synopsis | it takes a hookup with the girl you met on a dating app to discover she's not at all what you expected.
details | fem!nicholas x female!reader, switch!nico x soft dom!reader, mentions of dating apps, sexting, implied masturbation, implied sex toys, making out, dry humping, 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, nipple play, marking, pussy eating, fingering, cursing, lowercase intended, no use of y/n
wc | 3.1k
from the author | we will resume our regularly scheduled uploading after this brief gay intermission
you'd seen her in the midst of a left-swiping trance on a dating app.
you were just looking for some fun, something casual, and instead found carbon-copies of the same three people you'd felt like you'd already met: a dog lover with a hiking addiction, an underground indie artist who could show you all the cool unsung bars, a former book nerd turned tattoo artist looking for some blank skin to practice on. you had been down each road once before, pet too many dogs and gulped down your fair share of bitter cocktails.
but nico was different.
as shallow as it sounded, her photos made your finger feel heavy. nothing flashy could have distracted you from her gaze piercing yours through the screen. she seemed authentic, with the only photos being of her insanely stylish outfits and one group picture where she stood off-center, tucked away on the side but not blending in at all with her friends. she beamed like a jewel in sunlight, like crystallized honey. and, to top it all off, you noticed she had similar interests— fashion, music, photography.
she was much too cool for you, and you acknowledged that as you swiped right. you even held your breath, like the outcome might kill you; you matched instantly.
and she messaged you even quicker.
nico (24): you're hot :/
you had laughed, then, because you couldn't exactly tell if she had been complimenting you. most of your matches messaged first with the dreaded "wyd," which you didn't even entertain anymore. you weren't interested in hooking up with anyone else who couldn't at least put forth a little effort. part of you had wanted to categorize nico's maybe-compliment as lazy, just like the others, but the other part of you had already typed out a response and sent it, unashamed by the mere minutes between her message and yours.
you: is that a problem?
it was safe. a little flirty, but a genuine question nonetheless.
nico (24): it's gonna be
that's how it went with her for the next few weeks. nico was stubborn, teasing. you had thought that she'd meant it would be a problem for you, whatever visual trait you possessed that she found so compelling. that maybe her late-night texts, accompanied by a barely-lit photo of her tits wrapped in lace or a 13-second voice memo, were somehow your fault. you were responsible for the faint mechanical buzzing, heavy breathing and sharp gasps, and along with it: "imagining your mouth instead x"
or maybe her attraction to you, however she chose to express it, would be your responsibility to keep under control. nico made it extremely clear all the ways she wanted you, every angle and position, scenario, and all the ways she would make it difficult for you. all the ways she would be difficult for you— a self-proclaimed brat with more spite than she knew what to do with. spank me, choke me, bite me, she had texted you preceding a photo of her straddling her pillow, her thighs even softer than the fluffed, cotton stuffed cushion.
it all excited you, too. nico excited you. you loved flirting with her almost as much as you loved texting her about the mundanity of her day-to-day. you had more in common than you had originally thought, and your mutual obsession was an added bonus. you didn't mind having a problem, as long as it was her.
but, as it turned out, the problem was not yours after all.
you were both awake too late one night, the moon stretching up over the trees and settling above you. nico had sent you two longer videos, but you had only watched one before she texted you a third time. she had been in the shower, foamy mountains of bubbles sliding in tantalizing lines down her chest. steam had fogged up the camera and made every pink edge of her body, her nipples and her lips and her shoulders, look like they had been dusted with a hazy, dreamlike powder. you felt your core grow hot, your thighs squeezing together at the sheer artistry of the scene.
nico: come see me
she had sent her address before you could even agree, like she knew you wouldn't deny her.
you: i'm in my pjs
nico: i'll take them off
luckily, your face had stopped burning by the time you got to her place, but every other part of you was on fire with want. it had been nearly two weeks of constant flirting, endless teasing, photos and audios and videos and promises that you hoped she would keep. nearly two weeks of nico dragging you on, to the point where you'd just about given up. she probably had several pretty girls lined up, just like you, to get her fix from. when you slept, when you were busy, were they awake, available? you weren't sleeping, now, but you were busy as soon as you stepped inside nico's apartment.
"these are cute," she cooed, almost reassuringly, splaying her delicate fingers over the pattern of your sleep shorts. she wasn't anything like you expected; her dark, sharp features sloped round and full in the dim light of her apartment, and she had a gentle nature, hanging up your bag and taking your hand in hers.
the couch cushions almost swallowed you as you sat down, almost as soft as nico's freshly lotioned skin as she followed you. she caged you in with her knees, straddling your lap with her arms draped on either side of your neck. nico's nimble fingers found your hair, twisting it idly while your heart did the same in your chest.
"why are you up so late," she asked, finally eye-level with you. her eyes were much darker up close, swirling black and brown like worn leather, and her lashes swept the tops of her cheeks, almost innocently.
you answered honestly, "i have a terrible sleep schedule."
"i noticed that about you," nico teased, laughing away any awkward tension, her smile warm. her skin was warm, too, legs pressed bare against yours. "ask me," she urged.
"why are you up so late, nico?"
something unspoken pulled tight between the two of you, like string so taut you could have plucked it and produced one sweet, twinkling note. nico smirked, a soft curve of her lips, and reached for your hands. she placed them, loosely, on her waist, but her eyes begged you to squeeze, to press your thumbs into her hips. she whispered, "i was thinkin' about you."
nico hadn't made things difficult like she swore she would; she had made them so, so easy.
it was so, so easy to pull her impossibly close, dragging her hips to press flat against yours. it was easy to cup her surprisingly supple cheek and connect your lips in a tentative kiss, and it was even easier to lose yourself in her. you didn't realize that nico was losing herself, too. you wondered where her bite went, how only five hours ago she was asking you all the ways you'd put her in her place if she got too carried away and, now, nico was a puddle in your lap, seeping through your fingers like she were melting right in front of your eyes. you would have believed it, too, with how the heat radiated from her with every whimper that spilled into your mouth.
the nico in front of you— or on top of you, rather— was not the same nico you'd aniticpated. instead of stubborn, she was sensitive; every touch made her gasp against you. even a delicate brush of the back of your fingers along her arm left goosebumps in their wake. around your neck, her arms were trembling like she were holding herself back, but she had nothing to give, surrendering completely into your hold as her lips moved, slowly, against yours.
you were confused, but not disappointed, especially since something about the contrast was so intoxicating. all of her edge had been eroded into smooth stone, the cracks revealing that gleaming crystal that drew you to her in the first place. you had prepared to put in more work, to do as you said you would and spank her, choke her, bite her, but nico was already so pliant under your fingers, chasing your mouth with hers as you tried to pull away, tangling her hands in your hair and clamping her knees around your hips, anything to keep her upright.
"hold on," you mumbled against her lips, taking the separation as an opportunity to catch your breath. nico loosened her fingers from your hair, raking them instead down your shoulders, down your arms, until they rested on top of your hands on her waist. you gave the flesh there a squeeze, "is everything alright? you just seem… different."
"different, like, bad?" she shifted uneasily in your lap, sucking her swollen, glossy bottom lip between her teeth.
"no, no," you slid your hands higher, settling them right beneath her ribs and letting your thumb rub circles over the thin fabric of her top, "not bad. just unexpected. you made it seem like you were… i don't know— fiesty? bratty?"
"i can be, if you want," nico blinked a few times, focusing her attention on the sliver of space between your bodies, "i usually am, but something about you… i just-"
"hey," your hand came up to fit against her cheek again, tilting her gaze back to yours in a way that felt almost too intimate for the circumstances. but you didn't care— it felt right. you gave her a warm smile and tucked a strand of her still-damp hair behind her ear, "you can just be you. let me make you feel good, yeah?"
nico nodded and, just as you were about to reconnect your lips, she paused, smirking less than an inch from your face. there she was. she put her hands back on yours and moved them under the hem of her top, placing them back on her ribs just close enough for your fingers to skim the underside of her breasts. she shivered at the contact, the lightest brush against her sensitive skin. you let your fingers roam higher, searching the tender flesh until you grazed your thumbs over her nipples.
when you pressed your lips back to hers, the kiss was hungry, like she wanted to swallow you whole. the press of her body against yours was addictive, every contact point carving deeper so that she might slot there forever; her palms against your neck, her hips rolling over yours, your fingertips pinching, softly, at the delicate buds on her chest until the sensation forced her mouth open in a desperate moan. greedily, you drank it in, using the opportunity to slide your tongue against hers, wanting to taste every possible inch of her. every sweet inch.
you mouthed kisses along her jaw, balancing the desire to savor the feeling of her ever-quickening pulse and the urge to trace every curve of her with your tongue in some kind of hasty, ravenous fever. nico left sugary notes on your lips, sharp like strawberry and coiling around every sense with faint jasmine, especially in the cavern of her tits where your tongue sucked pretty pink splotches, shoving her shirt up and out of the way. between the combined friction of your teeth, softly dragging over her skin, the laving of your tongue over blooming pink and purple, and the gentle pull of her nipples between your fingers, nico was already wrecked. she squirmed in your hold, using her arms on your shoulders to keep herself upright as she ground her hips down onto yours.
"need something, pretty?" you teased, sliding your hands back down to still her hips.
nico whimpered, "no." she tried to grind against you again, but to no avail.
"are you sure?" you asked, dipping your hands beneath the waist of her shorts, worn just long enough between her shower and now to be completely ruined, soaked through at the core. nico's eyes fluttered closed, her forehead resting against your shoulder as your cold fingers wandered to the flushed skin of her ass, squeezing lightly, "not my fingers, or one of those fancy little toys," you dipped your head to whisper in her ear, blazing bright red, "or my mouth."
