it.”

Ellie arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Choreography journal? That’s pretty specific.”

You nodded, your expression earnest, and Ellie sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Right. Follow me.”

You trailed behind her as she wove through the maze of shelves. The air smelled of aged paper and pine, and the faint hum of the jazz record followed you into the back corner of the shop. Ellie scanned the spines, her fingers grazing over faded titles until she spotted it—a leather-bound journal, its edges worn with age. She pulled it free and turned, holding it out.

“This the one?”

Your face lit up, a smile breaking across your features so suddenly and so vividly that it hit Ellie like a sucker punch. “Yes! Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you took the journal from her hands, cradling it like something fragile and precious.

She watched as you moved toward the counter, her fingers itching to grab her sketchpad. She didn’t know what it was—maybe the light catching the curve of your cheek, or the quiet determination in your eyes—but she felt the urge to capture it before it slipped away.

The bell jingled again as you left, the journal tucked under your arm. Ellie sat back down, her fingers already moving, charcoal sweeping across the page in quick, confident strokes. She sketched the tilt of your head, the fall of your coat, the way you had looked when you first stepped into the shop, snow still clinging to your scarf.

When the drawing was done, Ellie stared at it, her chest tightening.

“Should’ve said something,” she muttered, closing the notebook with a sigh.

Ellie’s hands drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel, the engine’s hum matching the rhythm of her thoughts as she drove down the dimly lit streets. The Christmas lights that adorned the lampposts casted a muted glow over the pavement, reflecting off the windshield in streaks of red and green. She flicked her gaze over to Jesse, her best friend, who sat in the passenger seat with his head tipped back, looking up at the sparse stars through the cracked window.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were starting to like this cold," Ellie teased, her lips curling into a grin.

Jesse smirked but didn’t reply right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. After a beat, he looked over at her, his expression softening. “It’s not the cold that’s got me in a good mood. It’s this whole, ‘helping out with your job’ thing. Plus, I get to spend some time with you before I clock in at mine.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "You mean the part-time gig as the world’s most underpaid stagehand?"

Jesse chuckled. “Hey, I’m getting better at lifting things.”

The two of them shared a laugh before the silence settled comfortably between them. Ellie had never been one for big plans, but Jesse’s spontaneity had a way of keeping things interesting, even on cold winter nights like this one.

Pulling into the theater's lot, Ellie parked in the space closest to the backstage entrance, and Jesse threw open the door with a flourish. “Wanna come inside for a bit? They’re rehearsing for The Nutcracker, and I don’t feel like sitting around alone.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

Ellie shrugged, her hand on the door handle. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got a couple hours to kill anyway.”

The two of them walked inside, greeted by the familiar hum of stage lights and the distant chatter of performers. The backstage area was a chaos of costumes, props, and stagehands rushing about in preparation for the evening’s rehearsal. Ellie had seen it all before—Jesse working his second job, moving props, fixing lights, and usually getting caught in the drama of the theater. But tonight, she didn’t feel like hanging around the cluttered backroom, so instead, she followed Jesse down a narrow hallway, where the low murmur of music seeped out from beneath the door to the rehearsal space.

The room was filled with dancers—some stretching, others running through pirouettes, all wrapped in the familiar warmth of motion and music. Ellie leaned against the wall just inside the door, watching them with a quiet sense of awe. The elegance in their movements, the sharp precision of each turn and leap—it was a world so different from her own, so alien in its grace.

But then, her eyes caught you.

You were at the front of the group, gliding effortlessly across the polished floor, your body flowing in perfect synchrony with the music. There was something magnetic about the way you moved, something Ellie hadn’t been able to shake since that first moment she saw you in the bookstore. She hadn’t known it then, but seeing you now, so focused, so composed—her heart gave an unexpected thump.

You paused mid-step, adjusting the position of your arm as the instructor called for the group to repeat the sequence. Ellie’s breath hitched in her chest as she watched you. She didn’t know much about ballet—hell, she didn’t know much about anything that required that level of discipline—but she knew that you were a star in the making. And something about you standing there in that moment made her feel like an outsider, unsure of whether to approach you or simply watch from a distance.

Her fingers twitched, the urge to capture you on paper bubbling to the surface before she could stop herself. The sketchbook she always carried with her was nestled in the crook of her arm, the familiar weight comforting in its presence. Without thinking, she pulled it free, the pages flipping open with a soft rustle, and she found the nearest bench, settling down with a practiced ease. The dancers continued to move in their own world, their rhythm uninterrupted by her quiet intrusion.

Jesse, oblivious to the change in the air, slapped her shoulder as he walked by, his voice laced with his usual lighthearted teasing. "I’m gonna go clock in."

Ellie gave him a sharp nod, her focus already elsewhere. “Go do your thing.”

He gave her a crooked grin before disappearing into the back, leaving Ellie alone with her sketchbook and the image of you in her mind. Her pencil hovered over the paper for a moment, and then she was moving, sketching you in a flurry of strokes.

The movements were swift but careful, each line drawing out the fluidity in your form—the arc of your arm, the curve of your body as you turned, the elegance in the tilt of your chin. Ellie’s hand moved instinctively, following the rhythm of your dance in a way she never had before, as if the beat of the music pulsed through her own veins. The sketch began to take shape quickly, a blurry but vivid impression of you.

She glanced up briefly, just to catch the way your foot landed on the floor with a light thud before you floated effortlessly into another spin, and Ellie was back to the page, her pencil pressing harder now, as if she could make it feel more real. The slow burn of the sketch was intoxicating—each movement of your body translated into a new line, a curve, a shadow on the paper. There was something about watching you from here, at a distance, that felt so… personal, like she was drawing you in a way that words never could.

Her pencil moved faster as you paused in a stretch, your back arching in a way that made Ellie’s breath catch in her chest. A small frown creased her brow as she captured it, the lines growing more confident, more precise with every passing second. 

You were beautiful.

Ellie bit her lip, feeling a warmth creeping up her neck at the thought. It was like you were a part of the drawing now, and she didn’t know whether that made it feel more real or less. She wanted to show it to you, somehow, but the thought of speaking to you—really speaking to you—sent a quick pulse of anxiety through her chest. 

The dancers were in full flow now, the music swelling with urgency. They executed one complex sequence after another, their bodies bending and stretching with fluidity. But at the front of the room, where you were, the music seemed to swell around you, highlighting every intricate move, every flick of your wrist, every lift of your leg. You were the center of it all—focused, your concentration as sharp and precise as the form of your body, each movement a well-practiced line of choreography.

But then, in the middle of a delicate turn, it happened.

Your foot slipped.

It was almost imperceptible at first, a slight misstep—a mere second of imbalance—but it was enough to unravel the perfection of your movement. Your ankle buckled, the graceful arc of your body faltering. Ellie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched you lose control, your arms flailing for balance, but your foot twisted in a way that left you no choice.

You crumpled to the floor with a soft thud, the sound of your body hitting the hardwood echoing in Ellie’s chest. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as you caught yourself on your hands, but it was clear you weren’t going to recover quickly. For that split second, time seemed to freeze—there was only the sound of your pain hanging in the air, as still as the tension that gripped the room. Ellie felt her stomach drop, her hands instinctively tightening around the edges of her sketchbook as she kept her gaze locked on you, her heart pounding wildly.

The other dancers rushed to your side, their faces a blur of concern and urgency, but Ellie couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt as if her whole body had gone rigid, her muscles taut with the sudden, overwhelming need to do something, anything—but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot, her mind frozen with the image of you crumpled on the floor.

"Shit," Ellie muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she clenched her jaw, frustration building in her chest. Her fingers, stiff with worry, drummed against the pages of her sketchbook, but she barely noticed the paper crinkling beneath her touch.

It felt like hours before Jesse reappeared, though it was only a minute or so later. He stepped lightly into the space beside Ellie, his shoes tapping against the floor. He scanned the scene in front of them, his eyes flicking over to where you were being helped up by one of the instructors.

Jesse plopped down next to Ellie, stretching his legs out in front of him and settling in with the ease of someone who had been here a thousand times before. His tone was casual, but Ellie could hear the concern that lingered beneath it, the weight of the situation finally beginning to register in his voice. "You good?"

Ellie’s focus was still completely fixed on you. Her mind was a swirl of confusion, worry, and something deeper she couldn��t quite place. She didn’t know how to process it, how to feel about seeing you like this. She’d watched you dance so effortlessly before. But now, this—this moment—felt different. “I don’t know… I think she’s okay, but—” She trailed off, her voice trailing behind the question, as she watched the instructor gently guide you off to the side. Your movements were slow now, the instructor’s arm around your shoulders, offering what little support you might need.

Jesse leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. He folded his arms across his chest, the casual way he settled back into his seat making it clear that this wasn’t his first time seeing something like this happen. 

“Ohh, her. She’s a rising star, man. You wouldn’t know it from how quiet she is, but she’s a big deal around here. Preparing for The Nutcracker… it’s like, a huge role for her.” His voice softened as he spoke, but Ellie could still hear the admiration in his words, the way he seemed to know something more about you than she did.

Her brow furrowed, her thoughts racing in a dozen directions. 

Jesse’s  gaze shifted back to you as you sat on the bench now, resting your injured ankle. There was a brief pause before he continued, his voice quieter now. 

 “Last year, though… she had a huge setback. Bad performance, all the pressure got to her. She messed up, and it cost her. Big time.” He glanced at Ellie, gauging her reaction, before he continued, his voice more subdued. “She twisted her ankle during the performance. It’s been hard for her to bounce back.”

Ellie’s stomach tightened at the revelation, her heart sinking. “Are you sure she’s gonna be okay?” Ellie asked, her words tumbling out before she could stop them. There was a tightness in her chest now, a knot she couldn’t unravel as she watched you—still holding yourself, but now with a limp, a hesitation in your steps.

Jesse let out a long sigh, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “She’s tough. But… yeah. It’s gonna take a lot to get back to where she was before. The injury’s made it harder to balance sometimes. I think it messes with her head more than anything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes lingering on you, still sitting off to the side, the pain evident in your movements even though you tried so hard to mask it.

Ellie couldn’t look away. The sight of you made something inside her ache, something she couldn’t name. 

Ellie walked into her apartment, the door creaking as she pushed it open, the familiar scent of stale air and dust greeting her like an old friend. The heater was a noisy beast that struggled to keep the cold at bay, but she couldn’t afford anything better, not when every paycheck was stretched thin between groceries, rent, and whatever scraps of art supplies she could scrape together. She sighed, a breath that carried the weight of the long day, as she kicked off her boots. 

The floor was cold under her feet, but it didn’t matter much—everything in this place was a little broken, a little worse for wear. She shrugged out of her coat, letting it drop onto the couch, and peeled off her layers one by one. The thick sweater, the scarf she had wrapped too tightly around her neck, the faded jeans—she tossed them all aside like they didn’t matter anymore. She had long given up on caring about how she looked or how this place looked. No amount of rearranging could fix the fact that it was barely livable.

Ellie crossed the small living room to the heater, cranking it up to the highest setting, watching the way it sputtered to life with a half-hearted groan. The warmth was slow to come, but she didn’t mind the wait. She needed to lie down. She needed to close her eyes for just a moment before the thoughts crowded in.

She dropped onto the couch, sinking into the familiar, sagging cushions. The spot had molded to her body over the years, each depression a reminder of how many sleepless nights she had spent in this place—thinking, drawing, wasting time. Her sketchbook was always within reach, a constant companion even when she hated it, when the pages felt too full of the messy, unrefined parts of herself.

Ellie was a scrappy art school dropout with no grand dreams of gallery shows or fame. After her dad—Joel—had passed, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. He’d been the one who held things together, who made sure she had everything she needed, even when things were hard. His sudden death shattered her world, leaving her with no safety net. Without him, there was no way she could afford the tuition. So she quit.

Her shifts at the bookstore paid for the crappy apartment, but it didn’t cover the bills, let alone the art supplies she burned through. Still, she kept coming back. It wasn’t the job she wanted, but it kept her from starving, kept her from getting evicted. Her fingers were always covered in ink and graphite from sketching during breaks, filling pages with fragmented portraits and half-formed ideas. 

Ellie had been lying on the couch, the irritation of the thumping bass from next door creeping under her skin like an itch that couldn't be scratched. She'd pulled her pillow over her head, hoping it would drown out the noise, but it only seemed to make the thudding louder. The muffled music bled through the walls, a constant, annoying reminder of how small and stifling her apartment had become. She felt trapped—trapped by the noise, by the walls, by the life she couldn't quite get out of.

And then the moment came. Another wave of pounding bass rattled the floor, sharp and insistent, until Ellie couldn’t take it anymore. Her frustration built up until it was a tight knot in her chest, and before she even realized it, she was on her feet, storming out of her apartment without a second thought.

Her feet barely made a sound as she walked down the hall, her breath shallow, fists clenched. The door to the apartment was slightly ajar, as if inviting her in, and Ellie, in her agitated state, didn’t pause to knock. She pushed the door open, ready to confront the source of the noise, but then everything stopped.

You were there.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, you moved with a grace that stole Ellie’s breath away. The warm, golden light wrapped around your figure like a blanket, casting your silhouette in a soft, delicate glow. Your body spun through the air, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next, as if you were part of the rhythm of the world itself. Your form was fluid, every line of your body a quiet expression of something beautiful.

She stood frozen in the doorway, her chest tight as she watched. The world seemed to slow down around her. There was no harsh music blaring, no noise at all—just the sound of your movements and the occasional soft swish of fabric. The way you danced was mesmerizing, like you were lost in a world of your own.

Your focus was total, your expression one of quiet concentration, but it wasn’t just your skill that held Ellie’s gaze. It was the way you seemed to move so effortlessly, as if you were floating. You were lost in your dance, your body becoming an extension of the space around you. For a brief, fleeting moment, Ellie forgot everything—the irritation, the frustration, even the reason she’d come here. All that mattered was the way you filled the space with your presence.

God, you're everywhere.

Ellie’s heart thudded in her chest, each beat louder than the last. The thought hit her, unbidden and sharp: fuck, I can’t escape you. You were a constant presence, even if Ellie hadn’t fully realized it until now. In the bookstore, in the theater, in the quiet of her own apartment, and now here, in the soft glow of your world. It was as if fate had tied her to you, whether she liked it or not. And in that moment, Ellie couldn’t decide if she was terrified or intrigued by that pull.

You finished your spin, landing with the kind of grace that left Ellie almost breathless. The room around you felt smaller, quieter, as if your very presence had claimed it..

But then, in that instant, your movements faltered. Your eyes flickered toward her, and suddenly the connection snapped. Your gaze locked with hers, and Ellie felt a jolt run through her body, as if her entire world had shifted. The stillness of the moment was broken by the uncomfortable tension that now hung between them.

You froze mid-spin, your wide eyes betraying a mixture of surprise and fear. The tension in your body was palpable as you instinctively took a step back, your shoulders tightening, your lips pressed together in discomfort. Ellie saw the way you hesitated, a quick breath caught in your chest, as if you weren’t sure whether to move or stay.

You were scared. Unnerved by her presence.

Ellie raised her hands slowly, palms out in a gesture of apology, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “I—I didn’t mean to—your door was open, and the music… I just…” She trailed off, words tangling on her tongue as her gaze flickered over you, taking in the guarded way you stood, every muscle taut as if ready to defend yourself.

The silence between you stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in your apartment. Ellie swallowed hard, the warmth of the space and the sheer presence of you making her feel like an intruder in a world she didn’t belong to.

You folded your arms, your expression shifting from wary to something unreadable. The moonlight poured through the wide windows, catching on the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin. Your hair framed your face, slightly disheveled but effortlessly stunning, and the tension in your jaw made Ellie’s chest ache in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“Look,” Ellie started again, shifting awkwardly, her fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. I live next door, and the music was… loud.” She winced inwardly at the weak excuse, the words sounding hollow even as they left her lips. Her frustration from earlier had long since dissipated, leaving only a raw mix of nerves and something else—something she couldn’t quite name.

“Loud?” you repeated, your voice soft but edged with incredulity.

Ellie nodded quickly, her cheeks burning. “Yeah. But, uh, you dance… really well. Like, beautifully well.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your arms still crossed, but the sharpness of your gaze seemed to dull just a fraction. Ellie could’ve kicked herself. Compliments probably weren’t what you wanted to hear from the stranger who’d just barged into your apartment uninvited.

“Thanks,” you said finally, your tone clipped. But there was something in the way you said it—something quieter, almost hesitant—that made Ellie’s stomach twist. The tension in your frame didn’t ease, and you kept your distance, clearly not ready to let your guard down.

Ellie shifted on her feet, the urge to say something—anything—gnawing at her. “Right. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.” She took a step back toward the door, but her movements were sluggish, reluctant. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, louder than the muffled music still playing faintly in the background.

She hesitated, glancing back at you over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” she said, her voice quiet, almost shy, “you’re… incredible. I can tell how hard you work. ”

The tension in your face softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something Ellie couldn’t quite place crossing your features. But you didn’t say anything, just leaned lightly against the edge of a small table near the window. The moonlight caught on the curve of your shoulder, illuminating the quiet strength in your posture, the determination etched into the lines of your body even in stillness.

“Next time,” you said finally, your tone even but laced with a sharp edge, “knock.”

Ellie nodded quickly, a sheepish, almost apologetic smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Totally. Got it.”

Without another word, she slipped back into the hallway, the door clicking shut softly behind her. Ellie leaned heavily against the wall, running a hand through her unruly hair as she exhaled a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, the image of you under the moonlight burned into her mind.

The faint glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, soft blues and reds dancing across the walls of Ellie’s small apartment. The space felt warmer than usual, though the heater sputtering in the corner certainly wasn’t responsible for that. It had everything to do with you being here—sitting cross-legged on the floor with a box of ornaments balanced in front of you, a soft smile playing at your lips as you unwrapped another bauble.

Ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eye as she worked to untangle the mess of lights in her lap. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught herself watching you, though she’d gotten better at not staring outright. You’d been coming around more often lately, showing up with little excuses to see her: a borrowed book you’d “forgotten” to return, a leftover pastry from the café near your place that you thought she’d like, even a random bottle of wine to “celebrate surviving another week.”

At first, Ellie had been cautious, unsure of what to make of your easy smiles and playful teasing. But slowly—so slowly she hadn’t even realized it at first—her defenses had begun to drop. You’d found a way to fit into the cracks of her life, easing past her guarded edges with a kindness that felt effortless.

And Ellie, despite herself, had started to let you in.

The moments you shared now felt natural, unforced. Like when you’d taken it upon yourself to help her pick out a Christmas tree after learning she’d never had one. You’d teased her mercilessly about her bare-bones apartment, joking that she needed “at least one thing in here that screamed holiday cheer.” And she’d let you, because even when you were poking fun at her, there was something so warm and genuine in the way you spoke to her, like you’d known her forever.

“Ellie,” you said now, breaking her from her thoughts. She blinked, looking up to find you holding out a small ornament shaped like a snowflake. “This one’s cute. Front and center?”

