Stuck

"Do you need help?"

"Obviously. Fuck, how does anyone get into this?"

Koko can't help but groan, taking a few awkward steps as she tries to zip the leather pants up. With a defeated sigh, she sits her ass down onto the edge of your mattress and you can't resist the urge to laugh a little bit at how absolutely cute it is.

"What's so funny," Koko grumbles, looking almost irritated. "Get over here."

"Have you considered, I don't know—wearing something not skin-tight. Shorts, a dress, a skirt. Sweatpants. Literally anything else that doesn't require a damn twelve step process."

Koko scoffs. "You want me to wear sweatpants. Seriously. Me."

"Or yoga pants."

"Have you considered maybe not judging the fashion choices of someone better looking than you? I'm not a commoner. I take pride in my appearance, unlike you Mr. sweatpants-and-flip-flops."

"Alright, you have fun getting your ass squeezed inside those things, I'm gonna go get a latte. Have fun."

"Don't be such a fucking prick," Koko snaps, seizing you by the arm and jerking you back. "Help."

"What exactly do you want from me, then? Because if it's this much work for a pair of pants, I cannot begin to imagine how long it will take to get the whole thing off..."

Koko sighs. "Here, I'll hold my breath so you can do it, okay? Then just... uh, yank down."

"Seems simple enough..."

"We're not trying to solve nuclear fusion, just get some damn pants off."

Without delay, Koko sucks in her lower lip and holds her breath. With nothing else to be done, you follow and attempt to grip the zipper. Pulling is difficult, the tight material not giving at all. Each motion only allows you the tiniest little bit more—a nudge or two of movement and Koko gasps in between breaths. You try again, the zipper only creeping up—and on the third tug, you hear a clank, and suddenly, the zipper stops moving completely.

"Uh—"

"Wh-what did you do," Koko mutters between hard-earned breaths.

"N-nothing! The zipper got caught..."

"Then try and un-catch it, I don't have time to fucking breathe."

You panic. One hand grasps desperately at whatever metal you can get, to no avail, while the other gives the zipper a fruitless few attempts of a tug, only resulting in an increased airlessness and Koko's face turning redder. "So, about that latte."

Another gasp. "There's no fucking latte in ba—"

Before she can finish, you scramble under the bed to search. Like a fool. Scrounging like a blind raccoon through forgotten shirts and scattered magazines, a notebook, a box you've never bothered opening, a sock that you're pretty sure doesn't belong to either one of you, and finally a shoe. None are useful.

"Koko—"

Her palm cracks across your cheek. "You broke the zipper."

"The zipper's fine! Only the slightest bit."

Koko falls backwards, panting wildly for air. "Seriously, I'm gonna suffocate if I stay in these things any longer. Help. I'm not a goddamn magician."

You take a deep breath, as if you're the one stuck inside the cursed pants. "So... is ripping them open off the table?"

"What—ripping? God, they're designer or whatever. No fucking way. I didn't even pay for them, my sponsors did."

"Even better."

"Uh, excuse me, since you broke the pants, it's only fair you fix them. How would you like it if I tore one of your shirts apart, hm? Maybe your hoodie..."

"If you tore my hoodie, I'd be madder at the hoodie, than you for surrendering. Impressive feat."

"Please—"

Your mind rushes as you think to the ways in which you could remove the clothing with the minimum amount of damage. "Hold on. I've got an idea."

"Hoping for the best," Koko mutters as you look around. Nothing in the immediate surroundings can aid this struggle, so you resort to other, more ‘logical’ things.

"I'm gonna head downstairs. If we're in luck, we'll have some butter leftover from pancakes the other day."

"Butter," Koko murmurs, eyebrows narrowed. "Are you fucking kidding?"

You're not.

"Don't know anymore. But that's what they do in the movies. When some kid's head is stuck in a stair railing and all that. They use butter."

"Do not use butter to get me out of these pants, they're too expensive!"

"Oil then? Coconut? We have both of those too."

Koko groans, rolling her eyes so hard they might fall right out. "Can't believe my boyfriend is an absolute buffoon and the only genius solution to this is to put butter near my fucking coochie."

When she puts it that way, it does make it sound worse.

"Okay, no butter. Or coconut oil. I'm all outta ideas."

"Yeah, obvious that," Koko says, hooking her fingers into the top of her pants like something will give. It doesn't, of course. "Think, moron, because unless you do something right fucking now, I'll die down here, and it will be one hundred percent your fault."

You sigh. "You're so dramatic."

Koko lets out a sound, something like a whine. "I'm too young to die, I'm way too pretty, and I deserve better than this—"

"Wheres your vibrator?"

Koko shoves herself right up, eyes wider than the fucking moon. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your vibrator, where is it. The one you call Marceline, or Margaret or whatever. When I'm sleeping, I know you use it. Help me locate and—"

"I don't own a vibrator," Koko hisses. "Don't be fucking absurd."

"Every girl owns a vibrator. It must get exhausting using your fingers constantly to—"

Another sharp slap across your cheek. That one you deserved. "Watch it. I don't put anything that needs to be charged up on a regular basis down there, okay? What do you even need it for?"

The words come out before you can think. "On you, obviously. Get you wet enough down there and you'll slide right out without needing—"

A third slap, much harder than before. You kind of hope it bruises. "Now you think I'm a slip and slide?"

You rub your temple.

"I give up. I tried. I cannot keep being assaulted like this and come out the other end with a single drop of dignity intact."

Koko giggles—she's fucking laughing, at a time like this. "Assault, really. You assaulted my honor, don't you think?"

"Whatever. I need a damn latte."

"Will you stop with the damn lattes already?"

"No."

Koko, in her desperate escape from the pants of Satan, has chosen the last resort; brute force. Unfortunately, with no other option to save herself from. "Get the fucking pants off. By any means necessary."

Your brow rises. "By any means?"

Koko nods as you make a run to the bathroom, tearing through drawers until you find something useful. Blue-colored scissors, ones that shake in your grip.

"Last change for the easy route," you say, extending a lifeline. "Or it'll have to get real ugly."

"Make it as ugly as your closet."

That's all the encouragement you need to start surgery. A few careful snips that earn a wince with each tear of fabric, trying not to catch her underwear in the crossfire. "Can't believe you're sacrificing these."

"These," Koko adds. "They cost more than you make in a week."

"Okay, and—"

Once you've done away with the offending material, and left Koko in her pretty thong with not a single hole, you brace yourself to what happens next.

"Holy shit, I'm free," Koko mutters under her breath. "Thank you—"

"Sorry for your loss."

Koko lets out a heavy gasp. "A moment of silence, if you please."

You follow along, bowing your head and mourning the tragic fate of whatever horrible fashion crime you'll likely never heard the end of.

But the moment doesn't last long when Koko's hips start to move, drawing attention to them. "So..."

"Stay in? Order something?"

"Might as well. Since you can't stop staring at my ass."

"I'm just checking for damage."

Koko rolls her eyes. "Think I need a drink. Or three after that, feel free to stare."

"I'll see if we've got some tequila stashed."