"fuck," nico sighed, arching into your grip on her. when she lifted her head from your shoulder, her eyes were half-lidded, narrow in the same way she posed for all of her photos, only this was natural; she was lost in everything you were giving her and desperate to stray further. nico mewled as you dug your fingers into the flesh of her ass, and, then, she smirked, leaning in until her lips were ghosting, faintly, over yours. she whispered, "surprise me?"
it seemed all nico had done since you came over was surprise you; surprising her was the least you could do. if you had it your way, you'd have given her an orgasm with all three, starting with your fingers and then making her ride your tongue while wearing that sparkly plug she'd sent you photos of last week. instead, you hovered over her on the couch, having pulled her shirt completely off and tucked it under her hips, just as a precaution. your fingers hooked under the waistband of her shorts and slipped them down her legs, goosebumps trailing the soaked fabric.
"so wet for me, baby," you hum, prying her thighs apart, gently, and settling between them, "i've barely touched you and you're dripping onto your shirt." just an observation, punctuated by two of your fingers collecting her slick and smearing it up the length of her slit, puffy from grinding desperately against the seam of her shorts as you kissed her. nico gasped, whining at how quick the contact ended, your fingers prodding her and retreating just as quick. her hips bucked, chasing anything. "so eager, too," you aimed a stream of cool air straight for her dripping folds, keeping your hands splayed on her thighs as they tried to clamp closed, "you weren't this shy on the phone, angel. do you want me to stop?"
"no," nico replied, quickly, breathlessly, "no, i want you to start— stop teasing and fuck me already."
you'd never been so obedient, never been so happy to do as you were told. you couldn't fight the smile that took over your lips, even as you plunged your tongue into her, dragging a slow, hot stripe up the length of her pussy. she was sweet everywhere, just as you suspected. and messy, her core soaking your face after only a few licks, ending with quick flicks to her sensitive, throbbing clit. nico mewled, hands finding your hair again, urging you closer as though it had worked at any other point that night. instead, you reveled in the pressure, in the sting of her nails in your scalp.
one thing about nico that you knew from the start would kill you was how vocal she was, how unrestrained, unsuppressed, and unashamed she was. if it felt good, she was going to let you know. and she let you know. as you gave in, letting her guide your face where she craved you the most, you suckled her clit into your mouth, tongue swirling and flicking and coaxing every sound possible from her.
"fuck," she groaned, rolling her hips despite your hold on them, "can't believe i waited— fuck— so long to invite you over."
you hummed against her, as if to say that makes two of us. you gave her everything you had, flattening your tongue and l loosening your grip on her to let her take control of the direction while you controlled the pressure. it was harmonious in an unexpected way, the two of you entwined, authentic. the two of you, now unashamed, your own thighs squeezing together as you plunged your tongue deep into her, slurping and lapping at her arousal as her core fluttered around you, beckoning you deeper.
"i was thinking about you, too," you confessed as you turned your attention back to her swollen clit, finger prodding her entrance to replace your tongue, "that's why i'm up so late." and you watched her face contort as you dragged your digit through the sensitive lining of her walls, curling it just right until she squeezed her eyes closed, bliss overtaking her features. you licked at her clit, twisting your finger, "thinking about this, about tasting you, about hearing you."
"shit— i'm fucking close," nico gasped, holding your head close to her greedy, needy cunt. and when you added another finger, curling both digits and coaxing her closer to her release, she groaned, a broken cry from her raw throat, "i'm so fucking close, baby. please don't stop. please, please, please."
"give it to me, sweetheart," you urged, drinking in the squelching, lewd sounds from your fingers driving into her pussy mixed with the way she was chanting your name, mindlessly and breathlessly and full of need. and when nico came, she was as beautiful as could be, tinged pink everywhere, dusted in that same hazy, rosy hue that brought you here in the first place. she arched her back off the couch, angling your fingers deeper than before as you helped her ride through her high with slow, gentle thrusts. her thighs spasmed around your head, your tongue still latched onto her throbbing clit in your own greedy quest to prolong her pleasure for as long as possible. "that's it, pretty girl. you're perfect like this, you know? giving me everything, making such a mess on my fingers."
when she had finally came down, chest heaving and eyes heavy, you slipped your fingers out of her and splayed them over your tongue, tasting every drop of her you could manage. you could feel the cool air on the lower half of your face, coated in her essence and undoubtedly your own drool, and nico watched you suck your fingers with something clouding her eyes, something like neglect. she sat up just enough to cradle your face in her hands, pulling you up to hover over her again, your own soaked shorts grazing her sensitive cunt and sending shivers over nico's body.
she angled your face, dragging her own hot, pink tongue over the skin on your chin, tasting the remnants of her arousal and orgasm. nico moaned at the contact, licking a path all the way to your mouth, where she sucked your tongue until you both tasted equally like her and nothing like you did before.
"you're so hot," you said, breathless, surprised by how smoothly she was able to take control over you, to have you trembling under her wandering hands.
nico smirked, and you felt it before you saw it, before she pulled back from her migrating kisses to meet your heavy gaze. a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes as she asked,
(1722 words)
pairing: fem!nicholas x f!reader
genre: angst, best friends, mutual (?) pining, hurt no comfort :((
warnings: use of yn, nicholas is called "nichole," internalized homophobia, wlw situationship...
a/n: SHES FINALLY HEREE◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜happy pride month my lovely lunes! so sorry this took so long i had such a hard time writing and im not the happiest with how it turned out as i am still actively battling writers block… i hope ygs like it anyway though!! part of the fic is based off of THIS tiktok! i listened to casual and vampire empire on repeat while writing this :(
some fruits are forbidden because they are poisonous.
others because, once you've tasted them, nothing else will ever be sweet again.
you believed nichole was both.
nichole.
it had always been her.
it would’ve been easier if she was cruel. if she’d been bitter.
if she'd left you alone on your first day, if she'd walked past your lonely table without a second glance, if she'd laughed alongside everyone else when they whispered names that were never yours to begin with.
instead, she smiled.
and with that simple act of kindness, she handed you something you would spend years trying not to reach for.
friendship came as easily as breathing after that.
somehow, she slipped into every corner of your life without either of you noticing. mornings became texts asking if you were awake. afternoons dissolved into shared headphones in the library, unfinished homework forgotten between laughter.
she knew exactly what songs you’d queue in the car. you knew to never buy her gold jewelry since silver suited her far better. somewhere along the way, mine faded into ours. and you suddenly couldn’t imagine a version of your future without her in it.
you told her about your plans, your dreams. about how perfect hung above your head like an aching reminder.
you told her everything—well, nearly everything.
everything except the way you’d search for her in hallways. the way her name echoed in your head like the ringing of church bells.
everything except the way you lay awake at night—imagining her next to you one minute, trying to pray the feeling away the next. or the way your parents warned you against her when she left the house. how they reminded you of your future, called her a bad influence.
you knew it was wrong.
you’d learned the rules long before you knew what it meant to ache for someone like this.
but hunger, unfortunately, never cared about the rules.
so you memorized her like she’d be the last thing you’d see. like you knew she’d damned you.
you survived on scraps, lingering touches. the small intimacies friendship would allow.
you memorized the chipped nail polish on her fingers. the light pink wash of her hair or the accent that snuck its way into her words. how her smile reduced her eyes to crescent moons when it reached them.
it was especially obvious right now. nichole cackling at a friend’s joke, red solo cup in hand.
an overpacked house party definitely wasn’t your kind of thing, but nicho had dragged you with her. and like always, you followed.
the party was stuffy, a sea of sweaty people you didn't know and the music was obnoxiously loud. yet her laugh seemed to be the only thing you could hear.
it was the kind of infectious laugh that spread to anyone that heard it. it was loud and full and nichole always seemed to laugh with her whole body.
and somehow, years had passed.
high school had turned into college. you went on dates and tried to make them mean something. you thought that time would dull whatever this was between you.
but it didn’t. and she still sounded the same.
and you still turned your head when she laughed.
“yn!” nichole shouted over the crowd, making her way to you. she runs a hand down your arm as she asks, “you okay? sorry i left you.”
you try to ignore the goosebumps that rise where her touch trailed. “been better,” you reply lightly.
nicho laughs, bringing her voice down as she pulls you in closer. “let’s get out of here,” her mouth is right next to your ear, her breath brushing the nape of your neck. you’re hyperaware of her. of her closeness.
she moves around you so naturally, as if you two were one whole. her body orbiting around yours like she was made to be near you.
you try to ignore it and listen as she continues, “maki just threw up and i’m not in the mood to listen to her babble on any longer.”
with a giggle and a muttered thank god, you grab her hand and find your way to the door. you’re greeted by cool air when you slip out—which is shortly replaced by the warmth of nicho’s car.
the drive back is quiet, not a noise but the hum of her old exhaust. it feels like a breath of fresh air from the party, despite the aged leather that sticks to your legs or the aircon that doesn’t quite work. it’s familiar—comforting.
the car comes to a stop in front of your house, streetlights leaking into the car and painting her face a light orange.
beautiful is the first word that comes to mind.
unintentional, almost unwelcome. like how a softly uttered “bless you” follows after a sneeze.
you push the thought down.
“thank you,” you break the silence, eyes still tracing her profile. “for bringing me home.”
“always.” she reaches her hand over the center console to hold yours, rings on her fingers clinking together.
the metal is cold in contrast to her warm skin. she continues, “thank you too, for coming with me… i know these aren’t really your thing”
nicho looks up at you so soft it makes you melt, matching her words. you wonder if this is how temptation starts—sweet and harmless until it turns all consuming.
she looks at you like she always has. as if there’s nothing dangerous about this. like nothing was sinful with the way your hands fit together or the silence stretching between you.
nothing dangerous about wanting to stay exactly where you are.
and for one blasphemous moment, you forget any of this was wrong.
“if things were different,” you start without thinking. “if one of us were a man… i think i’d marry you.”
the words came out by accident. a confession of a loose tongue and a softened heart—one that’d been swallowed down for so long you forgot it could escape.
nichole’s hand stills above yours and when you meet her gaze the emotion in it is unreadable. “yeah?” she asks.
you should leave.
you should get out of her car and pretend this never happened. brush it off.
instead, you whisper. “yeah.”
“well… i’d definitely want to be the man, then.”
her answer takes you by surprise. you blink up at her, prompting her to go on.
a soft smile plays at nichole’s lips as she looks down to where your hands meet. she pauses for a moment like she's turning the words over in her head. “i wouldn’t want you to be different,” her voice is quiet when it comes out. “i don’t think there’s a single thing i’d change about you.”
