#The Thoughts Lost in the Wind [Musings]

[imujings]

[j.ww] say my name

synopsis. | a snowstorm has hit your city, the surprising cold front making it hard for anyone to go anywhere. good thing you and wonwoo are already busy with… other things.

♯ pairing(s). | jeon wonwoo x gn!reader ♯ genre(s). | suggestive (MDNI) & fluff ♯ wc. | 1.1k ♯ warnings. | making out, cursing, wonu calls gn!reader pretty, handsy!wonu, lil bit of sub!reader, lil hair pulling, some grinding, lip biting, pet names (baby)

jay's musings. | m.. making out w wonu during a snowstorm mfqwkdjfjf,,, ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) … (ty @wheeboo for beta reading <3)

Outside is the picture perfect shot of a winter wonderland. Snow blankets the streets of the city, your high-rise apartment giving a breath-taking view of the twinkling lights as people begin to wind down from the day’s escapades.

A snowstorm had taken your area hostage in the middle of the day, and shivering figures could be seen frigidly walking along the sidewalks in a hurry to get home, clearly eager to get out of the cold and uninviting environment.

Inside your cozy space, however, is an entirely different atmosphere.

The only light on is the Himalayan salt lamp sitting on a shelf some ways away, its warm orange lighting draping the room in a rich honey glow. Music drifts in from your bluetooth speaker atop the kitchen island; a NIKI song, no doubt queued by Wonwoo from your shared playlist. There’s a buzz in the air, thick and heavy, like a weighted blanket.

It started out innocent enough, cuddling on the couch and absentmindedly watching the snow outside fall. In moments like these, there was no need for words between you and Wonwoo; you both were simply content with the comfortable silence, finding the presence of the other enough of a joy in life. Sometimes, though, the two of you would mumble quiet reassurances to each other, words of affection passed between the two of you like cherished high school notes, your lips idly finding their way to the other’s.

As the flurries turned into a curtain of white flakes, you and Wonwoo were in the middle of a particularly… heated kiss, with you breaking it to breathlessly (and teasingly) ask if he’d like some tea. His eyes, half-lidded and dark behind his fogged-up glasses, followed you out of the living room area. Your taunting gaze didn’t miss the tent in his grey sweatpants.

When you came back from turning on the stovetop, a shit-eating grin on your face, you were greeted with silence. Biting your lip to hide your smile at his obvious irritation, you open your mouth—only for Wonwoo to drag you into his lap, taking his glasses off and fumbling to place them on the side table, before kissing you fiercely.

That was all some time ago. You aren’t too sure how long it's been since then, but a part of you doesn’t really care anymore, too preoccupied with other matters. Such as the man whose lap you’re sitting in.

Your thighs straddle Wonwoo’s, him having gone back to kissing you lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. You suppose he did, given that his early morning schedule tomorrow was cancelled. Your thoughts drifted to profusely thanking the inclement weather for this pop-up opportunity to get lost in him, lips slowing against his. He seems to notice your attention leaving him, the grip of his fingers on your chin tightening, and any coherent thoughts immediately leave your mind as he softly bites your bottom lip.

You whine, cheeks flaming at his touch. “Wonu…”

“Hm?” is his only reply, hands sliding down to rest underneath your hoodie, teasing the waistband of your sweatpants.

A soft, hushed moan falls off of your lips. Your eyes flutter close and you hide your face in his neck, the rumbling of his laugh only making the fire in your lower stomach burn hotter. Wonwoo’s hand, warm and calloused, cups your cheek and brings your mouth back to his.

Kissing Jeon Wonwoo was as easy as breathing. If you could have this as a full-time job, you would take it, no hesitation, and become the richest person in the world. His lips are soft and plump against yours, tasting sweetly of the peach-flavored lip balm you keep in your nightstand. Every time one of you pulled back in the slightest, the other’s lips chased after, shiny and bitten and longing for more.

His other hand is still running along the waistline of your pants, sometimes dipping underneath to snap the hem of your underwear against your skin. You yelp, but he only smiles against your lips, squeezing the fat of your hip gently.

“Relax, baby,” Wonwoo murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

And you let him, your fingers desperately scrambling to find purchase in the hairs at the base of his neck as he gains control. His hand on your cheek disappears again, grabbing onto your hips as he helps you grind into him. The man’s head tilts back a bit, a groan spilling from his lips from the friction, and you trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, pulling you closer until you’re somehow flushed even more against him.

Even through the layers of clothing, you feel the warmth of his skin, your fingers further tangling themselves in strands of his hair. His breath is hot against your skin, pressing a sweet kiss to the apple of your cheek. You melt into him with a sigh leaving you. He knows exactly what buttons of yours to push. You adore him for it. Mind quickly turning into mush, he plants another kiss to your other cheek, a saccharine promise, before tugging your bottom lip between his teeth yet again and biting. Hard.

“Wonwoo!” your voice, high and needy, seems to invigorate him; he moans, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “Wonu, please…”

“Sounds so pretty, saying my name,” he sighs, tone low and gravelly. “Keep going, baby. Feels so good.”

He’s everywhere. All at once. His hands are traveling up and down your sides, fingers making your skin tingle and burn with the brightest fires. Your brain is foggy, unable to think of anything other than the feel of his tongue swiping against yours and his hips bucking up right where you need him, hard and heavy in just the right way. Something in your stomach starts to burn, coiling with a pressure you know all too well, your telling whimpers being muffled again and again by his lips. One particular and delicious drag of his hips against yours awards him with a beautifully choked sob. If he keeps going, just like that—

The wail of the kettle startles away the fog in your brain.

You pull away, panting, lips swollen and hair disheveled. The blue throw that’s been teetering on the edge of the couch finally falls to the floor in a heap from the sudden movement. Your eyes are wide with alarm, but Jeon Wonwoo just stares at you as if you’ve gone and hung up every star in the damn sky.

“Wonwoo! The tea!”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you please do some headcanons of a reader who was dating Ford before he went into the portal and after stayed at gravity falls to help Stanley with the portal. Mabel calls reader their great aunt/uncle. Basically how they would interact with the twins and Stan! (And a little reunion with Ford if you feel up to it 🤭)

Watching helplessly as Ford got sucked into the portal hurt but what hurt more was thinking that you’ll never see the man you first met way back in college again, that he was lost to wherever that portal lead towards. That and the utter desperation on Stan’s face as he tried to pulling and pushing the heavy lever, looking back at the portal in hopes that it did something; it didn’t the portal remained dead.

You felt as though the wind was knocked out of you when you saw him vanish before your eyes, unable to do anything to stop it due to the distance between the two of you. You thought you had heard your heart break that day also when you felt the first string of tears fall from your eyes as you collapsed on the floor of the disheveled lab, only to be pulled into Stan’s arms as he too cried for the loss of his brother.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, we’ll get him back I promise you.’ He said again your shoulder as you both wept in the other’s arms. All you could think about was Ford and your memories with him.

Ford was gone and both you and Stan were left wishing this was all a bad dream before banding together in order to bring Ford back, the pain of loosing him was enough to give you and Stan a reason to stay in Gravity Falls, even when everything reminded you of Ford’s hard work and exploration into the unknown.

Even when you held his journals against your chest tight while looking for a place to hide them forever as per Ford’s instruction, only to settle to hide one in a secret compartment on Ford’s workbench. Going so far as to scattering the third one deep in the woods and the second journal god knows where in the hope that no one, not a single soul ever comes across them, all the while you and Stan spent a large chunk of your lives trying to withhold the biggest secret in known history.

Your relationship with Stan was not the greatest to begin with but after a brief moment on the rooftop of the shack, where he’d ask you what his brother was like, seeing as how at this point you knew his brother on a more intimate level then he did after so long with no contact with one another.

‘He’s like an enigma, a complex equation that couldn’t be easily solved, so complex yet simple that it made figuring him out all the more harder but it was made worth it in the end.’ You tell him with a smile on your face.

‘Sounds like Stanford alright.’ Stan muses as memories of his childhood with Ford flooded his mind. You hummed in agreement before looking up at the stars before noticing a familiar constellation. ‘Orion.’ You then said out of the blue.

‘What?’ Stan replied, confused as he searched the sky for the constellation you were on about.

‘One of Ford’s favourite constellations is Orion alongside the Ursa Major constellation.’ You explained to him before feeling a sense of melancholy filled your chest upon realising that Ford wasn’t here to gush over the multiple fact he knew about the infamous constellation.

‘Oh.’ Was all Stan said as he finally managed to spot the constellation you were talking about with fondness. You looked over to him and gave him a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry you lost your brother again.’ You say softly as Stan tries to hide his emotions by waving you off.

‘I’m sorry you lost your boyfriend.’ He echoed the sentiment as you both went back to watching the Orion constellation in comfortable peace, both hoping that wherever Ford was he was seeing his favourite constellation too in a desperate attempt to feel some connection to him again. From then on you and Stanley became somewhat friends that acted like siblings more often then not with the rough housing, the pranks and the occasional want to punch a shitty little teenager, he would often times call you his in-law on some occasions when it was just you and him in the shack.

‘I wish Ford would’ve married you.’ Stan tells you on the anniversary of the day Ford went through the portal. ‘Then you could’ve been my in law for real but I guess that doesn’t matter because I already see you as my annoying in law already, my family.’ He admits and you playfully punch his shoulder while feeling sentimental over his causal declaration.

‘Shut up you big goof ball.’ You said with a chuckle as you wiped away your tears. ‘You’re my family too and have been for a long while.’ You added.

You were there with Stan when Mason (Dipper) and Mable were born, you both loved the kids so much that you tried to leg it with them once because neither of you wanted to put them down for a single second. This had soon became a story you loved to retell the twins when they came to stay with you and Stan in Gravity Falls.

‘Grunkle/ great aunt y/n!’ Mabel cried as she dropped her bags before quickly running to you as you bend down to hold her close.

‘My little shooting star!’ You greeted her with equal excitement, pressing kisses to her forehead as she chuckled. ‘How have you been? Done anything fun and fabulous recently?’

‘Only bedazzle dippers face when he was sleeping once.’ Mabel stared proudly as you saw Dipper pout and his cheeks grow red from embarrassment. ‘Don’t tell grunkle/ great aunt y/n that! I spent a week trying to get those plastic rhinestones off of my face.’ He grumbled as he rubbed his cheek as though he was still trying to get the fake Rhinestones off of his face.

You chuckled at them and can’t help but be reminded of the stories Stan told you of him and Ford when they were younger, dipper and Mabel were more alike to their grunkles then they’ll ever know but you’d like to say you even saw bits of yourself in them also.

‘Well I’m sure we’re going to do a whole lot more bedazzling but just not on people’s faces.’ You said while pinching Mabel’s cheeks, causing her to laugh and swat her hands at you. ‘That tickles.’ She cries as you stop pinching and poking her cheeks to hold her hand as you both walk over to Dipper, just to lift his hat and ruffle his hair playfully. ‘And how’s my Little smart Dipper doing.’ You greeted as Dipper’s eyes light up as he told you about how he had beaten Mabel at chess, showed you his most recent doodles he had hastily shoved into his backpack.

One of his drawings was of the Orion constellation and the Ursa Major constellation respectively. ‘I know how much you liked these constellations from the last time we came to visit.’ He said as he handed you the drawing, a little embarrassed but you couldn’t help but feel a smile grow across your face as you held the drawing close to your chest. ‘Thank you dip and dots.’ You said softly as you pressed a kiss to the top of his hat. ‘I love it very, very much I shall treasure it forever my little genius.’

You loved Dipper and Mabel as though they were your own and you often spoilt the pair however you could by doing arts and crafts with Mabel one day while playing paranormal detective with Dipper as you kept him safe from harming himself the next. You encouraged them to be themselves no matter how many people might ridicule them for going outside of the norm, you wanted them to be happy as they are and feel not a single need to change for others.

You’d happily wear the sweaters and jewellery Mabel made with pride as your jumper said in loud and colourful colours; ‘proud Grunkle/Great aunt of a shooting star and a Dipper’ it made no sense to people outside of your family but it just felt right to you to wear regardless. That and it was your favourite thing to wear other than Stanford’s turtlenecks.

‘You’d love them Stanford, you’d love them as much as me and Stanley do.’ You said to no one in particular as you fell asleep on Ford’s bed that night, cuddling his pillow with an aching heart. ‘Please come back home in one piece…haven’t I suffered enough with your long absence from my life?’

They helped you enjoy life but that happiness and peace was then disturbed when the portal reopened and Stanford came out looking a lot hardened and rugged. it felt as though a being of a higher power had answered your prayer for your beloveds safe return home.

‘Stanford?’ You said in disbelief from beside Stan who looked equally in disbelief.

‘Stanford?’ Dipper asked as he looked between you and this mystery figure who picked up the first journal and pocketed it in his trench coat.

Stanford looked up at the sound of your voice and he felt like he was that giddy college student again seeing the most perfect person in his life. It had been far too long for Stanford’s liking as he noticed how you’ve aged beautifully since the last time he saw you in this very room it gave him a sense of Deja vu.

‘Y/n?’ He calls as you could only start to cry while smiling.

‘Yeah it’s me. I look a little grey here and there but-‘ you attempted to joke about your old age but Stanford had quickened his pace towards you before enveloping you in his arms, holding you close and you clung onto him just as tightly. ‘You came home.’ You whispered into his shoulder, burying yourself further into his chest in hopes of telling yourself that he was in front of you, and how this wasn’t a dream. Ford had come home.

‘Yes I’m home now my dear, I’m right here there’s no need to doubt that.’ Ford said as he rubbed up and down your back, resting his head against yours as he familiarised himself with you and your warmth and your scent once again after having been devoid of it during his time in the multiverse. ‘I’m right here.’ He repeats as he felt you grip onto him tighter while you wept into his turtleneck. He has so much to tell you about but decided to keep you in his arms instead.

You both needed this as he too had been looking at the Orion constellation, wishing that you were looking at it too with a smile on your face, after all it was your favourite constellation as a couple.

[smileysuh]

after the seminar

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today. He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated- God, you want him so bad.

tw/cw. sugar daddy Wonwoo, gentleman in the streets/softdom in the sheets, reader doesn't want to make choices, daddy/control kink, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral, blow job, deep throating, dirty talk, praise, masturbation, unprotected sex, holding hands while fucking, implied breeding/fullness kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey. (his) daddy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.3k

🍭 aus. sugar daddy au, established relationship, fiance!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know not everyone is into this level of sugar daddy control, but I think there's something to be said about the trust that reader has for Wonwoo. Sometimes I just wanna shut up and let a man do all the work, and today, that man is Wonwoo

Wonwoo’s had few loves in his life. During university, he’d had a love for law, a need to do what was right. In his thirties, he’d found a new soulmate in legislative procedures related to the sustainability and efficiency of whole cities. Finance had been another long-winded lover, and now, on the cusp of forty, Wonwoo’s found the one thing in the world he loves most, you.

Holding your hand while he drives through the city, Wonwoo can’t help but keep some of his attention on you. 

Dressed in a tight-fitting red dress he’d bought you for your six-month anniversary in Paris, with your hair and makeup done, you look as stunning as ever. There’s a fat rock on your wedding finger, an engagement ring signifying his loyalty to you, and Wonwoo can’t help himself but play with it a little anytime your hands are linked.

As he makes a turn onto a busy street, the sun practically blinds him, and Wonwoo immediately lets go of you to adjust his visor. You make no movement, so he pulls yours down too, enjoying the way you flash him a small smile and whisper a ‘thank you.’

“You look lost in thought,” he muses, having noted your gaze fixed on the sidewalk trees passing by outside your window. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about seminar topics,” you admit. 

Over the past three days, you’ve accompanied him to multiple talks focused on accessibility, affordability, and green solutions within cities like yours. Tonight marks the last evening of the event, and the two of you are headed to a meet-up with some of Wonwoo’s closest lawyer friends. 

Wonwoo loves how diligently you’ve thrown yourself into his work-focused world. Not only do you attend the seminars with him, but you truly make an effort to learn, and that’s never more obvious than when conversing with his colleagues.

Wonwoo’s best friend, Kim Mingyu, has entertained a string of sugar baby relationships, and despite inviting three or four of those women to events like the one you’ve just accompanied Wonwoo to, none of Mingyu’s girls ever took to it the way you do.

You’re one of a kind, and Wonwoo knows how lucky he is to have you.

“I’m sure Seungcheol will have a few things to say about the housing crisis talk,” Wonwoo notes. Choi Seungheol, who had started in law and made the leap to real estate. He now owns half of the new developments being built downtown, and Wonwoo knows this will spur a contentious discussion later.

“He can’t argue with the stats,” you sigh, turning to look at Wonwoo, who threads his fingers with yours again. 

“He can try,” Wonwoo smiles softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

You return the smile, turning your attention out the window again. 

You’re not voicing anything, but Wonwoo can read you like a book. It used to be his job to pay attention to body language, and while he tries to stay humble, people have called him something of a mind reader.

“It’s been an exhausting three days,” he notes. “We don’t have to be out for long tonight, I’m sure we both need our rest.”

“Hansol flies to New York tomorrow morning,” you remind him. “I want you to have as much time with him as you need before he’s gone.”

Your relationship is always something like this, the two of you caring for each other so deeply that you constantly make small concessions. As always, though, the ball is in Wonwoo’s court. He appreciates the way you can feel to him like an intellectual equal while still being submissive in other senses, although he never abuses this power over you.

He’ll keep an eye on you tonight, and when he notices you getting tired, or your energy depleting, he’ll excuse the both of you from drinks and take you back to his place. Then, he’ll take care of you in the ways only he knows how. 

You love Wonwoo. You love him for the big things, his character, his good heart- but you love him for the little things too, the way nothing slips past his line of focus. He’s always a hundred percent on and present with you, holding open every door, guiding you by the small of your back, and pulling out your chair first when you join his friends on the top floor restaurant in the most expensive hotel in the city.

“You look amazing,” Mingyu compliments you, flashing you a toothy grin before standing to greet Wonwoo with a hug. “You definitely know how to pick them,” he praises his friend.

“And look at that ring,” Seungcheol has zeroed in on the diamond on your finger, and he reaches across the table to take your hand and get a better look at it. Wonwoo’s eldest friend has always had an eye for luxury, and he studies the oval rock and silver-colored band. “I’d ask if this is sterling,” he muses, “but if I were a betting man, which I am, I’d say it’s white gold.” 

Seungcheol lifts his eyes to meet yours, waiting for an affirmative, which you give with a nod. “You know your metals, Mister Choi.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he lifts your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers, “It’s Seungcheol.” 

“Stop flirting with Wonwoo’s girl,” Hansol tuts, pushing at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

The elder man makes a face, brushing off his expensive suit. “Not flirting,” he clarifies. “Although,” his gaze shifts to you again, “if you have any hot friends-”

“Aish,” Wonwoo has rejoined the conversation after greeting Mingyu, and he takes the seat next to you, his arm casually coming around the back of your chair to pull you closer. “What have I told you about asking her for favors?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sungcheol sighs, sitting back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “She’s one in a million, aren’t ya, little miss future Jeon to be?”

“Try one in a billion,” Wonwoo corrects, hand finding your thigh now that he’s pulled you close enough. “Have you three ordered drinks yet?”

“We were waiting on you,” Mingyu says, handing Wonwoo a cocktail menu, which he settles between you both so you can also read it. “Their margaritas are pretty good.”

You quickly find a drink you’d like to try, and you wordlessly reach out a manicured nail to tap on it. Wonwoo follows your motion, giving a curt nod, then he leans in to press his lips to your cheek. He waves down the waiter a moment later, and orders you your drink, sparing you the socialization.

This is yet another one of those little things Wonwoo does for you that you find incredibly sexy, and you tuck closer to him, placing your hand over his own on your thigh. 

“We should talk about the elephant in the room,” Mingyu sighs, drawing all eyes. You have no idea what he’s about to say, and then he hits the four of you with, “Cheol, you have to admit your new high rises aren’t sustainable or affordable.”

“They’re called luxury suits for a reason,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m not in the business of affordable housing.” 

Wonwoo grins next to you, looking down and squeezing your hand gently. It’s funny how amusing he finds this whole thing. 

“Don’t smirk like that, Woo,” Seungcheol tuts. “As if you didn’t do a walk-through of a penthouse suite in my new highrise last week.” 

This is news to you, and you turn to look at your boyfriend. You’re generally not one to question him, and luckily you don’t have to, because Kim Mingyu is just as nosey as you’d sometimes like to be. “You checked out a penthouse? I thought you loved your apartment?”

“I’ve had it for years,” Wonwoo says, and you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “However, I can admit that the amenities at Cheol’s new builds are quite impressive.”

“Amenities,” Seungcheol scoffs. “As if that’s what you were actually interested in.”

The two powerful men share a look, and it’s a battle of wills that makes your heart thump loudly in your chest. 

What was Wonwoo interested in?