She shrugged, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Sure. You’re the boss.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to hang the ornament near the middle of the tree. Ellie couldn’t help but notice how easily you seemed to fill the quiet spaces in her apartment, your presence bringing a lightness to the air that hadn’t been there before.

Tonight felt like another step forward, a bridge you’d both unknowingly been building.

Ellie stood beside you now, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stared at the tree. She was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her, close enough that her quiet presence felt like an anchor in the room.

“It’s… not bad,” Ellie said, her voice soft.

You turned to her, arching a brow. “Not bad?”

She smirked, her gaze flicking toward you. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, grinning as you shook your head. The ease between you was palpable, the kind of comfort that only came after spending hours together—sharing stories, laughter, and the occasional comfortable silence.

Ellie’s apartment, once cold and cluttered, now felt warmer somehow. The pile of sketchbooks on the coffee table no longer seemed like a chaotic mess but a testament to the creativity Ellie carried in her bones. The tree, crooked and adorned with mismatched ornaments, added a glow that felt almost magical.

“Thanks, by the way,” Ellie said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “For, you know… doing this.”

You looked at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. Ellie was many things—sarcastic, quick-witted, and guarded—but moments like these reminded you of how deeply she felt things, even if she didn’t always show it.

“Of course,” you said softly, your smile gentle. “Everyone deserves a Christmas tree, Ellie. Even you.”

Ellie let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the floor. “Never really had one growing up,” she’d admitted, “Joel tried once, but it just… didn’t stick. Felt weird, I guess."

“Guess it’s time to start” you teased, your voice playful but warm.

Ellie glanced up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. The Christmas lights twinkled softly in the background, their glow reflecting in your eyes, and Ellie felt the faintest tug of something deeper, something she didn’t yet have the words for.

But as the silence stretched on, you glanced at your phone, noticing the time.

"I should probably head out," you said, your voice breaking the calm. Ellie looked over at you, blinking as if snapping out of her own thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to keep you," Ellie replied, a trace of reluctance in her voice.

You stood, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. "It’s fine. I’m just—" you paused, then smiled. "I’ve got to get back to the theater. You know, practice."

Ellie nodded, walking over to the door with you. She hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed, how easily it had slipped away in the comfort of your presence. It felt almost too good to be true, this—whatever it was between you.

Before you opened the door, you paused, turning back to Ellie. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, everything seemed to quiet around you both.

"Hey," you said softly, catching her off guard. "I, uh, I know it’s short notice, but the performance is next week." You hesitated for a beat, your words coming out a little more uncertain than you’d intended.  “I’d really love for you to come. If you’re free, of course."

Ellie blinked, taken aback for a moment. She hadn’t expected the invitation—hadn’t expected you to even consider asking her.

"Of course I’ll come," she said, a little more quickly than she’d planned, but the sincerity in her voice made the words ring true. "I wouldn’t miss it."

You smiled, the warmth in your expression spreading like sunlight. "Thanks. It means a lot."

With one last look, you opened the door, stepping into the cool air of the hallway. Ellie stood there for a moment, watching as you disappeared down the stairs, your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

She stood there, frozen, for a beat longer than she should have, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

Ellie sat on her worn couch, the edges of her sweater tugged absently as she focused on the task at hand. Her sketchbook lay open before her, its pages worn and filled with sketches that had been born out of moments stolen in the corners of her day. Some of them were hurried, some more thought-out, but all of them were tied to the presence of the girl who had so unexpectedly woven herself into Ellie’s life.

She looked at the sketchbook for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the lines of the last drawing—the one of you, mid-spin, your hair a blur, your focus sharp. The way your body seemed to stretch toward something greater, something just out of reach, resonated with her more than she'd care to admit. The way you'd looked at her that night, vulnerable but powerful, it felt like something she couldn't just forget.

Ellie’s fingers grazed the edges of the book, her mind racing for the right words, the right moment. She didn’t have much, but she had this. She didn’t know how to express what she felt with words, but a drawing? That she could do.

She pulled a strip of brown wrapping paper from a roll on the floor beside her, laying it across the table. Her fingers worked quickly, folding the paper neatly around the book, securing the corners with tape, the sound of the tape cutting through the quiet air like a small, deliberate movement. Ellie’s tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she carefully placed the final piece of tape in place.

The book, now wrapped, felt heavier than it had before. Maybe it was the weight of her unspoken words. Or maybe it was the anticipation of tomorrow—the performance, the moment where she'd see you again.

Ellie sat back, her hand resting on the wrapped gift for a moment. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional rattle of the windows from the breeze outside. She glanced over at the corner of the room, where the small Christmas tree flickered faintly.

She didn’t know if it was enough. She wasn’t even sure if you’d like it, but the thought of not giving it to you felt unbearable.

With a final glance at the tree and the city lights dancing through the window, Ellie slid the wrapped book into a small gift bag, adjusting the top with practiced care. It wasn’t perfect—her hands a little too quick, her movements too hurried—but it was hers. She picked it up, feeling its weight, her heart thumping a little faster than it should have.

Tomorrow. Your big performance. 

Tomorrow, she’d give it to you.

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken pressure as you stood in the center of the rehearsal floor. The mirrors reflected back not just your movements, but your fears, your frustrations, your self-doubt. The music swelled, a familiar, haunting melody that once had felt like second nature. But today, it sounded distant. Out of reach. Your foot faltered again. Just a small stumble, but enough to make your heart skip a beat, enough to draw the instructor's sharp, disapproving gaze.

"Again, you're off balance," the instructor said, voice cold, piercing the silence like a dagger. You clenched your jaw, trying to steady your breath. The words sliced through you, but you refused to let them break you.

You fought for this role. You had fought for months after the injury, after last year’s disastrous performance that still haunted you like a nightmare. You had pushed your body beyond its limits, rebuilt what had been broken, and now, you were here—fighting to keep this role, to prove you were strong enough. You were enough.

The music began again, faster this time, more demanding. You forced your body to move with it, the rhythm pulling at your every step. Each pirouette felt like it could crumble beneath you, each jump a risk you couldn’t afford to take. Your ankle, still fragile, sent a twinge of pain with each landing, but you fought it back, pushing through the discomfort. Your focus was sharp, despite the sweat beading down your forehead, despite the exhaustion gnawing at your muscles.

You would make it. You had to make it.

"Again!" the instructor snapped, crossing their arms. "You're losing control."

You swallowed hard, grinding your teeth, the bitterness of those words tasting sour in your mouth. Your legs burned, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn't stop.

You spun into the next movement, a leap that felt too high, too far—but you made it, landing with a soft thud that sent a jolt of pain through your ankle. But you didn't falter. You didn't let it show. You pushed through the sting, lifting your chin as you reset yourself. You had to prove them wrong.

But then, as the music paused for a breath, your instructor spoke again. Their voice, though calm, was final.

"You’re getting replaced."

The words hit you like a cold wave, crashing over you and pulling the air from your lungs. Your world seemed to tilt, and for a brief moment, everything blurred. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You forced yourself to meet the instructor’s gaze, but the sting of their eyes was unrelenting. The disappointment was clear, written in the subtle shift of their posture, in the way they avoided your eyes.

"What?" you whispered, your voice cracking, but the question hung in the air like a dead weight, swallowed by the silence.

The instructor didn't respond, just stared at you, impassive. You tried to steady your breath, trying to hold onto something, anything. Your pulse thudded in your ears, but you couldn’t let it break you. Not now.

But they didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Their gaze was colder than you’d ever felt it before.

"You're not ready," the instructor continued, the finality in their tone wrapping around you like a chain. "We can’t afford to keep you in this role. Your balance is off. We need someone more stable."

A dull ache spread through your chest, hollowing you out from the inside. Stable. They might as well have said you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough, not after everything.

"Just... give me one more chance,. you found yourself saying before you could stop it. You stepped forward, but they didn’t flinch. Your hands clenched at your sides, your legs trembling beneath you, but you didn’t let yourself collapse.

But the instructor's response was curt. "The decision is final."

The air in the room thickened, the weight of it suffocating. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only felt your legs shaking as if the floor had disappeared beneath you. You had fought so hard, put everything into this role, this comeback. And now… you were being replaced.

The music that had once felt like a lifeline was now silent, and in its place was only the sound of your own heartbeat crashing in your chest.

"You're done here," the instructor added, turning away, leaving you standing alone in the center of the room, your body trembling and your breath shallow.

The silence stretched on, but it felt like hours. You stood there, fighting against the overwhelming rush of emotions—defeat, frustration, disbelief—and yet, a part of you felt something else, something deep and burning. You were not done.

The city’s stillness hung in the air, thick with the weight of dawn, as Ellie leaned against the railing of her balcony, her breath fogging up in front of her. The faint hum of the early morning felt too quiet, too empty for the chaos that had built up in her chest the past few days. But it was all muffled now, drowned out by the image of you standing there, on your balcony in the freezing cold. It was 5 a.m., and there you were, just... staring into the distance, your body wrapped in a sweater too thin for the chill that had already crept into the world around you.

Ellie’s mind raced, worry creeping in. She had seen you around for months now, your quiet, focused presence tugging at something inside her, something she didn’t want to admit. She could never ignore you, even from afar. And now here you were, vulnerable and alone in the cold, your shoulders hunched against the wind, and all Ellie could think about was how wrong it was. How you should be inside, getting rest before tonight—before everything hinged on tonight—and yet here you were, standing in the dark. Alone.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Ellie called, her voice cracking through the silence.

You jumped slightly at the sound, and when your eyes landed on her, it felt like a punch to the gut. There was something about you in that moment—lost in thought, distant, wrapped in the cold, but so incredibly... beautiful. It was in the way you carried yourself, how you seemed to light up even in the darkness. It was so raw, so vulnerable, it made Ellie’s heart tighten in her chest.

You looked confused at first, blinking at her, then a little embarrassed, as if you hadn’t realized how cold it was out there. “Just... thinking,” you said softly, your voice carrying a layer of fatigue that Ellie could almost feel.

“Thinking?” Ellie’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t stop the concern from bleeding into her tone, the need to pull you inside, to wrap you in something warm. “It’s freezing out here. And it’s... it’s 5 a.m., what are you doing?”

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze dropping to the ground, the quiet tension hanging thick between you both. Ellie could feel it, a thick pulse in her chest, like she was waiting for something—anything—to break the silence.

Then, she noticed the gift bag in your hand, something carefully wrapped, something she had almost forgotten about in the chaos of everything else.

“Shit,” Ellie muttered under her breath, stepping closer to the railing. She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but the words just slipped out. “I brought you something.”

You looked up at her then, surprised, as Ellie held out the gift bag. It was awkward—too much, maybe—but it was all she had in that moment.

“It’s—uh, it’s for the show tonight. You don’t have to open it now, though,” she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to hide the sudden, nervous flush creeping up her neck. The words were tumbling out too fast, her chest tight.

You took the bag from her, your fingers brushing hers for a moment, and Ellie felt a spark of warmth flood her skin. She watched you, her breath coming a little quicker now, unsure of how to feel about this. You glanced down at the bag, your expression unreadable, before you pulled the tissue paper aside and peered inside.

Ellie’s stomach flipped as you pulled out the sketchbook. She hadn’t thought about how it might feel to have someone open it, not like this. Her sketching had always been so personal, something she kept to herself, but this felt... different. Watching you flip through the pages, her sketches of you—sketches she’d never planned to show anyone—made her feel exposed, too visible. She could hear the soft, surprised intake of your breath as you saw the drawings, but Ellie didn’t dare speak, afraid of breaking the moment.

“Ellie,” you said her name like a whisper, your voice catching in her chest. She met your eyes, her heart skipping a beat at the softness in your gaze. "This is... " There was a pause, and then your eyes darted up to meet hers. 

Ellie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The way you said her name, the way you looked at her—there was something in it that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as awkward as it felt. That maybe, despite her nerves, it was okay.

“I…,” she muttered, her fingers twisting nervously. “I just... I wanted you to have it. You know, for the show.” She let out a small laugh, but it sounded more like a sigh. “I’ve been sketching you for a while now. I—uh, I wanted to give you something.”

You smiled, your lips curving up in the smallest, softest way, and Ellie felt her heart race at the sight. “Thank you, seriously.,” you said, your voice full of sincerity, and Ellie couldn’t help the flush that spread across her cheeks. It was too much, too real, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to say that,” Ellie muttered, shifting on her feet, her gaze avoiding yours for a moment. “I just wanted to do something for you.  I don’t know, I just... figured you might like it.”

“Ellie," you said, and your voice was steady now, the uncertainty that had clouded your face earlier gone. “Let me perform for you.”

[rockingbytheseaside]

I just read 'a boy named heretic' and it was really great cuz I can see little zandik being obsessed of his favourite researchers. And Imagine after creating his segments, little segments being so obsessed with you that they start their days with reading your researchs or treating your researchs like a religious book maybe even the older segments still do that. they would have memorised everything by now and that would be so funny like little segments make a mistake when they are talking about your researchs and older ones go like 'no no it goes like this and this' I can definitely see that happening.

Thank you for reading my brainrot over your fic and even though i just discovered you I love your writing style and your art is amazing so thank you for blessing us

Thank you so much! I try to write fics and tropes because I also struggle with Harbinger brainrot. Sometimes I draw and sometimes I gotta write. So I hope I won't disappoint with this one (｡•́︿•̀｡)

✦ You learn that Dottore taught his little segment about your old research too

(tw: none, pure fluff)

In the days of old, a young boy named Zandik was infatuated by you.

You were there, in the photos of the Akademiya’s best, A brilliant alumna. Meanwhile, he was still a mere student, looking up at you with eager ruby eyes. The distance between you two, not just in seniority, but in intellect and knowledge looked like an insurmountable ocean for little Zandik. 

He read all your published works, theses, or even miscellaneous essays. You were one of the few who dared to explore risque topics, often researching the fallen technology of your homeland, Khaenri’ah. Your works became his mantra, as the young trainee Dastur frequently stayed at night reading and memorizing your written words. 

How he longed to stand by your side. To bask in the glow of your wisdom, and hopefully, one day stand beside you in these photos of The Akademiya’s best. The thought of being your equal on that wall is a fantasy that once consumed him during many sleepless nights. 

But alas, his name was not in the records beside you. Instead, it was in the records of exiled students. 

The expulsion was a bitter pill to swallow for Zandik, yet it became a blessing in disguise. It allowed him to break free from the constraints of the Akademiya and truly delve into the depths of his research; to walk where you walked. With this liberating and newfound freedom, The Fatui heightened his abilities. They provided him with the resources and tools, and in return, he shared the fruits of his labor with them. But the Fatui were not the focus of his pursuits - you were. 

The little boy who once admired you from afar is no more. Now, a Fatui Harbinger stood before you, a man who has grown and shaped himself in your shadow. So here you were, in Dottore’s lab quietly musing. That was the story of your unceremonious reunion with The Doctor, whom you didn’t even know was after you. However, you didn’t mind it. You even met one of his many segments. 

What you didn’t expect is… a little child in his lab. 

A boy, looking awfully similar to little Zandik, no older than 8 years old. He gawked back at you, with his ruby-red eyes and you felt a sense of deja vu. You kneeled in front of him, catching a glimpse of a book in the child’s arms: 

“Um, hello, little one. What is that book you’re reading?”

The child cast his gaze to the floor timidly, revealing the worn-out book he was concealing behind his back. He held it tightly with his little hands, speaking in a small but avid voice:

“It’s your work… Your name is right here!” 

You blinked in surprise. It indeed had your name on it. The title was one of your research papers that you honestly forgot about. But what was even more surprising is why would an 8-year-old child read some old academic papers. 

“Oh, it is? But isn’t it a little… boring or difficult for you to read?” 

“No, I love it! I can even recite it if you want!” 

When Prime Dottore entered and spotted you talking to the eager younger clone he smirked. It seems you finally met his youngest segment, and your bafflement was expected. 

Dottore assured you that his segments, especially the younger Zandik, cannot contain their excitement at the mere mention of your name. They speak of you with a reverence that borders on idolatry, and they often ask Dottore about any copies of your published studies. 

It seems even the segments have inherited his admiration for you.

And the youngest segment, the 8-year-old child? They are absolutely enamored with your work. Every day, they ask about you and patiently anticipate any new information about your next visit to the lab. They even have a small collection of your books on their shelf, reading them diligently and trying to understand the complexity of your ideas. It was a bewildering sight, but the youngest segment enjoyed your academic essays as his bedtime stories.

“Dottore, listen. Did you make this boy memorize my thesis instead of reading fairy tales or something? Isn’t this a little… complicated for a child?” - you asked, picking up the little segment into your arms. 

“Nonsense my dear. Instead of fairy tales and nursery rhymes, a prodigy must start early by instilling a desire for knowledge. You can test it for yourself.” - Dottore explained, turning to the young child - “Recite the passage about energy infusion, paragraph 2.” 

“Okay! Ahem… ‘In the realm of Khaenri'ahn technology, we find a profound example of the interconnectedness between opposites. The use of advanced energy systems combines the power of light and electricity and as according to the data numbers of…”

Oh boy. These are big words for an 8-year-old. You don’t even remember the exact words of your 400-year-old thesis; that thing is ancient! You didn’t have the heart to tell them both that this thesis was written during an all-nighter rush. You did not feel nostalgic remembering your stress over deadlines. 

“Little one?” - You smiled at the boy in your arms and pointed at Dottore “Promise you won’t grow up like this big meanie here. He's annoying” 

“Heehee, okay!” - The tiny Zandik gently hugged your neck. The clone's innocent presence contrasts starkly with Il Dottore's imposing frown. What you failed to notice, however, was the young segment sticking his tongue out at Dottore's jealousy while you hugged the child unawarely. 

[syddsatyrn]

⛧Devotion is Love with Wings⛧ Chapter One: A Sleepless Sovereign

Ch1 / Ch2 / Ch3 / Ch4

⛧Pairing: - Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

⛧Warnings: Alcohol, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, king x servant, panic attack, heartbreak, happy ending.

⛧Words: 3.3k

⛧Summary: As Lucifer's advisor you are required to assist him with a number of things. That includes his schedule, many chores, and the occasional middle of the night panic attack.

⛧Notes: This is my first Hazbin Hotel fic! I hope you all like it because Alastor is my next victim. I just want to give poor Luci some love, he is such a cutie and he's been through enough! My beta reader is @hellfiremunsonn and we love her for that.

---------------------

The sun rises and a soft glow illuminates the kitchen. Faint streaks of dawn get brighter as time goes by, the sky is painted with hues of pink and gold. Every day you wake before him and make his coffee. It was a morning ritual you’ve come to enjoy. The silence allowed you time to think and plan your day. As you fill a cup full of coffee, the smell permeates the air.

You carefully take the cup upstairs on a tray and down a long hallway. The air hummed with a faint scent of luxury. It's grandiose and extravagant manor, with gold trim in the hallway. Apples and angelic wings decorate the molding. Your footsteps echo against the marble floors until you stop at the large double doors. You open the right side of the door quietly. The room is dark, some light peeked through the window, but the long velvet curtains block out most of it.

He's so peaceful, lying there, the silk sheets covering his midsection leave little to the imagination. His messy blonde hair and soft face has always made your heart skip a beat. Soft snores escape his lips, you almost feel bad for waking him up while he’s in such a state.  