“nicho—“
“what? it’s true.” she interrupts, “i love you. just as you are.”
love.
it’s a word you’ve spent years running from. and now that it's laying here between you two, delivered with such a sweet and terrifying certainty, you know exactly why you’ve been running.
your seatbelt suddenly seems too tight, the car shrinking in on you until breathing feels impossible.
“don’t say that,” you beg through breaths that come in too short. too fast. “please.”
“yn.” nicho calls out, like she’s trying to pull you out of the spiral she’d seen you fall into countless times before.
the spiral you’d fallen into when you’d first failed a subject.
when your mom had yelled at you.
or when you’d kissed a boy for the first time and spent the entire night cradled in her arms, disgusted with yourself.
“it’s wrong, nichole.” her name comes out with a bite, “you know that.”
your words taste bitter in your mouth. you don’t know who you’re pleading to, or who you’re trying to convince.
nichole chews on her lip, knuckles white where they grip the steering wheel—so hard as if to keep herself from reaching out for you again.
the words hang between you two for a moment before she whispers, voice breaking on the exhale, “it doesn’t have to be.”
her eyes are pinned to her lap, like she can’t bring herself to look at you.
and you’re almost grateful.
grateful that you don’t have to look into her eyes.
because if you did, you were afraid you’d find yourself there.
“i can’t do this nicho.” you say weakly, the backs of your eyes burning. “i’m.. i’m sorry. i can’t.”
i can’t let myself.
nichole opens her mouth, closes it again. she swallows and whatever she was going to say dies somewhere behind her teeth.
instead, all she says is, “goodnight, yn.”
you nod, let your hand find the door handle.
but before you can push it open, nicho’s hand reaches out to gently cup your face.
she turns you toward her with such unbearable care that, despite yourself, you lean into it before you can give your body permission.
you’re frozen in place as she plants a kiss on your cheek. soft and fleeting, nothing more than the brush of her lips against your skin.
heat spreads under the contact. a burning, shameful heat. it takes all of your strength to wrench your gaze from hers. to not pull her back in and succumb to yourself.
it takes all of your strength to reach for the door handle and push yourself out into the cold night. the walk to your front door is just a few steps, but it feels like miles.
and as much as you want to, you don’t look back. you put the key into your door, twisting it open before you shut it behind you and fall to the floor.
bringing a trembling hand to your mouth, you choke out a sob. your fingers come away wet with tears you didn’t realize fell.
millions of thoughts race through your head, so full you feel its about to explode. your heart pounds loud in your ears, deafeningly so.
each beat sounds like her.
nichole. nichole. nichole.
through the echoes of her name you hear her drive away. the sound of her engine fades until there’s nothing left but silence.
some fruits are forbidden because they are poisonous.
others because, once you’ve tasted them, nothing else will ever be sweet again.
you touched the fruit only once.
and you fear you’ll spend the rest of your life hungry.
tag list: @nichozzystuffs, @sofisbelle, @jothehirono (ask/comment/dm to be added or removed!)
ㅡ fuma: collects all those novelty dildos but is too shy to use them, opts for either her fingers or a cheap bottom of the barrel wand toy
ㅡ nico: nasty freak, probably owns one of the cheaper fuck machines but usually just uses manual penetrative toys
ㅡ euijoo: plain suction cup dildo on the shower wall
ㅡ yuma: nasty freak number 2, if any of them were to own a sybian it's her. definitely one of those girls that needs 8 different power tools to cum
ㅡ jo: pillow humper
ㅡ harua: massage setting on the handheld showerhead or the bathtub faucet
ㅡ taki: i feel like she's someone that doesn't really think about sex toys or anything until she's in the heat of the moment and keeps telling herself she'll buy something for next time and then forgets and the cycle repeats. so she uses her fingers or honestly even d.i.y methods when she's real desperate. an old discarded (clean) electric toothbrush hates to see her coming
ㅡ maki: air pulse toy she saw advertised on tiktok
synopsis | after your neighbor's incessant practicing has kept you up for weeks, pretending she's your date is the least she could do.
details | fem!jo x fem!reader, bassist!jo, fem!nichojoo crumbs, besties!yumajoo, slightly suggestive daydreaming, overall tame and sweet, pining, mentions of drinking/alcohol/bars, mentions of food/eating, flirting, fake dating, cursing, lowercase intended, no use of y/n
wc | 7.8k
from the author | for my beloved rice nonnie. EAT UP SWEETIE
you've never been particularly lucky in love.
your family knew it, your friends knew it— it was like a flashing sign had been dangling over your head your entire life, prompting the weirdest, most socially and emotionally stunted people to invite you for drinks. maybe there was money involved, like you were the subject of a television show and whoever made the largest dent in your hope for humanity would make out like a bandit. that's the only thing that could have began to excuse the calamity that was your love life, because even you would sneeze on a stranger for a large sum; even you would sabotage a first date by ranking your exes for a new car. but the reality was that there were no cameras, no briefcases lined with stacks of cash hidden under a table somewhere. your dates were just bad, and you were just unlucky.
tonight was no different.
you should have known from the start that the date was doomed, but it took you much too long to realize that there was no point in seeing it through. for almost an hour, you had sat in a worn plastic restaurant booth, mortified by the turn the conversation had taken. the person across from you transformed on a dime into one of the top five worst conversationalists you had ever encountered. what started as lighthearted banter had quickly turned to a heated, one-sided argument about how people with your particular opinions on several, unrelated topics are the worst. you didn't know that someone could be so passionate about e-books and sprinkle varieties, especially enough to tank an entire first date.
you forked your food, silently, stomach turning inside out as your date waved their hands to grab your server's attention and then demanded that you pay the bill for both of your meals. the only thing worse than being walked on, insulted, and humiliated was letting it happen, which you did.
of course, you did. you weren't the confrontational type, a trait that usually meant you were screwed over in most situations; you took the middle seat in the car when your friends carpooled even though you felt trapped, lurked in the background at parties because you couldn't risk disappointing everyone by saying you were tired from work, and you've accidentally worked more volunteer events than you had ever wanted to because your small talk sounded a lot like interest. it wasn't even that you were a people pleaser— you just hated being perceived as the "bad guy," even if it meant sacrificing your own sanity.
even if it meant walking home alone in the rain, your wallet noticeably lighter after paying for your paperback-passionate date's eggplant risotto and coat weighing on your shoulders from absorbing most of the summer storm. the floor of your building's elevator was slick as you stepped out onto your floor, onto the worn and faded carpet that stretched the endless length of your hall. everything was heavy. your eyes, your heart, and your tongue in your mouth as you approached your apartment door and saw her standing anxiously outside of her own directly beside yours. your neighbor was an enigma to you, tall and elusive, like if bigfoot had fluffy, blonde hair and the softest voice ever recorded. you moved slowly as if any sudden movements would cause her to evaporate into a cloud of fog, as if she weren't physically stranded outside of her place until she found her key.
you finally reached your apartment and stood firmly in place, just in case your rain-soaked coat tried to take you to the ground when your knees inevitably gave out. she towered over you, even standing three feet apart, shoulders aligned like a step-ladder. your eyes began to hurt, strained from glancing sideways, careful not to let her see that you were in fact watching her every move. every shrill, metallic jingle, every plastic charm grating against the metal loop of her key ring— you caught it all, committed it to the part of your memory where you stored the few random facts you knew about her. and there were few.
first, there was the obvious; you knew her name: jo. sweet and brief, like a first, chaste kiss. jo moved into your apartment building five months ago, which you noticed not only because of the spontaneous, midnight ruckus that first night— who moves into a new place at two in the morning, anyway?— but because she knocked on your door the next morning and personally apologized for any inconvenience her settling in might have caused. and all you could do was slouch in the doorway, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, while she took up your entire doorway with a soft and radiant warmth. she was a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and you had been left on the counter for at least a week.
and, then, there was the not-so-obvious, things only you would know from your unique experience as her neighbor: she was a guitarist. she was a bassist, to be exact. her apartment's previous tenet was a musician, too, only his passion was the recorder, and he only played at dawn. it was worse than sleeping in a chicken coop, the sharp timbre of the instrument more excruciating than if you had just impaled yourself with the blunt end of it. jo, however, was pleasantly proficient. wherever she went from dawn to dusk meant that she was only able to play in the dwindling hours of the night. full and smooth, the sound had pulsed through the shared wall as the sun tucked itself into the skyline. those first few nights were sleepless; it seemed like jo was playing just to keep busy. it was nothing new, just the same melody over and over, plucking the same progression until you imagined her slumped over with the bass guitar in her lap.
now, she practiced; she experimented and learned, and when she fucked it up, she tried again. and you awaited it every night like a television premiere. so, you knew a third thing, too: she was good with her hands.
you pushed that thought deep, deep down, but you could feel it bubbling back up as you watched her nimble, slender fingers flip through her keys like stiff pages of a freshly pressed novel. you inhaled deeply as you did the same, with much less elegance, of course.
"do you not own an umbrella?"
her voice was low, rumbling through your already pounding chest like she had just plucked the thickest string of her bass. it was a good question, since you were dripping warm rain water all over your welcome mat; your hair was plastered to the top of your head, and any aspect of your appearance that looked halfway decent for your date had been washed away, reduced to smudges and smears. you looked the way you felt, though, which made your answer all the more pathetic. you breathed an awkward laugh, "i do."