He’s never talked to you about moving, and you’ve been living with him for nearly a year. Besides, Mingyu’s right, Wonwoo adores his apartment. He’s had it forever and it’s decorated exactly the way he likes it. Your bedroom is a lovely corner location with views of the whole city, and his home office is a sanctuary you’ve loved to desecrate. 

“We’ll talk about this more another time,” Wonwoo says finally, looking up as your waiter appears with a tray of drinks. 

Your cocktail is set in front of Wonwoo, and he gently pushes it toward you before reaching down to give your thigh a squeeze under the table. He picks up his Old Fashioned with his free hand, and Seungcheol raises his own glass in a toast. “To friends and new engagements!”

Seungcheol nods to you before taking a sip of his scotch, and it fills your body with heat to know his friends truly respect and like you. They’re happy to have you joining as a permanent member of their social sphere. 

You place your hand on top of Wonwoo’s as you bring your cocktail to your lips. 

The discussion moves to details about sustainability, and the men at the table trade opinions on the seminars. Mingyu is fast in his manner of speaking, always intent to prove his point. Cheol is loud and boisterous, scoffing at opinions that don’t align with his own. Hansol is often quiet, but he makes good notes ever so often, and they make the whole table sit and think. And your Wonwoo is as calm and judicial as always, listening to his friends with a contemplative expression even while his thumb draws small circles on your thigh. 

You give your own two cents a few times, and your musings are always the most well-received. None of the men at the table are about to pick a fight with you, and they’re attentive whenever you open your mouth, nodding and making one or two comments before getting heated with each other again. 

The waiter comes and Seungcheol orders a few appetizers while Wonwoo opens the menu for you. When Wonwoo begins to list three of his own items, you tap your finger on the one you’d like most and he voices that as well.

God, how you love the fact that you only have to lift one little finger with Wonwoo while he does the rest. You really aren’t in a super talkative mood, especially when it comes to mundane tasks like ordering food and drinks. You save your voice to join in on the intellectual conversation taking place, and you prefer things this way.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo begin to argue over rezoning laws, and Hansol turns toward you, leaning closer. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he smiles. 

“Thank you,” you grin back. 

“Have you guys talked about wedding plans yet?”

Out of all the people in the world, you didn’t think Chwe Hansol would be one of the first to ask you about wedding details. 

“We’re thinking destination,” you admit.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Hansol laughs. “And an expensive honeymoon too I bet.” 

“Of course,” you grin, playing with the stem of your cocktail glass. “Although, if I’m being honest…” you lean closer to Hansol, lowering your voice while Wonwoo and Seungcheol continue to argue, “as much as I like the lifestyle I have with Wonwoo, you know I’m happy just to be with him.”

“But the expensive trips are a bonus I bet,” Hansol grins. 

“I mean… would you say no to a trip to the Maldives?” 

Wonwoo’s friend shakes his head, still smiling. “Never.”

“When are you going to find someone?” you ask. Out of all of Wonwoo’s close friends, Hansol is the most level-headed. He’s stable, and kind, and if you weren’t so into Wonwoo, you’d even admit Hansol is quite handsome in his own way. 

“Someday,” Hansol sighs. “Maybe you’ll have cute bridesmaids at your wedding.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” you assure him. 

Hansol laughs. “I’d appreciate that.”

Food begins to arrive at the table, and you sit up straight again, tucking close to Wonwoo. He’s done this thing, ever since your first date, where he helps plate food for you, and for some reason, it’s always been a huge turn-on.

You like getting baby girl treatment, and you watch Wonwoo with a grin while he cuts through some carpaccio and sets up a piece for you. He makes sure to get a little bit of everything on your plate before putting anything on his own, and his friends are already digging in by the time he’s gotten the both of you settled.

“Do you want anything else?” he asks, always the type to be certain he’s pleased you.

“This looks perfect,” you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, lingering by his ear so he’s the only one who can hear you when you say, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Wonwoo reaches down and squeezes your thigh, the only sign you have that your words have done something to him. He’s not the type to be big on PDA, and it’s the little things like a constant touch, or acts of service, that remind you he loves you as much as you love him.

You wait for Wonwoo to lift a carpaccio bread spread to his lips before you reach for your own, mirroring his motions so you can experience the food together. 

You hadn’t been a carpaccio fan before meeting Wonwoo, but he’s expanded your pallet in the time you’ve known him, and you’re extremely thankful for this opportunity - as well as others - that he’s provided for you.

“Look at you two loved-up foodies,” Seungcheol sighs from across the table, watching you with eyes trained to assess. 

Wonwoo only grins, reaching for his drink to take a sip. You follow that motion too, smirking over the rim of your glass before downcasting your eyes. 

There’s no need to respond to Seuncheol’s comment because it’s an apt description of the pair of you.

“Stop being jealous,” Mingyu grins, reaching out to push at Seungcheol’s shoulder. 

“Never going to happen,” Seungcheol retorts. 

You know he’s in the market for a sugar baby, and Wonwoo’s told you how often Seungcheol brings you up when you’re not around. Apparently, his eldest friend is adamant that you’re one of the most perfect sugar babies he’s ever seen, and you wonder if maybe you should try to hook him up with one of your friends at the wedding. Give Cheol the Hansol treatment. However, in contrast to Hansol’s laid-back expectations, you’d have to give your Cheol-intended friend a cheat sheet booklet on how to please a rich man.

“Just watch,” Seungcheol continues, “these two are going to sneak off early and go to the bathroom or something. They’re sitting much too close together, and we’ve all noticed Wonwoo’s hand under the table.”

To show his innocence, Wonwoo lifts the hand in question. “We’re not doing anything,” he assures his friends calmly. “Although… unfortunately, we will have to leave early after appetizers.”

This is news to you, and you look at Wonwoo for further clarification, which he gives when pressed by Seungcheol.

“It’s been a long seminar,” Wonwoo explains, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. “I’d say Honey needs her beauty rest, but I think we all know I’m not so nice when I’ve been sleep deprived.”

You love it when he calls you Honey, in fact, he uses that name for you more than your legal one. 

Seungcheol lets out a groan, but he doesn’t push further, because Wonwoo’s excuse is true. He’s never been rude to you when tired, but he definitely has a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. 

“We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning,” Mingyu agrees. “Maybe I should get another drink and call it a night too.”

“Come on Gyu,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’ll let these two ditch, but this is Hansol’s last night in the city, I thought we could go to a roof on one of my new waterfront builds and hit some golf balls at the sea.”

“Right, because that’s very environmentally friendly,” Wonwoo tuts.

“Jesus, you are tired, aren’t you?” Seungcheol laughs. 

It’s a rhetorical question, and Wonwoo simply lifts another appetizer to his mouth, chewing with a tight-lipped grin. 

In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today.

He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated- 

God, you want him so bad.

You take a sip of your cocktail again before resting your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh, and he stops what he’s doing to look down at your fingers toying with his pants. Then his gaze rises to you, and he cocks his head slightly, obviously a little stunned by how forward you’re being tonight.

It’s such a small motion, but it speaks volumes, and when paired with a small flutter of your lashes, Wonwoo reads you like he reads the books in his impressive office library. 

Part of you wants to toy with him, wants to tease your touch up to his crotch just to see if you can get him hard at dinner with his friends, but you know that would lead to something akin to consequence. 

As easy as it is for Wonwoo to read you, he’s not such an open book and his reactions vary drastically. You don’t want to push your luck today, not after you’ve been such a good girl for him for three seminars straight.

You remove your hand before playing with fire gets you burned, and the two of you continue to finish your appetizers. Each bite is one step closer to leaving with Wonwoo, but you try to take your time, try not to be too glutenous to make way for lust. 

Wonwoo finished eating and he lifts his drink with his left hand, his right palm finding your thigh again. His touch is soothing, gentle, but it still stirs a fire within you.

You shift your knee, letting it rest against his, and you sip your cocktail trying to pay attention to what Mingyu’s saying about the stock market. 

Wonwoo is generally quite the stocks man. He pays attention to Mingyu, but you can tell his focus is still partially on you, and you reach down to play with his fingers, enjoying how pretty his hands are. 

You need him so badly. 

That’s when you realize Wonwoo has almost finished his drink, and you quickly grab at yours too, wanting to reach the bottom of your own cup. 

You’ve not been drinking since the seminar started, and the booze in your cocktail definitely heightens your senses. An electric tingle consumes your form, and it’s getting harder to ignore the panties sticking to your core. 

The conversation reaches a lull,  and Wonwoo lets out a sigh, squeezing your legs. “Well, it’s been fun,” he says, “but Honey and I should get going.”

“One more drink,” Seungcheol practically begs, already lifting a hand to call over a waiter.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says, soft but firm. 

He stands up first, grabbing your hand to help you out of your own seat. “Good luck with your flight tomorrow, Hansol,” he nods to the man on your right. 

“Good luck with wedding planning,” Hansol retorts, rising from his chair to pull you and Wonwoo into a hug. 

Hansol’s not usually a touchy guy, and the hug means something. It’s a true acceptance that you’re permanently a part of Wonwoo’s life, and it means the world to you. 

“Now I want a hug,” Mingyu also stands, holding out his arms for you and Wonwoo.

With a laugh, your fiance’s hand finds the small of your back and he guides you into Mingyu’s warm embrace, trapping you between their large bodies. 

Now you’re really turned on. 

Seungcheol doesn’t stand, he simply watches, lips all pouty. “Let me know about that penthouse,” he muses. “I’ve got some foreign buyers already wanting a walk through and I won’t hold it forever.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Wonwoo promises, giving one last nod to Seungcheol before he begins to guide you out of the restaurant.

As you make it to the front desk, Wonwoo stops and addresses the staff member there. “I’m going to take care of my table’s bill tonight.”

“I’ll put it on your tab, Mr. Jeon.” She nods, typing something into the ipad infront of her.

“That was kind of you,” you muse as Wonwoo escorts you into the elevator that will lead to the underground where his expensive Mercedes is parked.

“We’re leaving early, it’s the least I could do.”

“You know… I hope we didn’t leave on my account,” you say, thinking about the conversation you’d had in the car earlier.

Wonwoo leans down close to you, grinning. “I can safely say we left due to my own personal needs, although they’re not sleep-related.” 

“You really like this dress, don’t you, Daddy?” you smile, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck while his hands settle on your hips.

“I like what’s under it,” he retorts, which is a cheeky response by Wonwoo’s standards.

“Been missing my body, haven’t you?”

“More than you realize.”

Wonwoo had kept his composure on the drive home. He’d even kept his hands mostly to himself on the way up to your apartment, but your stoic lover is on you the moment the door to your home is closed behind you both.

He presses you up against the wall, grabbing your waist and tugging you close while simultaneously blocking you up against the hard surface at your back. His lips are hot against your own, his tongue invading your mouth and making you giggle as you grab the front of his shirt, already popping buttons open.

You release a moan when he reaches down and cups your core, pushing up your dress to access your lacey panties. “Where do you want it, honey?” he asks, biting at your lip.

“I don’t want to think tonight,” you admit, tired from days of brain power.

You love that Wonwoo likes to check in with you. He’s not the type to simply throw you over a kitchen counter and rail you when you might prefer the bed or even the shower- but at the same time, as soon as you give him full control, Wonwoo’s very good at taking charge.

“I’ll take care of you,” Wonwoo promises, pushing your panties to the side so he can slide two fingers against your heated core. You can feel how wet you are, and the contact against your clit has you whining, grabbing his face to bring his mouth to yours again while he pushes two digits knuckle deep into your aching core.

You’re sensitive from a few days without being touched, and it feels like heaven to have Wonwoo worshipping you like this again. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he draws his mouth down to your jaw then your throat, peppering your skin in kisses that have you shivering with pleasure.

“Daddy-” you whimper, your hips thrusting toward his hand as he works you open, palming your clit with delicious pressure. 

“I know, Honey, I know,” he soothes, and between gasped breaths and moans, you can hear your pussy squelching already. 

It’s getting harder and harder to stand on your shaky legs, your heels not meant for standing sex or heavy petting like this. But it’s also clear to you that Wonwoo has no intention of stopping his motions until you’ve cum on his fingers, so you do your best to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself while that wonderful feeling builds in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’ve missed this pussy,” Wonwoo tells you, voice low. It’s not often that he uses vulgarity, even in the bedroom, and his words betray how much he truly needs you. Your skin tingles with excitement, pussy throbbing, heart thundering in your chest-

It’s crazy how one sentence can nearly shortcircuit your brain when paired with Wonwoo using his hands like this- stroking the parts of you that he knows better than anyone else in the world.

Your fiance has taken his sweet time getting to know your body, and it shows in moments like these. 

“I’m so close-” you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. You should care about his expensive suit jacket, but you don’t- all that matters is the orgasm you’re desperately chasing, hips moving to ride Wonwoo’s hand while his unrelenting fingers get you closer and closer to the edge-

“Come on, honey,” Wonwoo grins, mouth returning to the spot on your neck that always makes you go feral, “cum for me.” 

One more rough thrust with his fingers has you moaning, tumbling past the edge as your orgasm overtakes you. 

If you’d nearly been falling over before this, you almost crumple to the floor with all the pleasure coursing through you now. Wonwoo’s free arm loops around your waist, and he presses you closer to the wall, keeping you propped up while his hand continues between your shaking thighs.

He releases a low groan, and you can feel his cock pressing through his pants by your hip. You feel delirious already, body pulsing, skin tingling. Wonwoo’s broad shoulders are your lifeline, and you grip them desperately, taking everything he has to give you like the good girl you are.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, seeking out his lips, cupping his face to draw him closer. His tongue glides against your own, and you’re enough of a distraction that his fingers begin to slow inside of you.

Finally, he pulls his hand away from between your thighs, dragging his lips from yours so he can sink his digits into his mouth. You watch him lick them clean, listening to the groan of satisfaction that escapes him while you do your best to catch your breath.

“You’re always so good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, lifting his gaze to yours again. 

You swallow thickly, mind swimming, searching for a response. “You deserve it,” you assure him finally.

“And I know what you deserve tonight,” he retorts. 

In one quick motion, he lifts you up bridal style. One of your stilettos crashes to the floor from the sudden way your body has just been swung like a rag doll, but neither of you care as Wonwoo carries you through the apartment toward the bedroom.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. Wonwoo always makes you feel like a princess, and he looks like a classic prince while doing it. His side profile is so regal- all sharp bones and pretty lips. God- how did you ever get this lucky?

When you get to your destination, Wonwoo is gentle when he sets you onto the mattress. He straightens and looks down at your form, letting out a deep breath.

“Can you take that pretty dress off for me, honey?” he asks, already shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it over a chair nearby. 

“Of course, daddy,” you grin, reaching down to grab at the hem of the silky outfit, dragging it up your thigh.

His eyes are glued to you even as he works on his cuff links, and you take your sweet time as he makes it to the buttons of his shirt. The dress has a corset style back, and you tug on the ribbon before slowly working it open.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, but you can see his breathing pick up as the fabric gets less tight on your chest, revealing more and more of your bralessness. 

When he makes it to his pants, you remove the dress, leaving you in nothing but your thong, which is soaked through. 

Your fiance swallows thickly. “Panties too, honey. I don’t think I have the patience to wait any longer tonight.”

His lack of patience is clear in the way his cock slaps up against his abdomen, released by the pants now pooled by his feet.

Wonwoo looks like a fucking God, especially while naked. He’s lean but muscled, and you’ve spent hours tracing each ridge and bone. His cock is an impressive length of around seven inches, it’s pale like the rest of him, but when he’s really turned on, it flushes in colour.

Right now, his cock is a pinkish red, and you can see the angry tip already leaking desperately. 

You stand up, sneaking a kiss to his lips while hooking your fingers in your panties. Pushing them down, you get onto your knees.

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

“Maybe I’m impatient too, have you ever thought of that, daddy?” you ask, grabbing the base of his length and leaning forward to kitten lick the tip.

Wonwoo releases a low groan, reaching down to thread his fingers through your hair.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, enjoying the way he reacts when you kiss his cock gently. “Missed the weight of you in my mouth.”

“Fuck-”

It’s not often that Wonwoo curses, and the word goes straight to your core.

“Can I touch myself while I suck you off, daddy?” 

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” he admits. “I want you dripping when I finally pull you off my cock and fuck you the way you like it.”

You whimper, your whole body alight with energy as you take him into your mouth. You’re already practically drooling from his fingers earlier and the dirty talk now, which makes it easy to coat him in spit. 

You’ve never been able to take all of Wonwoo in your mouth, but you do your best, gripping the base and bobbing your head while you begin to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Wonwoo groans, taking a deep breath as his hand guides you on his cock. “Always so good for me.”

The praise only makes you suck on him harder. You sink so far down onto him that his tip hits the back of your throat. You feel yourself constrict around him and Wonwoo lets out a loud moan, fingers flexing in your hair. 

“Careful, honey, I don’t want you to choke,” he tells you, but his voice has lost it’s usual commanding tone. He’ll let you do anything you want to him, even if it means gagging on cock- but he’ll do his best to be gentle with you verbally at least.

You get lost in the feeling of pleasuring him, closing your eyes and letting your mouth show him how much you’ve missed him… however, not in so many words. 

Actions speak volumes, especially in this case.

You continue working on your pussy too, eventually slipping two fingers into your wet core, which makes you moan around Wonwoo’s cock.

“Honey-” he groans.

You can tell that he’s on the verge of breaking, so you pull off his length, looking up at him while catching your breath. “Ready to fuck me now, daddy?”

“I’ve been ready all night,” he grins, reaching down to grab your hand and help you to your feet. 

He kisses you then, cupping your face and leaning forward, taking your breath away all over again. His palm flatens against the small of your back and he dips you backward- then you’re falling, a small squeal escaping you-

The fall is only an inch or two, and you hit the mattress, Wonwoo bearing down on your form almost immediately. You grab at his shoulders as his lips find yours, your legs wrapping around his lean hips to tug him closer.

His cock is still wet with your spit, and it rubs deliciously through your soaked folds, bumping your clit and making you moan into the kiss.

As impatient as Wonwoo seemed to be, he’s not quick to adjust himself against you- or at least, not quick enough for your liking, so you reach between your bodies and grab his cock, lining him up with your wet hole. 

Wonwoo grins against your lips, and in one motion, he sinks into your core.

You moan loudly, digging your nails into his strong shoulders and throwing your head back as he fills you perfectly, stretching out your walls.

Your fiance takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, finding your sweet spot.

He feels like heaven- you’re really not sure how long you’ll be able to last tonight, but that’s never mattered with Wonwoo. You have forever with this man, which means you can be as fast or slow as you’d like to be.

He begins to thrust in and out of your core, and it makes you cry out again, walls contracting around his cock. You can feel him so deeply, especially as he adjusts your legs, pushing your thighs closer to your chest.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, not a care in the world for using a ‘correct’ title. Your fiance might enjoy the daddy kink, but he’s never been the type to punish you for slipping up and calling him something different.

It’s clear to both of you how far gone you are, and Wonwoo only grins against your throat, picking up his pace.

“How about you rub your clit for me, honey?” he asks. 

You’re not one to question him, and your hand slips between your bodies to seak out the sensitive nub. More sounds of pleasure escape you as you begin to rub yourself, and your moans only push Wonwoo to fuck you harder.

Each thrust has his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you, and it’s making you delirious. 

Wonwoo finds your free hand, threading your fingers and using you as leverage as he presses you against the mattress. His breath is hot on your throat, but soon he’s seaking out your lips again, and you eagerly kiss him as if your life depends on it.

There’s an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, spurred on by your fingers on your clit and the cock filling you up with each rough thrust.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to check in on you, and you don’t need to tell him you’re close, you’re certain he can tell. He tightens his grip on your hand, a silent invitation to let go whenever you want.

Each drag of his cock against your inner walls draws you closer and closer to the edge, and when he breaks the kiss to lick your throat, it allows you to focus entirely on the pleasure between your legs.

“Fuck, daddy-” you whimper, back arching as you shift below him.

“I know, honey,” he groans. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Your body jitters with near orgasmic bliss. “Can you cum with me?”

“Of course, just tell me when.”

“Please-” you moan, writhing against the sheets as he fucks you even harder. “Please, daddy- I want you to fill me up-”

Wonwoo groans, teeth dragging by the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“Please, please- fuck, I’m almost there-” you rub your clit harder, body tensing on the precipice of your orgasm-

“Shit,” Wonwoo tightens his grip on your hand to the point where it almost hurts- and even though he doesn’t say it, it’s clear to you that he’s reached his own high.

The thought that Wonwoo is so turned on he’s just cum before you - something that never happens - is enough to drag you over the edge, your core clamping down on his cock, eager to milk him for everything he’s worth while you cry out in ecstasy. 

He’s gasping against your throat, thrusts even deeper now- slow, steady little ruts as he coats your insides with him cum, filling you up perfectly. 

You get lost in the feeling of him, squeezing his hand back as a silent encouragement while your pussy continues to squeeze his cock, eager to get every last drop.

When he finally comes to a stop, he simply lays on top of you for a moment, the both of you breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I’ve just remembered-” you pull your hand away from your clit, instead moving to stroke his hair, “What did Seungcheol mean about the penthouse you were looking at?”