“Your majesty?” You finally speak. The King stirs and covers his face with his hands. He lets out a small groan in response.

*It's time to get up, sir.” You say as Lucifer slowly and reluctantly sits up. You hand him his coffee with a smile, he looks up at you with drowsy eyes. 

“Thank you, y/n.” He replied, taking a sip of the warm and bitter drink.  

You start to stroll around his room, picking up clothes that have been tossed and putting them in the laundry basket. Lucifer watches as you pick up his messy room, sipping his coffee occasionally. 

“You don't have to do all that y’know.” Lucifer says, feeling a little guilty about his disorganization. 

“Oh but I do, sir.” You said with a straight face. 

“Y/N, I don't know what I would do without you.” He admits with a soft chuckle. 

You smile, your face turns a little pink but it's hard to tell with the lights off. You walk over to the curtains and draw them open. Lucifer doesn't look too pleased with how bright it is. You walk over to his wardrobe and shuffle through the many different articles of clothing until you find his white suit with red accents. 

“Your daughter called, there are documents you need to look over and you have a meeting this afternoon.” You remind him as you place his clothes on the corner of his large bed.

“Can I just go back to sleep?” Lucifer pleads with you and you let out a small sigh.

“Every day you ask me the same question and every day I tell you the same answer…”

“So that's a no…?” He chuckles softly.

That is correct, your majesty.” You roll your eyes as you leave him to get dressed for the day. 

----------------------

The relationship between you two has always been a little strange. You were hired many years ago as a maid for his estate. But after a small while grew to be his right hand, now you’re titled as his “advisor”. You take your job very seriously, everyday you make his coffee, bring him his meals, complete household chores, chauffeur him around, you even attend his meetings for him occasionally. Your entire life is devoted to your King, you felt it was a respectable title. You've worked hard to get to this point, and recognize the power that comes with that. After many years of proving yourself, Hell sees you as an extension of the royal family.

Lucifer had quite a soft spot for you, he offered you a room in his home so you can do your job without the bothersome commute. He pays you well and allows you access to many of his personal assets. The free room and board, along with never having to cook for yourself made it all worth it.

After some time you developed some feelings for him, but you would never admit that. You’re not up to that societal standard. You’ve always told yourself he could have anyone he wanted, which is true. The King of Hell was dashing and charming, but also extremely powerful. Despite all that he doesn't seem to fraternize with anyone, ever since Lilith left, it’s like he's lost that part of himself.

It was time for you to get yourself a cup of coffee and bring his breakfast to the dining hall. After finishing your task you sit down at the dining table and enjoy your coffee. Not long after, Lucifer emerges, dressed, but still looking rather fatigued.

“Did you not sleep well, sir?” You ask and bring your cup to your lips.

“No, I was tossing and turning all night.” He grumbles, the dark bags under his eyes are a dead giveaway.

“Hmm…you’ve been doing that quite a bit more often than usual.” You remark.

“I know! What is up with that? It's ridiculous.” The king says with a huff.

“Ridiculous indeed, sir.”

Lucifer called Charlie on his cellphone, and talked about the Hotel she was running. Charlie says he is due for a visit so you make a mental note to schedule that later. Your mind wanders as he talks on the phone while eating various fruits. The last time Lucifer wasn’t sleeping well he was having nightmares. You remember one awful night in particular, you were up late finishing some paperwork for him when suddenly you hear a scream coming from his room. You rush in and he's curled up in a ball, sobbing. You immediately crawl into his bed to comfort him, he laid his head in your lap and you played with his blonde hair until he fell back to sleep.  

“Y/N…?” Lucifer says and tilts his head slightly. Looks like he finished his phone call while you were lost in thought. You shake yourself from your memories, a pink tint spreads across your face.

“Yes?”

“Something on your mind, my dear?” He asks with a look of concern on his face. 

“No sir, it's nothing.” You assure him. Neither of you have spoken of that night since.

You continue to drink your coffee, Lucifer gives you a skeptical look and continues his breakfast. The day was a very average day. After breakfast Lucifer went to his study to read over some documents and sign a few things. You took his almost empty plate and cup to the kitchen and placed it in the sink for the staff to deal with. You text Charlie with a list of dates to choose from to schedule a visit, reassuring her that you’ll make it happen.

Next is time to clean Lucifer’s room. It's not disgusting by any means, more like cluttered. He tosses stuff on the floor absentmindedly and you always end up tidying the place at some point. Besides, you are the only one allowed in his room, who else is going to do it?

You collect all the empty liquor glasses and place them on a silver tray along with the empty decanter. Making his bed was rather difficult due to it being so large, but you manage like you always do. You tidy up his bathroom, finding more clothes tossed on the floor, you put them in the laundry hamper as well. You leave his room with the silver tray and take it to the kitchen. The staff fill the decanter and give you clean crystal glasses. You return to his room and set the tray on his desk. After that, you take the basket of clothes to the laundry room.

Before you know it, the clock strikes one and you make your way to Lucifer's study. You open the door softly and enter, you set down a small tray with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies on his desk. He picks up the cup and takes a sip, the tea is exactly how he likes it.

“Are you here to tell me I have to attend another one of those annoying meetings?” Lucifer asks in a slightly irritable tone. He spins the chair around to face you, his yellow eyes fixate on yours.

“I’m afraid so, your majesty.” You reply. Lucifer groans and slumps back in his chair. Sometimes he can be a little childish, you cover your mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Y/N, I can’t sit through another one of those meetings. I will literally wilt away into nothing.” Lucifer says, he turns to face you and takes your hand in his. He softly squeezes it, your face turns a little pink as you look down and meet his begging eyes with yours.

“Can you go instead? Pretty please?” You can never resist those eyes and he knows it. Your face softens and you squeeze his hand back.

“Okay, but don't make this a habit.” You say you let go of his hand. Still trying to retain some sort of professionalism.

“Thanks doll, I owe you one.” He says with a warm smile, the same smile that makes your heart skip a beat every single time. You bow and leave him to his work, once you get behind closed doors you let out a long sigh, you truly don't want to attend this meeting either. But it can’t be helped, the show must go on.

You grab your overcoat, cellphone, keys, and meet the driver out front. It didn't take long to arrive at Carmilla’s manor. You have been asked to attend a meeting with the overlords and report back to Lucifer. The guards led you through the manor to a large meeting room, you open the door and it seems everyone is in attendance.

The V’s, Zestial, Alastor, Rosie, Zeezi and Ms Carmilla Carmine herself. You take the empty seat next to Zestial.

“My my, I didn't think Lucifer would send his pet, but Miss Carmine, I thought there was a No Dogs Allowed sign out front?” Alastor immediately starts with the catty behavior. You don't have time for any of this, you need to be home soon to serve supper.

"Your words are like a bad song on repeat. Spare us." You retort with your arms folded. The Radio Demon gives you a sinister stare and you roll your eyes at his half baked attempt at scaring you.

“Please, can we start this stupid meeting? I have somewhere to be.” Velvet says looking at her phone, not paying much attention to anything else. Vox agrees with her and Carmilla begins to speak on various topics.

The meeting felt like it ran longer than expected, it was concerning how we move forward now that exterminations are no longer an issue. They spoke of which towns were hit the hardest by the attack, what kind of ongoing plans they have and how to proceed with caution, for we do not trust the Angels and their hidden intentions. After a while, the conversations started to devolve into personal ones.

“Lucifer will be assisting the Pride Ring as best he can, any requests for aid on his part can go through me for approval. Trust that they will be hand delivered to him in person. The King wants nothing more to provide relief for his people.” Was the last thing you said before getting up and excusing yourself from the meeting, politely.

When you make it back to the car, you let out a sigh of relief. It's finally over, time to head back to the manor. When you returned it was already late into the afternoon. You hang up your coat and head to the kitchen, you pour Lucifer a small glass full of whiskey and ice. Before you put the bottle back in its place you take a quick swig, that meeting was just agonizing. You needed something to take the edge off.

You walk to the study with the glass on a silver tray, as you open the door, she sees Lucifer in his chair, reading.

“Good afternoon, your majesty.” You greet him with a smile and a short bow.

“Ah good, you’re back. How was the meeting?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

“It was…interesting, to say the least.” You reply while handing him the glass. “I can see why you did not want to attend.”

“They are so insufferable, right?” He says and takes a sip. 

“Indeed, sir.” You don't wish to mention Alastor’s comment from earlier, the last thing you need to do is give him something to be cross about.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” You ask politely.

“Oh no, you always do so much. Thank you Y/N.” Lucifer takes another sip of his whiskey.

You dismiss yourself and head down to the kitchen to help prepare dinner for yourself and Lucifer.

Lucifer spins around in his chair and takes a sip of the drink you left him with. He’s trying to hide it but he’s absolutely exhausted. Lately when he’s tried to sleep, memories flood his mind like ghosts of the past. The absence of warmth beside him was a void he could not fill. When he will be free from the torment, he is unsure. But every day he wakes up and there you are, right beside him as always. He knows you try to put off a cold exterior, you’re the king's guard dog after all. You were always one to never indulge your secrets but he knew a few things about you that no one else did.

The night you held him in your lap it looked as though he had fallen asleep. While you carded your fingers through his hair you whispered “I wish you knew how remarkable I think you are.” He heard you loud and clear. The King always had a space in his heart dedicated to you, but you’re his advisor, consultant, and au pair. How would the world see you both as a couple? It was certainly something that would be looked down upon by most. A bell rings and pulls him from his thoughts, dinner is ready.

-------------------

He sits in his usual spot and you always sit on his right side. Dinner was a mix of high grade meats and vegetables. You cut into your food and display proper table manners, Lucifer sneaks glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“I scheduled a time for you to visit your daughter's hotel this Thursday.” You remark and Lucifer nods with food in his mouth.

“Good, I’ve been meaning to visit, I’ve just been so tired lately, and If I’m not tired I’m busy.”

“You need some proper rest, sir.” You state the obvious. You wish there was something else you could do to assist him with this.

“Trust me, if I had the choice I’d be asleep right now, my dear.” He takes another bite, his face looks a little forlorn. Usually you would keep to yourself unless Lucifer would outright say something is wrong, but this is different.

“Is there something wrong, sir?”

“No, it's nothing, Y/N. I’m just tired, I swear.” He says, trying to brush off any depressive feelings. You give him a bit of side eye but decide to let it go. But deep down you knew something was troubling him. It was just a matter of if and when he will tell you. You both continue eating, he tells you about the book he's reading in hopes to clear the melancholy vibe in the room. You sit and listen to him ramble on like any other normal day.

------------------

It was getting late, Lucifer was in his room, drink in hand. Outside, the world slumbered beneath a blanket of stars, oblivious to his pain. With the window open he seeks solace in the cold night air. But the chill only served to remind him of the emptiness inside. He downs the rest of his drinks and sets it on the nightstand. He crawls under the covers and closes his eyes and wraps his arms around himself as he tries to get some rest.

But all he could see is her, walking away, leaving him heartbroken and devastated. A single tear falls down his cheek. He buries his face in the pillow and tries to forget these memories, good and bad. The minutes pass like fleeting shadows, and Lucifer finally starts to fall asleep. But not long after he wakes up in a cold sweat with a scream. His chest heaves and he feels like he can’t breathe, he looks down at his shaking hands.

You were doing your rounds in your silk pajamas, locking doors and shutting windows. You said goodnight to the kitchen staff and headed upstairs. Then suddenly you hear a loud scream come from Lucifer's bedroom, you immediately rush up the stairs to the door and open it.

He’s sitting upright in his bed, knees against his chest, holding his face in his hands. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he recalls the haunting memories. You don't say anything, you quickly sit beside him and place your hand on his back. He immediately pulls you in for a hug, you’re surprised at first but you hug him back. He buries his face in your shoulder, letting out soft muffled sobs. 

“Shhhh…it's going to be okay…I’m here…I’ve got you.” You whisper soft words of reassurance in his ear, he just hugs you tighter.

“I’m so sorry…” He says between sniffles and you start to gently rub his back. You wished there was a way to stop him from feeling so miserable, but all you can do is sit and comfort him for as long as he needs. In the safety of your arms, the remnants of the dream began to dissipate. Your familiar voice and smell provided a soothing counterpoint to the chaos of his mind.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.” You say as you pet the back of his head, his face finally emerges from your shoulder and meets your gaze. You gently wipe away any stray tears with your thumb and give him a soft smile. “Tough times don’t last, tough people do, and you’re one of the strongest people I know.” You say just barely above a whisper. 

A small smile appears on his face and you brush away a few stray hairs, glad that your king is feeling a little better. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel more at ease?”

“I do have one request…But I’m not sure how you’re gonna feel about it.” He says, while looking away, he’s definitely embarrassed by his own question.

“Try me.” You reply, it can’t be that bad, he’s never asked you to do anything you’re not okay with.

“I would really appreciate it if I didn't have to sleep alone tonight…” He finally asks, he blushes a little, unsure if that's even okay to ask. You can't help but also turn a little red, this is absolutely not allowed, but maybe the rules have exceptions in times of crisis.

“Yeah…I can do that.” You agree.

Lucifer’s golden eyes widen and he perks up a bit. “R-Really?”

“Yes, really.” You chuckle softly.

Lucifer crawls back under the covers and opens his arms for you to join him. You crawl over to him and settle in, his arms wrap around you and you lace your fingers with his hand, allowing him to spoon you. His body heat and the chill night air was the perfect combination to lull you to sleep.

“Goodnight Luci~” You say before sleep starts to drag you away from this world. A nickname you lovingly use very rarely. He nuzzles your shoulder and drifts off rather quickly with nothing but a content smile on his face. When you two will admit your feelings for each other is a mystery, but for now, you’re happy just to be his biggest support system. If there's one thing you’ve learned living with Lucifer, it's that devotion in any form, is love with wings.

[nhaaauyen]

is it casual now? ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

modern sev x reader au: after a shitty day at work, you go to the beach to release some stress, only for a certain coworker to show up.

series masterpost: floating wc: 4.2k author's note: everything that happened in this fic did actually happen with a girl I was seeing LMAOO (except for the kiss cause i was too shy) but i’ve been wanting to write an ode to this memory for so long! though the title was named after casual by chappell roan, i actually don't recommend you listen to it when you read this because this is anything but casual ~ My Song Recommendation

Sev: Why are you at the beach at 11PM? You: ? You: Why can't I be? Sev: Because it closes at 12am Sev: And you said before you don't go out past 11PM on workdays You: I didn't know you worked for the beach patrol Sev: Lol

You stare at your phone screen, watching the three message dots bounce back and forth. You know you're being an asshole, but you can't help the snappiness in your tone. Sevika never cared or talked to you outside of work before, so why does she suddenly care now?

The typing bubbles disappear and relief washes over you, but a small, masochistic part of you wishes she'd actually sent something.

Sev: Are you good?

The three-word question glares at you from the screen. 

Are you good? Absolutely not. 

But this is Sev, the woman who doesn't bother with greetings or a courtesy "How are you" despite working together for months. How do you answer a question that could unravel the emotions you're barely keeping at bay, especially to someone who's never asked before?

You: Yeah  You: I'll go soon so you don't have to stalk my location haha Sev: Alright

You stare at the tiny message bubble until the blue light stings your eyes. Finally, you shut off your phone and toss it onto your makeshift blanket.

The beach is eerily quiet save for the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery glow across the water and illuminating the foam as it rushes up the sand. You sit there as the incident at work replays in your mind for the hundredth time. Your head server's harsh words, the embarrassment of being scolded in public, the shame from how quick you were brought to tears - it all comes rushing back, making your chest tighten. 

The cool sand beneath your fingers grounds you somewhat and you inhale deeply, letting the briny scent of the ocean fill your lungs. 

A cool breeze picks up, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. You shiver as you sit there, feeling small and vulnerable, and you can't help but wonder how you'll face everyone tomorrow. The thought makes your stomach churn, and you close your eyes, trying to shut out the world for just a little longer.

As you close your eyes, a new sound cuts through the sounds of waves crashing against the shore. The crunch of rubber tires over pebbles grows louder, and suddenly, a bright light washes over you. You squint, momentarily blinded by the harsh glare of headlights.

"You really had to make me search for you, Pagli?"

Your head whips around in shock, eyes wide as you see Sevika stepping out of her car. You scramble to your feet, brushing sand from your clothes.

"Sev? What are you— You didn't have to come here," you protest.

She approaches with a casual shrug. "Well, too bad, cause I was near here anyways. Had to make sure you weren't drowning or joining a beach cult."

You can't help but let out a small, incredulous laugh. "A beach cult? Really?"

"Hey, you never know," Sevika retorts with a smirk. "I don’t know what you like to do late at night."

You shake your head, trying to maintain your composure. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. You should go home."

"Nah, I think I'll stick around," she says, plopping down on the sand next to where you were sitting. "Unless you've got some secret midnight rituals planned?"

You roll your eyes, but feel your resolve weakening. "You're stubborn as hell, you know that?"

"Part of my charm," Sevika replies with a wink. "Now, are you gonna sit back down, or do I have to drag you?"

After a moment's hesitation, you sigh and lower yourself back onto the sand. "Fine, you win. But don't expect me to be good company."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sevika says softly, her tone gentler than before. "But I'm here if you want to talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need."

“I’m good.”  You replied.

“Fine with me.” 

As you sit in silence, Sevika reaches into her pocket and pulls out a joint. You can't help but shake your head in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable," you mutter.

She glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Do you just have an unlimited source of that or something?"

Sevika just shrugs, a small smirk playing on her lips as she places the joint between them. As she fumbles for her lighter, she catches you staring and pauses.

"Do you want some?" she offers casually.

You hesitate, fingers fidgeting in the sand. "No... uh, I never tried."

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Serious?"

"Yeah," you admit, feeling a bit self-conscious.

Sevika's expression softens slightly. "Well, Pagli, I'm in a sharing mood, so..."

You shake your head quickly. "Nah, I'm gonna embarrass myself. I don't know how to..."

"It's easy," she assures you. "Just inhale, hold it for a bit, and release."

You eye the joint warily. "Uh, shit... Yeah sure."

Instead of handing it over, Sevika brings the joint to her lips and lights it. You watch intently as she demonstrates, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she inhales. She holds it for a moment, then slowly exhales a stream of smoke into the night air.

Your eyes are fixed on her, taking in every detail of the process. There's something almost mesmerizing about the way the smoke curls from her lips, dissipating into the darkness.

Sevika turns to you, holding out the joint. "Your turn, if you want."

You hesitate, your heart racing a little. Part of you wants to refuse, to play it safe knowing that you wouldn’t risk humiliation in front of your coworker when you end up messing up, but another part of you was just completely over this day.

Slowly, you reach out and take the joint from her fingers, your skin brushing against hers for a brief moment.

You take the joint, bringing it to your lips with nervous anticipation. Trying to mimic Sevika's actions, you inhale deeply. Immediately, your eyes go wide as the smoke hits your lungs. You start coughing violently, your throat burning.

To your surprise, Sevika gently pats your back. "It's okay, Pagli! Damn. You just gotta practice some more."