"are you, like," jo started, finally pushing her key into the lock, "afraid to use it?"
you never knew how much conversation was appropriate between acquaintances, especially when a part of you wanted to be much, much, much more. at what point was she no longer dissolving uncomfortable tension between two kinda-strangers and attempting authentic conversation? you had no idea. growing up, you were reserved and shy, although it felt less like introversion and more like fear; fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of making a fool of yourself, fear of being known and, thus, the potential for being misunderstood.
you kept it simple, if a little bit dishonest. you gulped and threw one quick glance jo's way, where she was slowly turning the key to await your answer. you debated actually giving her the full answer, that it wasn't raining when your walked to the restaurant and you had hoped to maybe catch a ride back to your dates place if everything finally went your way. obviously, from the fabric clinging to your arms, that didn't happen. you said, "i am." you felt like a robot, programmed to only say the most humiliating and boring phrases.
but jo didn't seem to mind. you could feel her eyes on the side of your face as you navigated your own key into the lock on your door. she was soft and sincere in an oversized sweatshirt, blonde hair falling in messy tufts over her shoulders. a small smile, barely different from her resting face, curved her lips upward, taut like tuned strings. she pushed her door open and started to step inside but hesitated, long legs stuttering in the threshold.
for a second, she looked like she were going to say something. maybe something funny, maybe something to turn your whole night around. instead, she gave you one final, polite smile and disappeared with the creak of a hinge.
saturday morning sunlight evaded you behind dark clouds; you would have done the same. nothing sounded more appealing following the previous night's disaster than staying in bed with the curtains drawn, keeping your eyes closed despite your mind's racing. the rain painted your windows in a glossy and disorienting sheen, hypnotic, convincing you with every swirling droplet to shove your feet back under the blankets.
but yuma would have killed you if you missed your weekly coffee date. again.
she was hunkered in her usual corner table when you arrived, sulking into the steam rising from her mug. she looked as though she had been abandoned, kicked to the curb and left to find her own way, despite euijoo sitting right next to her. although, euijoo was so obliviously invested in something on her phone that she didn't even notice you'd walked in. or that you'd ordered your favorite and pulled out a chair across from the two of them. her fingers swiped aimlessly, her hair tied neatly behind her in a contrastingly precise knot.
yuma, however, did notice you. she followed your path from the cafe's entrace, to the pastry counter, and all the way to the back of the chair where your fingers wrapped around the smooth wooden panel. she huffed, her breath puffing the hair that had fallen into her face up and away, "you know, it's courteous to send a text when you're gonna be late." she couldn't have been there for more than 15 minutes; her coffee was still hot.
"it's also courteous to cut me a little slack," you argued, tucking your umbrella into the space between your chair and the wall, "i had a rough night."
"yeah, you look like shit," yuma let the grin she had been suppressing since you sat down break loose in a mischievous curl. and just as quickly as you registered what she'd said, euijoo elbowed her deep in the ribs.
"yu," she scolded her, and yuma palmed at her now sensitive side with an exagerrated, pained expression. euijoo turned a kind eye toward you, "you look great… ish."
"wow, thanks," you scoffed, taking a cautious sip from your mug, "what would i do without you guys, seriously?"
for starters, you'd save a lot of money. you treasured your coffee dates, but yuma's favorite cafe was a bit pricey. it was delicious, but it was for that reason that she took every suggestion to try a different place so personally. she was intense, but you'd learned to predict her like the weather. only, you were better at predicting yuma's reactions than the actual weather, as demonstrated by last night's casual stroll in a downpour.
in many ways, yuma and euijoo learned how to predict you, too. you'd shared so much of yourself with them throughout your many years of being friends that they knew you like no one else; they knew you inside and out and something else in the middle. this also meant that they knew every detail of your life. every detail.
"i meant 'shit,' like, in a good way," yuma smoothed over her insult, like holding an ice pack on a severed limb, and she smirked, "like you had a really long night." and she winked, several times and in rapid succession. it really just looked like she was blinking.
euijoo clicked her phone off and placed it face down on the table between you, leaning into the conversation. she winked, too, "yeah, how 'rough' was it?"
and with the two of your closest friends staring at you, kind of, tucked into the corner of the overpriced and crowded cafe, you realized you had a choice; at first, the ritualistic meeting and bonding over your terrible dates was fun. it was good stress relief to laugh off some of the bizarre encounters you'd suffered through. your friends were very good at reassuring you, too, that you weren't the problem, that you were a freak magnet and not the freak. but, at some point, it became something you dreaded, like you'd forever be the weekend's entertainment. you felt like a spectacle: the single friend. so, you tossed the idea around in your head.
what if, just this once, you lied?
what if, just this once, you let them believe you went on a date that didn't end in you staring blankly at yourself in your bathroom mirror for three hours?
you gulped, and then you leapt.
"it wasn't rough at all, actually," you smoothed your hands down the front of your shirt, as if eliminating the wrinkles would make you seem more credible, "she was very sweet, and we had a great time."
euijoo and yuma's winking halted, both of their eyes blown as wide as they could go with their eyebrows pinched together, furrowed. they stared at you like that for what felt like a full minute, waiting for you to drop the hat. just kidding, you might have said, it fucking sucked! but you didn't— you held their uneasy gaze, even though every second was another penny tossed into the pit in the bottom of your stomach.
"so, it went well?" euijoo was the first to break the silence, with her tone genuinely bewildered, "nobody, like, made a scene? or insulted you? or- i don't know- died?"
if she only knew the truth, that all but one of those actually did happen, that you were left to pay the bill at a restaurant you didn't even like only to be stranded in the rain. if either of them knew the truth, it would've been the same routine as every saturday; you'd reenact the worst of it with euijoo as your understudy, and yuma would watch, astounded, like the camera in a mockumentary sitcom; you'd stalk the date's social media profiles and make assumptions about their life and friends and family just to make yourself feel better; you'd go home feeling worse than before.
so, you smiled, teeth bared like a caged animal, "it was the perfect date."
yuma leaned back in her chair, suspicion unfolding over her face. the crease in her brow ran deep and was obscured only faintly by the pillar of fading steam from her coffee. the air felt thick, only in the space between you, and damp, the sweat threatening to bead on the back of your neck. you never were a good liar. she sucked her teeth, "perfect, huh?"
"mhm."
"well, tell us about it!" euijoo urged and situated both of her elbows on the table, dropping her chin into her hands. her eyes were glazed over, expectant. yuma's were still hesitant. "please, spare no detail— i wanna know everything."
you hoped, in that moment, that all the nights spent dreaming about the perfect date would finally pay off. you spun a marvelous tale, one of flowers and shy glances, of pinkies brushing on the sidewalk. reservations were made and fell through, an error on your date's part, of course. you would never have been so careless, but you thought it was endearing that she was. you painted your date as disorganized but sweet, babbling on and off about hobbies and family. the conversation was enjoyable, and you made sure to note that your meal was unexpectedly delicious, since yuma knew you hated the restaurant you ended up at, that everything you'd ever ordered there was undercooked or absolutely charred. you wrapped it up in what you hoped was a neat, mostly true bow, "i paid for our overpriced meal, and we got totally soaked from the rain on the walk home."
euijoo's posture had melted into a slumped lean, turning her essentially into a lovesick puddle on the tabletop. she clapped her hands together in quiet, tiny bursts. "that sounds like a great time," she squealed, hushed in the quiet bustle of the cafe, "i'm so happy for you, and that's, like, the bare minimum of what a date should be, by the way."
but, yuma didn't seem convinced. her arms braced her chest, her brows still knitted tightly together, like everything would click if they touched. she had always been like this, skeptical and cautious. she never let a good thing pass by without asking a thousand questions first. gifting her anything came with an interview under a flourescent lamp, handcuffed to a chair. you felt the same burn, now, of harsh, white light as yuma stared into your eyes. she basically stared behind them, into your mind. she asked, "then what happened?"
"what?" you mentally tracked your story, re-weaving all the imaginary threads that you very well could have crossed and had no idea, "nothing else happened. we went home— that was it."
"there you go again," yuma pointed a finger, "home… singular."
shit, you thought. in your effort to remain somewhat honest, you had neglected the part of the fictional retelling where you walked your date home, where you ran into a convenience store and bought a cheap umbrella just to keep them dry. instead, you were too honest, revealing that you walked home alone, but, to yuma, it sounded like you brought someone with you. you knew what she was thinking, of course. you look like you had a really long night, she had said. and it would make sense for her to think that, regardless of how desperate it made you out to be that you would hook up with the only person to treat you like a human being in many, many months.
agreeing would only create more lies, more guilt, and, once again, you were never a good liar. the second yuma would ask for more details, you'd flounder and have to confess everything.
your thoughts jumped quickly— restaurant, rain, elevator, keys —and landed on one image from that morning: the umbrella, unfamiliar but well-loved, propped up on the wall beside your door as you hurried out, your own in your hand.
your thoughts jumped again, this time even quicker, and landed on one person.
"oh, yeah," you laughed, awkwardly, bouncing your palm off the side of your head to really show that you forgot an important detail, "she lives in my building. we're neighbors, actually."
yuma and euijoo sat up straight in their seats, gasping before exclaiming, in staggering harmony, "you went on a date with hot neighbor?"
"i thought that was rule number one of having a hot neighbor," yuma leaned in, clearing her throat and bringing her voice down to the previous volume, "not dating them. 'cause then it's awkward when you have to see them every day."
"wait," confused, euijoo glanced between the two of you, "i thought we didn't know anything about hot neighbor. i didn't know she even had a name, and you're going on dates with her?"
your friends had thankfully never met or even seen jo, thanks to her mysterious schedule. the three of them had never even been in the elevator together, and you'd kept a lot of what you'd gathered on her to yourself. she was your little secret, in some not-at-all creepy ways. 'hot neighbor' was good enough for you, as far as updating the group chat on why you were awake at three in the morning went. hot neighbor's being loud again, you would type, not nearly as inconvenienced as you sounded by jo's efforts to perfect a new bassline.
"oh, i thought i told you guys," you feigned ignorance, even shrugging it off before it became too obvious that you were spinning a very intricate, veyr fragile web of lies, "i found out her name is jo."
euijoo's confusion didn't dissipate as you expected, instead twisting into something else. she chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes wandering aimlessly as she filtered through her brain. yuma glanced with concern between the two of you. you wished that everybody's eyebrows would unfurrow. somehow, your "perfect" date had become more puzzling than dates that actually required some brainpower, like the one where your date had to have their arm greased by zoo staff after getting it trapped in the enclosure bars. this was so mundane, so normal, by comparison, that even your eyebrows were knitted closely by the amount of questioning.