Wonwoo lets out a small chuckle. “Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?”

“Yes, please.”

Your fiance pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. “I’ve been thinking we might need a bigger place… one that could accommodate a few extra rooms.”

“Extra rooms?” you cock a brow.

“For any kids we might have, you know, after we’re married.” 

Your entire body tingles with excitement. 

While the two of you have talked about children in a general manner before, nothing has ever been set in stone. But you suppose now that you’re engaged, it’s natural this sort of thing would be on Wonwoo’s mind.

“How do you feel about that?” Wonwoo asks.

“I feel like…” you swallow thickly, “I want you to fill me up again, and also that I should book a doctor's appointment to discuss going off birth control.”

“I can definitely help you with that first one,” Wonwoo grins, pressing chaste kisses all across your face while you giggle and hold him tighter.

“We’re really doing this,” you whisper.

Wonwoo’s thumb brushes by the ring on your wedding finger. “Honey, I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

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🔮 preview. You pull away just as his lips are about to meet yours. “You know how appreciative I am whenever daddy gets me a present,” you say, acting innocent. This only makes him laugh, and he grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You know buying things for you does the same thing to Wonwoo that it does to you. He loves seeing the excitement in your eyes, the way you light up at gifts. He truly lives to provide for you. 

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, mentions of breeding kink/wanting to get reader pregnant, sugar daddy Wonwoo, daddy kink, soft dom!Wonwoo, oral, pussy eating, fingering, breif edging, squirting, groping, sickly sweet loved up sex, crying during sex cuz reader is so in love, mentions of pain kink, hair pulling, teasing, dirty talk, fucking on a kitchen counter, Wonwoo talks about reader getting ‘plump’ with pregnancy, he adores the ‘soft bits’, etc.  I petnames. (hers) honey (his) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 4k I teaser wc. 300

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

“Can I take this off yet?” you ask, wobbling in your heels as you grab at the silk blindfold blocking your vision.

“Be patient, honey,” Wonwoo breathes in your ear, his hands firm on your hips as he guides you to whatever surprise destination he has in store for you tonight. 

Christmas is a week away, and the last time he blindfolded you like this was for your birthday. He’d taken you to a Mercedes dealership to let you choose any car you wanted. You have no clue what he has in store for you now, and you’re practically shaking with excitement. 

You know he’s driven you somewhere, and you’ve been in an elevator, so it must not be another car- your list of gift possibilities is somewhat thin. You have a hunch, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself just in case you’re wrong about where your fiance is leading you. 

Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and his hands stop you in your tracks. His breath is hot by your ear a moment later, and he lets out something like a contented sigh. “Okay. Let me help you take this off.” 

His deft fingers work at the loose knot behind your head; soon the blindfold slips away.

Your eyes adjust to the light, and you blink while taking in the space in front of you. You’re in a large open-concept kitchen, a living room sprawled in front of you with views of the whole city. The decor is lavish luxury, and you recognize the design concept as a Choi Seungcheol special when you notice a specific lighting fixture that Cheol puts in all his expensive builds. 

“Wonwoo-” you breathe, mind spinning.

The man behind you flattens his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your frame while he rests his head on your shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“Is this…”

“It’s ours,” your fiance confirms. “I wanted to show it to you on Christmas day, but I couldn’t help myself.”

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[itsswritten]

Earth's Song

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 795 (she's a drabble)

Warnings: Difficult birth is briefly mentioned no major details though.

Summary: Fairies are made for the wind & sun <3

Wings Masterlist

You could see it, just beyond the archway. Only a step away, the golden streams of rays filtering over the flowers. The breeze, a scent of fresh grass, pollen and peonies filling your senses– so close you could almost taste it. The melody of the earth was calling to you, its creatures and plants singing in a verse only you could hear upon your arrival. Your lips tugged into a gentle smile across your tired expression. 

Oh you had missed this.

A soft gurgle pulled you from your musings, your gaze settling down on the little bundles that were swaddled to your front. Your babes, twin sons. Only weeks old. Could they hear it too? The earth's music? it’s song, it’s heartbeat– you were sure they could. Certain they felt it in their bones just like you.

“Isn’t it wonderful..”, you whispered to them, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on the tops of their heads. Wefts of hair as dark as their fathers atop, and their scent so inexplicably yours and his.

“My love…” Azriel spoke, an ache in his tone that seemed consistent with any action you did nowadays. You had tried to step forward, feet moving past the tiles of the River House subconsciously into the outside that was calling you–calling your sons too. Any action you seemed to make these past few weeks only made your mates heart lurch.

“Azriel…” your tone was gentle but firm, your free hand subconsciously rubbing the backs of your babes who were nuzzled against your chest. Their eyes slowly opened and closed under the gentle glow of the sun that reached within the doorway of the house. “I want to– need to feel the earth,” you replied. 

It had been several weeks since you had been outside, several weeks since you brought your baby boys into this world. The birth had been difficult. A thought you didn’t want to dwell on, but something you knew was still very prevalent as you felt your mate's supportive hand press against the small of your back. His free hand still looped with your arm for stability.

It had taken a great deal of convincing for him to bring you here, to let your boys experience the world beyond the safety of the house walls. Azriel, ever the protective Shadowsinger, had been beside himself when he’d almost lost you. The birth of your twins—Illyrian-winged miracles born of a meadow faerie—had been far from easy. The ordeal had left you in a deep, unnatural slumber, robbing you of those precious first days with your sons. It was a cruel twist of fate, one that left you fragile in body and spirit. Even the sacred traditions of your kind had been set aside in the wake of it all.

And well, Azriel’s protectiveness had grown to a level you didn’t know was possible. You understood though. Didn’t blame him; if the roles were reversed, if you’d almost lost him, you weren’t sure what kind of person you’d become in the aftermath. But you were still here. Healing, growing stronger with every passing day.

So you convinced him, explained to him how fairies were made for the wind and sun, your boys, despite only being half of you– needed this too.

You watched as your mate hesitated, bringing you this far had gone against every instinct he had, but as he gazed into your reassuring smile he nodded. Gently moving with you, each step at a time. Your bare feet feeling the soft grass under your pads. The sensation sent a shiver through your body and as you began to ground yourself tears filled your eyes.

The evening sun basked it’s golden hour upon your skin, it’s rays warming your flesh in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks. You had missed this. 

Your babes stirred softly, their tiny forms swaddled snugly against your chest. Their warmth grounded you further. You inhaled deeply, the scent of the flowers and the earth beneath your feet blending with the faint sweetness of your sons.

Azriel’s wings rustled softly behind you as he stepped closer, his shadowed presence a constant comfort as you let yourself lean back against him. You glanced up at him, your tear-filled eyes meeting his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Wordlessly, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead, his gaze moving to his sons pressed against you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I love you– I love you all so much,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Your smile was the only reply he needed. Your expression looking fuller than it had done in weeks. And then you hummed, eyes closed as you harmonised along to the earth’s song.

a/n: a little wings drabble, our first snippet at seeing the baby boys...which yes I've finally landed on names. Introducing...Rune & Rain <3

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[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.”  you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

[moonlight-prose]

HUGH JACKMAN CHARACTERS MASTERLIST✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

note: below is the extensive list of fics i've written for hugh jackman characters. logan might wind up with his own masterlist later one, but for now he can be found here.

Under no circumstances may you steal my work, say it’s yours, or post it somewhere else. The writings I put on here are mine unless stated otherwise.

smut =🔥| angst =💫 | fluff =🌙

LOGAN HOWLETT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Right Where You Left Me | 18+🔥| ONGOING SERIES

summary: logan was familiar with death. he understood why it happened, what could cause it to occur, and finally how to accept it. so when his family - the people he cared for most - died…he thought he could handle it. only you didn’t die. you left. now he’s found himself in a new universe with a person who wears your face, yet doesn’t hold your memories.

Heart Made of Glass |💫

summary: you couldn’t control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

The Grave of Lust | 18+🔥| Old Man!Logan

summary: when his body doesn’t work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well. OR giving old man logan sloppy head that he’ll think about in the grave and after.

Sweetness of the Damned | 18+🔥| Old Man!Logan

summary: when night falls and wine overflows in glasses of crystal, logan finds his home in between your thighs.

Slow | 18+🔥| Old Man!Logan

summary: time spent after long days outside is slow. languid in a way only he can give you.

Taste Me on Your Tongue | 18+🔥

summary: the taste of him became an addiction you couldn’t ignore. especially when he was adamant on sharing it in multiple ways.

old man logan thoughts & musings | 18+🔥| pt.2 | pt.3

summary: thoughts about this old man and how much he's feral for you.

hunger | 18+🔥

summary: things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life | 18+🔥

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

Pick Your Poison | 18+🔥| ONGOING SERIES

summary: death meant nothing to someone steeped in it. a shovel remained propped next to your front door, a bag of grave dirt hung on a hook, and a collection of poison was stuffed in your cabinets. only when you arise in the vicinity of a lumberjack named logan, you’re in for a rude awakening.

A Case of You | 18+🔥| old man!logan howlett x f!reader x joel miller | UPCOMING SERIES

summary: life in jackson was quiet. serenity in a bottle that’d been poured out along the side of a mountain. a haven to finally grasp some parts of life that you thought were lost forever. you had your apothecary shop, your home, but still some piece of your heart was missing. until you meet your neighbors and come across the full picture of your future you didn’t have before.

have a cigar | 18+🔥

summary: everyone knows who you belong to. if the jacket you wore that left you drowning in the soft leather wasn’t indication enough, then the claws attached to your guard dog certainly was.

Don't Mind Me |🌙

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however…horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

Wondering Why | 18+🔥| cowboy!old man logan

summary: loving logan howlett felt like loving a ghost. he returned when the moon hung low in the sky and his time gave way for freedom. but when you needed him most, he arrived on your doorstep with the promise of giving you exactly what you want.

dreams unwind, love's a state of mind | 18+🔥| dofp!logan

summary: they told him to change the future, to right the wrongs that the world caused. but he didn’t do it for them. he did it for the chance to see his lover one more time. even if he shared a different history than them.

Dust to Dust | 18+🔥| old man!logan

summary: when the days are long and he’s grown weary of everything, he knows he can find his peace in your body. that is until he brings a whole new understanding to the belt buckle that sits proudly on his waist.

nameless as a river undiscovered underground | 18+🔥

summary: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

#logan thoughts & musings

EDDIE ALDEN ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

love is here to stay | 18+🔥

summary: mornings where the summer heat was unbearable and energy was nowhere to be found, made getting up a difficult task. add a sleepy eddie and a multitude of kisses and suddenly it became near impossible.

Hopelessly Devoted to You | UPCOMING

summary: being friends with eddie alden came with challenges. you'd known him since you were eleven and he was twelve and the funniest thing to do was push you down. yet now you're older and suddenly you see him as someone else.

DROVER ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Never Lovelier | 18+🔥| UPCOMING

summary: a day spent working with horses in the hot sun left him hungry for your affection. for the soft touch of your love. OR drover uses his whip for romantic interests.

LEOPOLD ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

UNTITLED FALL THEMED FIC

GABRIEL VAN HELSING ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

bound in the strands of permanence | 18+🔥

summary: he walked with monsters in the night, claiming their lives for a vendetta placed upon him by the church. but he found peace in daylight with the touch of your healing hands.

Amor Vincint Omnia | 18+🔥| UPCOMING SERIES

©moonlight-prose do not feed my work into ai, do not steal my work, if you are a minor, spam like my fics, or are a blank blog you will be blocked.

[merbear25]

Hey!! How is your day going? I have a request, could you do Katakuri, Crocodile, and Mihawk with a Fem S/O with a breeding kink :)

Hello! My day has been fabulous now that I was able to write such a great request. I don’t know what happened but these came out much longer than anticipated. I hope you like what I’ve written for you and wish you a wonderful day/night. 💜💜

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship

Their s/o having a breeding kink (Katakuri, Crocodile, Mihawk)

Katakuri: He was very much questioning why you would want to risk bringing a child into his family. With such uncertainty of what could come, the potential dangers that came with being tied to his mother made him hesitant to bring a child into that. 

Oh but how he adored you; there were times he caught himself lost in thought—an image of you holding his child with such affection, looking at them with nothing but fondness was painted in his imagination. Listening to you share the vision of the family you saw with him unearthed something that had remained dormant for many years: a loving family of his own.

Despite his reluctance to make such fantasies a reality, your sweet pleas and gentle touches only continued to bring such a suppressed want further into the light. You were far too perfect for this world—too perfect for him. And yet, he found himself entertaining this idea more and more often.

It wasn’t as simple as you made it out to be, but perhaps you were already aware of that. He wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind and willingly surrender himself to wicked whims. If there was a chance that he’d impregnate you, there needed to be a plan set in place. At least that way, he would be able to fill you as much as either of you wanted.

As you curled up closer to him in bed, he instinctively wrapped you up in his arms. The mutual yearning to feel both physically and emotionally connected never subsided, and in fact was heightened when you laid together—your warm bodies finding solace in each other. The temptation to have such an innocent display of affection turn into something more was an option which was never off of the table.

When the two of you were alone, the rest of the world was of no importance. Such moments with you deserved to be cherished: savoring the way your skin felt under his hands, the way you whimpered when he gripped the fat on your hips, and the soft huffs you made as he caressed you. 

You would look exquisite with a round belly; the thought crept up on him. But despite how sudden such a thought was, his fingers kneaded your soft skin and lingered on the fattier parts. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining how perfect your body was to carry a child—his child.

He slipped his hand between your thighs, teasing you as his long fingers glided against your clit. 

Leaning in closely, his voice was barely above a whisper, “You want to have a baby with me?” A question that bore part of his worries that you’d change your mind.

The vulnerability he had couldn’t be missed. “I’d love nothing more.” You let your heart guide you in that moment, allowing the sincerity in your words to console any doubts.

His lips twitched for a moment, hinting at how deeply your words touched him. Swiftly, he leaned in to capture your lips all while sliding his fingers into you. Even after the many times you gave yourself to him, preparation was always a necessity.

Your slick arousal coated his fingers, which made you appear even more delectable—ripe for his seed.

“Come here,” he breathed, pulling you into a better position.

Aligning his tip with your entrance, he eased his way in to give your body time to adjust. With your walls accommodating his size, spasming from his girth stretching you, they were eager to have him coat them. 

“Just like that,” you mused as he picked up the pace. Your hands gripped at his arms tightly to brace yourself for the increasing collision.

Raw emotions entwining with lustful urges created a symphony of shared euphoria. Your soft, sweet moans transforming into feral grunts were making it difficult not to let go right there and then. However, that need to watch the ecstasy washing over your trembling form kept him from entirely losing control.

“Want a baby?”

“Yes!”

“Want me to cum in you again and again till I knock you up?”

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” You cried as his thrusts became more ruthless.

Witnessing that euphoric peak wrecking you, your climax covering his cock: it was more than he could bear. With a final thrust, he released deep within your womb—beads of it spilling out of you from the intense brunt.

Holding you there for a moment longer, the both of you basked in the afterglow of your shared passion. With the high subsiding, your tenderness peaked through again.

“You’re going to make such a great father.”

He cuddled you closer and cradled you in his arms, his touch never straying from affectionate. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and lazily stroked your side with his thumb.

“Our child deserves nothing less.”

Crocodile: He’d never put much thought into having a family. That didn’t mean that he was ruling it out entirely but given his line of work, it was far from the ideal environment to raise children. In spite of this, he couldn’t deny the fantasies of you filled to the brim with his cum. If that led to a pregnancy, then so be it.

Being one to hold back on diving head first into fantasies and choosing to weigh the pros and cons of any and every situation, he still had needs. He still had wants, and if there was going to be anyone suited to bear his children, it was you.

Coming to him in your vulnerable state and opening up to him about these fantasies you had only piqued his own. He mulled over how prepared the both of you would be to potentially bring a child into the relationship and decided that whatever happened would be taken care of.

You were, afterall, the one he cherished above all others. Giving into you sweet desires of starting a family with him would be an adventure he wasn’t opposed to.

With the hours he worked, however, it put a pin in the whole thing. He didn’t like it any more than you did, but there wasn’t any chance that he’d cut corners or take extra time off—your escapades would just need to be put on hold for the time being.

Being cooped up in his office all day, the moon holding high in the sky was the only indication for him that perhaps he’d been too absorbed in business. When the door creaked open, he assumed it was one of his employees. 

“It’s too late to bother me with anything trivial, you know,” he warned.

When you slipped past the mahogany door, he leaned back and smirked at your attire: a form fitted nightgown with silk fabric that complimented each and every curve which graced your body.

Leaving the doorway, you slowly made your way over to him. Your tired expression was feigned as you asked when he was planning to join you in bed.

Moving back from his desk, he patted his lap. While you made yourself comfortable, he placed his hand on your inner thigh..

 “Are you really so needy that you can’t go to bed without me?” he teased.

You let out a deep sigh, playing with the buttons on his vest. “I can’t help it if I sleep better when you’re lying next to me.”

You were such a little minx, weren’t you? Well, if you were so desperate for his attention, he was more than happy to give it to you.

His heart was pounding as he pressed his lips against yours. When you parted yours slightly, he greedily swirled his tongue against yours, which earned him a lust soaked moan.

You parted your legs, allowing him easier access to which he gladly took advantage of. The cool gold of his rings trailing up your thigh sent shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched when his fingers found their way to your folds.

He growled into your kiss. “Not even wearing panties? Such a naughty little thing.” 

His teeth grazed your neck, causing your breaths to shake. Having made you wait for as long as he had, your poor needs not being met, he shoved a finger into your weeping pussy and pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit—rubbing it relentlessly.

As you quaked and panted on his lap, his gaze grew darker. With the soft hue of the fireplace and the moonlight peaking through the window, them highlighting your features made him hungrier for you.

The rush of his fingers making you squirm when there were papers of questionable deeds scattered on his desk only made you wilder with lust.

You pawed at his dress-pants, unbuttoning them so you could feel how much he wanted you. After just a few strokes he commanded you to sit on it, which you gladly obeyed.

The girth of his full erection made you cry out. The sudden twinges as your body adjusted caused your back to arch, taking him more easily. With your movements steady and slow, a firm slap on your ass was your incentive to pick up the pace.

Your bounces plunged him deeper and deeper into you, leaving you a trembling mess. Each gasp you made, each plea for him to cum in you and give you the family you so desperately wanted was like music to his ears. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” his tone husky from his own release building. “You’ll have your baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

He gripped your hip and took control, thrusting into you with abandon. You collapsed on him, clinging to him for dear life as the sounds of his cock slapping against your wet cunt echoed in the room. When coupled with your sobs of ecstasy, both of your climaxes were just within reach.

With his final thrust sending you over the edge, his own release followed suit. As he pumped each drop into you, the soft gasps passing your lips never failed to add to your allure.

“Now, then,” he said breathlessly. “Will you please go off to bed, so I can finish up here?”

With a firm kiss planted on your temple, you knew you wouldn’t have to wait long for him to join you for the night.

Mihawk: He had entertained the thought of having a child and raising a family before but due to his reputation, it wasn’t exactly a safe environment for them to grow up in. Having a family would mean making them a larger target for enemies, as well—something that he wouldn’t want to burden them with much less himself.

However, when you and him were relaxing under the shade one warm summer’s day, you thought it was the perfect moment to share your wants to start a family with him. Hearing you explain it the way you did, watching your features growing darker to create a faint pull of seduction was eye-opening. 

Coming to the realization that you saw this as a kink was, quite frankly, off-putting. Yet, you assured him that you truly did want to have a child with him. Holding his hand in yours, the sincerity wrapping your words was enough to convince him—plus, the image of your little one pitter pattering down the hall was one he wanted to make a reality.

He did his best to set time aside for you, but it wasn’t always something he could promise. With your schedules keeping the both of you in dry spells, some improvisation became more and more appealing to him. 

When you were wiping down the counters in the kitchen, the way your hair framed your face and the concentrated expression you were wearing made you that much more beautiful. Seeing you were starting to move on to the dishes, he took you by the hand and pulled you into an embrace.

“Why don’t you let me take care of those later?”

His suave delivery got you nodding slowly. As he swayed you back and forth, brushing your hips together, there was no denying the spark that had been ignited.

With the pools of desire deepening in your eyes, he brought your hand to his lips. Maintaining eye contact as he traced your delicate fingers with light kisses, he kept track of each subtlety that graced your perfect face.

Lacing his fingers with yours, his other hand cupped the small of your back. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You look absolutely ravishing today, my love.”

His hand traveled lower down your back, taking a handful of your backside while pulling you into a searing kiss. As the kiss deepened, your control was quick to wane. With such adoration being passed to each other through parted lips and bated breath, the temptation to take you was all too inviting not to succumb to.

Never breaking your kiss, both of his hands slid up your dress. His fingers gripped the soft skin you kept hidden under the cotton fabric. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties, his hands roamed under your underwear’s surface. Each graze across your ass pulled you deeper into your desires, his teasing touch making your core ache for more.