As your coughing subsides, you realize this is the most Sevika has ever talked to you. It's oddly comforting, despite your embarrassment. You hand the joint back to her and she casually takes a puff, with her head leaning back slightly as she exhales.

"You're not cold?"

"No, why?" you ask, puzzled.

She gestures at your outfit. "Because you haven't changed out of your work uniform."

Instead of answering - because you know where that conversation would lead - you reach for the joint again. This time, you focus intently on mimicking Sevika's technique. You inhale, hold it for a moment, and exhale. There's still a slight cough, but it's significantly better than your first attempt.

"Hell yeah!" you exclaim, feeling a small surge of pride. "I sorta did it!"

Sevika gives you a half-grin that makes your heart skip a beat. "See? You're gonna be a pro soon." She pauses, her grin widening slightly. "But you're gonna get super hungry later at this rate."

Your eyes widen as realization hits you. "Oh fuck, you're right. I didn't bring any food," you say, a slight pout forming on your lips.

"I brought something," she offers, "but in exchange, you have to tell me what's going on."

You roll your eyes, you weren’t going to fall for that. "I can deal with it."

"Fine," she shrugs, "then no more." She makes a motion as if to put out the joint.

"What? I'm still practicing!" you protest. "What happened to trying to get me to the pro league?"

Sevika just laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm. "Sorry, there's an entry fee."

You sigh, knowing you're cornered. "Fine," you mutter, then barely above a whisper, add, "I fucked up bad at work today."

Her expression turns serious. "What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, you tucked a stray hair behind your ear and avoided eye contact. "There was this creepy guy at one of my tables. He kept specifically asking for random things like more napkins or refills, and I knew why he did that." You shudder slightly at the memory. "I wanted to switch with a male server, but we were too booked so I just tried to bear with it.  I didn’t think he would cross any lines since it looked like he was with family too."

Sevika listens intently as you continue, "It got too far when he kept making me uncomfortable, saying he would tip well if I gave him my number." Your hands clenched into fists in the sand. "So after I came back, I... I 'accidentally' spilled water on him."

You can't meet Sevika's eyes as you finish, "I knew it was unprofessional and petty, but I was so frustrated. After getting yelled at by the head server, it kind of hit me what I did."

As you fall silent, you feel a mix of shame and lingering anger. You wait anxiously for Sevika's response, afraid to see judgment in her eyes.

But Sevika's response catches you off guard. "He deserved it," she says firmly.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Huh? But I made a mess because I couldn't keep my emotions in check. You know there are always going to be horrible customers..."

She cuts you off with a shake of her head. "Nah, he deserved it. It's a shame you couldn't stay to watch when I kicked him out and announced that he was trying to grope one of our servers in front of his entire family and the restaurant."

You stare at her incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. "No way? You actually did that?"

Sevika shrugs nonchalantly. "What's Silco gonna do? I'm the best general manager he's got." She pauses, a prideful glint in her eye. "Though our head server might need a bit of retraining."

You can't believe what you're hearing. Sev, the Sev, actually stood up for you. A wave of gratitude washes over you, and you suddenly feel shy.

"Thank you... for that," you murmur. "It meant a lot."

She just nods in response, a comfortable silence falling between you. Sevika passes you the joint again, and this time when you take a hit, you manage to do it without coughing. 

"I did it!" you exclaim, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

"Look at you, you might get into the Olympics next." She teased.

The tension from earlier completely dissipated, and you can't help but feel a newfound appreciation for Sevika.

"Okay, you gotta slow down now. This is your first time," Sevika warns, pulling the joint away as you reach for it again.

"Nooo, give it," you whine, making a half-hearted grab for it.

She shakes her head firmly. "Nuh-uh." Sevika puts out the joint despite your protests.  Then, without warning, she announces, "I'm lying down."

"What?" you ask, confused by the sudden change.

Sevika doesn't respond, just leans back onto an apron acting as your beach blanket. After a moment's hesitation, you did the same. It's only now that you realize how close she is. You can see the rise and fall of her chest, steady and rhythmic.

You close your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you. "Do you hear that?" you murmur. "The waves sound amazing." A small giggle escapes your lips.

"It's hitting you now," Sevika observes, amusement coloring her voice.

"Shhh, Sev. Listen," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper.  If only you didn’t close your eyes at that moment, because then you would’ve seen the shy smile appear on her lips at the nickname that she only lets you use on her.

As you concentrate on the sound of the waves, you became aware that you're also following the pattern of Sevika's breathing. It's oddly comforting, this synchronicity between her, you, and the ocean.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you dare to look over at her. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize she's staring at you with those stormy gray eyes that never seem to reveal anything. The intensity of her gaze sends a jolt through you, triggering an immediate panic.

You sit up abruptly, your heart racing. Sevika follows, concern etched on her previously relaxed face. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, I'm hungry," you blurt out, desperate for a distraction.

Sevika just laughs, the sound rich and warm. "Here, I’m glad I brought this," she says, reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a colorful bag of sour gummy worms, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet night.

The sight of the candy, so unexpectedly bright in contrast to Sevika's stoic character, makes you laugh. You watch as she pulls out a gummy worm, the candy stretching slightly before she bites into it. The casual act feels strangely intimate in this moment, and you find yourself transfixed by the movement of her jaw as she chews.

"Want one?" she asks, holding out the bag to you.

Your fingers brush against hers as you reach for a candy, sending another small shiver through you. As you pop the gummy worm into your mouth, the burst of sour flavor feels like a shock against your tongue.

While you devoured practically half the bag, Sevika stretches languidly before lying back down on the sand. You followed suit, turning to face her. This time, feeling way less sober than the beginning, you don't shy away from her gaze.

You notice one of her usually tucked fringes has come loose, falling softly across her forehead. Your fingers twitch with the urge to brush it back, but you manage to restrain yourself.

Sevika's eyes are fixed on you, her expression softer than you've ever seen it. "I'm tired," she mumbles, her voice low and slightly husky. "I want to sleep... this feels nice."

A dopey smile spreads across your face at the sight of her uncharacteristic vulnerability. "Do it," you encourage gently.

"Wake me up in a bit?" she asks, her eyelids already starting to droop.

"Of course," you assure her.

As Sevika's eyes close, you sit there, taking in the moment. You listened to the rhythm of her breathing mix with the sound of the waves and the refreshing sea breeze. 

Suddenly, Sevika makes a noise that's almost like a whine. "It's cold," she murmurs, not opening her eyes.

"Really?" you ask, surprised.

"Yeah," she confirms. Then, to your shock, she says, "Come here."

Before you can process what's happening, Sevika is draping her red jacket over both of you. The action brings you even closer to her, and your brain struggles to keep up with this new development.

You find yourself studying Sevika's features up close. Her nose, which you've always thought was cute but never dared to admit, her long lashes resting against her cheeks, and the scar that runs across her cheekbone.

The warmth of her body so close to yours, the scent of her cologne mingling with the salt air, the soft sound of her breathing - it all combined to create a moment so intimate and unexpected that you feel almost dizzy with it. You're acutely aware of every point where your body is almost, but not quite, touching hers.

Your heart is pounding so loudly you're sure she must be able to hear it. But Sevika's breathing has evened out, suggesting she's drifting off to sleep. You lie there, barely daring to move, caught between the desire to savor this moment and the fear of disturbing her.

You find yourself caught in Sevika's gaze as her eyes slowly flutter open. The moonlight reflects in her dark irises, creating an almost ethereal effect. 

"What are you staring at?"

Your heart skips a beat. "You," you reply without thinking, then immediately feel heat rush to your cheeks.

A smirk plays at the corner of Sevika's lips. "Mmm... you're plotting my murder, right?"

You can't help but chuckle softly. "Haha, of course.  I’ve been waiting months for this moment.”

"Damn," she sighs dramatically, through her eyes sparkled with amusement. "At least I get a gorgeous view before my final moments."

The air between you suddenly feels charged. You fall silent, profoundly aware of every breath, every subtle movement. Sevika's hair has fallen across her face, obscuring part of her scar. Without really thinking about it, you reach out, gently tucking the errant strand behind her ear.

As you start to pull your hand back, Sevika's fingers wrap around your wrist. Her touch is gentle, a stark contrast to her usual brusque demeanor. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

"Don't," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the soft lapping of waves.

Sevika holds your hand gently, her calloused fingers tracing over yours with surprising tenderness. She examines each fingertip as if committing them to memory. Just as you're getting lost in the intimacy of the moment, she breaks the silence.

"You got tiny ass hands, Pagli.”

You blink, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Sevika bursts out laughing, the sound rich and wonderful. Her head tilts back, revealing a full set of stunning teeth. The sight momentarily captivates you, but you quickly recover, determined not to let her win this moment.

"You know, I was only trying to steal the gummies," you retort, trying to keep a straight face.

Her eyebrow arches challengingly. "Really? Come and get it then."

Before you know it, you're both wrestling on the makeshift blanket. Sand flies everywhere as you tussle, laughter filling the air. It's been so long since you've felt this carefree, this alive. Your worries from earlier seem like a distant memory now.

Somehow, you manage to gain the upper hand. You find yourself practically pinning Sevika down, your faces mere inches apart. You can feel her warm breath on your skin, catching the faint scent of weed. Your heart races, and for a moment, you're tempted to close that small distance between you.

Instead, you break the tension by snatching the bag of gummies from her grasp. "I win!" you declare triumphantly.

But even as you say it, the victory feels hollow. The gummy bag hangs limp in your hand as you watch Sevika accept defeat with surprising grace. She's still beneath you, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her eyes locked on yours.

You wish you could reach out and caress her face, trace the line of her scar, feel the softness of her skin again. The urge is almost overwhelming, but you hold back, unsure of how she'd react. The moment stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and possibilities.

Sevika pats the spot next to her, inviting you back. You settle in, acutely aware of her warmth beside you. Her eyes, dark and curious, search your face.

"What are you thinking about now, Pagli?" she asks softly.

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out. "I want to play with your hair."

Immediately, heat rushes to your face. You're about to stammer an apology when Sevika takes your hand, guiding it to her hair. The silky softness surprises you, and you can't help but run your fingers through the strands.

Sevika's eyes flutter closed, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Encouraged, you begin to gently massage her scalp, marveling at how relaxed she seems.

"What does Pagli mean?" you whisper.

A smirk plays on Sevika's lips. "Crazy girl," she replies without skipping a beat.

"Huh?!" You're not sure whether to be offended or flattered.

"It's because you do crazy and bold things. I like that about you."

Your stomach flutters with warmth at the admission. Sevika leans into your touch, murmuring, "That feels amazing."

Gradually, she shifts closer, until her head is tucked against your chest. You can feel the steady pace of her breathing, the warmth of her body against yours. Without really meaning to, you find yourselves practically spooning.

As you stretch out, your feet brush against her shins, and you realize just how much taller she is. It's oddly endearing, this contrast between you. Your fingers continue their gentle exploration of her hair, occasionally trailing down to trace the curve of her neck.

The moment feels soft, intimate in a way you never expected. The sound of waves provides a soothing backdrop, and the moonlight casts a gentle glow over you both. You're struck by how vulnerable Sevika looks like this, all her usual sharp edges softened.

You want to say something, to put into words the feeling blooming in your chest, but you're afraid to break the spell. So instead, you hold her close, savoring the unexpected comfort of this moment, wondering how something so beautiful could arise from such a difficult day.

You keep replaying the moment when Sevika's strong arms practically dragged you into cuddling her. The memory sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. Your hand moves almost of its own accord, slowly rubbing circles on her back. You hear her sigh contentedly, the sound filling you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the physical closeness.

Just as you're sinking deeper into this blissful moment, bright white lights suddenly flash on, startling you both. A loud voice booms across the beach: "THE BEACH IS CLOSING IN 10 MINUTES. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY BACK TO THE PARKING LOT."

"Urghhh," you groan.  You instinctively buried your face into your hands.

Sevika's response is even more vocal - she lets out a louder, more dramatic groan that vibrates through her chest and into yours. The sound is so unexpected and so uncharacteristically cute, that you can't help but laugh.

Your laughter seems to break the spell. Sevika lifts her head, her hair mussed from your earlier attentions, and gives you a mock glare that's softened by the smile tugging at her lips.

"What's so funny, Pagli?" she asks, her voice husky with lingering sleep.

"Nothing," you say, still chuckling. "Just... I never pegged you for a whiner."

Sevika rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," she grumbles.

You lean in close to Sevika, whispering conspiratorially, "They can't kick us off if we hide in the sand, right?"

"Yeah, or if we stay really still," she adds, barely suppressing a grin.

You both freeze comically, trying to blend in with the beach around you. But as the final announcement blares across the sand, you finally admit defeat.

As you both reluctantly start to gather your things, you can't help but steal glances at Sevika. Her hair is tousled, her clothes rumpled from lying on the beach, and there's a softness to her expression that you've never seen before. It makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

Just as you're about to lead the way back, Sevika suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you back towards her. Before you can react, her lips are on yours.

You were suddenly frozen, till your brain practically yelled, Fucking kiss the hot girl back you dumbass! Your hand immediately slides into her hair, and you respond back to the kiss with the same ferocity.  All the tension that's been building between you tonight finally finds its release. Her lips are softer than you imagined, moving against yours with a passion that takes your breath away.  

But the moment was short-lived when it was cut short by another blaring announcement. 

Sevika breaks away, growling, "I'm going to break that speaker."

You can't help but laugh at her annoyance, the sound bubbling up from the happiness overflowing in your chest. You lean in, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "C'mon, we can continue this later."

Sevika nods, a small but genuine smile playing on her lips. She has that look on her face, that is just so content and full of adoration that your legs practically felt like jelly.

“Race you back to the car, loser has to buy dinner!” You yell as you spirit across the sand.  

You were fortunate enough to get a head start because once Sev realized what was happening, you could already see a blur of her movement closing the distance through the corner of your eye. Your hair whipped wildly in the wind along your combined unadulterated, giddy laughters echoing in the night air.  

With her athletic build, she easily caught up to you but instead of surpassing you, her hand found yours. Her fingers intertwined with yours, fitting perfectly. The warmth of her palm against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You two slowed your pace into an amble, the sound of waves fading behind you. Every so often, you steal glances at Sevika, still hardly believing this night has been real.

When her car comes into view, Sevika gives your hand a gentle squeeze. You turn to look at her, finding her eyes already on you, soft and full of something that makes you unsure of whether this moment was a dream or not.

Sevika tugs you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "We should do this again sometime," she murmurs against your skin. "Minus the getting kicked off the beach part."

You chuckle at the joke and tuck your head into her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Thump. Thump.

"Thank you," she says quietly, her voice a small murmur above your ear, "for making a shitty day end beautifully."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. 

"Thank you for finding me."

[mothwingwritings]

Miscommunication

F!Reader X Pickle

Hello everyone! Sorry for the lack of communication. I’ve been doing this or that, working on stuff, surviving summer, you know how it is.

I have been picking away at quite a few fics recently, but I am all over the place so they are all getting worked on/done/edited at different paces. I wrote this lil Pickle fic in the midst of it all. It was born purely from the thought of a yandere licking up your tears that they themself were the cause of, so I picked a guy and ran with that. I chose Picky because my feral mans does NOTrealize how much of a menace he is to you but by God he’s gonna keep on forcing his love on you until one of you dies. :)

18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Thank you and enjoy!

WARNINGS: Noncon, forced interaction/cuddling, dacryphilia, miscommunication (if you couldn’t tell by the title), light editing, 18+ only!!!

There were plenty of things Pickle loved about you.

He loved the way you looked. So different from the people of his time, you were distinct in a way all your own. The moment he first laid his eyes upon you he was beseeched by curiosity, your unique appearance adding to the intrigue of your already undeniable beauty and charm. You were smaller, softer, and far more polished than the women he was used to. With glossy well-kept hair and not a mark of dirt or grime upon your body, you appeared to him to be almost glowing. This pure presentation made him feel as if he was beholding some glorious creature from another planet, not a mere human woman. You were definitely something that should be far out of his reach, breathtakingly lovely, but unattainable. Yet somehow here you were, right within his grasp, ripe for his consumption. Having such a gorgeous and otherworldly creature in his vicinity was far too enticing, how could he not be expected to stake his claim?

He loved the way you smelled, though those strange sprays you coated your body with were a bit much for his liking. He preferred your natural scent, the one you always tried to mask for whatever reason, the one that differentiated you from the rest of the herd. He could pick it out from anywhere at any time no matter how far from him you strayed, but it would become especially pungent when you were worked up or excited. He relished those moments, pleased to get a whiff of it through the artificial cover of stinking flowers and fruits. Heady and ambrosial, he would bask in your natural essence, inhaling it deeply as if he were receiving a treat.

He also loved the way you sounded, though your words made no sense to him. All the people that surrounded him seemed to make the same kinds of noises, their lips forming sounds that he was sure held all manner of meaning, but none of it he was privy to. Not that it mattered to him really. Different forms of communication suited him much better than spoken word ever could anyway, and despite the lack of common speech he shared with his new peers, he got by just fine. When Pickle bared his teeth or showed open pleasure, those that were nearby seemed to understand him all the same, so there had never been much need to put thought into their dialogue.

… That was, until he met you. It frustrated him sometimes, when you would speak to him with words he could not comprehend. When you talked with a smile he could assume he did something pleasing, or at the very least you weren’t upset, but when you would frown and raise your voice… What exactly was upsetting you? If it was something he did he wanted to correct it right away, your pretty smile suited you much better than a grumpy frown did. He’d do just about anything to keep it on your face forever, if only he knew the words to say or understood the specific requests you spoke to make that happen. The sounds that spilled from your throat… What praises and admonishments was he missing? What words could he say back to keep you smiling, laughing, happy? He wanted to know, struggled to know, but the language barrier was just too great, leaving him distraught and guessing.

When you spoke to other people (other men particularly) and they understood you perfectly, chuckling and nodding, responding to you in kind… It upset him. Who were they to communicate with you so freely? Who were they to speak with you so openly, when all he could seem to get across was rudimentary ideas and feelings? Even if he loved to hear the cadence of your voice, the lack of understanding and the annoyance these mysterious conversations caused was something he couldn’t quite shake.

But even with all the adoration he felt for you, there was one, and only one, thing he didn’t love about you- your tears.

In his era, cries from your mate meant one of a small handful of things. They were hurt and/or scared, there was a threat nearby and they needed protection, or they simply needed their mates help with something. Regardless of which of these options may have brought on the tears, it was always very easy to figure out what the situation was and for the other party to act accordingly.

But each time you cried was a conundrum. You never seemed to shed just a few tears, throwing your heart into full on wailing at the top of your lungs each time your eyes began to remotely water. Whenever this would occur he would momentarily panic, scooping your perturbed body up to force you against his chest, desperate in his attempt to ascertain a cause of concern that would bring you to this state, one that he could never seem to find. He’d turn your body around this way and that, scouring every inch of you with his eyes and hands to check and see if he could pinpoint any wounds or blood. But while you thrashed and fought as he carried out his inspection, his hands always came back clean, and you never seemed to show particular distress when he pressed down on any given area of your body (save for your more private areas, but you always put up a fuss with those). He’d investigate your surrounding area, prowling for anyone or anything that may have scared you or caused alarm, but found nary a soul or item out of place that could have caused you such distress.