"jo…" euijoo rolled the name around on her tongue before meeting your gaze again, "do you have a photo?"
you had essentially tried to remain invisible to jo since she moved in. and for your own sanity, you'd tried to pretend she was invisible, too. for the first time, you opened instagram and typed in her name, unsure if she even had social media. it would fit the disappearing act she'd perfected in the months she'd been your neighbor. as you scrolled through the dozens of search results, your finger stilled over an account that was undeniably hers and flipped your phone around to show euijoo the results. her photos were messily curated, snapshots of things she loves, surely, and all of her selfies were hidden in the back halves of photo dumps, eclipsed by sunsets and birds at the park and freshly baked sweets.
"holy shit," euijoo breathed a laugh as she scrolled, carefully, through jo's pictures. one swipe, then another, until she met your eyes with a smirk tugging at her lips, "i know jo."
it would have been easier to tell the truth— every liar eventually came to this same conclusion. you had briefly weighed the possible consequences of your dishonesty, and none of them involved you standing outside jo's apartment. none of them were as humiliating, as humbling, as the way your wrist trembled when you lifted it, rearing your knuckles back to rap at the door. jo had went to sleep way later than you did; your body remembered the vibrations through the wall as your eyes fluttered closed for the last time, the tuned strings of her guitar humming well into midnight. was she even up? your face felt hot just thinking about her, hair tousled from sleep and shirt slipping off her shoulder. had she bothered to set an alarm, instead planning to be gently roused by the sun's warmth through the window you knew sat at just the right height to glare off any and every surface? it no longer mattered; you knocked three times.
three knocks for three lies. the first being that the date was good. it wasnt. the second being that the date was with jo. it wasnt. and the third being that the jo you supposedly went out with and the jo euijoo knew were two different people who looked very, very similar.
they weren't.
in fact, they were horrifically the same— the same fluffy blonde hair, soft and welcoming smile, and talent that you weren't exactly aware wasn't just a hobby.
"she plays bass in nico's band," euijoo had smiled, handing your phone back to you over the table, "you all remember nico, right?"
of course, you didn't remember nico. euijoo seemed to know everybody in ways you couldn't comprehend. you only knew her and yuma. and, now, jo, whose band was playing a show at a local venue later tonight. jo, whose show you'd made a big deal about at the table, looking offended when yuma had asked if you were going. "jo mentioned it last night," you had said, even thought jo didn't, and scoffed, "im obviously going."
you were obviously screwed.
standing, now, in front of jo's door, the wait felt almost as long as the dreary walk home the night before. you rarely felt as hopeless as you did then. every step as punctuated with a sinking pit in your chest, desperate to be filled. like a tomb. the fabricated version was, as expected, much more enjoyable, riddled with brushes of the hand when the sidewalk narrowed and ducking under awnings to avoid as much of the rain as possible and stolen glances in the elevator. you didn't realize how long you'd been waiting for something like that. anything like that. was it too much to ask for subtle romance? could the bar go any lower than a glance and a smile?
you also didn't realize how long you'd wished for the courage to knock on jo's door until the knob was twisting in its socket, the door creaking on its old hinges. the wooden frame captured her confused expression like a painting, trapping her in a moment that, unfortunately, revealed to you that you didn't wish hard enough for that courage. there weren't enough wishes in the world to give you the guts to stand tall, although she was much taller, in jo's doorway in the much-too-early hours of a saturday morning.
but here you were.
and here she was, pajama pants slung low on her hips and a t-shirt twisted sideways across her torso. her face was soft and slightly puffy from the sleep you had just pulled her from with your three obnoxiously entitled knocks. the crease that adorned her brow smoothed when she saw you, however, her expression quickly twisting from confused to concerned. jo flattened her palm over her sleep-wrecked blonde hair and adjusted the hem of her shirt with the other.
"is everything okay?" jo's voice was hoarse as she asked and not-so-subtly looked past you, shooting a glance down the corridor before meeting your shifty gaze. it took everything you had to keep eye contact, to not flicker your attention anywhere else but her. you looked like a lost puppy, even though your home was merely two steps to the left. "do you need something?"
"everything's fine," you laughed awkwardly, "kind of." your umbrella suddenly felt heavy in your grip. you'd rolled the panels flat and fastened it closed, but you couldn't help but feel like the constant blow of the ac down the hall would force it open and carry you away, like mary poppins. only mary poppins had a magical bag she could crawl into and disappear. you just had to stand there, shift your weight between your feet, and confess to jo that you messed up in a really, really, really embarrassing way. perhaps more embarrassing than anything you'd ever done before, and you had found yourself in some particularly horrifying situations. you cleared your throat, but your voice still came out lilted, like you were asking a question instead of proposing an idea, "i need a favor?"
"i can turn my amp down," jo offered, immediately, pointing her thumb behind her, "if its a noise issue. i thought it was kind of loud last night, anyway."
"no, no," you held up both hands, even the one holding the umbrella, "it's not that at all. i mean, it is kind of loud, but i don't mind."
in the same moment you realized that you had said too much at once, jo noticed it, too. she smirked, just a slight tug of her lips, and crossed her arms over her chest. her concern fizzled away, leaving only intrigue to ghost over her features. her eyebrows raised, "how can i help you, then?"
you debated lying again. you debated asking her to trade umbrellas, using the one she left out for you, which you couldn't think too hard about or you'd be much worse off, as a scapegoat. it sat idly in the corner of your vision, clouded now by jo's amused stature. she was quickly becoming less soft, the effects of her interrupted sleep wearing off and replacing every curve with a more familiar, sharp feature. her nose was elegantly angled, her eyes narrowing in on you as you turned your options over in your head, rotated them and analyzed every corner and edge.
no more lies. you decided this as you told her everything in more detail than necessary. you started with your history— how you had a pretty impressive streak of terrible dates, how you have two nosy friends who look forward to hearing about your terrible dates, how you had grown tired of being the punchline of every joke, how she was the last person you spoke to, how you panicked. and you told jo everything without stumbling once on your words, taking accountability for every choice, explaining your reasoning.
more shocking than any of the confidence you mustered up out of seemingly nowhere, jo didn't care. not in the way you expected, at least.
"and i wouldn't have said your name at all if i had known that euijoo knew you," you clarified, almost breathless from your extensive retelling of events but mostly from the way jo's eyes never left you as you spoke, "because now it's just a big mess, and i'm going to your show tonight, and i'm not really sure what to do with all of it."
jo, with her arms still crossed over her chest and the faint muscles shifting under her skin, leaned onto her doorframe. you anticipated anger or disbelief. you had played out this scenario on the walk home from the cafe, and jo was much more upset about this in your head. she had slammed the door in your face, broken her lease, and moved out the next day just so she didn't have to see you anymore. because who lies about something like that?
but jo didn't do any of that. instead, the other side of her lips tilted up, pulling her smirk into a full smile. she asked, "you're coming to the show?"
your stomach flipped; once when she smiled and twice when she ignored everything that you were sure would incite some kind of life-ruining guilt. you scrunched your brows together, "did you… hear what i said before that?"
jo nodded, "mhm."
"and you're not upset that i dragged you into my lie?"
"i feel really bad that you had to in the first place," she admitted, her smile faltering, "but i'm not upset. not at all." jo stood up straight, once again adjusting her shirt on her frame, this time pinching the shoulders and aligning the collar closer to her neck, which was slightly flushed. not unlike your own, only you felt your entire body burning, blood rushing to every exposed sliver of skin. she added, "i think it's kind of cute, actually."
"oh," you gulped, "thanks."
"i'll see you tonight, then?" jo quickly said, intercepting whatever awkwardness you were about to bring to the interaction. and when you nodded, jo slipped back inside, sparing you one last amused glance before pushing the door closed.
you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. the cool air swirled around your still burning skin, settling on your cheeks like post-rain fog. the umbrella was a bit lighter in your hand; you felt like, still, you might float away, if not for the anchoring weight of your heart low in your chest, beating heavy, reverberating.
if she hadn't moved in right next door, maybe you would have seen her, spared a fleeting glance that would've turned into several lingering ones, at the record store on the corner, flipping through albums in their crates with calloused fingers. maybe you would have bumped shoulders at the farmer's market and laughed as the peaches you'd been cradling bounced across the ground, bruising more and more the further they strayed from the two of you. or, maybe, she'd have been nursing a drink at your favorite karaoke bar, judging you for your poor sense of rhythm and off-key rendition of her favorite song. she'd have judged you until she couldn't anymore, until it became admiration of your (mostly sober) confidence to butcher any song that came your way.
one thing you knew for certain, however, was that you would have seen her here. in every timeline, every fateful turn of the earth, you would have been standing in the front of the crowd, watching through the settling, artifical fog and flashing, blazing hues of purple as jo did what she was made to do. her fingers slotted, more naturally than anything, between the frets. her guitar pressed against her hip, the strap nestled in the flat of her shoulder. her skin glinted like new stars, beads of sweat rolling down her neck and disappearing behind the collar of her shirt and leaving behind comet trails, glowing purple in the light. it was almost impossible to tell where jo ended and the instrument began; she was blurring with every phrase, every note change.
jo didn't just play the bass. she wielded it like a weapon. she was bass; she was sturdy, essential, constant. she was the most interesting person in the room, even as she swayed behind her bandmates and shook her hair from her eyes. and maybe, if you didn't know her, you would have been more distracted by nico's vocals or the drummer's twinkling hi-hats floating above the melody; you knew deep down that there was no possible way you'd have left without wanting to know her if you didn't.
you gripped your cup like it would fall out of your hands as the last song of the night started and a groovy, familiar sequence pulsed into the floor and up your legs. it was that same note progression that had been keeping you up for the last few weeks, the one jo played over and over every night until it became part of your dreams. you couldn't have imagined how perfect she looked playing it in front of you, how perfect she looked playing it flawlessly.
all the practice paid off, evidently, no matter how much sleep it costed you.
euijoo and yuma cheered and whooped next to you, and you must have looked like you really did go on a date with jo. you looked like you went on several dates with her, eyes glossy and a grin growing wider over your lips the longer she melted into the song. out of the corner of your eye, you saw yuma jab euijoo with her elbow, nodding toward you with that shit-eating grin you knew so well. she muttered something, also shit-eating, and clinked her half-empty beer can against euijoo's. a toast, just for you. you felt your smile waiver at the thought of how this might have been your final moments of peace. your final moments being perceived as honest, as well as a person capable of dating. it was nice to wear that mask for a while, but you were coming to terms with the possibility of having to take it off. your peace ended just as the final song was dwindling to a close and the only thing left was the low, lingering vibrations of jo's guitar.
how poetic, you thought, that the soundtrack to your humiliation was the same song that got you here in the first place.
the air felt thick around you as the crowd began to clear. many attendees flocked to the bar, more left the venue entirely in clusters, but you, euijoo, and yuma stood close to the stage, still. euijoo flipped through photos she took of nico on her digital camera, boasting about how cool her friend looked and patting herself on the back for the lighting settings she was experimenting with. yuma kept her attention on you, though, watching as you rocked anxiously on your heels. there wasn't a crowd to hide in anymore, no curtain to pull in front of you to shield your feelings from yuma, who had learned to read you like an open book over your years of friendship. you hoped that your nerves could be mistaken for jitters, for the anticipation of meeting your "date" and introducing her to your friends. you hoped that you could make that differentiation yourself; jo wasnt your date.