Pulling away from the kiss, he kept his gaze on yours. As he reached around, pressing you firmly against him, the trembling of your legs was the response he’d been craving.

“It would seem I kept you waiting for too long,” he whispered while soaking his fingers in your throbbing pussy. “My apologies, love.”

As you shook and quaked on his fingers, he lathered your sensitive neck with nips and kisses. 

“Dracule,” you breathed. “Make me a mom…wanna have your baby so badly.” Your love-soaked sobs of devotion struck straight through to his core. 

He placed one more fiery kiss before promptly bending you over the island counter. You eagerly tugged your dress up, presenting the arousal pooling in the fabric.

Wanting to soak in devine display, he planted his hands on your cheeks, gripping them tightly, kneading and shaking them. With one swift motion, he ripped your underwear down to your knees. A trail of your wetness snapped up from it, causing him to revel at the state you were in.

Gripping his cock, he teased your opening to further hear your sweet whimpers before plunging between your sopping lips. Your body readily accepted him, already desperate for more. 

His movements started off steady and deliberate with a clear aim in mind. As he picked up the pace, the sensation of you gripping around him was proving to be a test of his self-control.

“You’re going to make such a beautiful mother.” His words wrapped around you, leaving you breathless.

The harder he slammed into you, the more the chilled countertops adapted to your shared warmth—an offer of a temporary haven to conceive the child you both so desperately wanted.

Your whimpers grew into groans dripping with euphoria, echoing throughout the castle’s kitchen. Clawing at the surface, digging your fingers into it: you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. You gasped and cursed as he hit that sweet spot at just the right moment.

Feeling you clamp around him, pulsating from the velocity of your sudden undoing shattered any remainder of control he thought he still had.

Spilling every ounce of himself into you, the image of the family you were both trying for lingered in your minds. His hands caressed your shaky form, providing a balm for the high you’d just shared.

You eased yourself off of the now warmed counter and pulled him into a kiss which spoke to your unwavering devotion to him.

“Let’s not leave such a long gap next time,” you cupped his face, and he was inclined to agree with you.

[cassandraclare]

Those of you who get my newsletter will already have seen this but here's a snippet from the Matthew novella A Sea Change (some spoilers) — and Matthew on one of the endpapers for the novella book! Doesn't he look grownup?

 

It was a beautiful night.    The promenade deck wended its way around the entirely of the Majestic like a necklace of polished wood and brass fittings. There were few out walking like Matthew, perhaps because it was cool and windy, but Shadowhunters were used to the cold. Besides, the wind blew the clouds away, exposing a sky so full of stars it looked as if a jeweler had hastily stuffed a drawer with handfuls of loose-cut diamonds.    A year ago, Matthew would not have been able to enjoy the path the moonlight made across the water, or the sky afire with white flame. He would have been thinking about his last drink, or where he would find his next one. A frantic circle of pain and shame and longing: one he’d had to trudge invisibly, keeping his secrets from his friends, his family.    Now the weight was off him. He felt light, and sometimes strangely at rest, like a windmill on a windless night. He no longer despised himself, but he did not know his purpose, either. If, he mused, one had to have a purpose at all. Was it not enough to be a Shadowhunter — one among many, but each sworn to protect humanity against demons? To keep peace among mundanes and Downworlders — warlocks, werewolves, the Fair Folk, and vampires?    A year ago, he wasn’t sure he would have so quickly identified Miss Gwendolyn as a vampire, either. But then Matthew spent more time with Downworlders than most Shadowhunters did. Some he was friendly with, but he did not trick himself into thinking that meant they were not dangerous. And a vampire hiding out among humans was cause for concern.    He’d noted the way Gwendolyn hadn’t eaten, and had drunk sparingly of the wine. The translucence of her fingernails. Her pallor, even under a layer of makeup. The veins at her temples — if those were visible, she was hungry. And there had been the odd behavior of Orville Cole. The way he’d stared at her worshipfully. Humans often fell under the spell of vampires, finding them impossible to resist. It was not the same as a thrall relationship, where the vampire fed from the human and in return promised them eternal life, but it was a use of vampire glamour forbidden by the Accords.    Though Gwendolyn had seemed, if anything, annoyed at Cole’s attentions. Perhaps she’d enchanted him without meaning to and wished nothing more than to be rid of him. It was hard to say; Matthew did not get the sense she’d been a vampire very long.    At that moment, lost in thought, Matthew collided with something solid.     “Pardonnez-moi — oh. It’s you.” The young man from dinner, Sylvain Allard, had evolved out of the shadows. He wore a dark summer suit which blended with the night.

[revelboo]

It Had to Be You

Megatron x Reader-spark

• It’s amazing that something so precious can even be taken for granted. It’s just there, that sense of connection. Of Cybertron, a living Cybertron, being so much a part of Megatron that he never thought about it. Didn’t understand the extent. None of them had until it was too late.

• How long had it taken to feel that loss after Cybertron was dead, ravaged by their war? A spark-deep ache that echoed through them all with Cybertron’s fall. They'd all lost something they hadn't even realized could be lost. Cybertron wasn't just home- they needed that connection to their source to stabilize their sparks. Consigned to slowly fade away, growing accustomed to the loss. It becomes an old, familiar hurt. But it doesn't stop the fighting, it only fuels the hate.

• The battlefront has changed so many times. So many worlds suffering just because they arrive. He's lost track of all of the broken worlds. That first world, his, is the only one that mattered. And it had been stolen away by what had once been his friend. His brother. It didn't matter if the universe burns now. He can't stop, not when so much is already lost forever. What's one more world he won't remember?

• It’s so hot you can barely breathe, the wind whipping your hair into your face in little stinging lashes. Overhead, the sun bakes the desert, your truck, and the winding road. You'd never meant to end up here in the Midwest, but its where the money had run out in your bid for the coast. Staying hadn't been the plan, either. Everything had gone a bit sideways. You'd dreamed of the ocean, not scraggly nothingness that still somehow managed to catch on fire every year for sheer spite.

• The semitruck that overtakes you on the narrow ribbon of cracked asphalt is speeding, its engine roaring as it passes you in the left lane. In a hurry to be somewhere else. Something you could envy, but then another car, sleek and red is tearing by. And another. It's the weirdest convoy you've ever seen. A police car, several foreign cars, a couple of sports cars, an ambulance. All hellbent on keeping up with that big semi.

• You're speeding, but not nearly like they are. Maybe it's a shoot for a movie? But where are the cameras? Distracted in you musings, you still hear the screaming over your radio. A roaring shriek that makes your skin crawl, then there are jets tearing by overhead. You lean forward, staring up through the dusty windshield as the three fly by so low it’s frightening. It must be a movie. The nearest airbase is in the next state. Why hadn't they shut the road down to film, though? Unease spills through you as you ease up on the gas.

• They're running. It’s stop them now or they just go to ground again. Megatron’s played this game so many times on so many worlds and he’s so tired of it. Once Prime and his followers take alt modes, they disappear and then strike on their terms. Not this time. His Seekers tear after them, loosing a barrage of missiles as he draws near. There’s an almost giddy satisfaction in watching them swerve and dodge as he drops through the clouds, rotors humming. This form isn’t as cumbersome as his last, but it’s still new. It’s only when he releases his own missiles that he feels it.

• A flicker of something that feels like it should be familiar. Something he’s forgotten, but can almost recall. He sees it then, the truck swerving and bouncing off the road. Not an Autobot, but one of the squishy, little natives in the wrong place at the wrong time. Irrelevant, short-lived insects.

• Except, somehow he can feel their biofield pulsing in panic as they go careening. And his own spark constricts with something frightening and hungry. Responding. He’s aware of his Seekers engaging the Autobots. Transforming as he lands, he’s pulled toward that truck as it runs into the rocks and nearly goes sideways. There’s a battle around him, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside him. His spark aches. The metal roof of the truck comes away under his fingers as he stares at the little creature struggling with some sort of restraint. It’s biofield. His spark. He knows this feeling even if he can’t put a servo on it. It hurts. He needs it even as it hurts so much.

• There’s a monster. You can’t breathe and there’s a monster staring down at you from where the roof of your truck’s cab had been five minutes ago. Clawing at the seatbelt, it finally comes loose and you throw yourself at the door handle. Away. That’s all you can think of. Getting away. Things are exploding, there’s smoke, and yelling. And monsters with glowing red eyes. You fall out of the truck when the door opens and that thing is reaching for you, huge fingers snagging you as you finally catch your breath just so you can scream.

Next

[aleskie]

HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.” 

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him. 

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours. 

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back. 

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here. 

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but…what if…I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world. 

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now. 

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is. 

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall. 

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first. 

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside. 

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met. 

Everything falls exactly into place.

[nevernonline]

✧.* the pages of us; jww

synopsis: Wonwoo, a quiet and introspective writer, stumbles upon The Reading Nook, a small, tucked-away bookstore owned by Y/N, a passionate book lover. their shared love for literature draws them together, but the secrets hidden within the bookstore’s collection may hold the key to both their futures.

paring: wonwoo x fem! reader. 

genre:strangers2whatever  

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol), death of a parent.

word count: 15k

content: . non-idol idolings

note: non rlly edited prob weird typos, xo. 

The autumn wind tugged at Wonwoo’s jacket as he walked aimlessly through unfamiliar streets. The world around him buzzed—cars honking, people chattering—but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in unwritten sentences and half-formed ideas. When he saw it, he stopped.  

Nestled between a bakery and a flower shop was a small bookstore, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze: The Reading Nook. The warm glow spilling through the windows beckoned him, promising sanctuary. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.  

A bell jingled as the door closed behind him, and the city’s noise melted away, replaced by the soft hum of jazz. The scent of aged paper and faintly spiced tea wrapped around him like a blanket. The space was a labyrinth of towering shelves, cozy armchairs, and scattered stacks of books.  

Behind the counter, a young woman sat perched on a stool, engrossed in a book. Her oversized sweater hung loosely around her frame, and a pencil peeked out from behind her ear. A steaming mug sat within arm’s reach. At the sound of the bell, she looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s.  

“Lost?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.  

He hesitated. “Uh, No. Not really. I just needed a change of scenery.”  

Her smile widened. “Well, welcome to The Nook. Are you looking for something specific, or do you prefer letting the books choose you?”  

He shrugged, glancing around. “I’m not sure. Inspiration, maybe. I’m a writer. Or trying to be.”  

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “A creative soul, then. I love to see it.” She closed her book with a soft thud and hopped off the stool. “Lucky for you, this place has a knack for unsticking writers. Come on.”  

She led him past rows of novels and poetry collections to a corner that seemed quieter, almost sacred. Pulling a worn book from the shelf, she handed it to him. “This one’s a personal favorite. It might be just what you need.”  

Wonwoo flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing the edges of faded paper. “Thanks,” he murmured, though something on a lower shelf caught his eye.  

“What’s that section?” he asked, pointing to a small, tucked-away shelf labeled Oddities & Curiosities.  

Her laugh was soft and warm. “Oh, that’s the fun shelf. A collection of random finds—some rare, some downright strange. Wait here.”  

She crouched down and pulled out a slim, weathered journal bound in dark leather. She placed it in his hands, her expression thoughtful. “This is special. It’s been here forever. People call it the Muse’s Journal. Writers seem to like it. It’s basically a sacred text.”  

The leather was cracked with age, the pages filled with scribbled notes, odd sketches, and cryptic messages in faded ink. One phrase in particular caught his eye:  

“Every ending is a beginning in disguise.”  

He ran his fingers over the words, as if they might dissolve. “This almost feels like it’s meant for me.”  

She watched him, her gaze softening. “It tends to have that effect.”  

Their eyes met for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then she broke the spell, gesturing toward the counter.  

“Let me ring those up for you.”  

At the counter, she slipped a hand-drawn bookmark into the journal before sliding it toward him. “Consider this a welcome gift,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger—I want to hear how it goes.”  

He nodded, tucking the journal and bookmark into his bag. “Thanks... Y/N,” he said, glancing at the nameplate on the counter.  

The bell jingled as he stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Inside, Y/N lingered by the counter, her fingers brushing the edge of her mug. She found herself wondering about the quiet writer who had wandered in, carrying stories he wasn’t ready to tell.  

Wonwoo’s apartment was small and spare, its corners cluttered with books and scattered drafts of his unfinished manuscript. The city hummed outside, but within the four walls, it was quiet—too quiet. He dropped his bag onto the table and pulled out the journal Y/N had given him, the leather cover cool under his fingertips.

He opened it carefully, the faint scent of old paper filling the room. The handwriting inside was uneven, a mix of bold, confident strokes and faint, hurried scrawls. Sketches of stars and swirling patterns filled the margins, and snippets of phrases seemed to leap from the pages:

To find the ending, look within.

Time folds like pages.

You already know the answer.

Near the middle, he found a folded scrap of paper tucked between the pages. Carefully, he opened it. Written in the same hurried scrawl were the words:

The key lies where the light breaks.

Wonwoo tilted his head, puzzled. It felt like a puzzle piece, disconnected but tantalizing. He sat down at his desk, pulled out his laptop, and opened the document containing his manuscript. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

For weeks, he’d stared at this screen, unable to write. But now, the words in the journal buzzed in his mind, stirring something deep within. He scrolled to the last paragraph of his story and began to type. Slowly at first, then faster.

The narrative began to flow, his characters moving through the scenes as if they’d been waiting for him to find his way back. The world outside faded as Wonwoo lost himself in the story.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Wonwoo stepped into The Reading Nook for the second time. It was raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that dampened everything except his resolve to return. He shook off his umbrella by the door and glanced toward the counter, where Y/N was scribbling something in a notebook.

She looked up at the sound of the bell, her expression shifting from focus to a faint smile. “Back already?”

Wonwoo shrugged, setting his messenger bag on the counter. “The journal,” he said simply, pulling it out and sliding it toward her. “It’s... strange, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like it knows what I need to hear before I do.”

Y/N’s fingers brushed the journal as she picked it up, her movements slow, almost reverent. “That’s what people say about it,” she replied, her tone measured. “It has a way of finding the right person.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something in her voice—hesitation, or maybe unease. “You’ve had it for a long time, haven’t you?”

She nodded, her gaze lowering to the journal. “It was one of my mother’s finds. She used to say every book had a soul, but this one...” She trailed off, her expression softening as if caught in a memory. “This one feels alive.”

Wonwoo hesitated before asking, “And the notes inside? Like this one.” He unfolded the small slip of paper he’d found tucked in the pages. “What’s ‘where the light breaks’ supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Y/N’s guard slipped, her brows knitting together in a way that told him she knew more than she was letting on. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, flashing him an enigmatic smile. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Writers love their metaphors, don’t they?”

Wonwoo gave a small laugh, though her deflection left him unconvinced. He decided not to press further, sensing that whatever secrets she was guarding weren’t ready to be shared.

“Mind if I stick around for a while?” he asked, changing the subject.

Y/N gestured toward the back of the store. “Go ahead. There’s some nice spots in the back corner by the staircase.”

Wonwoo found his favorite armchair nestled in the back corner of the store, near a shelf overflowing with worn poetry collections and dog-eared philosophy books. He placed the journal on the small table beside him and opened his laptop.

As the hours slipped by, the steady rhythm of rain against the windows created the perfect backdrop for writing. Y/N occasionally passed by, carrying stacks of books to reshelve or pausing to check in on him.

“How’s it going?” she asked during one of her rounds.

He glanced up, smiling faintly. “Better. The words are coming easier today. It’s strange—I haven’t felt this focused in weeks.”

Y/N arched a brow, setting a mug of tea on the table beside him. “Maybe it’s the bookstore’s magic,” she said lightly, though there was a touch of sincerity in her voice.

“Maybe,” he agreed, taking a sip of the tea. It was spiced and warm, the perfect antidote to the cold rain outside.

Y/N leaned against the edge of the shelf, her arms crossed. “What’s the problem anyway? Plot? Characters? Dialogue?”

“All of it,” he replied, gesturing helplessly at the screen. “It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Want to try an exercise? Something I do when I’m in a creative rut?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “You write?”

“I dabble,” she said with a shrug, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Mostly for myself. But the exercise works. Close your laptop.”

He hesitated but followed her instruction, snapping the laptop shut.

“Now,” she continued, “pick a random object in the room. Anything.”

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing on an antique globe sitting on a nearby shelf. “That.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. “Tell me about the person who owns it. What do they do? Where have they been? What’s their story?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the prompt. Slowly, he began to speak. “They’re... an explorer. Someone who’s seen the world but is always looking for something they can’t quite find. Maybe it’s a place, or a feeling, or—”

“A person,” Y/N interjected softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice quieter. “A person.”

They shared a small smile before Y/N stood, brushing her hands on her sweater. “See? You’re not blocked—you’re just overthinking. Write like that, without the pressure.”

Their conversations began to spill beyond writing. That evening, after the store had emptied out, Y/N brought over not two mugs of tea this time, but two glasses of whiskey chilled with a thick cut ball of ice and sat beside him in his corner.

“What’s your story, Wonwoo?” she asked, breaking the companionable silence.

“My story?” he repeated, taking a sip of the drink to buy time.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “You know all these characters and worlds, but what about you? What made you want to write in the first place?”

He hesitated, her question striking a chord. “I think It’s the only way I know how to make sense of things. Of people. Writing lets me put the world into words, even when it doesn’t make sense in real life.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

He gave her a shy smile, unused to such direct praise. “What about you? Why books?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the shelves around them. “Books were my escape growing up. My mom used to say a good story could take you anywhere, even if you couldn’t leave where you were. She started this place so people could find those stories.”

“Did you always know you’d take over?” Wonwoo asked.

“Not at first,” she admitted, tracing the rim of her mug. “I thought I’d do something else, but when she passed, I realized how much of her was here. Keeping the store alive felt like keeping her alive, too.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and Wonwoo reached out instinctively, his hand brushing hers. “She’d be proud of you,” he said gently.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot. To creative breakthroughs,” she said, raising her glass.

“And to mysterious journals,” Wonwoo added with a smirk, clinking his glass against hers.

The whiskey was smooth, warming him from the inside out. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

“Once,” Y/N said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “a guy came in asking if we sold books printed on edible paper. Said he wanted to consume knowledge literally.”

Wonwoo laughed, nearly spilling his drink. “Did you find him anything?”

“I tried to sell him a cookbook. He wasn’t amused.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “This place must be full of stories.”

“It is,” she said, her voice softer now. “But not just the ones on the shelves.”

“What do you mean? 

Y/n smiled, shaking her head slightly. “I feel like all of my core memories were here. WIth my mom. With customers just like you, I read about sex for the first time here with my friends just spending our day giggling at the words, I had my birthday parties here, all of that. When I was younger I thought there was something hiding beneath the walls of the bookshelves like a treasure hunt. I even drew my own map, all of it. It’s just something special.” 

Wonwoo’s grin softened as he leaned back in his chair, his glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. He took in Y/N’s wistful expression, the way her eyes shimmered with nostalgia. “That’s really beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It sounds like this place has always been more than just a bookstore for you.”  

Y/N laughed softly, a touch of self-consciousness in her tone. “Yeah, it’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Most people probably see it as just another store, but to me…” She gestured around them, her hand sweeping across the shelves and corners bathed in golden light. “It’s everything. A home, a memory box, a time machine, even.”  

“You made a treasure map?” he asked, his lips twitching into an amused smile.  

“Oh, yeah,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing. She sat up straighter, miming the act of unrolling a scroll. “I was convinced there were secret passages hidden in the walls or, like, a chest buried under the floorboards. I even roped my friends into searching for hours. We’d sneak around with flashlights after the store closed, trying not to get caught.”  

“Did you ever find anything?” Wonwoo asked, playing along.  

She smiled mischievously. “Well, I did find an old tin box stuffed behind a loose board in the back. Turned out to be a stash of my mom’s notes and doodles from when she was designing the store. She’d drawn all these little floor plans and written these whimsical ideas for themed sections. It was like finding a treasure, but instead of gold, it was her imagination.”  

Wonwoo’s brows lifted in surprise. “That sounds even better than gold.”  

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice softer now. “It was.”  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The store felt alive around them, the silence filled with the weight of its stories. Wonwoo glanced toward the rows of shelves, his gaze lingering on their uneven, timeworn edges.  

“You’ve spent your whole life here,” he said finally, his tone contemplative. “It’s like you and this place are woven together.”  

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”  

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You’ve built something that carries so much meaning—not just for you, but for everyone who steps through that door. I mean, look at me. I was completely lost, and this place pulled me in. It’s rare.”  

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You really think so?”  

He nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I think your mom would be proud of what you’ve done with it.”  

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass for a moment, her gaze dropping to the amber liquid inside. “That means a lot.”  

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “What about you, though? What’s your version of a treasure map? Did you ever have a place like this growing up?”  

Wonwoo paused, considering the question. “Not really. My family moved around a lot, so I never had the chance to get attached to any one place. But I guess that’s why books became so important to me. They were the only constant.”  