That only left the third option- that you were looking to him for help. But help with what? He had already secured you in the safest place he could find, nestling you far away from any potential threats or creatures that could cause you harm. Though he knew you were not a fan of the dank, malodorous, stone underbelly of the village, it was something you would have to get used to. Keeping you elsewhere was simply too risky. Besides, this area was familiar to him, being not unlike some of the cave dwellings of his old home. And with the pathways being so straightforward and long, he could easily monitor surrounding activity and hide you away should someone show up to cause problems (not that anyone would, most seemed to ignore this place entirely, which was another one of its many appeals).

The paths also snaked deep underground, with exits leading rather far out from the more bustling areas of civilization. It made it easy to hunt and gather, so he had no problems providing you with food, clothing, bedding-anything at all you may need he brought to you, and he was happy to do so. He took honor in being your provider, your lover, your mate.

You were safe, you were cared for, and you were loved by him. He showed it in every way he could, serving and providing in ways that went above and beyond what any other potential partner could do for you. Down here in the depths, he shielded you from all that may have hurt you in your old life. Maybe he didn’t understand your speech, but he could clearly see the toll living with the others above ground was taking on you. Each slump of your shoulder and sigh from your lips was recorded in his memory, the weary look you often wore as you pushed yourself harder than necessary haunted his thoughts until he was pushed into action. Every man whose misplaced comments made you scowl had met a grisly end by his hands, assuring they would never bother you again. Every stress of your old life had been removed, all of the agonies of your previous day to day a thing of the past.

Now the only thing you had to focus on was being a good mate to him- a skill you already excelled at by simply existing. You had no need to be sad, you were perfect, and he was doing all he could to show you this.

So why? Why did you always cry?

Even now as he was buried deep inside of you, the pleasure of feeling you stretch to accommodate his massive size so intense he could barely maintain his sanity, tears continued to spill freely from your eyes.  There was absolutely no reason for them- you were always such a good girl for him, bringing him pleasure and joy he scarcely believed was achievable. If anything you should be proud about how well you take him, about how incredibly good you were making him feel, about how flawless you were as his mate. He loved you, he adored you, he would do any and everything for you, and he planned on doing so until his dying day.

Yet still, you cried.

He couldn’t keep them from happening, and he couldn’t think of any other way to stop them, so the least he could do is try and staunch them for a bit. Holding your face still between his hands, he laved his rough tongue slowly over the apples of your cheeks, passing over your tightly clenched eyes in an attempt to cleanse you of your malaise. Time and time again he lapped at your face like a mother lion cleaning it’s cub, moving from the left cheek to the right cheek in quick succession to drink up as many of your salty tears as he could.

Eventually it seemed to work, or at least it caused your upset sobbing to turn into little more than gentle mewling. Maybe you were just doing this to appease him, or perhaps you were finally sharing in the immense pleasure he had been experiencing, overshadowing whatever negative feelings caused you to cry to begin with. Regardless, the tears were trickling to a standstill, and while they weren’t completely quelled, seeing them diminish caused him to smile brightly. He could consider this a victory.

But as he stared down at your tear stained face, moist and red from a mixture of his saliva and your own upset, he couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a charm to witnessing you in such a state. As he picked up his pace, reaching a particularly sweet spot inside of you, you began to scream out, overcome with the intensity of it all. Once more water seeped into your eyes, and he watched mesmerized as fat tears slid down your face, accompanied by whimpers each time his brutal pacing brushed your core. The way your tears accented your ecstasy, adding to the breath taking view only he would ever have the delight of seeing, he couldn’t find himself hating your cries any longer.

Maybe he had been misguided this whole time, realizing now that this may just be another special attribute of yours. He was starting to understand you better, and felt a fool for being so mistaken for so long. Your cries were unique, acting as a sign of immense happiness, not distress. He laughed slightly at his own blunder, it wouldn’t be the first time he had misunderstood you, but this certainly was the most ridiculous miscommunication.

His smile grew as he thrust into you victoriously, elated at his triumph in unlocking a great mystery about you. This whole time he should have never tried to stop them. From now on, he should try and make you cry more.

[chocosvt]

HER | part two.

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

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

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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

thanks againnnn! 🌟

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

—MAY 12TH.

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

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

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

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

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

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

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

“Now that I have your attention—”

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

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

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

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let me rush you.”

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

Finally, you got up from the rug.

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

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

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

“So, where are you at anyway?”

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

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

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

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

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

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo shook his head.

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

“She made it?”

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

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

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

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

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

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

“It’s really pretty.”

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

You turned back to him, shrugging.

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

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

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

“I think so. For the day.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, like what?”

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

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

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

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

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

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

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

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

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

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

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

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

“Then what for?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Write well, not good.”

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

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

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t even start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

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

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

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

Finally, he was let inside.

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

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

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

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

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

Again, he wanted to throw up.

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

He cleared his throat.

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

“Is that your actual voice?”

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

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

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

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

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Well, that’s… easy enough.”

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

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

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

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

“Oh… why?”

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

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

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

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

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

 “Actually?”

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

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

“I want another drink,” you told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The line moved forward another step.

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

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

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

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

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

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

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

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

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

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“We’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

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

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

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

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

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

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

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

“Oh, yeah.”

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

“So, you write poetry?”

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

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

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

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

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

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

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

“Meaning…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

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

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

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

But you didn’t. Thank God.

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

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

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

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

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

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

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

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

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

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

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

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

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

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

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

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

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

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

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

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

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

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

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

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

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

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s coming, he’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Still there.”

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

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

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

Mingyu nodded.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, um—about that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.  

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically. 

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

[cyripticchronicler]

i adore your writing & i had an random idea! (it’s absolutely okay if you don’t do it, i just thought i’d request <3)

any of the marauders having a crush on marauders!reader & the other maraduers just straight up teasing him about it all the time yet reader is SO oblivious to it & thinks the maraduer just flirts with everyone 😭

Teasing Words and Hidden Feelings

Paring: James Potter x Reader

Summary: You're used to Sirius and Remus's teasing, you just wish the things they always teased James about were true.

A/N: I haven't written in forever and this definitely isn't my best work. But thank you for requesting! I appreciate it and hope this fic did your request justice. Also please ignore the really bad summary and title lmao.

Warnings: Not proofread, kissing, alcohol, spoiler for the ending of Romeo and Juliet??

Masterlist

The candle-lit hall glows brightly in the dark of the night, chattering bouncing off the stone walls as people eat the feast in front of them. Remus and Sirius sit across from you, a knowing glint in their eyes as they huddle together, whispers drowned out by the bustling crowd in the great hall.

“What?” You question nervously, your hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt as they cast another look your way. 

James sits beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he notices the confusion on your face. “Ignore them, love, they’re being idiots.” He shoots them a glare and Sirius waggles his eyebrows. “Sorry…Love,” He says to you, bursting out in laughter while he smacks his knee. 

Your heart sinks at the feeling of being left out, like you were missing the joke but you push those thoughts away, shooting James a warm smile and shoving food in your mouth. 

You’re relatively new to the group. James, Remus and Sirius have been friends for years, even hanging out over the summer, but you’ve only joined their group just last year, and you can’t help but feel you’re missing something when it comes to their jokes.

They've been nothing but kind and inclusive but it’s obvious that there’s something they’re not telling you. And when Sirius starts dramatically confessing his love to Remus while James sits beside you, tense as a rock, you’ve decided to just ask. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, your tone light as you look between the boys. Sirius stops what he’s doing, a mischievous smirk gracing his harsh features, “I’m acting out-”

“-The scene for the play he’s in.” James interrupts, laughing awkwardly and running a hand through his hair with flushed cheeks. Your heart tugs at his laugh and you smile, knowing you’d never get sick of hearing his joy. 

“You’re in a play, Sirius?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion as you rack your mind to figure out whether the school even does plays. “Where are you doing the play? I’d love to come.” You smile supportively, though it wavers when you notice James cringing and Remus shooting you a pitying look. 

“Oh,” You force a laugh, “You’re not are you?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning wide, “No, but I’d be great in a play. I mean, I have the looks for it.” He runs his hand through his silky black hair, posing and winking, “I could be part of that muggle play, Romeo and Juliet. Then I’d meet my true love.” He jokes and a small smile pulls at your lips. 

James chuckles, his arm hitting yours, “Maybe we should be part of the play, and you’re my Juliet.” Your cheeks flush ferociously at his words, eyes widening but you force yourself to shrug it off, knowing he flirts with everyone. “Yeah, maybe.”

Sirius groans, capturing your attention once again. “Did you hear that, James? Maybe. I’m telling you, darling, he’s going to go back to his dorm and cry himself to sleep. How could you be so cruel?”

You scowl playfully, “He’s going to need to try a lot harder than that if he wants me to be his Juliet.” From the corner of your eye, James nods, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. You turn to look at him fully, shooting him a small smile that he returns. 

“You know they both kill themselves, right?” Remus questions from where he sits, silently observing the conversation. 

“Oh.”

✰✰✰

The soft crackling of the fireplace has your eyes fluttering shut, moving your hand so that it’s placed under your cheek in a makeshift pillow. You know you should probably head up to your dorm for an actual nap, but the warmth of the common room draws you in until you’re lying on the couch in front of the fire, the hand that’s not under your chin moving to cover your eyes from the bright sun that reflects through the window. 

It’s Saturday and you’ve planned to sleep the draining week behind, the clear sky allowing you to rest in an empty common room since everyone else decided to soak in the sun. 

You’re close to falling asleep, ready to sleep your problems away when the common room door opens, the familiar sounds of the boys laugh causing you to snap your eyes open. 

You smile at the snarky comments aimed at each other, sitting up to peek at them over the couch. Remus spots your slow movements, grinning at you with a roll of his eyes and coming to sit in the armchair across from you. 

“Were you trying to sleep?” He asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you nod, returning to your previous position lying down, eyes fighting to stay open. 

“How was Hogsmeade?” You attempt to converse, though you wish to sleep. “It was good!” Sirius answers for Remus, patting your head playfully as he moves towards the other couch, legs splayed out in front of him, leaving no room for James and you roll your eyes with a smile, forcing yourself to sit up so there’s room for him. 

“Thank you, Love.” He winks and you blush, the strength in your neck failing you as your head falls on his shoulder. He tenses and holds his breath, cheeks turning a deep red. 

Remus notices and grins cheekily, “Remember to breathe, James, or else you’ll never get to ask her on a date.” 

Your eyes widen and you groan, moving to sit up properly. James grips the back of your neck, moving you so you’re back against his shoulder, your heart beating wildly in your chest, resounding in your ears. “It’s okay, love, I’ll make sure to ask you out on a date before I die.” He mutters, playfulness coating his voice though his smile is strained. You scoff to cover the squeal that threatens to escape your lips, “Go find another girl to torture please.” You don’t mean it, wanting nothing more for James to mean the words he’s saying. 

But he’s a flirt. You’ve seen the way he talks to others, the way they blush and bite their lips, you just wish he didn’t have such a big effect on you. That he didn’t cause your heart to speed up, your palms to turn sweaty, or your body to burn from his gaze. 

You lay back down, knees curled up to your chest so James has room, you close your eyes, planning to ignore the boys as they chat quietly. 

You’re half asleep when James grabs your calf, moving so your feet are atop his legs, thumb gently stroking your ankle. 

“You’re so whipped.”

“Shut up, Moony.”

✰✰✰

Your screams are drowned out by the others around you, hands clapping while you jump up and down, breaking out into laughter when you make eye contact with Lily who’s cheering just as hard.

James’ smile is the sun itself, his wide grin shining as he soars through the sky, arm up high, showing off the golden snitch.

His eyes search the crowd, landing on you and you grin, biting your lip to contain your laughter. His eyes crinkle, head tilting in an invite for you to get off the stands.

You make your way with the rest of the crowd, linking arms with Remus so you don’t get split up. You’re talking excitedly when you make it to the field, hands moving frantically in front of you. “He was amazing, Remus! He was so fast- Merlin he’s incredible.” You laugh, jumping up and down.

Remus chuckles. “Why don’t you tell him that? He’d grow red faster than you could blink.” Hitting him playfully on the arm, you roll your eyes. “Oh shush.”

Your eyes track James, talking to Sirius with a big smile. You run up, pulling him in for a tight hug. “You did so well,” You whisper, breath fanning across his neck, unknowingly sending goosebumps up his spine.

He kisses your head, your heart skipping a beat, “Thank you, Love. It means a lot to me.” With one hand stroking your cheek gently, the other moves to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You turn to mush, eyes softening. “James, I-“

“Quick Remus do the same,” You frown, turning around to see Sirius forcing Remus’ hand on his cheek, giving him his best doe eyes.

“What the-“

James forces your eyes back on him, a tight smile on his face. “Ignore them. What were you going to say?”

You shake your head, hands moving to hold his arm, muscles straining against the tight quidditch shirt, “Nothing. Are we celebrating the Gryffindor win tonight?”

He nods, walking off and not casting a glance toward Remus and Sirius behind you, “Yeah, you coming?”

You nod, “For a little bit.”

He winks, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I'm glad, It won’t be a party without you.”

You both jump as Sirius interrupts our conversation, “I’m coming to the party too, Padfoot. Are you just so so happy I’m coming? Will it make the party a million times better?” he pouts, doe eyes aimed at James and you snort.

James groans, pushing him away playfully. “Fuck off.”

He grins, moving so he’s in front of us, walking backwards, “I see who your favourite is. It’ll never be me, will it?” He sighs sadly, lips turning down into a pout.

“She is my favourite,” James mutters, smiling cheekily at me and my cheeks flush.

✰✰✰

The party is in full swing by the time you make it to the common room and everyone cheers when James enters. You grin, moving to give James the spotlight but he grips your hand tightly, ensuring you don’t leave his side. 

With a flush, you grab a random bottle of alcohol, pour it into a cup and practically chug it down, relishing in the buzz it gives you. 

“You planning on getting drunk?” James asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you pour yourself another drink. “Merlin, yes,” You laugh. He rolls his eyes, hands reaching up to pull the cup from your nimble hands. 

Before you have time to glare, he refills it and takes a small sip before handing it back to you. 

You grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd. He gets swept away, conversing with people about the game. You find Lily and Alice to talk to for a bit, downing your drink and finding another. 

By the time James returns to your side from where you’re standing by yourself in the corner, eying the crowd, you’re more than tipsy, on the way to drunk. 

“You look so pretty,” James mutters in your ear, causing you to grin. “You’re also pretty.” His cheeks flush a deep red, suddenly shy. “Thank you, love.”

You take a sip from your fifth drink of the night, “You’re also hot.” You don’t flush or show an ounce of shame, the alcohol giving you confidence.

He grins through red cheeks, “Yeah?” You nod. “You’re also hot.” His hands land on your waist, pulling you into him. You shake your head, “I’m pretty. Don’t know about hot though.”

James shakes his head immediately. “No, Love. You’re so hot. You make my knees weak every time I see you. Do you know how hard it is to control myself when you walk in, drop-dead gorgeous and looking so fine? Trust me, you’re hot.”

You sober slightly at his words, moving your hands up to link behind his neck. Your palms stick with sweat, legs turn to mush beneath you. “Yeah?” He just nods in response, eyes tracking your face, trying to gauge your reaction. 

Without thinking about the consequences, you pull him in. 

He responds immediately, lips meeting yours with an urgency, his hands gripping your hips tight. His hair in your fingers, you pull him harder against you, growing dizzy at his groan. He deepens the kiss, devouring you completely. 

The lack of oxygen forces you apart, lips wet and swollen. James doesn’t go far, his forehead falling against yours. You suddenly grow nervous, looking down at your bodies, pressed against each other. “I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head immediately, placing a kiss on your nose as his hands rub soothing circles from where they now rest on your waist. “You can kiss me anytime, anywhere. No need to ask.”

You grow hopeful, eyes lighting up, “Does that mean you like me too?” The room is crowded but the way James is staring at you makes you feel like the only person in the world, the crowd droned out by the happiness and love reflecting in his eyes. 

“Honey, I love you,” He states sincerely, nothing but honesty painting his features. Your mouth stretches into a wide smile, heart flipping in giddy, “I love you too, James.”

“Thank the heavens above,” He mutters playfully and you laugh loudly, fingers fisting his shirt.

 ✰✰✰

The great hall is obnoxiously loud, the early morning light shining through the pristine windows making you squint, a frown pulling at your lips. The pounding in your head is hard to ignore and painful enough to make you regret drinking so much last night. 

But James is sitting next to you, his large hand in yours under the table while his thigh presses against your own. The subtle touches warm you over, an unmistakable flush crawling up your neck. “You look so cute,” James whispers into your ear, his soft eyes, filled with admiration inspecting your face. 

You smile wildly. “Thank you, so do you.” His free hand drops the spoon he was holding and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. He leans closer, hand cradling my jaw gently. A loud clearing of the throat from across the table has us looking away, your eyes narrowing at the confused looks on Sirius and Remus’ faces. 

Sirius his confusion off with a grin, twisting his body so he’s facing Remus, hands moving dramatically in front of him. “Remus! Please, let me call you cute and almost kiss you!”

Remus turns to face him, one of his scarred hands cradling his jaw with a mischievous grin. “Of course! But I’m going to be oblivious while my friends grow sick of our pining.”

“You know we’re together…Right?”

Their wide eyes whip around to face us, jaws to the floor. Remus’ hands are still on Sirius’ jaw as he mutters in shock, “What?”

[formulawolff]

ii. "think about my offer" - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, eventual smut, drug & alcohol usage, power imbalances, age gap relationships, flirting, banter, yearning, use of fic tropes, yadayadayada the works

prev. | next.

sypnosis: with the second grand prix of the season well on its way, there is a lot at stake. not only with the race, but other matters as well.

darkness creeps into the motorhome, the lights of the team motorhomes and paddocks illuminating the space. all around you, everything was brushed with a soft white glow. 

his fingers remain under your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact. in the dim light, you can barely make out the glint swimming in his depths. what was it? desperation? anticipation? you weren’t sure. 

toto was a complex man. you were well aware of that. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡

there were days where you would see him glowering around the mercedes paddock, engaged in heated exchanges with engineers. there were moments where you would watch a glimpse of his radiant grin, dimples and all, as mercedes would successfully place or land a podium. of course you had heard the stories about him and his outbursts. his mood seemed to change in a matter of seconds, especially these days. 

well, could you really blame him? 

mercedes had dominated the world of formula one for so long. with lewis hamilton earning eight world championships, breaking barriers and records along the way, mercedes was the top team. it was a team many drivers dreamed of racing for. when you entered the world of formula one, you could barely get one foot in without hearing the word mercedes or the name lewis hamilton. 

that was until redbull had entered the picture in 2022. 

now, they were struggling to even maintain second place. hell, there were some races where the team would barely make finish without crashing a car. or suffering from a malfunction. 

mercedes was no longer the team. they were on the same level to ferrari and mclaren, fighting tooth and nail for those second and third spots on the podiums. 

additionally, you couldn’t help but face the glaring facts. lewis hamilton was leaving mercedes once the 2024 season was complete. their integral driver, the one who had earned them their reputation, their titles, was making an exit. 

was there something behind that? something more than the speculations and gossip?

however, you squeeze your eyes shut, sucking in a shaky breath. 