"there you are," jo's voice, unusually rough, pulled your attention from the floor, where you were committing every scuff to memory. she sauntered to your side in long, effortless strides— the kind of bravado only a rockstar could have. her eyes scanned yours, questioning in a way only you could recognize, as she got closer, begging you to trust her without knowing you already did. she extended her arms, stretching them out on either side of her chest: a hug. no, an embrace; a lover's embrace, warm, familiar. you mirrored her smile and slid your arms around her torso, exhaling a shaky breath as she caged you in, squeezing you close. you felt her voice before you heard it, felt it against your cheek on her chest, "my good luck charm, what'd you think?"
you couldn't help but giggle a little at the nickname. she was good at this. but so were you, pulling back to face her and realizing you didn't even have to pretend anymore. you smiled, "you were… incredible, jo. i've never seen anything quite like that before."
"like what?" she smirked, leaning down to meet your stare. her cheeks were flushed, still simmering from the adrenaline and the heat. you could feel it, standing so close to her, closer than you'd ever been. usually, your interactions with jo spanned a couple feet as you both unlocked your doors or were physically divided by a wall, barely interactions at all. so this, having your feet slotted between hers with your laces tangling, having her hands sliding down your arms in tantalizing strokes— it was making your face burn, too.
"impressive," you said, definitively. even though you'd heard the songs before, you'd only heard one strand of them. it was actually very cool to hear every element instead of just the one, and it was even cooler to see jo in her element. she was magnetic, addictive, even more so up close. she quirked her eyebrows up, as if she were genuinely surprised to hear the compliment.
she smiled and asked, only for you, "you really think so?"
"mhm," you nodded. then, you swallowed the nerves you'd been carrying all evening, the weight on your tongue, in a gulp that had to have been audible. your fingers trembled a bit as you lifted your hand and smoothed her hair behind her ear. her eyes scanned your face with an unspoken encouragement. your voice was soft, low, "i couldn't take my eyes off of you."
for a moment, the two of you were alone; everyone else had cleared the room, her bandmates had packed up their equipment, and the bartenders had put away every glass. for a moment, not even yuma or euijoo were watching as jo brought her fingertips from your side and straight to your chin, tilting your head up like she might kiss you. and for a moment, you wanted her to, even if it was just for show.
"jo!" euijoo exclaimed, startling the both of you as she finally pulled her face out of her camera. she skipped over and threw herself into her friend's arms and, consequently, shoved you out. jo spared you an apologetic glance, but you were laughing, entertained by your friend's unusually affectionate nature. the can in her hand was nearly empty. her voice was too sincere for the situation, "we are your biggest fans. dont ever forget that." she patted jo affirmingly on the shoulder, "or me. when you're super mega famous and stuff."
jo laughed, "understood, juju. you'll be the first i thank at any award show, okay?"
"that's what i like to hear," euijoo pulled back and held her chest, performatively moved by jo's promise. she wiped a fake tear from her cheek before dissolving into a fit of laughter, and jo wasn't too far behind. euijoo sighed, swirling the last swallow of liquid in her can as she felt for her camera in her pocket, "i'm gonna find nico, but it was great to see you." and euijoo spared you an obvious, painful-looking wink as she skipped away.
you suddenly felt the weight return, settling on your tongue, cementing your feet to the floor. yuma's eyes jumped from you to jo and back to you, searching, scanning. she collected information and filed it away, all behind a usually stoic expression. this time, however, she wore a smile, a glint of something satisfied wavering in her eyes.
"so," yuma's voice was lilted, carrying like treble, "jo, how'd you two meet?"
it was a test, of course. you knew this would happen, planned for it, even. yuma hadn't believed you in the cafe, and you knew she wouldn't stop until she could confirm or deny your story for herself. luckily, you told jo everything, in almost identical detail to what you told euijoo and yuma, which was a humiliating consequence of having daydreamed so much about what you wanted from a date. the flaw in your story was that you failed to account for jo living in your building. it was the weakest thread. you prayed that jo remembered her lines. just say we met at the bookstore, you had told her, i'm always there, so it won't be unbelievable.
jo smiled to herself, "well, we're neighbors," she slung her arm over your shoulder, pulling you into her side, "but it was funny that we ran into each other at the little bookshop— what's it called? Booked n' Busy?"
"Booked n' Busy," you confirmed, relief washing over you.
but jo kept going beyond what you had told her to say.
"she was holding two books, and i asked if she wanted some help choosing which to buy," jo breathed a laugh, as if she had actually been there. she smiled as if it had happened at all. "and i'm no bookworm, but she was buried inside the covers, reading the first few pages of each like she wasn't standing in the middle of the aisle."
yuma crossed her arms again, watching the way jo's eyes never flickered from your face as she spoke. she asked, "which book did you pick for her?"
"neither," jo squeezed your shoulder, "she had already read both of them."
it was your turn to laugh. if you'd have scripted that, you would have added something quippy about limited edition covers or how books deserve to be read more than once, but you were so caught off guard by the way jo had improvised such a sweet anecdote. you were surprised by how real it seemed, how endearing she had made you, how enamored she sounded as she relived it. you wondered if jo had spent her nights dreaming of the perfect date, too. part of you wondered if you were a stand-in or if you had been the main character of that story all along. it was so natural to cover your face, to hide your burning cheeks as you laughed softly.
"typical," yuma rolled her eyes, "she likes what she likes."
"i really do," you confirmed, leaning your head against jo. the implication made your heart jump, and you let it. for realism, you thought. she wasn't just your hot neighbor anymore, but you recognized that she hadn't been just anything for a while. you admired her passion, her kindness, her humor. and, now, you admired her willingness to stick out a potentially uncomfortable situation to help a near-stranger out. she was selfless, and it made your stomach flip.
yuma paused a beat, watching the way jo smiled down at you and you didn't even know it. she sighed, obviously exhausted by the show and from watching you and jo fawn over each other a little too convincingly, "i'm gonna find euijoo and head out. you coming?"
you stood up straight, smoothing your palms over your clothes, "oh, yeah. i'll-"
"i can take you," jo offered, her arm still draped behind you, "i live pretty close by."
she was being serious. if nothing else, jo was genuinely kind. you lied, roped her into it, and, now, she was offering you a ride home. and instead of heading back with your two closest friends, you accepted her offer, nodding and slinking back into her while yuma scrambled to find euijoo backstage. you lingered around for the next half hour, merely observing as jo unplugged amps and pushed equipment around. you had offered to help, but she insisted that you sit and look pretty while she packed everything away with her bandmates.
it surprised you that it didn't feel awkward. all around, jo was taking this very well. even when you told her about the lie and how you needed her help, all she seemed to care about was that you were coming to the show. was it a numbers thing? did they have a quota to meet to be able to continue to play at the venue, like a set number of attendees that you personally helped them reach?
you expected some kind of debt to pay. it would only be right for you to help jo out in some way in the future, and you would without a second thought. if she needed furniture moved, you were right next door and pretty skilled with a set of sliders. if she needed groceries, you went every week; you'd even buy her produce for the next month or more if she asked. there were few things jo could ask of you that, in the moment, you wouldn't do.
"what are you doing tomorrow?" jo's voice jolted you from your trance. and the timing was perfect! tomorrow, you were free for a plethora of favor-related activities. it was the ideal time to move a couch or pick the ripest avocados.
"nothing," you answered, "why?"
when you looked up, jo was swimming in an oversized zip-up. her hair was fully dried, no longer damp from the performance. she looked impossibly cute while towering over you as you sat on the stage steps. her guitar case was strapped to her back, and she fidgeted with the band across her chest. jo was… nervous? she didn't show it otherwise, her voice still strong, feet planted firmly before you. but her fingers, calloused and adept, wandered down the case's strap as she worked up what you thought was an endless supply of courage.
"i'm gonna take you on a date," jo said, smiling. she was no longer mysterious, no longer unattainable. you worried for a second that she pitied you, that voice in your head that kept you reserved urging you to deny her before it was too late. but then she reached forward and grabbed your wrist with a shaking, vulnerable hand, "a real date." she lined your fingers up and slotted hers between yours, the fit so natural that it almost took your breath away. "and then we can tell yuma and euijoo how perfect it was."
synopsis | the only thing worse than kissing euijoo while wearing your stickiest lipgloss was not kissing her at all.
details | fem!euijoo x female!reader, fluff, yearning, tension, flirting, mutual pining, first kiss, GIRLS KISSING, slightly suggestive material but nothing explicit, reader has experience with makeup, cursing, playful banter, redundant use of makeup terminology, there are only so many words for lipstick, lowercase intended
wc | 4.3k
from the author | MY FEMTEAM DEBUT !!!! 1/3 wishes granted for @yuyuppie
“quit blinking”
“quit stabbing my eye.”
she sank her head deeper into the pillow in an attempt to escape your deadly weapon, which was just an old eyeshadow brush. it was frayed from years of use but still soft enough to use on your best friend’s precious eyes. you dipped into a muted, very loved light brown eyeshadow, packed neatly into a very loved palette, and you swirled it over euijoo’s fluttering, very loved eyes.