“Did you have a favorite?”  

He chuckled, the sound soft and low. “I had a beat-up copy of The Little Prince. I carried it everywhere. The pages were falling out by the time I hit high school, but I couldn’t let it go. It felt like it understood me in a way nothing else did.”  

Y/N smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That’s one of my favorites too. It’s so simple, but it stays with you.”  

“Yeah,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “I think that’s what I want my writing to do. I want someone to pick up my book and feel the way I felt holding that one—like it’s speaking directly to them.”  

“That’s a pretty amazing goal,” Y/N said. “And if your manuscript is anything like the pieces I’ve seen you scribble on napkins around here, you’re on your way.”  

Wonwoo laughed, feeling his cheeks heat under her praise. “Well, that’s high praise coming from the owner of the coziest, most magical bookstore in the city.”  

“Oh, we’re the only magical bookstore in the city,” Y/N quipped, raising her glass in mock toast.  

“Fair enough,” Wonwoo said, clinking his glass against hers again.  

The night deepened, the whiskey bottle slowly emptying as their conversation wandered from books to music, from childhood memories to dreams they hadn’t dared to share before. The air between them grew warmer, the initial reserve giving way to an easy intimacy.  

By the time the clock struck midnight, Y/N found herself leaning against the arm of her chair, her head resting on her hand as she watched Wonwoo animatedly describe a scene from his favorite film. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with someone.  

Wonwoo caught her gaze and paused mid-sentence, his smile softening. “What?”  

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just you talk about stories like they’re alive. It’s nice.”  

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a quiet sincerity, he said, “I think it’s because they are. And you—you’re part of why I’m starting to believe in them again.”  

Her breath caught, the weight of his words settling in her chest. For once, she didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled, the corners of her lips curving upward as warmth spread through her.  

Outside, the rain began again, tapping lightly against the windows, as if the universe itself were trying to write the next chapter of their story.  

The clock on the wall chimed softly, breaking the stillness. Y/N glanced at it and sighed. “We should probably call it a night. I have to open up in the morning.”

“Right,” Wonwoo said, though he was reluctant to leave.

As he gathered his things, Y/N walked him to the door, her steps slow.

“Thanks for staying,” she said as he shrugged on his coat.

“Thanks for the whiskey,” he replied with a smile. “And for letting me hijack your bookstore every day.”

“You’re not hijacking it,” she said, her tone warm. “You’re just  adding to its story.”

He paused, her words settling in his chest like a quiet truth. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

As he stepped out into the cool night, he couldn’t help but glance back at the softly glowing windows of The Reading Nook, already looking forward to returning to its quiet magic—and to her—tomorrow.

The morning at the store was unusually busy, with regulars and passersby drifting in and out. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional scrape of chairs filled the air, blending with the soft jazz playing from the speakers. Y/N moved easily between the shelves, offering recommendations and ringing up purchases with her usual calm efficiency.

Wonwoo arrived just past noon, carrying the journal tucked under his arm. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the cheerful jingle of the entry bell. Y/N, stationed behind the counter, looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“Back so soon?” she teased.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, returning her smile as he made his way to his usual spot in the back corner.

But today, instead of pulling out his laptop, Wonwoo placed the journal on the table and opened it. His fingers traced the faint ink of the unfamiliar handwriting as he flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

After the rush died down, Y/N joined him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. She placed one beside him and leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve been staring at that thing all week,” she said, nodding at the journal. “What the hell is so fascinating about it?”

Wonwoo looked up, his expression thoughtful. “It’s strange. The more I read it, the more it feels like the writer was leaving clues for someone, almost like they wanted to be found.”

Y/N’s curiosity piqued. She pulled up a chair, sitting across from him. “What kind of clues?”

He turned the journal toward her, pointing to a section where a paragraph had been underlined. “Here, for example. The writer talks about a ‘hidden heart’ beneath the shelves, something meant to outlast them. And here—” He flipped a few pages, showing her a sketch of what looked like a rough map. “This is a drawing of something, but I can’t figure out what. It’s like they were mapping out a part of the store.”

Y/N leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “Let me see that.” She studied the map, her fingers brushing the edges of the page. The sketch showed a series of lines and rectangles, vaguely resembling the layout of the bookstore, with an X marked near the back wall.

“That’s... odd,” she murmured. “It does look like the store, but this corner doesn’t exist anymore. My mom remodeled years ago to add the café section.”

“Could there be something behind the wall?” Wonwoo asked, his voice low with intrigue.

Y/N bit her lip, considering the possibility. “Maybe. But I don’t remember her ever mentioning anything like that.”

They spent the next hour poring over the journal together, comparing the map to the store’s current layout and trying to piece together the cryptic notes scribbled in the margins. Phrases like “For the dreamers who wander” and “Seek, and you will find” were scattered throughout, written in a looping, elegant script.

“This feels like something out of one of your novels,” Y/N said, glancing at Wonwoo with a small smile.

“I know,” he replied, his excitement evident. “It’s almost too perfect.”

“But if there’s something hidden, why hasn’t anyone found it before?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” he said, standing abruptly. “Where’s that back corner? The one your mom remodeled?”

Y/N hesitated but stood as well, leading him toward the café section. They stopped in front of the wall that now housed shelves of cookbooks and travel guides.

“This is where the X would be,” she said, gesturing toward space. “But if there’s anything back there, it’s been sealed up for years.”

Wonwoo ran his hand along the wooden paneling, his expression thoughtful. “It wouldn’t hurt to check, right?”

Y/N disappeared into the back room and returned with a small step ladder and a flashlight. Together, they began carefully inspecting the wall, knocking on the panels and listening for any hollow sounds.

“Here,” Wonwoo said after a few minutes, tapping on a spot near the floor. The sound was noticeably different, dull and hollow compared to the rest.

Y/N crouched beside him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “You think that’s it?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They worked together to carefully remove the lower panel, revealing a small recess hidden behind it. Inside was an old, dust-covered wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Oh my God.”

Wonwoo reached in and gently pulled the box out, placing it on the floor between them. It was heavy, the wood worn and etched with faint carvings of stars and vines. A small latch held it shut.

“Do we open it?” he asked, looking at Y/N.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly. “We have to.”

As Y/N stared at the box and its mysterious contents, a nagging thought began to creep into her mind. She looked at the map again, then at the journal, then at Wonwoo. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Wait a second,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” she gestured at the journal and the box, her voice rising slightly. “This whole... treasure hunt. It’s because I told you about my stupid childhood treasure map last night, isn’t it?”

“What? No fucking way.” Wonwoo said, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Y/N stood and crossed her arms, glaring down at him. “It’s just too convenient, okay? You show up here with this mystical, cryptic journal I gave you, right after I tell you how I used to dream about finding treasure in this store. And now, look. We’ve ‘found’ a hidden box in the wall? What are the odds of that, Wonwoo?”

Her words hit him like a slap, and he rose to his feet, looking genuinely hurt. “Y/N, I’m not making this up,” he said, his voice steady but defensive. “Why would I even go through all this trouble just to mess with you?”

“I don’t know.” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re a writer. Maybe you thought it’d be funny, or it’d give you material for your next book?”

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You really think I’d fake something like this? For what? A laugh?”

Y/N hesitated, suddenly unsure. Her anger fizzled as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and guilt. She bit her lip and glanced at the box again, its contents undeniably real.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “It just seems too perfect. Like something out of one of your stories.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I get it. It does feel like something out of a book. But that’s what makes it so amazing, Y/N. It’s real.”

She looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all she saw was sincerity—the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice small. “It’s just…this place means a lot to me, and I guess I got defensive.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I get why you’d be suspicious. But I promise, this journal, this box—it’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and sat back down, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. “I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re not exactly the pranking type.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replied, his lips quivering into a small smile. “Although now I kind of wish I had thought of this. It’s a pretty great story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Inside the box, they found an assortment of items: a stack of faded letters tied with a silk ribbon, a small leather pouch filled with pressed flowers, and a single gold key. At the very bottom was a handwritten note on yellowed paper.

Y/N picked it up and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script.

“For those who cherish stories: The heart of the dreamer lies not in the treasure itself, but in the act of seeking. May you find what you didn’t know you were looking for.”

The note was signed with her mother’s name.

Y/N stared at the signature, her throat tightening. “She left this here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Wonwoo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She wanted you to find it.”

Y/N blinked back tears and looked at him. “But what does it mean? The key, the letters... What was she trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo said softly, “but I think we’re only just beginning to understand the story.”

They sat there in the quiet of the bookstore, the mystery unfolding around them like the opening pages of a long-lost novel. The key glinted in the soft light, a silent invitation to continue the journey.

After a moment of silence, she reached for the journal again, turning it over in her hands. “So... if you’re not messing with me, what do you think this all means? The key, the letters, the note...”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo admitted, crouching beside the box once more. “But I think your mom was trying to leave you something—not just in the literal sense, but maybe a piece of herself. Maybe she wanted you to find it when you were ready.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her fingers brushing over the note. “She always did love a good mystery.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a mystery writer here to help,” Wonwoo said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “All right, detective. Where do we start?”

Wonwoo held up the gold key, letting it catch the light. “With this,” he said simply.

The gold key gleamed under the soft light of the bookstore, its intricate details catching Y/N’s eye. It was old, heavy in Wonwoo’s hand as he turned it over thoughtfully.

“So,” he began, “any idea what this might go to?”

Y/N shook her head, her brow furrowing as she stared at the key. “Not really. It’s not from the register, or the front door, and it doesn’t look like any of the locks I’ve seen around here. It’s  too decorative.”

Wonwoo placed the key on the table, its metallic clink filling the quiet space. “Could it belong to something in the back room? Maybe there’s an old chest or cabinet hidden back there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “There is an old storage cabinet in the back, but it’s just filled with leftover inventory and random junk. I don’t think it even has a lock anymore.”

“Well,” Wonwoo said, standing up and grabbing the key, “let’s find out.”

The two of them moved through the store, weaving between shelves and heading toward the back room. Y/N flipped on the overhead light, revealing a space cluttered with boxes, stacks of old books, and various odds and ends that had accumulated over the years.

“There,” she said, pointing toward a tall wooden cabinet tucked against the far wall. It was scratched and weathered, its once-polished surface dulled by time.

Wonwoo approached it, crouching to examine the hardware. “Looks like it used to have a keyhole, but it’s been replaced with this newer latch.” He stood and glanced around the room. “What else could it fit?”

Y/N frowned, scanning the room. Then her gaze landed on an old wooden chest half-buried beneath a pile of dusty books. Her heart skipped a beat. “That,” she said, gesturing toward it. “It used to belong to my mom. I haven’t opened it in years.”

Wonwoo crossed to the chest and carefully cleared the books away, revealing its ornate design. It was carved with swirling patterns and faint images of stars and moons—details that mirrored the etchings on the box they’d found.

“This has to be it,” he said, his voice low with anticipation.

Y/N knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she handed him the key. “Go ahead,” she said.

Wonwoo hesitated for a moment, then slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly, turning with a satisfying click. The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the chest’s contents:

Inside was a collection of items that seemed to have been frozen in time. There were stacks of faded photographs, a leather-bound notebook, and a small music box. Among them was a sealed envelope with Y/N’s name written in her mother’s handwriting.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing the paper lightly before pulling it free.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked gently.

She nodded, though her hands were shaking as she opened the letter.

The letter was written in the same elegant script as the note they’d found earlier. Y/N’s eyes scanned the words, her voice barely above a whisper as she read aloud:

"My dearest Y/N, If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the box and followed the clues. I always knew you would—your curiosity has always been your greatest strength. This store is more than a place for books; it’s a sanctuary for dreamers, just like you.

The chest holds pieces of my story, but it’s also a reminder to create your own. The key isn’t just for unlocking the past—it’s for opening doors to the future. Keep seeking, keep dreaming, and never stop believing in the magic of stories.

With all my love, Mom.”

Y/N’s voice broke as she finished the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, laughing softly. “She always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Wonwoo smiled, his own eyes glassy. “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said, clutching the letter to her chest. “And somehow, she still is.”

They spent the next hour carefully going through the chest. The photographs captured moments from her mother’s life: her standing in front of the bookstore on opening day, laughing with friends at a party, and sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by books, her smile bright and full of life.

The notebook turned out to be her mother’s journal, filled with musings about the store, her dreams for its future, and even sketches of book displays.

But it was the music box that brought the most unexpected surprise. When Y/N wound it up and opened it, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. Beneath the mechanism was a small, folded piece of paper.

Wonwoo picked it up and unfolded it, his brow furrowing. “It’s another map,” he said, holding it up for Y/N to see.

This one was simpler than the first, but it clearly pointed to a specific section of the bookstore: the poetry aisle.

“Of course,” Y/N said, shaking her head with a teary laugh. “That was her favorite section.”

“Looks like the treasure hunt isn’t over,” Wonwoo said, his smile growing.

Y/N glanced at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “This is the best story I’ve been part of in years.”

Y/N took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Then let’s go see what else she left behind.”

The poetry section was nestled in one of the coziest corners of The Reading Nook, lit by warm, golden light from an antique floor lamp. The shelves were crammed with well-loved volumes, their spines a kaleidoscope of faded colors. Y/N and Wonwoo crouched together, studying the map they’d found in the music box.

“It’s pointing right here,” Wonwoo said, tapping a spot on the map that corresponded to a low shelf at the far end of the aisle. “You think there’s something hidden behind the books?”

“Only one way to find out,” Y/N murmured, already reaching for a stack of slim poetry collections. She began pulling them off the shelf, careful not to damage the fragile covers.

Wonwoo joined in, working methodically as the gap widened. Behind the books, they found an old wooden panel, its edges rough and worn. A faint carving was etched into the wood—a heart with an arrow through it.

Y/N ran her fingers over the carving, her pulse quickening. “This has to be it,” she whispered. “It matches the note in the journal about the ‘hidden heart.’”

“Is it loose?” Wonwoo asked, leaning in closer.

Y/N pushed gently on the panel, and it gave way with a soft creak, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a folded piece of parchment and a brass locket.

She carefully picked up the parchment and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the page. Before she could fully process what it said, the jingle of the front doorbell shattered the quiet.

“Y/N?”

The voice was sharp, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. Y/N froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see her estranged aunt, Evelyn, standing at the entrance to the poetry aisle. Evelyn was tall and impeccably dressed, her tailored coat and polished heels making her look as though she belonged in a boardroom rather than a cozy bookstore.

“Who’s that?” Wonwoo asked softly, sensing her sudden tension.  

“My aunt,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight. “And she doesn’t visit for small talk.”  

Footsteps echoed down the aisle before Evelyn appeared, impeccably dressed in a dark tailored coat and stilettos that clicked sharply against the hardwood. Behind her trailed a man in a crisp gray suit, carrying a leather briefcase. His expression was unreadable but efficient, like a man who had won many battles in court.  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze fell immediately on Y/N, then flicked to Wonwoo and the cleared shelf. Her lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile. “Well, this is quite the scene,” she said. “Still playing your little bookstore games, I see.”  

“What do you want, Evelyn?” Y/N asked, her tone defensive as she stood, tucking the parchment behind her back. Wonwoo quickly picked up the locket and slipped it into his pocket, his movements discreet.  

Evelyn gestured to the man beside her. “This is Mr. Calloway, my attorney. I brought him here to settle some legal matters concerning this store.”  

“Legal matters?” Y/N repeated, her stomach knotting.  

“Correct,” Calloway said, his voice as polished as his appearance. He opened his briefcase and produced a stack of papers, handing them to Evelyn.  

Evelyn stepped closer, holding the documents out to Y/N. “This property is not yours outright, dear. It belongs to the family, and I’m here to claim my share. Effective immediately, I’ll be taking ownership and moving forward with plans to redevelop this space into something profitable. The bookstore has had its time.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she refused to take the papers. “You can’t just walk in here and take the store. My mother left it to me.”  

Evelyn gave a small, cold laugh. “Your mother left behind a mess. Do you have any idea how much debt this place is in? How much is it bleeding every month? I’m doing you a favor, Y/N. You can’t save this place—it’s a relic.”  

Wonwoo stepped forward, his expression calm but his voice firm. “With all due respect, ma’am, this place is more than just a business. It’s a community hub, a home for people who need it.”  

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to him, her disdain palpable. “And who, exactly, are you?”  

“Wonwoo,” he said, offering a polite nod. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Enough to know how much this store means—not just to Y/N, but to the people who come here.”  

“Another dreamer,” Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. She turned back to Y/N, her expression hardening. “You can surround yourself with all the idealists you want, but it won’t change the facts. I’ve already spoken to the developers, and they’re eager to get started. Your little bookstore is standing in the way of progress.”  

“I won’t let you do this,” Y/N said, her voice trembling but resolute. “This place isn’t just mine—it’s my mother’s legacy. You have no right to take it away.”  

Calloway cleared his throat, his tone measured. “Legally speaking, your aunt does have a valid claim. Without a specific stipulation in the will granting you sole ownership, the property reverts to shared family rights. Evelyn has chosen to exercise her claim.”  

Y/N’s heart sank, but before she could respond, Wonwoo stepped in again. “That’s interesting,” he said, his voice smooth. “Because we just found something that might make things a bit more complicated.”  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze locked onto him. “What do you mean?”  

Wonwoo shot Y/N a subtle glance, silently urging her to trust him. “I mean, Y/N’s mom left behind a lot of things in this store. Memories, letters, documents. Who’s to say there isn’t something legally binding among them?”  

Y/N caught on quickly, her hand tightening around the parchment. “That’s right. My mom was meticulous—she wouldn’t leave this place unprotected.”  

Evelyn’s confident facade faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “If you have something concrete, I suggest you present it to a lawyer,” she said coolly. “Until then, this store is mine to do with as I please.”  

Wonwoo moved to stand between Y/N and Evelyn, his posture calm but firm. “You’re not taking anything today. Not until we’ve had a chance to go through everything and get legal advice of our own.”  

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can stall me?”  

“Not stall,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect what’s rightfully hers until the truth comes out.”  

There was a tense silence before Evelyn sighed dramatically, turning on her heel. “You have 48 hours to present proof. After that, I’m filing the necessary paperwork to take control.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze icy. “Don’t waste my time.”  

She strode out of the store, Calloway following closely behind. The doorbell jingled sharply as it shut behind them.  

Y/N slumped against the shelf, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “She’s serious,” she whispered. “She’s really going to try to take this place.”  

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said firmly, pulling the locket from his pocket. “Because we’re going to find out exactly what your mom left behind. And if there’s even the slightest chance this parchment can stop her, we’re using it.”  

Y/N straightened, her resolve hardening. “She’s not taking this store, Wonwoo. I don’t care what it takes.”  

He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s figure out what else your mom wanted you to find.”  

Together, they returned to the hidden compartment, determined to uncover the secrets that would save the bookstore.

The tension from Evelyn’s visit still lingered as Y/N and Wonwoo returned to the poetry aisle. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as she gently unfolded the parchment again, staring at her mother’s handwriting. Wonwoo sat beside her, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.  

The note was more cryptic than her mother’s previous messages, written in elegant script:  

"Look for the words that open doors.  

Find the book where the stars meet the sea,  

And inside, you’ll discover the key to everything."

Y/N exhaled sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. “What does that even mean? ‘The stars meet the sea’? It sounds like a riddle.”  

“It is a riddle,” Wonwoo said thoughtfully, his brows furrowing as he studied the note. “But it’s also specific. Think about your mom—did she ever talk about a particular book that had something to do with stars or the sea?”  

Y/N hesitated, her eyes scanning the shelves around them. “She loved poetry. And she had a way of finding meaning in everything. If this is a reference to a book, it’s probably one she treasured.”  

Wonwoo stood and began browsing the nearby shelves, running his fingers along the spines. “What about the ones she kept separate from the main inventory? Rare or personal copies?”  

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “The display case in the main room. She kept her favorite editions there.”  

The two of them hurried to the display case, a vintage piece with glass panels that housed a carefully curated selection of books. Y/N unlocked it with a small key she kept on her necklace, the faint scent of old paper wafting out as she opened it.  

“‘Stars meet the sea,’” Wonwoo murmured, scanning the titles. His gaze stopped on a slim, navy-blue book with a constellation design embossed on the cover. Where the Stars Meet the Sea, it read.  

“This has to be it,” Y/N said, reaching for the book. She opened it slowly, her breath catching as something fluttered out from between the pages and landed on the glass.  

It was a folded piece of parchment, similar to the others, but heavier this time. Wonwoo picked it up carefully, unfolding it to reveal a sketched blueprint.  

“This... is a layout of the store,” Y/N said, her eyes widening as she recognized the familiar shape of the rooms and shelves.  

Wonwoo pointed to a section marked with an X near the back of the building. “What’s here?”  

“That’s the storage closet,” Y/N said, frowning. “I’ve been there a million times. There’s nothing special about it.”  

“Maybe there is,” Wonwoo said, already heading toward the back. “Your mom clearly wanted you to find something, and I don’t think she’d send you on a wild goose chase.”  