“why do you want me on mercedes? these days i feel more like a liability to my team than an asset. i’m sure you just saw the spectacle in the press room.”

“because you’re an inspiration,” the notes in his tone are gentle, “you have inspired so many women to pursue their passions in the world of formula one. not just in terms of racing, but for mechanics, engineers, journalists. you have encouraged so many people to do what they love. you are confident. you know your talents and you utilize them. you have so much fucking potential and it makes me so irrationally angry that james does not see that.”

brows furrowing, your hand grasps toto’s wrist, pulling it away from your face, “does this have something to do with james? it’s common knowledge that you like to hold grudges, toto.”

the principal coughs slightly, “that may have something to do with it.”

“then my answer is no,” venom oozes out of your words, “i’m not some pawn to be used as a ‘fuck you’ to james for leaving mercedes. i’m not taking any part in that. i’m going to need you to leave.”

“that’s fine,” toto nods, responding coolly, “i figured you’d react this way. you are extremely close with james.”

“well no shit,” you mutter, pointing towards the door, “mr. wolff, i am going to ask you kindly once again. please leave.”

“i will,” placing a hand on your shoulder, toto locks eyes with you once more, “think about my deal, little dove. in the meantime, i’ll be waiting.”

“waiting for what?”

“if you’ll accept my deal,” his thumb massages along your collarbone, “you didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no. i can tell you’re considering it.”

“you’re stubborn,” you retaliate, yet the pressure along your collarbone is relieving, the sore muscles relaxing, “they weren’t wrong about that.”

“i am quite the stubborn man, schatz,” toto can sense your exterior crumbling as his hand glides towards your shoulder blade, massaging gently. 

“i know you’re manipulating me with your extremely good looks and nice hands.”

“and yet,” toto’s voice is low and he leans in, mouth hovering by your ear, “you’re falling for it.”

“are you flirting with me, toto wolff?”

“maybe i am,” his breath fans against your ear as his hand delves lower, fingertips brushing along your ribcage, “it seems to be working. look at you, nearly crumpling to your knees at my touch. how long has it been since a man has touched you like this, schatz?”

it takes everything in you not to let out a groan as his hand rests on the small of your back, “y-you need to leave.”

“i will this time,” he murmurs, “but consider my offer, little dove.”

a vibration on the countertop interrupts the principal. snapping out of your trance, you pluck your phone, the illuminated screen notifying you that you had a couple of missed calls, and numerous text messages. 

one particularly caught your eye. 

it was daniel. 

i’m going to be on my way in five. i hope you’re okay. i know you probably don’t want to talk about the press conference very much, but we can just cuddle or something. 

“oh fuck.”

toto towers over you, eyes scanning over your phone, “i take it that is my cue to leave.”

“your cue to leave was fifteen minutes ago,” your tone is dry, yet he cracks a smile. 

“i hope you know i’m going to keep pestering you until you give me an answer. have a good night, little dove. i’ll see you around, yeah?”

“sure,” you respond. placing two hands on his back, you give him a small push, “you need to go before daniel thinks something weird is going on.” 

“is he your boyfriend or something?” toto obliges to your action, the austrian beginning to stroll towards the door of the motorhome. 

for him, the exit was merely a few strides. but fuck, was he sticking around. daniel was going to be there in a matter of seconds. who knew what would happen if they happened to cross paths. 

similar to toto, daniel was not one to let things go. 

“no!” you snap, “leaaaavveee!”

“fine, fine,” toto huffs, “think about my offer, schatz. i will see you around.”

as the principal slides out of the door, you bring a hand to your temple, massaging it. 

what the actual fuck just happened?

seconds later, a series of knocks breaks the silence. 

“come in!”

daniel peeks his head in, concern painting his features as he notices your state, “why are you still in your suit?”

shrugging you point to your phone, “i was in the middle of an intense phone call when you texted.”

“ah,” he opens the door, a bottle of wine in one hand, a bag in the other, “i brought food, if that’s all right? i figured you would need some after that prick grilled you in the press room.”

“can we talk about something else?” you groan, crossing over to the couch. you flop on it dramatically, earning a laugh from daniel. 

“we could talk about how max adores you. i think kelly has some competition.”

“i wouldn’t say that,” you lift your head up, fighting a smile as daniel pulls a series of parcels from the bag, “what did you get?”

“something i knew the american would like,” he teases, ripping open a few wrappers, “a classic cheeseburger with fries. i hope they’re not soggy. i ordered it plain since i know how you are about condiments.” 

“no shake with that?” you giggle, sitting up. wrapping your arms around daniel, you bury your head into his shoulder, “it’s a been a fucking day, let me tell you.”

“yeah?” he stuffs a fry in his mouth, “tell me about it.”

“well,” you’re tempted to spill every single detail about what just occurred merely minutes ago. however, as daniel’s gaze meets yours, you hesitate, “i’m concerned about my future with williams.”

“why do you say that?” his eyes narrow, brow furrowing, “you’ve never said anything like that till now. did something happen on the way back from the press conference?”

“no, no, no,” you respond a little too quickly, “i just – i don’t know. you of all people know how quickly things change in this environment and–”

“hey,” daniel lays a hand on your thigh, “i think you need some rest. you’ve had a real fucking busy day. we can talk about your future plans in the morning.”

“but what if i want to talk about them now?” 

“you of all people know that i am not one to tell people what to do or how to live their lives,” daniel’s eyes harden, the words stern, “but you need to decompress. take your mind off racing for a minute. your life is not all about racing. you need to take care of yourself too.”

“i know,” you allow him to wrap an arm around your shoulders, bringing you in close, “it’s too much to think about sometimes.”

“tell me about it,” daniel places a peck on your temple as you nestle your head into his collarbone, “how about we eat, and maybe we can talk about it later?”

“sounds like a plan to me,” you nod, “hey, i have a question for you.”

“and that is?” 

reaching for a box of fries, you fiddle with it, “are there speculations that we’re dating?”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡

“how do you think that went?”

james is to your right, tablet in hand. absentmindedly, you fiddle with the visor on your helmet, “all right.”

“just all right?” james queries, “you have pole position for tomorrow and you think that went just all right?”

“well,” you shrug, “we all know that max is going to overtake me, so i can’t be too hopeful.”

“such a pessimist,” james chuckles, placing a tender hand on your shoulder, “you don’t seem like you’re quite here today. i don’t want to press, but is something on your mind? you know you can tell me, right?”

there was quite a lot on your mind, actually. 

in the days following the bahrain grand prix, it was almost as if your mind was a torrent of anxiety, fear, and numerous emotions. there were too many to decipher, constantly overwhelming you, distracting you from the matter at hand. 

although you felt like you weren’t quite on this planet, you somehow managed to breeze past max in qualifying. it was only by hundredths of seconds, but it was a victory nonetheless. charles leclerc was behind max in the third position on the grid. alex was twelfth, which was not great but not terrible. 

the encounter with toto was ever-present, consuming your thoughts whole. part of you wanted to confess the entire situation to james, but you knew that you had to keep it to yourself. this was no time to stir up any drama or rivalry between the two principals. 

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand drifted, how his voice shifted when he spoke to you. it was a far contrast from the way he spoke in interviews or to his drivers. it was rich yet husky, brimming with lust. there were gentle notes inflected in it as well, almost if he was admiring you. it was reminiscent of how one would speak of their favorite piece of artwork, or their most prized possession. 

from his point of view, were you really a prize to be won? were you really that important? or were you the latter?

were you simply a pawn in his game?

the way he looked at you told you a different story. 

there was no calculation. no coldness. there was no trace of the hardened, steely gaze he usually presented to his peers, to journalists, and to the general public. 

there was simply a softness. as if you were one of his weak spots. you could remember him looking at you hungrily, as if he was taking in every single detail of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

since the encounter in your motorhome, you had only bumped into the principal twice. once was on your entrance to the paddocks with james, where you exchanged formal greetings. the other was after the last practice session, where he congratulated you for your time, wishing you luck in qualifying. 

the most odd aspect of it all was that you could count the number of exchanges you had with the principal on your fingers. most of it was formalities, either with the press lurking around, or when you attended events. there were no personal meetings before. it was all business or related to racing. 

so he truly meant it when he had mentioned he had his eye on you for a while. 

the only thing you could remember was an afterparty after the monaco grand prix in 2023. although max had won the race, both lewis and george had placed fourth and fifth. those were significant placements, especially on a track like monaco. you had placed eleventh, which was pretty monumental at the time. 

around four a.m. at the afterparty, toto approached you. his face was flushed, cheeks tinged nearly crimson from the alcohol. the scent lingered on his breath, his hair was tousled, and a sheen of sweat clung to his skin. yet he was still utterly gorgeous, offering you a brilliant smile. 

“i didn’t think the golden girl of formula one would make an appearance!”

“golden girl?” 

“well of course,” he nodded fervently, the words slurred ever so slightly, “you shine like the sun. so that means you’re a golden girl!”

“mr. wolff,” your laughter was like bells, ringing so beautifully in the principals’ ears, “i think you’re pretty drunk.”

“let’s get a drink or two together. then you can really see that i’m not the big bad wolf.” 

you ended up declining his offer, but he didn’t persist, leaving you to join daniel, lando, and oscar on the dancefloor. your heart was racing, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the pounding bass or alcohol consumption. 

it was due to the fact that you had a tiny crush on the principal. 

ever since you had sat behind the wheel of a race car, you were attracted to the principal. in your teenage years, you had dreamed of racing for mercedes, under the wing of toto. you swooned whenever you logged onto tumblr and read fanfics. you were nearly breathless every time you saw him pop up on your youtube feed. 

fuck, even when you watched drive to survive on netflix, you couldn’t help but catch yourself rewinding back to the interviews with toto. 

so when he offered to buy you a drink or two in monaco, you had to bite your tongue to say yes. when he entered your motorhome and had you pinned against the counter, you were a little weak in the knees. when he used little dove or schatz, it did leave your heart skipping a beat. 

since that moment in monaco, things had been strictly professional. now, that line was starting to blur thanks to the motorhome incident. every time you noticed the principal, you could sense the tension in the air. it clouded nearly everything, thick and electric, sending a shiver down your spine every time the two of you locked eyes. 

there was no doubt that the team principal was breathtaking. yet, he was almost thirty years older than you. additionally, you couldn’t help but think about the way the entire formula one world would react the moment they caught wind of mr. wolff and the american girl. the horrible treatment from the media would only skyrocket. 

there was also the other elephant in the room. 

after you asked daniel whether or not there were speculations the two of you were dating, he distanced himself. although he had said no, you couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted the world to think the two of you were together. 

before, the two of you were almost inseparable. after alex, he was the first driver to welcome you to the world of formula one with open arms, often encouraging you, offering advice, and defending your name tirelessly. he was constantly reposting videos of you all over his social media, captioning them along the lines of, “look at my american girl go!” or “go best friend, that’s my best friend!” 

of course, there were little rumors swirling around on social media that the two of you were an item. fans often made edits of the two of you, saying things like, “they’ll never tell us they’re dating but in my head they’re together” or “that aussie boy loves his american girl <3” 

now, you found yourself distracted. too distracted. between the whole toto debacle, questioning your loyalty to williams,  the benefits of joining mercedes, and daniel leaving you out high and dry, you were a mess. 

 a hot mess, at the very least. 

to make matters worse, tomorrow was the biggest race of your season. if not, the biggest race of your life. 

and god only knew what tomorrow was going to bring.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡

thank you so much for reading! let me know if you would like to be tagged! <3 this is going to be a multi-chapter series so buckle up y'all. it's about to get juicy!

[naomi-nana]

bofurin and romance tropes . wind breaker

just as the title says, bofurin and romance tropes.

featuring : umemiya, sakura, kaji

cw : fluff, gn!reader, probably ooc

a/n : since there isn't many wind breaker fics right now, i'm gonna make one since im obsessed with the characters! if this goes well, maybe i'll make a second part:D

UMEMIYA HAJIME . friends to lovers !

the two of you first met in café pothos, when you were helping out kotoha since it was pretty busy that day. he was the one that noticed you first and came up to you with a huge smile on his face. he didn't say anything and only stared at you for a while, which makes you think that the leader of bofurin is a freak. but you talked to him anyway.

and that leads you to being friends with him somehow. and because of that, he won't stop bothering you whenever he got the chance to. "name, look! my plants are looking so beautiful under the moon today, hahaha!" he showed them off proudly at you. you only nod your head with a smile on your face. "that's great. but, why are you taking me to furin at night? surely this isn't because you want to have a bbq party with me."

"do you want to?!"

"just tell me what you want, ume."

he chuckled and looks over at you with sincere eyes that makes you feel weirded out. not because you're disgusted by him, but because he usually looks at you that way whenever he has something serious to say. "say, are you alone right now?" you tilt your head to the side at his question. "what do you mean? i'm with you right now."

"haha, sorry. i should've been more specific. i mean, are you single?"

SAKURA HARUKA . clueless and flustered !

"stop doing that!" sakura glares at you while his whole face glows bright red. suou and nirei only watches from the side as the interaction between you and him goes on. "doing what? i'm not doing anything!" you put the bandage on his injury. the three of them had just gotten back from a fight in the town. and apparently, sakura jumped way too early into the fight and got injured because of that. which is why you're trying to put bandages on his arms right now. keyword, trying.

"could you please stop moving?" you grab his wrist with your hand to make him stop running away from you, but it only makes it worse. he's now screaming like a crazy guy. "hey! get them away from me!" he stares at suou who only smiles at him.

"i-i think we should help him before he passed out from the amount of affection name is giving him." nirei whispers to suou, which earns a hum from him. "hmm, you're right. but this is way too amusing to watch. i say we wait a few more minutes."

KAJI REN . talkative and quiet !

kaji is known for being a person who's easily angry. well, he might look calm, but the second someone or something pisses him off, he's really scary. which is why people often run away from him. not the people in furin though, including you, who came from a different high school. of course people think you're weird, acting all smiley besides him while he's 'ignoring' you and listening to his music.

but, in reality, he actually hears whatever you're currently saying. "kaji, did you hear? apparently that new coffee shop is closing because they didn't sell well!" you crossed your arms together as you looked at kaji with a dissappointed face. "how sad, i really liked how their coffee taste!" kaji only nod at what you said, and didn't say anything back.

you noticed that he didn't say anything and decided to just shut your mouth, since you think that you're bothering him a little and you don't want him to get mad at you. but then, he suddenly stops walking. "what's wrong, kaji?" you noticed he stopped at the coffee shop you were talking about. he took off his headphone and opened his mouth to speak,

"do you..want to buy coffee?"

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[reallyromealone]

would you do a rindou x reader omegaverse nsfw one-shot? 😬😪

(Ignore if no)

Title: little Succubus

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Rindō, reader insert

Fic type: nsfw, omegaverse,

Pairings: Rindō x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, demon au, succubus, smut, nsfw, Omega male reader, blood play, Dom and sub themes, spanking, Rindō calls reader names, Rindō is mean, praise, sweet words, reader doesn't feed off people because he's nervous

Notes:

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

(Name) Was starving as he crawled up the large California King bed, a handsome alpha sleeping in no more than boxers as (name)sat on his lap, feeling the others large bulge "I'm sorry... I'm just so hungry" (name) always felt a sense of guilt when feeding, usually keeping it to kissing but he had been so busy with work and... Just a kiss..." (Name) Whispered as he gently cupped the man's strong jaws, his inner omega praising the very strong alpha, he could definitely provide...

(Name) Kissed so softly and sweetly as they tried to use their magic to make sure the Alpha just had a nice dream... Though it didn't work? Pulling away (name) opened his eyes to see that the Alpha was awake and staring smugly "a little rude don't you think?" Rindō said with a shit eating grin as he sat up, pulling (name) closer as the cute little demon looked flustered "I-I was only taking a bit of energy! You should be asleep! Why aren't you asleep!" He said flustered as he looked at the tattooed alpha... Wait those tattoos looked familiar.

Shit.

Large black bar wings spread out behind him, the high ceilings and large bed made sense now as (name) looked at the large horns on the Incubus' head as his eyes turned to a pure glowing shade of amethyst. A large tail snaked from behind him and coiled around (name)s smaller and cuter one "you haven't been eating, kisses are barely a midnight snack let alone a proper meal, idiot" Rindō sniffed at (name)s neck "you're so weak you can't even smell the difference of a demon and a human"

"I-i feel bad taking it that way..."

"You're a virgin" Rindō said in a moment of realization with a bigger grin than he thought possible as he pinned the other to the bed "a succubus Omega whose a virgin... Never thought I would see it" Rindō watched as (name) looked ready to explode with embarrassment "stop bullying me! " He shouted angrily as Rindō chuckled lowly "human raised... You have that innocence that humans have... A little half breed" Rindō sniffed out the human aspects of the other, he and his brother were pure demon choosing to live in the mortal world, operating a crime cindacate with fellow demons.

Before (name) could fire something back, Rindō grabbed him by his neck and kissed him, long tongue taking control as (name) let out a moan, slick already pouring from him and brain getting foggy.

When Rindō pulled away, he looked at his work as (name) looked fucked out from a kiss alone "feels good right? Getting energy from a demon tastes way better than some human" (name) nodded as pink pharamones leaked from him, like fog on a spring morning though it was something only demons could see, easier to tell who was more willing to fuck.

"You wanna be full, huh baby? A cute succubus like you going without a good fucking is just criminal" the Alpha tutted as he freed his cock from his boxers, if (name) was human-- well fully human --- that thing would have killed him. Thirteen inches and thick as a coke can, the demons knot barely expanded as he spread (name)s legs and rubbed up and down his thighs while looking at the others cute little shorts, (name)a succubus form consisting of tiny short shorts a tight crop top that was ripped apart by Rindō "wait!" (Name) Panicked as the Alpha looked primal but halted his hands "i-i don't know your name" (name) said worried and Rindō looked stunned before laughing, leaning up to kiss him "god you're cute, think I'm gonna keep you~" he chuckled as (name)s omega preened at the concept "the names Rindō, what's yours pretty?"

"(Name)...." The Omega whispered as his black wings fluttered at the compliments the Incubus spoke, he knew that lust demons were good with words and shouldn't be so easily affected but... It felt nice.

Rindō kissed down his chest, exposed and perky as his long tongue swirled around the nipple, mouth tearing open to reveal his sharper teeth and (name)s eyes slowly turned a hazy (color) as he took in the pleasure as Rindō looked smug at the others reaction as his hand moved to play with the others much smaller cock, giving a harsh tug as (name)s hips bucked up to chase the pleasure "you must be hungry, you're absorbing so much~" Rindō could feel the Omega drain his energy as his cute fangs grew sharper and his pharamones sweeter, thank god he had enough energy to run Tokyo for a year.