“you asked me to, remember?” you taunted, dipping the brush back into the pigment, and euijoo took the opportunity to shove your shoulder as you leaned back down over her. with your weight settled low on her hips, you felt her stomach tighten with stifled laughter. the movement only made her situation more dangerous, made the brush in your hand unstable and the loose powder on the tip of it scatter on the roundest parts of her cheeks.
“i asked you to do my makeup,” she mumbled, and she flinched, creasing the skin around her eyes as she squeezed them shut in short bursts, “not give me a black eye.”
“like the one you’re gonna have when i beat you for wasting my expensive products?”
euijoo cracked one eye open, tentatively checking your expression and gauging the sincerity of your threat, only to find your brows raised with pure amusement. in fact, you were smiling, like it didn’t bother you at all that she had you try three different foundations because the first two felt too sticky. they were all sticky, meant to stick to your skin all day long, but you gladly wiped the tint away with a cotton pad, silently musing over the way her natural skin looked better than any of the gunk you were about to layer over it. she had the perfect natural complexion, and you loved making her laugh because you got to see it a bit brighter, a bit louder.
“you could have used the cheap stuff,” euijoo argued with a sigh, shifting her posture beneath you, “i just wanted you to make me look pretty.”
she said it like it was nothing: make me look pretty. like you were a wizard with a staff or a genie in a lamp and she had just swiped her hand over the worn bronze edge of your prison. if that were the case, it was the kind of demand that would’ve resulted in hundreds of workarounds to make happen. you hesitated to press the brush into the fold of her eyelid; her hair was fanned out over the pillow, scrunching up with every flinch and laugh, and her lips were slightly downturned in a pout, naturally, as nothing was ever good enough for her. she had to have control of the music in the car, she demanded extra butter on her popcorn when you would spend an entire day movie hopping at the cinema, and she had to be prettier.
the words fell from your lips, casually, softly, “you’re always pretty.”
and though you continued the same as before, the cautious graze of the brush’s fibers on the delicate skin of her eye, the infamous battle of trapping her sweeping lashes in the eyelash curler without somebody bleeding out on the bed, and the light pressure of the powder puff on her forehead to seal in all of your hard work, it felt different, disturbed, like you had flipped the light on or taken the first breath in the middle of a tunnel, your lungs concave in your chest. euijoo was less relaxed, too, if it were even possible. she didn’t flinch when you rolled the mascara through her unfairly long lashes, and she kept her eyebrows relaxed as you dragged a pencil over the tails of them, despite her incessant joking earlier in the night that she was going to wiggle them like worms just to get under your skin. as if she wasn’t already there.
you dusted the finishing touches of powder over the curves of her cheeks, reluctant to dull her glow but necessary to preserve the work of the last hour. she did look pretty– you’d be lying if you said she didn’t. but she looked so different; the dark brown and pink shadow sank her round, glossy eyes into the even, somewhat lifeless complexion your foundation gave her. and as she opened her eyes, you noticed the smoky pigment on her lashline made her dark brown irises even richer. it was as if they were swirling, like frothy, hot coffee in a handmade ceramic mug. you didn’t even realize you were staring, eyes adjusting to this new version of your best friend that you, unexpectedly, didn’t exactly recognize. until she smiled.
“all done?” euijoo asked, raising her eyebrows and visibly recoiling at the feeling of the hairs gelled in place, “can i see?”
“all done,” you confirmed and leaned back to grab your mirror from behind you. you felt euijoo’s hand slide up the back of your leg, holding you in place as you craned your body haphazardly. it was typical of her to keep you upright– she was always your shoulder to lean on, physically and emotionally– but, now, your stomach tightened, and not just to engage your core and keep you from sliding all the way off the bed. no, it flipped. it was like opening a bottle of soda from the most aggressive vending machine and twisting the cap off, slow, the wet hiss of the pressure a warning and a temptation.
the mirror was heavy in your hands as you held it, blocking your face and perfectly centering hers in the reflective glass. you peered over the top, watching her tongue poke out of her mouth as she examined the textures of the products on her face, the precise layering of color on her eyes, and the intensity of it all. euijoo glanced once, quickly, at your focused stare, your mouth slightly agape and hidden behind the mirror, and fought a smile. you cleared your throat, adjusting your position on her lap, if only just to get her to drop her hands from your legs, to stop the goosebumps from pinching your arms and the butterflies’ unwavering beating against your stomach, your chest, all the way to your throat. there was no doubt that she could hear them as you asked, “do you like it?”
you didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on you as she answered, “yeah.” euijoo reached up, then, and wrapped her fingers around one of your wrists, angling the mirror downward, bringing it a little closer. she furrowed her newly penciled-in brows for just a second, lips pulled to one side contemplatively, like she were solving a puzzle or counting tablespoons of sifted flour. she poked her cheek with one finger, “i’m not sure about this, though.”
“what?” you dropped the mirror, leaning closer. did you smudge the mascara under her eye? did you forget to wipe away the fallout from the eyeshadow?
“all the blush,” she admitted in a hushed voice, clearly regretful to be criticizing your work, “its… a bit much.”
your faces were so close, closer than they had been before when you were packing shades of tan against her honey-toned canvas. you breathed a laugh at her innocent, guilty expression, and she laughed, too, just happy that you weren’t upset. one thing you were completely certain of was that you could never be upset with her. throughout your years of friendship, euijoo had been racking up a list of lines to be crossed. she had accidentally signed you up for an automatically renewing subscription service for bales of organically grown hay when you lived in an apartment and had, not only no need for multiple bales of hay every month, but no space for multiple bales of hay. your couch still smelled like straw. euijoo had invited your exes to parties by sending the invite text to everyone in her contacts, but she only had your exes’ numbers because she signed them up, too, for the hay bale subscription. after she realized how powerfully inconvenient it was to have an abundance of alfalfa. but at the end of every day, it was euijoo on facetime with you, decompressing after a shitty day at work, making cheap noodles on the stove and fanning the smoke detector after burning them, too invested in your conversation to notice the smoke rolling over the pan.
the blush was prominent. it was a saturated peach, pink on the edges and flushing so evenly across her cheekbones and nose that you almost didn’t realize it was also on her ears, melting down her neck and onto her chest. and it only got brighter, or darker, rather, under your study. you had thought about what shade to use on her as you were gathering your products. before you had even began, you pondered a cherry red, a blistering pink, or a light wash of coral, all of which would have looked gorgeous on her. but after her dilemma with the feeling of the product on her skin, you had decided to skip out on the color. you could always add it on after the fact, if she asked for it. you broke the news carefully, “you’re not wearing blush.”
“liar,” euijoo sat up slightly, craning her neck to the pile of makeup next to your perpendicular bodies and sifting through the palettes and compacts, searching for a brush with red bristles. the color was flaming bright on her ears, now, the skin there unmuddled by concealers and powders. she reached for the mirror again, “what’s this, then?”
“that’s all you, juju,” you teased, earning another shove from her as she forced the mirror back in your hands. she reached up to cover her face, a habit you secretly adored, but stopped just short of making contact with her face, like she remembered she was about to touch paint that hadn't yet dried. she balled her hands into fists instead, containing her frustration or embarrassment or some combination of the two that only happens when you’ve been found out. like she had cheated in a game of cards and still lost. you continued, less teasing and more explanatory, “i didn’t use blush or lip color because i didn’t know if you’d like it.”
you reached behind you again, and there was her hand on your leg, steady and warm. you felt that same warmth blooming in your chest and wondered how far it would spread before she noticed. how much could your hand shake as you blended the color seamlessly into her skin, blending even when the lines are blurred to perfection just to quiet your racing thoughts? you assumed your feelings for euijoo had fizzled out to nothing after all this time, but there had been a muffled voice you’d grown accustomed to ignoring deep, deep down. it sounded like it was drowning and its mouth had just sank below the water’s surface, whatever message it had been trying to send you reduced to helpless splashes and erupting bubbles. now that you were drowning, too, you could hear it clearly; now that you were pinning her to your bed with your hips and tilting her face like a doll with your fingertips on her chin, you could hear it louder than ever.
you picked up the three lip colors you were considering for her, similar tones as the blushes but with different finishes. you selected a matte burgundy, a satin pink, and a gloss with coral undertones, all of which sat behind you untouched until now. you dangled them in front of euijoo’s still flushed face, opening each bottle and pulling the applicator out with a suctioned pop! that made her smile each time, her brows raising higher with each option. taking the dusty pink one, she held it up to your lips, comparing the colors. she frowned slightly, “i want whatever you have on.”
you felt your breath catch as euijoo’s finger dragged, lightly, over your bottom lip. you gulped, tongue darting out instinctively as soon as she dropped her hand back to her chest and started flipping the lipstick bottle in her grasp. your lips were shiny with spit, no doubt, from having your lip tucked between your teeth in concentration. they were probably red for that reason, too. giving you a bitten, ruby hue that was impossible to recreate with product. just-kissed lips, euijoo would taunt you when you would send her selfies after your past successful dates. you laughed the tightness in your chest away, “i’m not wearing any lipstick,” you deflected, tapping the bottle in her hands, “i like this one, though.”