The storage closet was cramped and cluttered, packed with old boxes and supplies. Y/N and Wonwoo worked side by side to clear the space, uncovering the back wall. That’s when Y/N noticed something strange: a faint seam in the wood paneling.  

“There’s something behind this,” she said, brushing dust off the edges.  

Wonwoo grabbed a nearby screwdriver and began prying the panel loose. It took some effort, but eventually, the panel gave way, revealing a hidden compartment built into the wall.  

Inside was a small wooden box, secured with a delicate latch. Y/N’s hands trembled as she unfastened it, revealing a stack of letters tied with a ribbon, along with an aged leather journal.  

“These are my mom’s,” Y/N said, her voice breaking. She picked up the journal, flipping through the pages filled with her mother’s familiar handwriting. “It’s... it’s like she’s talking to me again.”  

Wonwoo watched her quietly for a moment before speaking. “I think we should take a break. You’ve been through a lot today.”  

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “But there’s so much to—”  

“Later,” Wonwoo interrupted gently. “Let’s take a minute to breathe. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ll figure it out together.”  

She hesitated but eventually nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”  

Back in the main room, Wonwoo took it upon himself to lighten the mood. While Y/N sat curled up in one of the armchairs, he went to the small kitchenette in the back of the store. A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine and a plate of crackers and cheese he had found in the pantry.  

“Wine and snacks,” he said with a soft smile, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s not much, but I figured you could use something to take the edge off.”  

Y/N laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”  

“I wanted to,” he said simply, handing her a glass.  

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. The quiet hum of the store enveloped them, warm and comforting.  

“This place really is magic,” Wonwoo said eventually, his voice soft.  

Y/N glanced at him, her heart tugging at the sincerity in his expression. “You think so?”  

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “It’s not just the books or the memories. It’s you. The way you talk about this place, the way you care about it... it’s inspiring.”  

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, her fingers tightening around her glass. “You’re just saying that.”  

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “You make this place what it is, Y/N. Your mom might have started it, but you’ve kept its heart alive. And I think that’s worth fighting for.”  

Her throat tightened at his words, and she managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything.”  

“Always,” he said, his voice low and steady.  

For the first time that day, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Whatever secrets her mother had left behind—and whatever battles lay ahead—she wasn’t facing them alone. And that made all the difference.  

Y/N leaned back in the armchair, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. The dim light of the bookstore wrapped around them like a cocoon, soft and intimate. But the weight of the day still clung to her like a second skin—her aunt’s cruel words, the lawyer’s smug expression, the constant fear of losing everything.  

She sighed, staring into her glass. “I don’t get it. How can someone like Evelyn have the same blood as my mom? They’re polar opposites. My mom gave her life to this place, and Evelyn just... wants to turn it into concrete and drywall.”  

Wonwoo, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the armchair, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Your aunt is  something else, huh?” he said carefully, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, startled by his tone. “That’s putting it lightly.”  

“No, seriously,” he said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She stormed in here like a villain from some soap opera. All she was missing was a dramatic evil laugh and a pet cat to stroke menacingly.”  

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Stop it. She’s bad, but she’s not a cartoon character.”  

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo countered, his grin widening. “She walked in here with her heels clicking like a countdown to doom and a lawyer who looked like he was ready to auction off your soul. I half-expected her to twirl her hair and say, ‘You’ll rue the day you crossed Evelyn!’”  

That did it. Y/N burst out laughing, the tension in her chest loosening with every chuckle. She doubled over slightly, her glass wobbling in her hand.  

Wonwoo sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Laughter’s good for stress. And let’s face it, your aunt is absurd enough to be a villain in one of those cheesy romance novels you keep tucked in the corner.”  

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “You’re not wrong. She’s dramatic enough to fit right in.”  

“And her lawyer?” Wonwoo continued, warming to the subject. “He had the personality of an empty notebook. No offense to him, but I’ve seen potted plants with more charisma.”  

She laughed harder, almost spilling her wine this time. “Okay, okay, now you’re being mean!”  

“It’s not mean it's true,” he teased. “Seriously, though, who shows up with a lawyer for a family dispute? It’s like she planned this whole takeover with a PowerPoint presentation and a laser pointer.”  

Y/N leaned back into her chair, her laughter quieting to a soft, lingering smile. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.  

“But I’m helping,” he said, a boyish grin lighting up his face.  

She nodded, warmth blooming in her chest. “You are. More than you know.”  

There was a brief pause as they locked eyes, the humor fading into something quieter, more intimate. Wonwoo’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.  

“Your aunt might be a lot to handle, but she doesn’t define you, Y/N. Or this store. You’re stronger than she is, and you have something she’ll never understand—passion. You care about this place. That’s why you’ll win.”  

Y/N’s smile wavered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Thank you, Wonwoo. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”  

He reached over and gently plucked the glass from her hand, setting it aside. “You’d figure it out. You’re pretty incredible, Y/N. I’m just here to remind you of that.”  

She felt her cheeks flush, her heart thudding in her chest. “You’re really good at this whole pep talk thing.”  

“Years of practice,” he said lightly, leaning back with a small smile. “But honestly, it’s easy when it’s you. You make it worth it.”  

The warmth in his words settled over her like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in days, she felt the storm inside her quiet.

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle from the kitchenette, glancing over her shoulder at Wonwoo, who was sprawled lazily on the floor with his glass in hand. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious Writer. If we’re going to drink more wine, you’re spilling some juicy secrets.”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Secrets? What makes you think I have any?”  

“Oh, please,” she said, settling down across from him with a grin. “You’ve got that whole brooding, quiet thing going on. There’s definitely something juicy under there.”  

He chuckled, shaking his head as she refilled their glasses. “I think you’re overestimating how interesting I am.”  

Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Try me. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”  

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, groaning dramatically. “You’re really starting with the hard-hitting questions.”  

“Absolutely,” she said with a smirk. “This wine isn’t free, you know. Payment in absolutely cringe-worthy stories, please.”  

Wonwoo took a sip of his wine, stalling as his ears turned faintly pink. “Fine. When I was in college, I joined a karaoke contest because my friends dared me. I thought I was nailing it—singing my heart out to some cheesy pop song. Turns out, the mic was off the whole time, and everyone was just laughing at me lip-syncing like a maniac.”  

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “No way. What song was it?”  

He winced, looking away. “...‘Call Me Maybe.’”  

Her laughter doubled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Stop. Stop it right now. I’m picturing you doing those little hand motions for the chorus.”  

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Why did I agree to this?”  

“Because you secretly love making me laugh,” she teased, nudging his knee with her foot. “Okay, next question. What’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Please tell me it’s not sneaking a library book home after hours.”  

Wonwoo smirked, tilting his head. “First of all, that’s a perfectly respectable crime. Second, I did once skip a whole semester of lectures to follow a girl I liked to a different city.”  

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Wait—seriously? You followed her?”  

He shrugged, his grin turning a little sheepish. “It wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. We were kind of seeing each other, and she was moving away for an internship. I thought it was romantic at the time.”  

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Y/N said, laughing as she set her glass down. “What happened?”  

“She broke up with me two weeks later,” he admitted, his tone dry.  

She gasped, clutching her chest like it physically hurt. “No! That’s awful.”  

“It was definitely character building,” he said with a dramatic sigh, earning another laugh from her.  

“Okay, last one,” she said, leaning closer with a sly smile. “Do you have any current crushes? Like, hypothetically, someone who owns a charming little bookstore and drinks wine with you at two in the morning?”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Hypothetically? Are we talking about Evelyn?”  

Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly, her laugh bubbling over. “Oh we’re definitely talking about Evelyn. I feel like you have a thing for terribly evil women who’d be mean to you, like a kink or something.”  

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he leaned toward her slightly. “I usually do. But, I don’t know, Y/N. Shouldn’t the question be... do you have a current crush? Someone who maybe sings ‘Call Me Maybe’ like their life depends on it?”  

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her grin. “I don’t know, Woo. That doesn’t really sound like my type.”  

“Oh, really?” he said, his tone playful. “What’s your type, then?”  

She pretended to think, tapping her chin. “Hmm... someone who doesn’t follow girls to other cities or embarrass themselves at karaoke contests.”  

“God the pain,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “Guess I’m out of the running.”  

She smiled, her gaze softening just a bit. “Not necessarily. You’ve got other redeeming qualities. Like pouring wine which is an important one. At least to me.”  

His grin widened, and he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Well, I’ll take that as a win.”  

Their glasses clinked together, and as they drank, the teasing energy between them lingered, warm and electric, filling the quiet bookstore with something that felt a lot like possibility.  

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle, a mischievous glint in her eye as she refilled their glasses. Wonwoo watched her curiously, his grin still lingering from their back-and-forth.  

“Alright, my turn,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in this bookstore when no one was around?”  

Y/N froze mid-pour, her face immediately turning red. “Oh no. Nope. No way in hell. Not telling you.”  

Wonwoo straightened, his smirk growing as he caught the look of panic on her face. “Oh, come on. You can’t not tell me after that reaction.”  

“It’s not even that bad,” she tried to brush it off, waving a hand as if swatting his question away.  

“That means it’s terrible, and now I have to know,” he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you do, Y/N? Did you accidentally set a book on fire? Did you steal candy from a kid? Spill it.”  

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Ugh, fine! But you can’t laugh.”  

“No promises,” he said immediately, leaning forward with interest.  

She peeked out from between her fingers, sighing dramatically before finally admitting, “Okay. When I was like thirteen, I... I used to practice kissing on the spines of the books.”  

Wonwoo blinked. “What?”  

Her face turned crimson. “You heard me.”  

It took a second for it to register, but then Wonwoo doubled over laughing, his shoulders shaking as he nearly spilled his wine. “The spines? You made out with the books?”  

“I was thirteen!” she squealed, trying and failing to stop herself from laughing too. “And my friends had all kissed someone, so I panicked! I thought—‘I need to practice!’ And the books were there. Don’t judge me.”  

Wonwoo fell back against the floor, wheezing between bursts of laughter. “Oh my god—what books? Please tell me it was like an encyclopedia.”  

She shot him a glare, though she was laughing too hard to look serious. “No. It was whatever I could reach. Mostly YA romances, okay? I thought maybe the romance would transfer through the spine or something.”  

“You were out here trying to absorb love through osmosis?” he gasped, holding his stomach as he laughed.  

“Yes.” she said, her voice high-pitched from embarrassment. “I don’t know how I thought it worked.”  

Wonwoo sat up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Y/N, that’s—that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m never going to be able to look at these books the same way again. Like how can I pick one up without wondering if your lips touched it.”  

“I hate you,” she said, burying her face in her hands again. “I should’ve taken that secret to the grave.”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, grinning. “This is prime blackmail material. Just wait until you’re being all serious about the store one day, and I remind you of your spine-kissing phase.”  

She peeked up at him, her lips quaking into a smile despite herself. “You wouldn’t dare.”  

“Try me,” he said smugly, raising his wine glass like a toast. “To Y/N, the Bookstore Casanova.”  

“I’m never telling you anything ever again,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine.  

“Too late. I’m already your confidant,” he teased, leaning closer with a smirk. “But for the record, I think as a teenager you were pretty resourceful. I mean, who needs practice with people when you have books?”  

“Exactly.” she said, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “See? You get it.”  

“I don’t,” he admitted, laughing again. “But it’s endlessly entertaining.”  

Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the worst.”  

“And yet, here you are—drinking wine with me. But, tell me, do you think the kissing books hacked helped?” he shot back, his eyes twinkling.  

“I don’t know? I’ve never kissed myself? Honestly I haven’t kissed someone since my last relationship which was..” Y/n pretended to flip through her imaginary calendar. “Two years ago?” 

“Interesting no one ever confirmed it.” 

She shook her head, muttering, “Regretting this more by the second.” But her grin gave her away, and the lighthearted energy between them filled the quiet bookstore with warmth—like something rare and perfectly imperfect, just like their ridiculous conversation.  

Wonwoo’s teasing grin softened slightly as he tilted his head, watching her with a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “Two years, huh?” he said, his tone quieter now, though the playful glint in his eyes lingered.  

Y/N shrugged, trying to brush it off. “What can I say? I’ve been busy running a bookstore and, you know, kissing spines.”  

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “That’s a real tragedy, though. All that practice, and no one’s benefited from it?”  

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the heat creeping up her neck. She raised her glass to her lips again, trying to hide behind it.  

Wonwoo set his own glass down on the table beside them, leaning forward slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken, “I could help with that.”  

Her breath hitched, and she lowered her glass, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Help with what?”  

He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching into that faint, irresistible smirk. “You know. Test out whether all that spine-kissing really paid off.”  

Her laugh came out more like a nervous squeak, and she immediately covered it with a cough. “You’re insufferable, Jeon Wonwoo.”  

“And yet, you’re still here,” he echoed his earlier words, his gaze holding hers now with a steady intensity that made her heart thud painfully against her ribs.  

For a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to vanish, leaving only the golden glow of the little lamp, the lingering scent of old paper and wine, and the space between them that suddenly felt charged.  

“You’re not serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  

“Maybe I am,” he said simply, his smirk softening into a small, almost shy smile.  

Before she could overthink it—or talk herself out of it—he leaned closer, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. He paused there, just inches away, waiting.  

Her breath caught, and something about the way he was so close, so patient, made her feel brave. “Wonwoo,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you trying to be smooth?”  

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was sincere.  

She didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she closed the gap, brushing her lips against his in a tentative, featherlight kiss.  

It was gentle at first—soft and unhurried, like they were both figuring out how this was supposed to feel. But when he cupped her cheek with his hand, tilting her face slightly, the kiss deepened, and Y/N felt her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time.  

When they finally pulled back, just enough to catch their breath, he was smiling, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.  

“So,” he said, his voice still low and warm, “was it worth the two-year wait?”  

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t know yet,” she teased. “Might need more data to be sure.”  

His grin widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made her stomach flip. “I think that can be arranged.”  

And in the quiet, cozy little bookstore, with books watching silently from their shelves, Y/N had the distinct feeling she’d just uncovered the most unexpected treasure of all.  

The next few days passed in a blur of wine, laughter, and quiet moments shared between Y/N and Wonwoo. The chemistry between them seemed to grow with every secret they uncovered in the bookstore, every old clue leading them deeper into the mystery of the hidden treasure. But there was something else too—a shift, a quiet understanding that their connection had changed from something purely fun and teasing to something more real, more complicated.

The bookstore had become their shared sanctuary—where clues were scattered in dusty corners, and where they spent hours combing through old journals and books in search of the final pieces of the puzzle. Every clue brought them closer to something monumental, but with each step forward, Y/N’s estranged aunt Evelyn seemed to grow bolder, more determined to shut the whole thing down.

On one particular evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bookstore was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves in a small, cluttered storage room hidden at the back of the shop, sifting through yet another pile of old papers. The room was quiet, save for the sound of rustling pages, the occasional clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation between them.

Y/N paused, eyes scanning a faded letter that had caught her attention. "Wait, this is it," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it on the table. "This has to be the deed."  

Wonwoo looked over her shoulder, his hand instinctively resting on her back. "Are you sure?"  

"I’m pretty sure," she muttered, tracing the yellowing edges of the paper. "It’s an old deed, but it looks like it’s in my name—well, my family's name, technically. It’s the bookstore's legal deed."  

Wonwoo leaned closer, studying the document with a frown. “This is the real thing,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “This could be the key to everything.”  

Y/N smiled, but her heart was still heavy with worry. "Yeah, but Evelyn’s not going to give up. She’s already trying to pressure me into selling. And she has a lawyer with her now. They’ve already threatened to drag me to court."  

Wonwoo straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Then we need to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on this.” He grabbed the deed and tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket.  

Y/N stared at him. "You’re not seriously thinking of hiding it, are you?"  

“Not just hiding it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to make sure it’s safe. If she’s going to play dirty, then so are we.”  

With that, he walked over to a small cupboard, pulling out a set of old, heavy keys. "I know a place. You trust me, right?"  

Y/N hesitated but then nodded. "I do.”  

Their hands brushed as he passed her the keys, and Y/N couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat. Wonwoo had been a constant presence since they’d started this treasure hunt, a calm and steady anchor in the chaos of relentless threats. And as much as they were both focused on the task at hand, Y/N couldn’t ignore the way their connection had deepened—the way her heart beat faster every time he was near, the way his presence made everything feel safer.  

As Wonwoo led her out of the room, they were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open, followed by the sharp click of heels on the hardwood floors. Evelyn’s voice rang out, cold and sharp.  

“Y/N, I know you’re here. We need to talk."  

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a brief, tense glance with Wonwoo before they both hurried to the back, hiding the deed for the time being.  

“I’m not letting you get away with this.” Evelyn continued, her voice laced with venom. “I will take everything from you if I have to, including this bookstore. Your parents’ legacy won’t mean anything if you don’t sell to me.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “Evelyn, you don’t own this store. You never will.”  

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Evelyn’s laugh was cruel, echoing through the empty aisles.  

The tension in the air thickened, and Wonwoo placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, I promise,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.  

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out.”  

But in the back of her mind, she knew that Evelyn wasn’t going to stop. The woman was determined, and Y/N needed to be just as determined to protect what was hers. She wasn’t going to let the bookstore go without a fight—not when it had meant everything to her growing up.  

Later that evening, as the bookstore quieted down and Y/N sat at the small table in the back corner, sipping on a glass of wine, she looked up at Wonwoo, who had been quietly scribbling in his notebook for the past hour.  

He looked up from his writing and caught her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m almost finished with my book, you know,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her glass down. “No way? About what?”  

“About a treasure hunt,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “About two people who find something they didn’t expect—something more valuable than they could have imagined.”  

She grinned, leaning forward with curiosity. “And what do they find?”  

“The treasure,” he said, his voice quieter now, “isn’t what they thought it would be. It’s the connection they have with each other. The way they work together to uncover something bigger than themselves.”  

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, the weight of his gaze making her pulse quicken. “That’s really sweet.  

“Well,” he said, his lips curving into a teasing grin, “it’s inspired by real life, isn’t it?”  

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she glanced down at her wine glass. “I guess it is.”  

Wonwoo’s tone turned more serious, though the playful edge never quite left his voice. “I think we make a pretty good team, Y/N. And I’m not just talking about the treasure hunt.”  

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. “Yeah,” she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips. “We do, don’t we?”  

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the connection between them deepen. Everything they had uncovered—the clues, the threats, the mystery of the bookstore—had brought them to this place, to this unexpected, complicated bond that was far more precious than any treasure they might find hidden in the walls.  

And as the night grew deeper, and they prepared to face whatever Evelyn threw their way next, Y/N knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to face it alone.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen, casting soft beams of light through the dust-covered windows of the bookstore. Y/N had barely slept the night before, her mind whirling with thoughts of Evelyn’s threats and the looming confrontation that awaited her. But she had a plan now, one that gave her a sense of clarity and strength. She wasn’t going to let her aunt take what was hers.  

With the deed securely tucked in her bag and the letter from her mother—a last message of trust and love—Y/N stood at the edge of the bookstore, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she had to confront Evelyn’s lawyer head-on, to show them that she wasn’t just some helpless niece who could be pushed around. The store was hers, and now, she had the legal proof to back it up.  

It was a short walk to the lawyer’s office, but it felt like the longest journey of her life. As Y/N entered the glass-fronted building, she was greeted by a stern receptionist, who asked for her name.  

“I’m here to see Mr. Calloway,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “Tell him it’s regarding the deed for the bookstore.”  

The receptionist glanced at her curiously but nodded, picking up the phone to make the call. A few moments later, Y/N was ushered into a sleek office, the kind of place that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and old leather-bound books. Mr. Calloway, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a stern expression, stood behind his desk. He motioned for her to take a seat.  

“Ms. Y/N, I presume?” Mr. Calloway’s voice was smooth, but there was a certain edge to it. “I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing. The property’s ownership is already in question. Your aunt is prepared to take this to court.”  

Y/N didn’t flinch. “That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I have the deed to the bookstore.”  

She slid the crinkled paper across the desk, and Mr. Calloway eyed it with some skepticism. “And where did you come from?”  

“This is the deed my mother left for me,” Y/N replied, her fingers curling around the letter she’d brought with it. “And along with that, she left me the money to renovate and make this store my own. She made it clear in writing that this place was meant to be mine. I’ve spent my life here, and I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me.”  

For a moment, the lawyer was silent, his gaze flicking back and forth between the deed and Y/N’s determined face. He finally sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Well, it’s clear you have some legal standing here,” he said slowly. “I’ll need to make sure everything is in order, but I’d advise you to be prepared for further legal action. Your aunt is not someone who backs down easily.”  

“I’m not backing down either,” Y/N said, standing up and grabbing the deed from the desk. “I’ll be taking the store back, starting now.”  

Mr. Calloway looked surprised but didn’t protest. “Very well. I’ll have this taken into consideration.”  