"Alpha ~!" (Name) Cried out as he clung to the other, Rindō pleased that the omegas already claiming him as his wrists made a feeble attempt at scent marking him "yeah? You want alpha, Omega?" Rindō chuckled as (name) nodded feverishly, he was so hungry...

Rindō could tell the other was losing himself to his instincts, Omegan and demonic which was a dangerous combo for any human but thankfully Rindō could take him easy as (name) crawled on him and pushed him down, nails clawing at Rindōs chest as he looked at the others tattoos hungrily "come on baby, take what you want from alpha~" Rindō cooed as he allowed his cute Omega to dominate him even just a little, when (name) wasn't starving he would put him in his place but he knew the cutie just needed a damn good meal.

(Name) Clawed at the others chest, seeing traces of blood before licking up the lines with a moan and sitting up to see the others cock and a wave of nervousness washed over him and Rindō tutted "getting ahead of yourself baby, want alpha to help you?" His voice condescending as his hands groped the others ass cheeks "silly little Omegas need help, especially naughty ones who starve themselves for silly morals" Rindō couldn't help himself, throwing the concept of letting (name) do as he wanted out the window as his large hand swatted down at (name)s plump ass and watched him jolt with a moan.

A succubus didn't feel pain, neither did an Incubus... Anything would feel nothing short of pure pleasure.

"Humans couldn't give you what you need, huh? Needed an incubus cock to satisfy that hunger, a filthy little cock slut pretending to be something he's not" Rindōs words were venomous as he bit at (name)s scent gland and fingers went to the others ass, rubbing and teasing before pushing in and without warning he aggressively began fucking his fingers into the other.

Rindō watched as (name) threw his head back with a scream like moan, legs shaking as Rindō aggressive rubbed at his prostate and the poor Omega clawed and bit at the alphas shoulder and back, gutteral moans escaping his lips as an orgasm rolled through "you feel good baby?"

"Full...." (Name) Mumbled as Rindōs fingers left his gaping ass only to replace it with something far better "well better stuff you good for good measure!" Rindō plunged his cock in, a sadistic grin as (name) took him body shaking and convulsing as the poor thing struggled to process and adjust to his cock, maybe he was too much for the succubus.

Then he saw the others eyes, cute heart rings glowing "you wanna feel real good baby?" Rindō mumbled into his ear and (name) nodded frantically at the idea of feeling even better as Rindō placed a hand on his abdomen and began thrusting, mumbling enxantations as a womb tattoo graced the omegas stomach, increasing his pleasure ten fold and watching as (name) began cumming uncontrollably.

Rindōs thrusts were hard and aggressive as his thighs slapped (name)a ass cheeks and his large wings entrapped (name) nice and close to him as the two kissed sloppily, orgasm after orgasm escaping the poor succubus as the two fed off one another, the poor Omega practically putty in his arms as he let the other fuck him stupid.

"Wanna be mine, pretty? Be mine forever? Only feed off me?" Rindō asked teasingly and (name) bared his neck, surprising the other a bit but grinned none the less as he bit into his neck, venom flowing into (name) as his knot caught and cum began pouring into the other, poor (name) barely conscious.

"Good boy... Nice and full now? Don't worry... Alpha will keep you well fed every day, keep you do nice on my cock" his omega would be his and his alone, he would remove any silly thoughts out of his pretty head and (name) would belong to him and bare his spawn.

It would be perfect.

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 1-Fae

Sorry about the late start. As I explained before, I wasn't sure if I reread my own work too much or it was inspired and I didn't save anything. I tried looking for the fic here and on Ao3 and between work and errands, I couldn't find it.....so I gave up. I deleted the other one and started over. I didn't want to post anything until the the first one was redone. All the others should be coming out soon and on schedule.

Mar'i Grayson had a fascination with her Uncle Damian's girlfriend, Marinette. From the first time she saw her; she loved her. Damian had immediatley been called her 'Favorite Uncle'. He wore the title proudly, even though he had no clue as to why he had suddenly become the favorite. All he knew was it pissed of his older brothers.

"You brought the fairy!" Mar'i shouted, spotting Marinette at Wayne Manor.

It never failed to make Marinette giggle. Mar'i grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the sitting room. She quickly brought out her coloring books and asked her to color and draw with her. Damian sighed, as yet another date had gone wrong. He had wanted to show her his latest painting.

'Seems it will have to wait, yet again.'

"If you don't mind me asking," Dick started, "why is it funny when my daughter calls you fairy?'

"Oh, I don't think of it as an insult or anything." Marinette quickly expressed, "I find it funny because she and my Nona must know something I don’t. My Nona calls me her 'Little Fairy'."

"Mar'i, believe she is a fairy. Why" Starfire asked her daughter.

Little Mar'i smiled, "Uncle Damian brought her to life!"

'Huh?'

'What?'

'Brought me/her to life?'

The Waynes looked to Damian, who seemed just as confused by that statement.

"I swear if you guys did something and she saw!" Dick growled out.

Marinette turned bright red and squeaked out, "We've only kissed."

"True loves kiss!" Mar'i exclaimed.

Dick and the other looked at the couple, wondering how far that kiss went. Marinette hid in her hand and Damian wasn't fairing that much better. He was disappointed in his lack of planning. He was out of smoke bombs that would help them disappear from the moment, altogether.

Realizing the adults were still confused and getting upset, she ran out of the room.

"Be right back!" she cried out.

When she returned, the half-Tamaranean proudly showed a game box to them.

She shoved it in Marinette's face shouting, "It's you!"

Marinette leaned back and saw the game was titled 'Faefarm'. On the cover as a fae with side swept bangs and pigtails dressed in purple. She could easily see why the five year old thought it was her. She had moved away from her pink capri and switched more to a purple once she moved to Gotham. Bruce had warned her about standing out.

Damian smirked, "I guess I did find a Fae."

The Wayne family began to laugh.

"Don't worry, Marinette." Dick chuckled, "We'll keep your secret."

"Can I see your wings?" Mar'i asked, before flying around the room.

The room froze, waiting Damian's girlfriend's response. They hadn't told her about their nightlife and about Mar'i being half-Tamaranean.

"Sure." Marinette smiled.

'Huh?'

"Let's go outside, though." Marinette continued.

Confused, they followed the girls outside. Once outside, Marinette turned and faced them. They glanced at Damian and he didn't seem worried or concerned. If anything it seemed like he knew what was going to happen.

'What is she thinking?'

'Mar'i will notice if Jon or Star lift her up.'

They watched as she took a small purple macaron and threw it up in the air.

'What?'

"Astro Tikki, Spots On!" She shouted.

They closed their eyes to the bright red glow. When they opened them, they saw Ladybug with blue wings and a face mask. Marinette jumped up and hovered in the air.

"Let's go." Ladybug smiled, holding out her hand to little Mar'i.

Mar'i grabbed her hand and they flew up into the sky. Starfire flew up with them, leaving the Wayne boys confused. After shaking off their confusion, they turned to the youngest for answers.

"How?" Jason questioned.

Damian shrugged, "She figured us all out in a week after we met."

"How?" pressed Tim.

It had taken him months to figure out that Dick was Robin. He had chased them getting any picture he could and piecing the clues together. How had Marinette done it in a week?

"She designs for a living." Damian stated, like it should have given them all the answers, "Why do you think your clothes always fit so well?'

"Alfred could have told her!" Dick shouted.

"When was the last time you were measured by Alfred?" the youngest pushed back.

The boys tried to remember, but found they couldn't. Alfred knowing their measurements was a mystery as old as time. He always knew everything.

"Marinette has been our designer for three years now and she hasn't measured any of us, since her first day." Damian explained.

"Damn." Jason whispered.

"Uh, so, will we see her on patrol more often?" Dick questioned.

"Was she keeping out of sight all this time and you knew?" Tim asked.

"She doesn't suit up unless there is an emergency; there has been none. She prefers to work on her business." Damian declared, "She will make me extra food, if I choose to go to her place after patrol."

Before they could ask more questions, the girls touched down.

"Spots off." Marinette whispered.

"That was fun!" Mar'i shouted, "Let's do it again!"

"Agreed." Starfire expressed, happily, "I rarely take her into space."

"Space?" Dick exclaimed.

"What did you think 'Astro' stood for?" Marinette asked, "We'll ask next time, if you prefer. Besides I would have to make another power up to do so."

Jason and Tim snickered. Damian walked up and put his arm around her waist.

"I believe it is time to take you home. I'm sure they will have trouble putting her down to sleep now." he spoke.

"Oops." Marinette whispered back, ashamed.

"What ingredients should we grab at the store on the way home?" the youngest asked, leading her to his car.

"Oh, there was this fusion recipe I have been meaning to try." she spoke, as he led her away, "It's a vegetarian red curry and dumpling soup."

"Curry and dumplings?" he questioned.

"It has your heritage and mine." she answered, blushing.

Damian seemed to grasp the idea and smiled, "It sounds lovely. We can try it together."

Marinette smiled brightly at her boyfriend as he opened the car door. Marinette got in and waved as he closed the door. Damian entered the driver's side and they left.

"Man, he really did find a Fae." Jason expressed, "She has him whipped."

"Fae don't-" Tim began.

"In the old stories, knowing ones name held power. The Fae had certain influence over people. hey could manipulate their fate or actions. It was like selling your soul." he explained.

"Well I think she's can keep him." Tim stated.

"Miss Marinette seems to be changing Master Damian for the better." Alfred announced, suddenly, throwing them off guard.

"Me too!" Smiled Mar'i.

"Miss Marinette left treats inside for dinner." Alfred spoke, getting his great-granddaughter's hand and leading her in, "She spoke of a special package for Mrs. and Miss Grayson. Something containing mustard."

"Yay!" they cried as they rushed in.

"Looks like she has power over all of us." Jason whispered.

Dick gasped, suddenly.

"What?" Tim questioned.

"She's the next Alfred." he explained.

The boys froze before lowering their heads.

'We're doomed.'

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

UNSPECIFIED- @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

[diodellet]

try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!” 

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—” 

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers. 

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching. 

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. 

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.” 

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.” 

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had. 

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile. 

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire. 

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests. 

You decide better against responding to that. 

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.” 

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not? 

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! edit: author's note can be found here! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

[msnmnt]

The Morning After

pic from pinterest 🩶

A/N: I like to think this is in the same universe as my other fics, taking place between Lay Your Love On Me and Teach You, but I think it’s also fine to be read on it’s own.

Summary: Contains smut! Taking place the morning after Mase takes y/n’s virginity, there’s lots of fluff for the aftermath the morning after. Then… Mason wants to make her feel good once more. 😏 Enjoy! 💗 (ps sorry for the unoriginal title, I need to work on that 😅)

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly blinking as you adjusted to the dim room, lit only by the daylight that was seeping through the light grey curtains that you didn’t completely recognise.

It took you a few moments to properly wake up, but soon the memories from the previous night were flooding back to you. They were Mason’s curtains, and you were tucked up in Mason’s bed.

You gradually remembered the events from the previous evening and how it had ended with Mason being his usual total sweetheart self, not wanting you to move and cleaning you up with a wet cloth and towel so you could stay comfy in his bed. You recalled how your cheeks had flushed a crimson colour as he wiped between your legs, catching his attention when you winced slightly at the sensation of the cold water on the area which was so sensitive. Mason’s head had jolted to look at you, his heart dropping at the little whimper that left your mouth. You had had to reassure him that you were okay, just a little sensitive, and he had continued cleaning you up.

Mason had gone on to dress you in one of his tops that he knew you loved, and the pair of you had snuggled down, limbs tangled as you indulged in some pillow talk. But if Mason was honest, he had barely taken in what you were saying, far too enamoured by the glow on your face that he was sure had only appeared after he had made love to you. He could feel himself falling more and more in love with you as he listened to you quietly ramble on about not much, softly blinking as his eyes fixated on your features, the way they were so perfect to him.

You couldn’t quite remember falling asleep, but you did remember how the evening had ended with Mason cuddled up behind you, his arms looped around your waist as he held your body against his, telling you how good you did for him and how in love with you he was.

You didn’t have chance to register that Mason’s arms were no longer caging you in, far too caught up in your thoughts as your tummy buckled at just how perfect your caring boyfriend had made the previous night. You couldn’t have asked for anything more. Well, that was what you thought, till you noticed Mason wander through his bedroom floor, dressed in nothing but a pair of grey jogging bottoms that sat dangerously low on his hips.

He tried his best to tip toe in, his hands gripping tightly onto a tray filled with two croissants and two glasses of fresh orange juice.

You couldn’t fight back the smile on your face as you sat up in bed. When Mason noticed you were awake, he tutted in disappointment before carefully placing the tray onto the bed.

“Why’re you awake?” Mason asked, unreasonably annoyed that he hadn’t got the chance to wake you up with breakfast in bed like he had planned out in his head.

“Because you have the thinnest curtains known to man.” You chuckled, looking over at the thin bits of fabric which were now doing little to hold back the sunlight. “Seriously, you can tell you haven’t had a woman’s touch around this place.” You rubbed at your sleepy eyes before scanning the room. His furniture was nice and the room was modern, but you could tell none of it had really been given much thought.

“You can give it your touch all you want, baby.” Mason climbed onto the bed, slipping himself back under the covers. “I’m serious, you can do whatever you want to it.” Mason cupped your face in his hand, his eyes looking over the sleepy but lovey look on your face, matching his.

He lent in, capturing your lips with his in a sweet kiss. His other hand slipped to go under the shirt of his that you were wearing, holding your hip as he licked at your bottom lip. You gladly opened up to allow his tongue to slip in, the minty taste of his toothpaste making your mouth tingle.

Mason’s kisses got hungrier and your lips turned up into a grin as you pulled away, your gaze snapping down to the bedding and noticing that Mason’s sudden movements had jolted the tray, causing the juice to spill over the top of the glass.

Mason shrugged his shoulders, bringing his face back to yours, and you giggled at how keen he was.

“Mase, baby.” You laughed as he looked on innocently, completely smitten and just wanting to show you love. “Be careful, you’re going to get the bedding all wet.”

Mason gave you a look and raised his eyebrows, and you just rolled your eyes at his childness.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Mason settled down next to you and you shared the pastries, making quick work of eating them all. You sat in mostly a comfortable silence and you couldn’t help but beam at how natural the domestic setting had you feeling.

As you ate, Mason kept a hand on your thigh, lightly stroking as he just wanted to keep his hands on your soft skin at all times.

Once you had finished the pastries and juice, Mason put the tray to one side before reaching his arm out and tapping his bare chest. You felt your tummy flutter as you shifted yourself over to allow his body to envelope yours, his hand coming to grip at your arm as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead, the softness making you nuzzle your head into him.

“How’re you feeling this morning, angel?” Mason asked before planting one more kiss to your hair, grabbing one of your hands in his and intertwining them in his lap.

“I feel good.” You turned to look up at him, his honey eyes staring back into yours with a look of love and adoration. “Really good, actually.” You smiled and Mason’s heart thudded at how genuinely happy you looked. He was so glad he had managed to relax you and make the night memorable for you as well, for all the right reasons.

Something about the way he was looking at you with such softness and care as well paired with the thoughts back to last night seemed to enlighten something in you and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together.

You pulled your hand from Mason’s and he furrowed his brows in confusion before watching as you bought it to his bare chest, ever so slightly tracing your nails across his chest and running them all the way down to the tops of his jogging bottoms. A little giggle left Mason and you were sure it was the sweetest sound you had ever heard, deciding to continue dragging your nails across his chest in random patterns, up and down, diagonal and across, as he watched on, small sighs leaving his parted lips at the sensation.

After a few minutes, you finally convinced yourself to be brave and you lightly grazed your hand over his crotch, noticing the faint outline of his cock as it was clear he was not wearing boxers.

Mason let his eyes fall shut as he took in a few breaths, your hand brushing over his hardening cock. Finally he convinced himself to reach down and gently grab your wrist in his hand, stopping your movements.

“What’re you doing, baby?” Mason asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

You shrugged, trying your best to mask how nervous you were at trying to make the first move. You don’t want to, but seeing Mase sat there all shirtless and sexy, the heat was pooling in your stomach, and you had to do something about it.

“I just thought I could maybe - maybe touch you. Try and make you come with my hand.” You admitted shyly and Mason felt his cock twitch at your words. He tried his best to compose himself, shaking his head.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed so you were laying flat, coming to hover above you. Mason cupped your cheek, his thumb lightly stroking at your soft skin.

“Absolutely not baby.” He begun to scatter soft kisses to your neck, feeling pleased with himself when he noticed the small but purple mark behind your ear that he had left last night, gently soothing the skin with his tongue. “My girl deserves the best.” He cupped your cheek, his thumb lightly stroking at your soft skin. “Anyway, what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I let you do that before I’ve gone down on you?” His breath fanned over your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You crooked your neck down, your face warming at his words and the feel of his breath on you. His warm skin on yours. His sweet words filling you with complete joy.

Mason scattered little kisses all over your face, his hands wandering down the curves of your body. He slipped your top (his) top up your body till your midriff was exposed and he begun to plant sloppy kisses to your skin, his lips dangerously close to where you really wanted them.

“Mase…” Your couldn’t help him name from falling from your lips, your heat pulsing.

“Yeah, baby?” He asked smuggly before scootching down the bed a little more so he could scatter wet, open mouth kisses to the insides of your thighs, purposely avoiding going where you really wanted him as your hips twitched up slightly, making Mason chuckle.

“Please…” Your voice was laced with desperation but Mason was feeling cheeky, loving having you so desperate for him.

Mason moved his mouth over your mound, his breath hitting your core. You squirmed once more and Mason bought his hands to grip at your hips.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” His lips pressed a kiss to your centre and a whimper fell from your lips, music to Mason’s ears.

You looked down and the sight of Mason’s head between your legs made you go crazy. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, finding it difficult to hold yourself together.

His hands played with the sides of your knickers and he looked up at you, feeling smug as your eyes were glazed over, completely fixated on him and what he was doing.

He pulled them down your legs, his eyes falling straight to your pussy, his cock twitching.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, huh?”

You whimpered at his words and Mason huffed smugly, finally giving what you wanted and planting a single kiss to your clit.

He pulled away again, dragging the tip of his finger slowly up your slit, watching on as you squirmed under his touch.

Mason took in the sight of how wet your folds were, and he couldn’t wait to ruin you.

He ducked his head down to blow on your most sensitive area, smirking when he saw your entire body twitch at the sensation. He used his fingers to part your lips slightly, groaning as you pulsed around nothing, whimpering slightly in desperation.

Mason left kitten licks all around your slit, gasps leaving your mouth as you felt him so close to where you were so desperate for him. Finally Mason’s tongue licked a stripe to your clit, and you let out a strangled mix between a gasp and a moan, your whole body relaxing and sinking into the mattress beneath you.

You reached your hands down to tangle into his hair as his tongue continue to perfectly work your nub, swirling round in circles. You lightly tugged at Mason’s hair and he moaned in response, the sound vibrating through your core.

The sweet sounds falling from your lips as his tongue worked you to perfection had Mason repositioning himself between your legs so his lower body came into contact with the bed beneath him, allowing him to shamelessly rut his hips into the soft mattress, relieving some of the pressure he was feeling.