“okay,” euijoo said, reluctance dripping off each syllable. she reached for the mirror, “can i try it?”
she rarely wore makeup, and when she did, it was concealer on a pimple or some mascara if the occasion called for it. she loved lip balm, though, and took pride in her collection of flavors. it was more frequent for euijoo to match the flavor of her lips to her outfit rather than the color. neutrals called for coconut or vanilla whereas cool toned blues or greens were to be worn alongside blackberry or watermelon. even if no one knew but her, she would coordinate with clear, non-tinted lip balm. she made the mistake once of applying a strawberry balm that had the most pigmented sheen you’d ever witnessed in a chapstick, applying it in messy circles and overshooting her lipline by a mile. so, when you nodded, you expected much worse from her application of the pink, creamy lipstick.
she focused in the mirror, pulling her plush lips taut and gliding the applicator along the expanse of pink flesh. carefully, euijoo traced the edges of her lips, dancing along the sharp line you’d created with the concealer earlier; the bottom lip was smooth, but the top lip posed a new challenge as she tackled the curve of her cupid’s bow. it took everything for you to not reach forward and confiscate the wand from her, to not just do it yourself. you had looked at her lips a thousand times– surely you could do it with your eyes closed. but you didn’t. you let euijoo press her lips together, a finality in any lip product application. she flinched slightly in surprise at the way her lips adhered to each other, the satin finish leaving them slightly tacky. she put on an exaggerated pout in the mirror, angling her head dramatically, “how’d i do?”
“not too bad,” you said, truthfully, although you gingerly extended your arm and placed your thumb under the shadow of her bottom lip. with barely any pressure at all, you swiped your nail along the edge of her lip, dragging all the way to the corner and cleaning up her messy application. euijoo melted into your touch, her mouth slightly open, lip slack under the pull of your finger. absentmindedly, you wiped the excess lipstick on the side of your bed, clearing your throat as she stared, dazed. you shifted the vibe, quickly, tossing the mirror onto the comforter bunched up next to the two of you. “it looks better on me, though,” you teased, lifting your leg to slide off of her, finally finished with the task at hand, which was to do your best friend’s makeup and none of the intimate touching or staring you’d caught yourself in.
but euijoo’s fingers tightened around the back of your leg, keeping you in place as her other hand mirrored the gesture, feathering her nails up your skin. you didn’t mean to look as shocked as you did, lips parting and the skeleton of a gasp slipping down your throat, but euijoo looked just as surprised if not more. her chest heaved noticeably beneath you, fingers drawing circles on your calves. she narrowed her eyes, pupils blown wide against the dark brown smoky shadow you packed under her lashes. she looked intense, far different from the euijoo who tried to do a flip two hours prior and almost broke your lamp because she didn’t realize she was that close to your nightstand. or that she was incapable of doing a flip. you would have placed a bet, though, that she would have looked just as intense if you wiped all the makeup off. her eyes were that sharp, burning hot, like holding an ice cube for too long. the moment right before your flesh goes numb and you can’t feel the damage anymore– a perpetual limbo between feeling everything and nothing, a fever.
“i don’t think i’ve seen you wear this color before,” euijoo spoke like she wasn’t burning holes into you everywhere your bodies were connected, “i would have noticed.”
“then you need to pay more attention,”.you laughed, but she didn’t, “i wear it all the time.”
“when?”
it sounded more like a demand than a question, but you struggled to answer it nonetheless. you wore a lot of different lipsticks, as one does, but this one was one of your favorites. the tone complimented your skin, and you liked the finish more than the matte colors in your collection. it wasn’t transfer proof, so you didn’t wear it on dates or anywhere you knew you’d have a drink or a meal. it was an activity color, so you guessed, “um, last week? when we went to that craft fair.”
“wrong,” euijoo breathed, “you wore a gloss. your hair kept getting caught in it.”
“then, the movies,” you shrugged, “i dont know why it matters so much.”
“because you’re not wearing it with me,” euijoo relaxed into the pillow beneath her again, but her hands wandered further up your legs, over your knees, teasing the lower half of your thighs, “and that means something.”
it did mean something; you just didn’t know euijoo had caught onto your code. you always wore lipgloss around her, which had been the only thing keeping you from this exact situation several times before. you had a strict no kissing policy when wearing lip gloss; it was messy, sticky, and ruined your makeup without fail every time. so when euijoo would invite you to hang out, you coated your lips in a gooey shimmer. you could flirt with her all you wanted, play it off as friendly banter, but it would never go further than that. you didn’t know if she would even allow it to go further, and that, the prospect of demolishing such a perfect friendship, scared you more than ruining your makeup. to ruin your friendship and your flawless base at the same time would have been a major low for you.
you didnt know what to do with your hands, no longer holding the mirror, no longer holding a brush. now, euijoo was the artist, painting your skin with heat, with chills, like a master of the elements– she contorted your being like clay. she always had.
“euijoo…” you sighed, attempting to brush away the embarrassment. somehow, she knew your feelings before you did. usually, she was good at that, though; she anticipated your sadness, keeping a bag of your favorite snacks on her counter in case you had a rough night and needed a pick-me-up, and she knew all your tells for when you were about to explode from anger, even over the little things.
“can you do something for me?” she asked, ignoring every tell you were showing. you nodded despite yourself. you hoped she would tell you to stand up and let her feel the lower half of her body again, or that she would ask you if you wanted to order something to eat. anything that might signal to you that she was more oblivious than you assumed. she reached over into the pile of makeup and picked up the peach-toned lipgloss. “put this on?”
she watched as you worked from muscle memory, no mirror needed. the gloss was thick, shiny but not shimmery, just clear and syrupy and a the rim of a glass’ worst nightmare. it accentuated the plumpness of your lips like a spyglass, reflecting the warm light of your bedroom. surely, euijoo could see herself in it as she stared at you from below, her eyelids still heavy. you lightly rubbed your lips together and twisted the lid closed. your brows raised, silently asking euijoo if she was satisfied with her request.
but she wasn’t finished, as was typically the case with her.
“can you do something else for me?” euijoo’s voice shook, barely noticeable over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears as her hands slid up your thighs and settled on the curve of your hips. you breathed deeply, once, and nodded again. she craned her neck up to you, and her freshly rose-colored lips grazed your sticky, peach ones, “kiss me?”
it was like one of the unthinkable ultimatums they gave the heroes of action movies, only instead of saving one man or an entire city, you had to preserve the perfect application of your lip gloss or kiss your best friend, whom you had been silently and helplessly in love with for years. decisions, decisions. you imagined this moment a dozen times, and every time it was you initiating it, making the first move and taking her breath away. one scenario was sweet in a traditional, rom-com way, hands held over an expensive meal, one kiss stolen quickly under harsh restaurant lighting; another placed the two of you in a haunted house with your fingers interlocked, moments shared in strobing flashes, gasping through the burn of artificial fog; one scenario even took place at the aforementioned craft fair, where one vendor was drawing live portraits and the hypothetical, self-induced idea of kissing euijoo for fifteen minutes straight, holding back laughter as it became incredibly awkward, made you so nervous that you nearly fainted. you blamed it on the unusual warmth of the evening and the excess of sugarly lemonade, then, but the same could not be said for right now. there was in fact no lemonade, only the sweet scent of euijoo’s perfume wafting from the heat of her chest as she lingered in the space between you.
the only thing worse than kissing euijoo while wearing your stickiest lipgloss was not kissing her at all.
your stomach flipped and urged you forward, until the gap was closed and your lips were on hers. euijoo sighed, quietly, almost with relief like she didn’t think you were going to oblige, like there existed any version of you that would deny her anything. her hands bunched up the sides of your tshirt, pulling you closer, while yours found either side of her newly painted face. the powder made the plush skin in the hollows of her cheeks undeniably soft; the pad of your thumb glided over it like silk on silk, like twisting in rich sheets. the weight of her lips on yours was unlike anything you had imagined. your scenarios failed to account for the addictive yield of her lips against yours, the way she folded so easily.
it was only one kiss, one to start or end it all, and when you finally pulled back, you felt your skin crawl at the way your lips refused to part from hers. it was like your body was rejecting your wishes, keeping the two of you anchored together. you peeled away from the kiss, lips heavy with the mixture of product; your gloss swirled with euijoo’s pink lipstick and left traces of each other on your mouths, traces of each other on your hearts, too.
tentatively, you dipped your lips back to down to hers, leaning her back until euijoo was flat on the pillow again. your kiss pushed her deeper into the cushion, her lips slotting perfectly between yours. you didn’t care about the gloss anymore, how it was undoubtedly smeared and collecting in the corners of your mouth. all you could taste was the waxy, bitter paste of the lipstick with the faintest hint of euijoo’s lip balm at the tail end. she was the first taste of a ripe peach on the verge of spoiling, almost too sweet. euijoo kept you flush to her, so close that her chest grated against yours with every heavy breath that fanned over your face, every gasp between open-mouthed kisses. beside you, the pile of makeup tins and brushes clanked and clattered as they rolled closer to the dip in the mattress that cradled your bodies, burning with excitement, with the spontaneous revelation of feelings long suppressed. not just by you but euijoo, too, her tongue swiping over the sticky substance on your lips to slip into your mouth.
it was the weight lifted off your chest, the pulling of the drainplug that had left the voice in your head submerged for so long, to be kissing her, to be in love with her. maybe you’d tell her that, soon. maybe you’d tell her that in a few moments. but for now, you disconnected your mouth from hers, leaving her gasping and confused, just for a second, as you turned to your never-ending pile of makeup supplies. euijoo sat up on her elbows, concerned, “what’s wrong?”
you turned back with a cotton pad, a bottle of makeup remover, and a determined expression, which turned soft at the sight of her downturned eyebrows. lipstick was fucking everywhere. you doused the little white circle and swiped it across your mouth, erasing all traces of the goop that you’d began to almost associate with euijoo by how often you wore it with her, afraid of falling victim to your feelings. you wiped and wiped until your lips were totally bare, completely natural and sensitive.
“nothing’s wrong, juju,” you cooed, dousing another cotton pad with remover and bringing it to her lips. you ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her beautiful, flushed face, “i’m gonna wipe this shit off so that i can kiss you and actually feel it.”
and maybe after, you’ll tell her you’ve loved her for an embarrassingly long time.
ⓘ i've added a femteam option to my taglist post! if you are on my nsfw or sfw taglists and wish to be tagged in future femteam works of mine, please let me know!!
fingering f!jo and she starts squirting and covering her face with her hands and repeating “i’m sorry i’m sorry” and trying to squeeze her thighs together and