Y/N left the office with the deed still clutched tightly in her hand, feeling a surge of relief and adrenaline. Her heart was racing, but now, she knew she had the power to protect the place she loved. The fight wasn’t over, but she had just won the first round.  

With the victory still buzzing in her chest, Y/N made her way straight to the bookstore, her thoughts already turning to the next steps. She needed to tell Wonwoo. He’d been by her side through all of this, and now that she had the deed, they could finally take the fight to Evelyn and her lawyer together.  

When she arrived at the bookstore, it was nearly empty except for a few early morning customers, browsing the shelves. The usual quiet was soothing, but Y/N couldn’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as she spotted Wonwoo, hunched over in a corner with his notebook, scribbling away.  

She couldn’t contain herself anymore. She rushed over to him, feeling lighter than she had in days. "Wonwoo!" she said, practically bursting with excitement.  

He looked up, his eyes softening as he noticed the huge grin on her face. "What’s all this about?"  

“I did it,” she said, breathless, her chest heaving as she held up the deed. “I went to Evelyn’s lawyer, and I staked my claim. I have the deed, the money my mom left me for renovations, and now—” She paused for effect. “Now, the bookstore is mine.”  

Wonwoo’s face broke into a grin so wide it almost seemed unreal. He immediately stood, his arms open as if to embrace the whole victory. “Y/N, that’s amazing!”  

Without saying another word, he pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around once, before gently setting her back down. Y/N laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks.  

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, stepping back and looking at him with gratitude. “You helped me every step of the way.”  

Wonwoo smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “That’s what partners do.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Although, I think we should celebrate this properly.”  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? How do you plan to do that?”  

Wonwoo leaned in just slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’m thinking of wine... and maybe even a celebratory kiss?”  

Y/N laughed again, her heart racing in her chest. "You’re lucky I like you, because you’re so corny, Jeon Wonwoo."  

“Lucky?” he repeated, leaning back, mock offense in his voice. “I’m not just lucky, I’m deserving.”  

“Alright, alright,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the shelf. “You’ve earned it. But just so you know, this is just the beginning. We still have a lot of work to do.”  

“I know,” he said, pouring them each a glass, “but I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”  

They clinked glasses, and for a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to fade away. They had won today, but they both knew that this was just the start of a much larger fight. 

As they stood there, the glasses of wine in their hands, the air between them still crackling with the energy of the moment, Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He took a deep breath, setting his glass down on the nearby table. There was something different in his eyes now—something deeper, something more vulnerable. Y/N noticed it immediately, her smile faltering slightly as she watched him.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice softer now, the excitement of the day momentarily giving way to a more serious tone. “You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden.”

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again. He hesitated for a second longer, as if weighing his words carefully. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he began, his voice steady but laced with an earnestness that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “And I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Y/N set her glass down too, her attention fully on him now. She could feel her pulse quicken as the tension in the room shifted, her curiosity growing.

“When I first started coming here, I didn’t expect much. I was just looking for a quiet place to escape and get away from the chaos of the world, y’know?” he continued, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he spoke, as if grounding himself. “But then, I started coming more often. And eventually, it wasn’t just the books that kept bringing me back. It was... you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but this... this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She searched his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “Wonwoo, I—”

“Just let me finish,” he said, cutting her off gently, but there was a softness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “At first, I thought I was just drawn to this place because it was peaceful. But then I realized it was you—your passion, the way you cared about this bookstore, the way you lit up when you talked about your mom, the way you had this fire in you that I couldn’t stop noticing.” He took a small step closer, his voice growing more sincere with each word. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Y/N. Not in the way you see the world, not in the way you’ve brought me into this... this little adventure of ours.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her chest tight as she absorbed his words. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes, no doubt in her mind that what he was saying wasn’t just a passing thought.

“I used to think I knew what I wanted,” Wonwoo went on, his voice barely above a whisper now, “but you’ve changed that for me. This place... you... have made me see that there’s more to life than just work, than just existing. You’ve given me a reason to want more, to want... us.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Wonwoo...” she whispered, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

His thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do. I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I could care about anyone. You’ve completely turned my world upside down, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the quiet in the room wrapping around them like a cocoon. Y/N could hear the steady beat of her own heart in her ears, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally whispered, her voice unsteady. “This is... I didn’t expect this.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, a hint of nervousness breaking through his usual cool demeanor. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Y/N felt something shift inside her, the words she had been holding back finally finding their way to her lips. “Wonwoo, you’ve changed my life too. I’ve never met anyone who just, I don’t know, gets it the way you do. You make me feel like I’m not crazy for wanting this place to mean something more. You’ve made me feel seen. I care about you too, so much more than I ever expected.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his eyes lighting up in that familiar mischievous way. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing, considering we’ve already been on a treasure hunt together.”

Y/N laughed, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just a response to his teasing—it was a laugh filled with something deeper, something more real. “You’re right,” she said, her voice more certain now. “I guess it is.”

Wonwoo stepped closer, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. “So, what do you say? Want to keep going on this treasure hunt—with me?”

As Y/N held Wonwoo’s hand, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and a little bit of disbelief. She hadn’t expected any of this—the bookstore, the adventure, and most certainly not the way he was looking at her right now, like he’d just found the last piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“You really know how to throw someone off balance, Jeon,” she teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought we were just celebrating the deed and now you’re confessing your feelings. Seriously, could you not make it so dramatic?”

He chuckled, leaning closer, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for drama.” 

She rolled her eyes, but her smile never left. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re a much better treasure than I ever thought you’d be.”

“Aw, look at that,” Wonwoo teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your treasure now?”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “I guess. I mean, who else would tolerate my crazyness?” she said with a wink.

His response was to step even closer, giving her a sly grin. “Someone who’d do anything to stick around,” he said softly, before dipping his head and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She grinned up at him, her heart light. “That’s just fine by me.”

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind of excitement and resolution. With the deed officially in her hands, Y/N returned to the bookstore, determined to move forward. Evelyn’s lawyer had called to warn her that her aunt wouldn’t give up easily, but once the truth came out—that her mother had left the store specifically for Y/N to own, with funds to renovate and keep it alive—there was nothing Evelyn could do. She tried to fight, of course, but without any legal grounds or the right to contest the inheritance, it was a battle she couldn’t win.

Y/N’s lawyer had done the heavy lifting, and with everything in order, Evelyn was forced to concede defeat. The store officially belonged to Y/N—her mother’s legacy was hers to continue. But Y/N made one last effort to seal the deal. She sent Evelyn a letter, with a cheeky twist of her own: “Thanks for the help, but I think I’ve got it from here.”

It was a small victory, but it felt sweet, and Y/N couldn’t stop grinning as she turned back to the shelves, breathing in the familiar scent of old pages and dust. The Nook was officially hers.

The real fun began after that.

Weeks later, the bookstore was buzzing with activity—not from the usual morning crowd, but something much more exciting. Y/N had spent countless hours refurbishing the place, brightening the atmosphere with new coats of paint, adding cozy reading nooks, and ensuring every corner reflected her personality. But there was one thing she couldn’t do without him. Wonwoo had been her right-hand man through every part of it, turning the back office into a cozy writers’ retreat and organizing all of the books so that they not only looked great but also told a story of their own.

And now, the biggest thing was happening: the bookstore was hosting Wonwoo’s book signing. He’d completed his manuscript, inspired by all their adventures, their treasure hunts, and the mysterious secrets of The Nook. His book was a hit, and now, with the launch underway, Y/N was standing beside him in the middle of their bookstore—the place that had started it all.

She caught sight of him as he set up for the signing, adjusting the small display table with the first copies of his book. His smile was wide, and he looked so comfortable in his own skin now—more at home than she’d ever seen him before. He caught her eye, and for a moment, everything else faded away. 

“You did it,” she said, walking up to him with a grin. “You’re officially a second time sexy best selling author.”

He grinned back, his eyes twinkling. “And I couldn’t have done it without a treasure hunt partner like you. Where would I be without my muse?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah. Just sign my copy, won’t you?”

He laughed, taking the book from her hands and scribbling a dedication. “To Y/N, the true treasure of The Nook.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a familiar warmth spread across her chest. “You’re really laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest,” he teased, handing her the signed copy. “You changed my life, remember?”

Before Y/N could reply, the first customer walked in—an eager reader looking for a signed copy of his book. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions, book signings, and laughter, the bookstore alive with the kind of energy Y/N had only dreamed of before.

As the event wound down, with the last few customers having left, Wonwoo and Y/N were left standing behind the counter, both a little tired but still glowing from the success.

“So,” Wonwoo said, his voice low as he leaned on the counter next to her, “what do we do now?”

Y/N looked around, taking in the bustling bookstore, the little crowd of people chatting about his book, the laughter, and the life in the space. She felt a contented sigh escape her lips.

“We keep going,” she said with a grin, her eyes meeting his. “We keep making this place even more ours.”

Wonwoo leaned in, his face softening. “And how do we do that?”

Y/N leaned back against the counter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We keep finding treasures, Together.”

The following months were filled with more than just book signings. With the store officially thriving under their shared ownership, Y/N and Wonwoo were building a life together, discovering new mysteries, laughing over silly inside jokes, and creating their own stories within the walls of The Nook. Whether it was fixing up a new corner for readers, writing new books, or simply sitting together and reminiscing about their treasure hunt, they had found something real—something both fun and serious in its own way.

As for Evelyn, she had finally backed off, realizing she had no place left in Y/N’s world. Y/N had reclaimed her space—not just in the bookstore, but in her life. And with Wonwoo by her side, they were ready for whatever came next.

And so, The Nook became more than just a bookstore—it became their home, their story, and their future.

[imujings]

congrats on 100 followers !! slut by taylor swift, but more specifically the lyrics “in a world of boys, he’s a gentlemen” reminds me of seungcheol !! 🫶🏼

the wrong place at the right time and i break down, and then he's pullin' me in in a world of boys, he's a gentleman

wc <1k. warnings cursing (reader does indeed get called a slut), mentions of death, guns, violence, some blood, hurt/comfort. jay’s musings thank u thank u anon!! ;w; sorry i kind of got carried away,,, the way my imagination took this song and RAN WITH IT,, these lines fit cheollie sm omg… totally did not fantasize a whole fic w this LOL hope u enjoy!!

You’re running.

Trees whip past you, your shoes hitting the muddy ground harshly. Your breath comes out in short gasps. There’s a gunshot somewhere behind you but you don’t dare look back. Looking back means hesitating, and hesitation means death.

You just can’t catch a damn break, can you?

It’s just past blue hour, the vast sky above beginning to twinkle with stars. If you were anywhere else you’d take the liberty to stare up in amazement, pointing out what constellations were in view and being granted the reward of hearing a soft murmur of approval from Seungcheol beside you.

The thought is the only thing keeping you sensible at the moment.

You hadn’t meant to alert the robbers as they canoodled around their fire, planning their next big heist. Your foot had slipped, the gun in your grasp falling to the forest floor as you winced. Seungcheol’s eyes widened from across the clearing.

It was a miscalculation of just how slippery the ground had become from the storm; a misstep, a mistake.

The robbers’ heads snapped up at once, and all hell had broken loose soon after.

You didn’t know where Seungcheol was. Your partner had barked out something to you the second the robbers were alerted, but it was lost to the wind as you ran for your life.

Coward, you cry internally as the shouts and heavy footsteps of the men grow closer. You shouldn’t have ran. You messed up big time. Seungcheol could be dead because of you.

Coward, coward, coward.

There’s a loud curse somewhere from your right. You push through a bush, panic overtaking you. Thorns prickle you through your uniform and draw blood. Your lungs burn.

Tears are clouding your vision, and before you know it, you’re cornered.

Bark scrapes your back as you’re hoisted up by the collar, the muzzle of a gun cold and pressing to your throat. You bite back a whimper.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t ya?” the criminal jeers from underneath his hood.

His voice is scratchy and his breath stinks of alcohol. You’re frozen in place, not daring to move a muscle.

“Maybe I should have a little fun before the finale,” he mutters, digging the gun further into your skin. “Would ya like that, slut?”

Before you can answer, a resounding crack! sounds. You watch as a fist flies into the side of the man’s head, a powerful kick following soon after. The robber’s grip loosens as he falls to the ground, blood pooling from his mouth.

You sink to the floor with a sob.

“Hey, hey,” Seungcheol’s voice is a welcome contrast to the roughness that handled you just moments before. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He settles you against the tree, turned away from the unconscious man, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles along your knuckles.

“Did he hurt you? Tell me, did he hurt you? Are you injured anywhere?”

You shake your head, biting your lip and curling in on yourself. Your partner notices a scratch on your cheek and wipes the streaking blood away with his thumb. Seungcheol cups your face in his gloved hand, eyes watery.

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. “I ruined the investigation. I almost got us killed.”

“No, no, no,” your name falls off his tongue like it’s sacred. “Don’t think that—please, don’t think that. That’s not what’s important right now. What matters is that you’re safe, and alive.”

Seungcheol brings you close to him, holding you tightly. The organization back at base will have so much to criticize, you want to wail into his chest. I’ll be deemed a failure right out of training and I’ll bring you down with me. I’m so sorry.

Instead, you weakly sniffle and pull away, tears staining your face and hair. Seungcheol eagerly wipes them away as he tends to your cuts.

You momentarily forget you’re in the middle of the woods, gun lost and criminals hot on your trail. The heat of his touch brings back some feeling to your senses, enveloping you in the scent of his cologne and the shaky press of his lips to the crown of your head.

Fuck the operation, his kiss says. The operation never matters more than your safety.

Never.

want to queue a song?

[b00kdiary]

Okay, you write the most delicious smut, so I think the plus-size reader is watching Cassian and Azriel spar and gets lost in her imagination about what they could do to her. And the duo finds out (maybe from Rhys), and one night at dinner, they offer to make her dreams reality. If you already have something like this in mind, please feel free to ignore it. I just think Az and Cassian would be down bad for a plus-size reader 🙂

Take it | Azriel & Cassian (I)

Azriel x Cassian x Plus Size Reader

Rhysand's playing Cupid and his meddling has you experiencing something you never would have thought possible.

Warnings: Mature content (18+) mild violence, mature language, illusions to smut (smut in part 2)

PART II

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

I knew I should have skipped training today.

From the moment Mor told me that she wasn't attending, that Feyre wouldn't be coming either and that I was alone with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel- I knew I should have skipped.

Because now I was here, the scorching sun beaming down over my sweating skin, the barren wind a bare caress through my damp pleated hair- and my eyes unwavering upon the two Illyrian males before me.

Sparring.

"C'mon Azriel," Cassian taunted, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief as he danced around the Shadowsinger, his arrogant demeanour so at odds with Azriel's still, quiet form. "Don't tell me you're already tapping out."

Azriel smirked, the smallest tilt of his lips and I felt a shiver trace down the curve of my spine, watching as his powerful thighs rippled with every step he took, scarred hands angled out before him- waiting.

"And miss all the fun?" He mused softly, head cocking, a purely predatory move and the laugh that escaped Cassian was rough as if the banter between them made this all the more exciting.

It didn't usually affect me like this, I didn't usually feel such a strong, visceral response to the two of them. Yes, they were both unbelievably gorgeous and yes, I enjoyed watching them as much as any female did.

But it never affected me as much as it did right now, as strongly as it did from the moment I stepped onto the rooftop and greeted them. It had been hard to deny how my body felt then and it was even worse now.

Especially with them like this- shirtless, sweating, muscles rippling, powerful wings splaying wide, and taunts being thrown between them that made my thighs clench.

I pressed my back into the jagged wall behind me, anchoring myself down with the bite of the concrete against my skin, cutting in through the thin material of my legging and top. The shield I'd erected around me rippled, my emotions overwhelming my control over my magic.

Cassian grunted- raw and grumbling as he swung a fist out aimed for Azriel's rib but was swiftly blocked by a scarred hand shielding close to his tanned skin. Azriel gritted his teeth, his free hand slamming forward, palm connecting brutally with Cassian's shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Cassian grinned, feral.

Azriel's eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

And the wetness between my thighs grew and grew, the throbbing ache now incessant, so strong that no matter how hard I clenched my thighs shut it did nothing to quell the need. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my body thrumming the longer I watched them.

A deep grunt, a rough, taunting laugh, bodies colliding, wings erected high, sweat and blood over perfect tan skin, trailing down corded muscle and carved abs. Movement so fast that I forced myself not to blink in case I missed something, fighting so intense it was impossible to look away.

And a heat coursing through my body so forcefully I felt like I was going to explode.

'What do we have here?' A voice crooned through my mind, a voice like starlight and I jolted at the intrusion, 'The shield can hide the smell of your arousal, Y/N, but it can't hide the lust in your eyes.'

"Rhys," Cassian grinned, canines bearing to show the blood coating his teeth, and Azriel laughed softly as the male wiggled his brows, eyes upon our High Lord as he stalked in. "Care to join the fun?"

Rhysand smirked, a lazy sight, ringed hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and my body grew hot, mortification filling me as his long legs brought him closer to where I stood. His violet eyes flash to me- knowingly.

"I think Y/N might be more interested in joining actually," Rhysand mused, his tone dripping with amusement and teasing, and I felt my eyes narrow irately as I glared up at him. "I'm sure she could take it."

My hands clenched as Rhysand's smirk grew, pearly teeth peeking through, seeing how my throat bobbed when Cassian and Azriel both glanced at me expectantly, panting.

"Alright angel," Cassian winked, and I managed a strained smile, feeling my cheeks growing unbearable hot- and Rhysand laughing through my mind. "You're sparring next."

'If only he knew that this wasn't the kind of sparring you were interested in,' Rhys taunted through my mind and I felt his claws racking down my mental shields, so strong I clenched my jaw to stop myself from snarling at him.

'Fuck off, Rhys' I sent a shock of my power through my mind and Rhysand's spine straightened beside me, though that smirk never once left his lips. 'I don't know what you're even talking about.'

'No?' He muses and I roll my eyes as his shoulder brushes mine, my body so stiff as I grab hold of my water bottle, my fingers shaking and weak as I uncap the lid. 'So, you're not having some very naughty thoughts about my General and Spymaster right now?'

'No,' I gritted out mentally, hating how I was falling for the bait, hating that he could see just how caught off guard I was. My eyes flutter as Azriel grumbles, shadows coiling around his lean waist and broad shoulders as he and Cassian circle each other. 'No, I'm not.'

Another rumbling laugh through my mind, a brush of Rhysand's shoulder against me, and the water bottle shakes in my hand as I bring it to my mouth, needing to distract myself desperately.

The mouth of the bottle touches my lip, the lukewarm water just barely tracing my tongue- and then my mind shifts.

And the images leak in.

Scarred hands cupping my breasts, toying with my hard nipples.

Canines scrapping my pulse point, my fingers curled around silken locks of dark hair.

I hear myself moaning as a head slips between my soft thighs, my eyes clenching shut as I rock my hips against the skilled tongue, back arching when another mouth finds purchase around my taut nipple.

I'm trapped between those two magnificent, corded bodies, massive wings shielding our nakedness- but I feel every touch, every kiss, every whispered praise as they worship me.

"Y/N!"

Another blink and the images are gone from my mind, replaced by the world around me again. And three pairs of eyes on me- all of them wide, unblinking, worried as they watch me.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Azriel breathes, chest rising and falling fast as he sucks in air, and I trace over the dark whorls covering his skin as I blink away the thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"I'm uh- I'm fine," I clear my throat, skin burning with heat and that embarrassment only grows when I spot my water bottle dropped at my feet, water already drying up on the concrete. Rhysand snickers as I swiftly reach down and grab it and my hands tremble as I hold it to my chest.

'You should tell them what you want, Y/N,' Rhys mutters through my mind and when I glance sideways at him, he merely smiles, bland and natural, as if he wasn't currently wading through my thoughts. 'They'd be more than happy to make it happen.'

"I think I'm done for today, boys," I manage a small smile, as I turn to grab my training bag at my side, glad for the reprieve from their eyes, even if I felt them wholly on my back. "Too fucking hot out."

'Y/N,' Rhysand called through my mind again, and the teasing was gone- replaced by something sincere.

'They won't be interested,' I hiss back, a lump lodging in my throat as I turn toward the males behind me, still standing watching me. ' I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying something.'

"I thought you wanted to spar?" Cassian raises a dark brow at me, hazel eyes watching carefully as I walk past Rhysand, not sparing him a second glance. "I'll go easy on you if you're scared, angel."

"Didn't she kick your ass last time, Cass?" Rhysand snorted, and I watched Azriel's lips tilt into a full-blow smile, a breathtaking sight as Cassian rolled his eyes, grinning as he flipped off the male behind me.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you,' His voice made me grit my teeth, my back steeling as I inched toward the door. ' Why don't you just find out?'

"Don't rough each other up too bad," I chuckle, ignoring the ache in my chest as I glance between the three of them, ignoring Rhysand's claws in my mind, "Seeing your pretty faces is the best part of my day."

Cassian grins, winking fiendishly at me.

Azriel smiles, red tinting his cheeks.