Mason bumped his nose to your clit and you brought your hand to the nape of his neck, softly playing with the hair there as his tongue swiped over your slick folds. Your hips jolted slightly and your pussy rubbed against his nose once more, eliciting the sweetest of moans from your lips, causing Mason to moan, muffled into your heat.

He pulled away before using his thumb to mimic the previous movements of his tongue, the perfect circles making you throw your head back against the pillows below you.

Mason slowly sunk one finger into you, intently focused on your face to make sure you weren’t in any kind of pain. He curled his finger and as it brushed against the spongey part, he felt you clench around him, your nails seeping into the skin at his neck.

He whined as his lips stayed attached to your clit, licking and gently suckling as he straightened out the finger he had buried deep in you before curling it to graze against your g-spot. You were in complete bliss, a mixture of whimpers and moans leaving your parted lips as you watched him work your body so sweetly.

Mason slipped a second finger in, sliding in so easily with how wet he had got you. He was quick to find the same rhythm as before, his fingers curling at the perfect angle as he expertly fucked you with them.

The pleasure was piling in your tummy and your thighs were shaking, threatening to close around his head. Mason used his free hand to press into the soft flesh of your thigh, pinning you down.

You could feel your high approaching and you wanted nothing more than for Mason to carry on just what he was doing, so when he pulled his mouth away you let out a strangled groan in dismay. Mason smirked to himself as he watched on as you writhed beneath him, his fingers still inside of you as you looked up at him, eyes wide and confused as you stuck out your bottom lip at the loss of contact.

You were taken by surprise when you felt Mason spit onto your clit, his fingers slipping out of you to messily spread his salvia on your pussy.

“Fuck, Mason…” You moaned, knowing you wouldn’t last much longer. Your thighs involuntary tried to close around his head once more, and he dug his fingers into your skin harder, sure to leave fingerprints as he pinned your thigh back to give his the access he needed.

He slipped two fingers back into you, pumping and curling them to brush perfectly against your g-spot as his tongue swirled your now overly sensitive clit.

“Mase.” A strangled moan slipped from your lips as you struggled to compose yourself any longer. “I don’t think - I feel like I’m gonna - oh.”

The noise that fell from your lips only spurred him on more. He removed his hand from your hip and placed it flat on your stomach, pressing down slightly. Mason was certain he could feel his own fingers as they curved inside of you, the feeling making him groan into your core.

“Masey, baby-“

“It’s okay, princess.” Mason mumbled into your pussy, focused on keeping his movements exactly the same, wanting nothing more than to bring you to your high now. “Let go for me, angel. Come all over my tongue.” He reattached his lips to your clit, gently sucking and licking as he felt your pussy tightly grasp around his fingers.

A uncontrollable sob fell from your lips as your thighs tightened around him, allowing the blissful feeling to completely take over your body. You pulled at his hair a little harder than you probably should’ve as his fingers and tongue made you see stars, and he groaned into your core.

Once you both managed to calm your breathing, Mason gently slipped his fingers out, trying his best to compose himself.

You tried your best to open your eyes but you couldn’t help them from falling shut as you took some breaths, attempting to bring yourself back fo reality.

Mason surfaced from between your legs, a massive grin across his face as your chest raised up and down rapidly. His lips were glistening and you felt yourself blush at the mess you made on his face, but Mason was completely shameless. He held your face and kissed you softly and tenderly before slipping his tongue into your mouth, the taste of yourself on him making you pull away shyly.

”I’ll be back in 5 minutes, I just need to have a shower real quick.” Mason said before planting a final quick kiss to your lips, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart twinge in disappointment at him leaving you already, even if it was just for 5 minutes.

“Oh.” You mumbled out disappointed, which Mason picked up on straight away.

“Sorry angel, it’s just - I’ve made a bit of a mess in my pants.” He trailed off, nuzzling his face into your neck in embarrassment.

Your eyes widened and you raised your eyebrows. “You… you came in your pants?” You questioned, a little unsure till you felt Mason nod into your neck.

He pulled back up to look at you, his face reddening. “I couldn’t help it. The noises you were making and how you were tugging my hair just made me so fucking hard, baby.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but feel pleased with yourself, your confidence increasing more and more. “Maybe I could… join you in the shower?” You asked hopefully. “I guess I need to clean up too.”

Mason grinned, grabbing your hand and leading the way into his en-suite where the pair of you basked in the warm water, the shower full of nothing more than lots of sweet touches and soft kisses as you washed each other clean.

[crow-raven-crow]

Can I, pretty please, request a fic of Larissa finding out reader has nipple piercing? Like, it's totally unexpected of reader to have them bc they seem so innocent. I don't really have a solid idea other than reader forgets to wear a bra, and it's visible through the shirt or whatever. Idk, I leave everything up to you tbh

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~3.2k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: some fluff, NSFW, nipple piercings, reader receiving, nipple focused, slighting marking kink, vaginal fingering, slight begging, small mention of praise, alludes to future sex

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

The rapid tapping of fingers against a keyboard filled the dimly lit room, the sound filling the space with a sense of urgency. Shadows danced along the walls under the cold moonlight - a room that was bathing in the golden hues of a sunset just moments before transformed with the arrival of night throughout Nevermore. The light coming off her laptop screen mixed with the tones of the moon highlighted the shine of blue eyes and smooth, pale skin.

Blue eyes scanned the laptop screen with unwavering focus, but no matter how rapidly she was typing, her mind was found far elsewhere. The documents and emails in front of the tall blonde were being responded to on autopilot, her motions guided by memory. The true motivation she found to get through all of her work was to cozy up next to you with her favorite bottle of wine. Each moment felt as though it dragged on into eternity, yet the thought of seeing you at the end of it was enough to make her power through her workday

Your relationship with Larissa was still new, only spanning a few months, but neither of you could deny the chemistry that was present when you were together. You worked with each others strengths and allowed the other to confide in their weaknesses. The connection and compatibility that was present was hard to ignore, even by your other coworkers.

With her final thoughts all in place, she hesitated for a moment before finally clicking "send" on the email, a content smile gracing her lips as she closed the laptop with a satisfying click. The glow of the screen faded away as it closed, the darkness seeping in and leaving her alone in the dimly lit space. As she stood from her desk, the weight of the day beginning to lift from her shoulders, she took in the cloak of nightfall - a moment of silence before moving around the space in a hurry.

Anticipation filled her body as she moved around her office, her mind racing with thoughts of you and how excited you would be at her surprise. With the bottle in hand, she slipped her coat over her shoulders and stepped out into the hushed hallway, the clicking of her heels waking up the quiet stones beneath her feet. Each step echoed through the ancient corridors, stirring the stillness of night as she made her way closer and closer to you.

Flames flickered against the dark stones they hung from, giving her some of the warmth that she craved. With each flicker of light, her steps seemed to quicken just as much as her heart. As she rounded the final corner, she acknowledged the golden glow seeping through the crack underneath your door, a smile growing on her lips as she got closer.

~~

Streams of hot water ran over the expanse of your skin, enveloping you in a pool of warmth that melted away the tensions of the day. The steam rose in wispy tendrils, dancing around you with every breath you released. As you rinsed out the remaining product in your hair, you tilted your head back, allowing the water to pool over your face and race down your neck.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, the steam filling your lungs and covering you in its comforting warmth. With a slow hand, you reached out towards the icy handle, your fingers wrapping around the metal knob and shutting the water off.

You nearly ran out of the shower, the sudden transition from the wonderful heat to the cool air pricking at your skin made goosebumps appear along your skin. You snatched the towel from its hook, successfully wrapping it around your body and shielding you from the harsh cold. Drops of water continued to trickle down your form, leaving a trail in their wake as they absorbed into the mat beneath your feet.

Letting out a sign, you turned towards the clouded mirror, making out your hazy reflection. You moved closer with a small smile, tracing a finger along the surface and writing out Larissa's name and finishing it with a heart. Your smile only grew as you took a step back to look, the heavy droplets running down the mirror only adding to the simple beauty of her name alone. With a lingering smile, you tore your gaze from the mirror and went off to put something comfortable on.

~~

Larissa's footsteps came to a nervous halt just outside your door, her hands feeling just a bit sweatier and her cheeks just a bit redder than just moments before. With a deep breath, she rose her hand up and knocked on the dark hardwood three times. The sound echoed through the corridor softly, the blonde waiting with bated breath as seconds stretched into centuries.

Muffled shuffles could be heard through the door, hurried footsteps following suit when a small and hurried "coming!" was thrown into the air. A small chuckle escaped her chest as she heard your hurried response, her nerves settling the closer she heard you step.

As you opened the door, a towel picking up the stray droplets of water that fell from your messy hair, your gaze met sapphire blue ones. Your chest immediately swelled with a warmth just as fast as a smile formed on your face with the sight of your lover in front of you. Her dress clung to every one of her curves. Against the backdrop of the dark hallway behind her, her porcelain complexion radiated in the soft amber light that escaped your doorway.

The flickering flames and the golden hues from your fairy lights created a an ethereal halo around her form. The world seemed to slip away, for just a moment, leaving only the two of you standing in something timeless. With a heart overflowing with love, a bright smile made its way to your lips.

The sight of your smile seemed to settle all of the blonde's nerves, a feeling of love and adoration quickly taking over and rushing through her veins. Her gaze raked over your figure, drinking in every curve that laid underneath a garment that seemed oh so familiar. One of her eyebrows arched up in playful curiosity as she quickly recognized it as one of her own - one that you had taken the last time you had come over to be more comfortable, the thin fabric enough to hint at the contours of your body underneath quickly displaying the lack of anything else between your body and her.

In the dim light, her cheeks flushed as they landed on your chest. The air around you seemed to charge with electricity, a silent tension starting to build itself up as locked away desires ran to the surface. Surely, her eyes were deceiving her in the dim light..

"Hello, darling," her voice came out in a purr, dripping with warmth and affection as she broke away from the thoughts. Her deep tone sent shivers down your spine, only adding to the charge that was building between you two. The impact she had on you was prevalent on your features, a crimson lighting up your cheeks and moving towards your shoulders, engulfing you in a rosy hue as you watcher her devour you with her eyes alone. With a flutter of excitement in your chest, you stepped aside to let her in, eager to lose yourself in the warmth of her presence and the quiet promises of the night ahead.

"Hi, my love. Let me just finish brushing my hair, and I'm all yours," you say as you move deeper into your room. As the door clicks shut behind you, you made your way to your vanity, routine kicking in as you ran the brush through your hair. Much to your surprise, she had followed right behind you, leaving the bottle of wine somewhere in the other room. Her figure appeared in the reflection of the vanity mirror, her gaze meeting yours before taking in your reflection, scanning over your body with a hidden desire. "How was work?"

Her presence made a rush surge through you, your heart echoing in your ears as your thoughts grew hazy, the simplest of acts becoming daunting under the weight of her gaze. She stepped closer as her words left her lips, her hands finding their home at your hips while her lips hovered close to your ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. Some of her fingers smoothed underneath the fabric of your shirt, only making your blush deepen as you relish in her touch. "It was nice today, though it's much better knowing that I'm ending the night with you.. How about you, darling?"

With a sudden surge of confidence, you spin around in her embrace. Your hands smooth up her arms, your fingertips tracing along the contours of her skin before they rest on her shoulders. Beneath your touch, you feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest, your own breaths subconsciously changing to match hers. Her perfume fills your lungs, the intoxicating scent filling you with a warmth and making your head dizzy with a rush of desire, nearly making you forget to answer.

"I can agree.. It's much better with you here," your voice came out breathier than you had hoped, but you quickly pushed the thought away at the feeling of her hands tightening around your hips, pulling you closer.

A comfortable silence filled the room, your eyes lingering on hers as you watcher her take you in for the third time this evening. You watched as they lingered on your lips, tracing the curve of your jawline before trailing down to your neck and coming to rest on your collarbones before landing on your chest. They lingered there for a moment, fixed in some unseen trance, as you watched her swallow hard, her gaze darkening and clouding over with an emotion you hadn't seen in her eyes just yet.

Her tongue darted out to coat her lips, a small gesture that stole your attention and caused your breath to catch in your throat. The sight of her, so close yet seemingly lost in her own thoughts, enamored with thoughts about you, sent a fire building in your abdomen, igniting a flame that simmered beneath the surface. Her voice was just above a whisper, dying out just as quickly as it had escaped to the surface. "You have.."

Seeing her so baffled made a soft chucked leave your lips, but it was quickly hidden away as you caught your bottom lip between your teeth. You didn't know exactly when this day would come, but you'd be lying if it wasn't growing increasingly harder to not think about her touch. Her hands were strong, but oh so gentle when she toyed with you. She always made your chest swell with love in her company, but you wouldn't deny that the look in her eyes was becoming addicting.

"Piercings?" Your voice broke the silence, your hands slowly moving down her arms and landing on the backs of her hands. You guided her hands underneath your shirt, pushing past the thin fabric as her fingers smoothed over your sides and left goosebumps in their tracks. You watched as her gaze moved up with her hands, watching with an intense focus as they came up to cup your breasts.

A shuddering breath left you at the sensation, her thumbs moving on their own and swiping over the piercings and hardened peaks in a way that nearly had you toppling over already. She watched as your eyes rolled back, the piercings making your nipples all the more sensitive, before you finally found your voice to speak again.

"I-I do.. I got them in college and-" It was hard to catch your breath as she continued to toy with you. She used her thumbs to roll around each bud or squeezed them between her index and middle fingers. Each movement sent more and more arousal coursing through you, your cheeks flushing a deep red as your breathing became much heavier. "Riss-"

She watched you with a hungry gaze, felt as your hands squeezed at her wrists in pleasure, saw as your thighs rubbed together to beg for any amount of relief. The small whimpers that she got out of you only fed her lust, fed a burning desire that only craved more.

Her lips crashed into yours as her name left your lips, her body quickly pressing into you as she pinned you against the edge of the vanity. She was quick to explore your mouth with her tongue, starved kisses eating away at every whimper and small moan that you could give her. It was easy to get lost in her touch, to get lost in every kiss that increased the ache between your legs.

Her lips left yours, slowly moving along your jawline and down your neck as she walked backward, pulling you gently with her. After a few steps, the backs of her legs pressed against the edge of your bed, and she was quick to sit down, pulling your onto her lap immediately after. Her hands left your chest in that moment, circling around to your lower back to pull you closer, then moving down to your thighs to make sure you were steady. Your hands rested back on her shoulders, your fingers starting to play with the fabric of her dress and small strands of her hair as one threaded into her updo.

Her lips never stopped worshipping you, never stopped leaving little marks along your neck and collarbones. You felt them barely miss your skin as she moved lower, coming into contact with the neckline of your shirt, and a small growl left her throat. She was quick to face you, her lips just centimeters above yours as her eyes displayed an increasing hunger. Her lips brushed against yours as she spoke, her voice the lowest you've heard it, "Can I take this off?"

"Yes-" Your voice was breathy, full of want, full of the need to feel more of her. Her fingers tightened on your thighs before tracing up your sides, pulling your shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind you. She was quick to place them back on your hips, but her eyes were locked on the pieces of silver on your chest, studying then with lust filled eyes as they rose and fell with every one of your breaths. She licked her lips, her mouth watering as she placed them back against your skin.

She whispered sweet praises after each kiss, her hands smoothing over your thighs and hips as she pulled you impossibly closer. Her tongue swiped over your right bud, circling around the sensitive skin and making your back arch into her. A loud moan left your lips as she captured it in her mouth, one of her hands coming up to toy with the other bud as you melted into pleasure.

You could feel your arousal pool between your thighs, your core squeezing around nothing as she pleasured you with the smallest touches alone. Her lips kissed a path to your other bud, being sure to leave a lingering one above your raging heart. Each lick and suck made another wave of pleasure shoot through you, your fingers gripping onto the fabric of her dress as more moans and whimpers left your lips.

Her other hand slowly inched between your thighs, two of her fingers smoothing over the fabric of your underwear and feeling a damp patch that was only growing. The action made your breath hitch, your hips rolling against her fingers ever so slightly as a plea for more of her. She pushed them up, adding pressure against your core, causing your hips to buck.

"F-Fuck-" Your breathing grew heavy, your face flushed as she skillfully worked you up. Her fingers soon pushed the thin fabric of your underwear to the side, collecting the slick against your folds before pushing into your core. The stretch was delicious, a broken moan leaving your throat as they curled in just the right spot.

She allowed you to chase all of the pleasure she gave you, guiding your hips as you rolled them against her fingers. She loved seeing how easily you came undone, how much of a mess you became because of her.

Your body shuddered with every thrust you met of her fingers, with every roll of your hips, the string tightening in you and threatening to snap as each one made the flame within you rage on. Each touch grew even more delicious, your chest littered with dark marks as her pace only grew faster.

A strong fire lingered behind each thrust of her fingers, her own low groans filling the room every time you clenched around them. The pleasure that took over you made your chest heave, the air being forced out of your lungs in moans as ecstasy came closer and closer.

Just as you felt the crash begin to form, her fingers stilled, making pleas escape your lips as your hips desperately rocked in the chase of pleasure. Your voice was desperate, needy as you begged for her, "Please- pl-please Riss I- *mmph-"

Before it could be completely lost, before you could completely retaliate, you felt her thumb circle around your clit, the pleasure coming back tenfold.

You became a mess on her lap, your moans growing louder and filling the room as her thrusts picked up where they left off, as her thumb circled against your sensitive bud, her eyes scanning over your entire body as she brought you towards a searing pleasure.

She built you up just as quickly as she stole a high from you, her fingers curling in just the right spot to make you see stars. The pleasure she was giving you became all consuming, the rope in you snapping as you came against her fingers.

Your body shuddered, your walls clenching around her fingers as you came. Your moans and whimpers lingered as she helped you ride out your high, her fingers slowly leaving your core just moments after. You watched her with half lidded eyes, your heartbeat hammering in your ears, as she took her fingers into her mouth, licking them clean and groaning at the taste of you.

You were quick to pull her in for a kiss, grabbing the collar of her dress and kissing her with a newfound hunger that was only reciprocated with a moan as you tasted yourself on her lips. When you pulled away, your breathing labored, you saw that the fire behind her eyes was still raging.

A smirk came to your lips as you shifted in her lap. You felt her hands move to either side of your hips as you pushed your torso flush against her. You kissed up her neck, making sure that each one lingered against her skin, as you made your way up to your ear. Your voice was just above a whisper, laced with lust as it came out in a low tone, "Might I return the favor?"

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: HEHE HAHA

AS YOU CAN PROBABLY TELL IVE STARTED ANOTHER SEMESTER OF COLLEGE😭 I haven't been active here AT ALL IM SO SORRY HAHAA

my life has been a little crazy recently but i've actually been really happy :,) school and work as fun as fuck rn and ive been hanging out with my irls more i low key missed it lmao

i dyed my hair to black and grey after having the blonde pieces for YEARS. i missed my dark hair so much im literally thriving

i've been thinking about this req probably too much LOL IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG ANON😭🤍 I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND THAT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧cr

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

as always, feel free to ask to be added :)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