And Rhysand just cocks his head- almost as if to say see, I told you so.

I turn on my heel, my smile fading as soon as my back is to them and I'm walking toward that exit.

'Drop it, Rhys,' I warn, letting him feel how utterly serious I was, 'I mean it.'

***

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Rhysand didn't know how wrong he was.

It was kind of him, sweet even, to say that two males as beautiful and perfect as Azriel and Cassian would have any interest in me, any sexual desire- even if it couldn't be further from the truth.

Not when I didn't hold a candle to Mor, who they both wholly desired, whose face and body and beauty were incomparable, something that I couldn't have, have never had, not in a million years.

And not when in all the years I've known them, neither of them have ever looked at me the way they look at her- with true lust. No desire, no primitive focus, no carnal need, I was their little sister, the female they loved but could never love like that.

I swallow down that bitter dose of reality as I make my way through the silent corridors of the House of Wind, my heels clinking against the smooth floor, as I get closer to the dining room. There's no sound in the house, unusual for this time of day.

I run my hands down the soft silk dress I wore, the dark green material clinging to my waist before cascading down my thighs, stopping mid-calf. It was more effort than I usually bothered with for dinner with the court, but Rhysand had insisted.

'A special dinner' he had said in his note 'Never hurts to dress up and celebrate our family.'

But as I turn the corridor, pushing past the ajar dining room door- it doesn't seem like much of a celebration.

"Y/N," Cassian greets, smiling over his broad shoulder at me, the material of his black shirt melding perfectly to every hard inch of him. I take a few tentative steps into the room and his eyes grace down my figure, over the dress I wore.

"Hey Cass," I mutter, brow furrowing as I take in the two glasses of red wine, a third sat empty and clean beside them and only three chairs surrounded the oak table Cassian stood before. "Where is everyone?"

My body shivers when something dances around my right ankle, the touch unbearably soft and I giggle when I glance down, noticing the shadow that wreathed around my calf, inching higher up my dress.

"Feyre's cycle started so Rhys is looking after her," Cassian said, wincing in a way that told me he was thankful not to be a female enduring that kind of pain. An amused snort came from behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know that it was Azriel, could feel his quiet scrutiny and recognise it anywhere. "And Mor and Amren had some Hewn City crap to deal with."

"So much for dressing up and celebrating the family," I mumble taking a few steps forward, and when Azriel places his large hand on the small of my back, I feel the touch through every inch of my body. I swallow, glancing over my shoulder at him, meeting those bright hazel eyes.

"It's just us three tonight," Azriel muses lowly, and my dress feels like a non-existent barrier between his hand and my back, his scarred thumb brushing soft circles there. "Is that alright Y/N?"

"Y-yes," I mentally curse myself for the stutter, my cheeks blazing when Azriel's lip tilts into a bare smirk, his eyes glancing to Cassian and gleaming with something dark. I clear my throat, managing a strained smile, "Me and my two favourite Illyrian males, should be fun."

"We won't tell Rhysand you said that" Cassian winks and I grin as Azriel leads me forward, his hand still on my back, burning and igniting my skin, guiding me to the chair- he pulls it out for me, his touch gentle as he helps me take a seat and tucks me in.

"He's my favourite High Lord though, so it's fine," I tease, waving a dismissive hand and I try to force myself to be calm and at ease as Azriel and Cassian take the two seats in front of me, their powerful bodies so foreboding as they settle into the chairs.

"Feyre's my favourite High Lady, Mor's my favourite blonde," I prattle on, ignoring their intense stares as I fiddle with my hands in my laps, trying to babble through my unease. "And Amren's my favourite short, angry person."

"We definitely won't tell Amren you said that" Cassian snickers and I release a tight breath of relief when Azriel begins to pour me a glass of wine, his eyes locking with mine as he hands it to me- my hand brushes his and I swear something flashes through his eyes at the contact.

"Thank you," I whisper, and I don't waste a second before bringing the glass to my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I tip my head back, the bittersweet liquid sliding down my throat, and I keep drinking until it's all gone.

I feel the tingle the alcohol induces instantly, fae wine so much stronger than the regular stuff and it's exactly the kind of buzz I needed right now, the kind that distracted me from the way my body felt when in the same room as these two males.

I bring the glass back down to the table with a clink and only then do I realise the tense silence in the room. I blink away the haze, and when my eyes meet Cass and Az again, I'm surprised by the look on their faces.

Their eyes are dark, wholly dark- and zeroed in on my lips, watching every breath and move with predatory focus.

"Is-is there something on my face?" I raise a brow, chuckling uncomfortably and when I lift a hand insecurely to my mouth, Cassian releases a tight exhale, shifting in his seat so that he's leaning back, long legs and strong thighs spread under the table.

"No, you're okay," Azriel shakes his head, beautiful face soft with contemplation, though the darkness never leaves his eyes, the emotion behind them that I can't seem to decipher as he stares at my lips still. "That's a pretty shade of red, is all- don't you think so Cassian?"

"Definitely," Cassian mumbles roughly in agreement, a lazy smile pulling at his lip as he takes a long sip from his glass, his tongue flicking out to lick off the wine gathering there- and the sight was more provocative than it should have been. "Red might just be your colour, angel."

"Thanks, uh- it was a present from Mor for Winter Solstice," I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to grab the wine bottle and chug from it. "She said it was one of the most popular shades, I can't remember the name, but I thought it was funny to call it blowjob red."

Cauldron, the air shifts so fast, so severely at those words- blowjob red.

The second I say it it's like the darkness in their eyes, the intensity of their stares, their teasing remarks, it all slots into place- and their shields come crashing down. Arousal, stark and powerful, so raw and filthy that my core ached in response.

"Is that why you wore it tonight?" Azriel spoke, his voice like death incarnate, so quietly violent that my thighs clamped shut at the sound, at the heat behind every slow word. The air caught in my lungs as he cocked his head at me, predator eying prey, "To have us contemplating the feel of your pretty, red mouth?"

Pretty, red mouth.

Cauldron, I must be dreaming.

My lips parted- surprised, and for a moment, all I could do was blink dumbly, staring between them with confusion creasing my brow. They didn't speak, utterly silent as they watched me piece everything together, but I could sense their amusement when my brow furrowed deeper.

"I suppose it's only fair, for you to paint your lips that distracting shade of red, to wear a dress that hugs every curve on your body, it's fair for you to taunt us so mercilessly," Cassian smirks and my eyes widen at every word, at the sincerity behind them. "Especially since it seems we unwittingly were doing the same to you this morning during training."

Training?

Oh, shit, shit, shit- Cauldron fucking spare me.

"Unless Rhysand was being an asshole and lied to us?" Cassian continued, but his words were starting to blur now, the thrumming in my head overwhelming my senses, making it hard to hear, making it hard to see, to speak. "Y/N, did he lie?"

He told them.

He told them.

Fuck, he told them.

"Hey, hey, hey-" I flinch, my knee slamming against the table when something brushes over my hot cheek. Still, I calmed my alarm upon seeing the tendril of darkness flittering past my eye-line, Azriel's shadows caressing my face, anchoring me down from the panic that was building.

"I don't-uh-," I shake my head, tears lining my eyes and I clenched them shut- I wasn't sure why I felt like crying…embarrassment? Shame? Insecurity? I guess I could pick one and it would be right. "I don't know-"

"We were hoping he wasn't lying," Azriel coaxed gently, and my burning eyes lifted to him, his lovely face was so sweet, so unfathomably kind that it forced me to take a stabilising breath.

"You were?" I question hoarsely, my throat as dry as sandpaper as I glanced from Az to Cass, something coiling in me at the sight of their perfect faces, their broad shoulders, their massive wings, and their attention solely on me.

"Angel, if we haven't made it clear how badly we want you right now, then we must be shitter at flirting than I thought," Cassian snorted and I couldn't fight the smile, the breathy laugh that escaped me at his words.

He grinned at the sight, Azriel too- as if something as small as me smiling, laughing, made their day.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Dammit Rhysand was right.

"Rhysand wasn't lying, he's an ass but he didn't lie," I say, releasing a long breath and this time, when my eyes lift to them, when I meet their gazes, I let them see exactly how honest he had been.

I tuck a strand of hair behind an arched ear, and I don't think either of the males is even breathing as I push out of my chair, the wood screeching against the floor before I rise to my feet.

My chest aches as their gazes instantly drop down my body- over my breasts, waist, stomach, thighs, over every inch of me.

"I'm going back to my room," I whisper, and both of them go utterly still, and their eyes sharpen, primitive, completely Fae, so strong that Azriel's shadows quieten, and Cassian's wings twitch.

"Would the two of you care to join me?"

__________________________________________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen @nyotamalfoy

Part TWO and all its filthy smut !

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.” 

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 7

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I apologize in advance lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Your feet buried in the sand, just inches from the gentle waves crashing to shore. You could smell the salt in the air, feel it on your skin as the wind carried droplets of water until it reached you. The sun kissed the horizon of the ocean beside you, painting the waves in streaks golden.

This was possibly your favorite thing about New Asgard, the ocean.

Or, second favorite, you thought, as you squeezed the hand holding your own.

"And Thor wouldn't listen to me, of course," Loki continued the story, his feet burying in the sand just as yours did. One of his hands interlocked with yours, the other holding his shoes. "Not until the whole tent came crashing down on him."

You giggled, the soft wind carried your laughter and messed up your hair, "Thor never was the brightest at learning our 'contraptions', as he would call them."

"No, I guess not," Loki mused, a smile of his own lingering on his lips.

You looked up at him then, watching as the fading sunlight reflected against his bright eyes and shaped the curves of his smile. You'd never tire of the sight, of him by your side.

"You should come with us next time," Loki suggested, apparently just as lost in you as you were in him.

"Camping?" You raised a brow.

Loki nodded, stopping in his tracks. He dropped his shoes to the sand without a second thought, so he could take hold of both your hands. "You'd make it better."

His voice, however, began to sound far away. You frowned, looking around as the golden sunlight seeped away, making room for a grey and stormy sky. The wind picked up speed, cutting into your skin like needles. The sea, once calm and serene, now raged and thundered against the shoreline.

"You always do." Suddenly, Loki's voice was nothing but an echo.

You didn't have time to hold him tighter before his hands were snatched away from yours.

Stumbling forward, you tried running after him, but the sand began to swallow your feet. Panic settled into your chest and got your heart racing.

You looked up, but you shouldn't have.

His eyes were bloodshot, his feet held off the ground as he struggled against the bruising grip on his neck. When Loki looked into your eyes, tears were running down both your cheeks. Blood trailed down his mouth as he choked for a breath. "Run," it was a plea, so quiet and weak past his lips.

The last thing you heard was a sickening crack.

You woke up with a scream lingering on your lips, sitting up on your bed and already clawing at your chest for the air that you desperately needed yet couldn't get a hold of. You didn't know if you were sobbing or coughing, perhaps a bit of both.

The tears were non-stop, dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your pajama shirt. You threw the covers away from your body, feeling trapped on your skin. Burying your head on your trembling hands, you did your best to try and catch your breath.

It had been a while since you've had a nightmare this haunting.

─── ·❆· ───

You felt numb. The day began and you couldn't feel anything besides the emptiness in your chest. Foolishly, you had thought you'd finally outgrew the bad memories, the grief. You wondered if you ever would.

As you walked through the hallways of the TVA, you thought back to yesterday; to the rain, the northern lights, and him. He who had those same dark curls, those same bright eyes, and alabaster skin that you saw in your dreams and nightmares. Each day it became harder and harder to believe the lie you insisted on telling yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the stomping of someone running to catch up with you.

"Good morning," Loki greeted, just a tad out of breath as he fell into step beside you.

You closed your eyes for a moment after hearing his voice. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you nodded without looking at him. "Morning."

Loki noticed, he felt the shift in the mood, heard it in your tone. You know he did, because he hesitated. "Um-" He tried to start; you could perfectly picture his eyes being unable to find a place to focus even if you weren't looking.

"I've been thinking," he tried again, and you could hear the tentative smile on his words, "For the next time you manage to borrow Mobius' tempad, I- I have a place I would like to show you, if you'd like."

There were tears brimming in your eyes. You weren't sure why. Maybe because this was such a Loki way for him to try and ask you out. Maybe because you could feel your heart melting for him as it found its home again after being in the cold for so long, and that terrified you.

"Yeah…" You cursed under your breath when your voice came out broken and strained. You cleared your throat. "I don't know when he'll let me borrow it again, so," you shrugged, quickening your steps, "I guess we'll see."

Loki fell behind just for the time it took for him to mull over your words. It didn't take much effort for him to match your pace again. "Yes, of course."

The sadness dripping from his voice made your heart clench. You didn't want to hurt him. But you didn't want to hurt yourself either.

Finally reaching your desk in your secluded nook of the library, you immediately busied yourself with threading over the fresh stack of documents resting on top of it. Pointedly avoiding Loki's concerned look.

"I can help you with those," Loki suggested, already reaching for a spare chair.

"You really don't have to," You tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, turning on your table lamp.

"I want to," he told you with that softness reserved for you only. "We can finish it twice as fast and maybe stop for tea-"

"Loki, stop!" You suddenly snapped, finally turning to look at him. "Can you just leave me alone for one goddamn second?" You hadn't meant for your voice to come out as harsh as it did.

Loki lowered his head so you weren't able to see the pang of hurt in his eyes. His hand went limp as he slowly let go of the chair. Still, he took a step closer to you and asked; "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Of course he would be able to tell. Of course he'd put your pain above his own.

You surrendered the facade with a sigh, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. "I keep seeing…" It was difficult to think of it, let alone say it. You closed your eyes. "The day I lost him, I- I keep seeing it over and over. Even after all this time."

You had gotten better, for a while, keeping busy in the TVA had somewhat helped. But you knew you only buried the feeling, never dealt with it. And then Loki—this Loki, the one who would be yours—found his way to you, and everything crumbled again. Those bright eyes of his were still the same you've always known, after all; and between the memories you had together that only you had lived, and the way his soul tangled with yours as if they never parted, you didn't know what to feel.

Your chin wobbled and a sob fell past your lips. "And I just want it to stop hurting… I just him back."

Seeing you like this, it hurt. Loki took half a step closer to you, his glassy eyes gauging every twitch of your muscles. If you told him to leave, he would, even if it's the last thing he wanted. Your pain pierced his soul like an arrow, tearing and making it bleed. More than anything, he found himself only wanting you to be okay.

No names were needed. Loki knew, just from the way you were adamantly refusing to look at him; he knew you were talking about… him.

Carefully, testing tentative waters, Loki reached for one of your hands. He held his breath when you tensed as his skin touched yours. His fingers closed gingerly around your wrist and he pulled your hand up with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of.

You let him. You weren't sure why, but you did.

Loki brought your hand to rest above his chest, flat against his beating heart, and held it there, with his own hand still grasping yours tightly. He hesitated. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of losing you.

Only when Loki opened his lips to speak, did he taste his own tears that had fallen. "I'm here." It was nothing but a breath. "I promise. I'm here." He tried, it was all he could give you; himself.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers shaking. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as another sob escaped you. As the waves pulled you under.

In a place out of time, time stood still. For a precious second, only you and him existed.

You looked up after what felt like an eternity, your lips hovering as you struggled to hold his gaze. "But you're not him." The half smile that stretched the tear tracks on your cheeks held nothing but sorrow.

As if ripping apart a piece of his soul, Loki reluctantly let go of your hand. "What is it you have against me?" He whispered, pleaded.

You'd never seen him this vulnerable. His ocean eyes glimmered under the dim artificial lights of the library, eyebrows pulled softly together in what looked more like loss than confusion.

"And what is it you have with me?" You found yourself whispering back, just as desperate. "For you, we never met." Your voice broke and then dripped with frustration, "You have nothing to lose. So what is it that you want from me?"

It was selfish to put the blame on him, just because he brought back the same warmth you've been missing for so long. But you were hurting, and broken things tend to have sharp edges.

Loki's lips hovered open and he shifted his gaze down, almost as if ashamed. He held the silence for a beat longer. "I guess I just…" He stopped, and forced himself to look into your eyes. "I saw how much you loved your Loki… I think I was jealous, and I was selfish, for wanting the same thing he was lucky enough to have." His smile was that of someone who knew when he'd lost. "You."

All emotion drained from your face. It felt like a bucket of icy water being dropped on top of you.

Had Loki actually fallen in love with you?

For a moment you wondered if, in every reality and every lifetime, you were destined to fall for each other. As the universe's own twisted version of soulmates.

You would've laughed at such a sweet thought, if it hadn't just made your heartbeat skyrocket. Because deep down, you knew you'd fallen for him as well. Again. As you always knew you would.

In every lifetime. As you promised you would.

And it terrified you, because what if you were destined to fall, yet also destined to lose?

"I'm sorry," you breathed, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips. You took staggered steps away from Loki. "I'm sorry, I- I can't."

I'm sorry, I don't know if I can pick myself back up if I ever lose you again. So I'd rather not have you at all.

"Please, I-" Loki started, yet he didn't know what he was pleading for.

But you shook your head vehemently. "I need," your voice stumbled, "I'm sorry- I just need a moment alone."

You turned around then, walking away and taking Loki's heart with you. His eyes refused to watch you leave again, luckily he had tears to blur the memory.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 8 here

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[synthetickitsune]

Seungkwan (SVT) | Golden hour fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

”You look like the sun,” you chuckle when you see your boyfriend kneeling on the sofa. He’s taking pictures of the sunset through the open window, but the golden rays make it seem like his hair is glowing. Like he is glowing. A star fallen into your living room. He turns towards you with a playful pout but soon returns to his task, set on taking the perfect picture.

You cross the room, a little quicker now. The perspiration on the cool glass is starting to slide down the glasses of lemonade and you make it a game for yourself of not getting the floors wet. You make it. Taking out the lemon-themed coasters, you think it’d be nice to have more variants of different fruits to match your drinks. 

You voice the thought aloud to Seungkwan, making him smile and turn towards you.

“We can find some. There will be plenty online,” he says while he sits down next to you. He shows you the picture he took. It’s perfect and you tell him so, earning a grateful kiss to your cheek.

The room is bathed in a warm glow. The walls look like they’re dripping gold, oozing honey. You lean back into the pillows and take it all in. The breeze blows in gently and carries the voices of people on the street and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Seungkwan, having already diligently documented the scene outside, watches you instead. Then he pulls up his phone again to take a picture of you too.

“That’s not gonna be much of a masterpiece,” you hum, turning your face towards him.

“Wrong,” he smirks and proudly turns his phone towards you. He already changed his lockscreen to the picture he just took. You laugh. It could be worse. “See?”

“All I see is that my boyfriend has a talent for photography,” you lean closer to him and kiss him. 

“You’re my muse,” he whispers against your lips before pulling away and taking his glass of the cool drink. He praises the taste like it’s not the easiest drink to make. 

“Oranges would be better. They’d match the color more,” he ruins it right after and points to deeper shade on the walls.

“Sure, maybe tomorrow. If the nice weather lasts, we can have a whole photoshoot here,” you tease only a little, you really mean it for the most part.

Seungkwan’s eyes twinkle either way as he immediately leans against you and starts motioning around the room, telling you all about his vision. Somehow you think it’s been on his mind for a while. You wonder if he’d ever suggest it himself.

You listen to him, and you must admit his ideas sound wonderful. At some point, however, all you register is his voice and the light. Sunlight paints him to be a statue with golden cracks where the rays filter into the room. He really might as well be a fallen star that found its home in your apartment. It could be him that illuminates the entire room. His voice only helps the daydream develop. No mere human could sound so nice. 

You barely, no - you simply don’t realize that your body starts slumping against your boyfriend's. He's quite comfortable, and comforting even more so. Your body fits so nice against his, so naturally like it’s meant to be. You bask in his glow. He must be a guardian angel sent to you.

But while you don't realize, Seungkwan has noticed your absent-minded gaze quite some time ago. He knows you tend to get lost in your own head sometimes and doesn't get concerned anymore. Although he is curious what you're thinking about when you lean against him. Slowly he stretches his arm and lets it rest around your shoulders. You don't startle, you don't even notice. He continues speaking without giving into the temptation to call you cute and squish your cheeks. He gets the same reaction - or lack of - when he begins playing with your hair.

Eventually though, you come to. With a cute confused hum and loving smile.

“Where did you go?” Seungkwan coos at you.

“I just thought about how happy you make me,” you snuggle closer to him, hugging his waist. Your head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He stutters a little.

“Bet you weren’t even listening to me,” he mumbles under his breath and you know he’s just trying to hide that even after all this time you still make him shy. So you repeat his words to him, at least what you did catch, and it’s enough to drive him into a corner. “Not fair.”

You laugh, pecking his neck and rubbing your nose on the skin of his throat. He wonders aloud why you are so affectionate suddenly, but you stay quiet - you already told him anyway.

“I’m really happy with you too,” he whispers after a beat of silence, hugging you closer, “Very happy.”

And so you sip your lemonades and watch the sunset together. It might not seem like much, but you like this little life.