#and it's not even the same for every area

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light // H.S.

synopsis: you go on a blind date with Harry at your best friend's insistence and enjoy it much more than you expected.

wc: 3.9k

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this! i haven't written fic in a hot minute, so let me know what you think! this will likely have a part 2 where the exciting stuff happens, but writing even this much took me forever so i wanted to share before the Christmas mentions became irrelevant, lol!

The streets of New York City are beautiful this time of year. Christmas lights twinkle in nearly every retail storefront, some even including a dusting of ripped-up cotton balls and other snow-like materials. Just ignore the grey sludge coating the streets.

You were never one for holiday cheer, and today was no exception. Despite thinking the same of every single day, you’ve had what you would consider the longest day of your life. Your first meeting ran late by just a few minutes, but even this was enough to push your calendar so far off that you needed to reschedule your final call with the client you’d been waiting almost a month to meet with.

There was nothing more in this world you wanted to do than curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a silk eye mask. But, here you were, trudging down the streets of New York City in your slightly uncomfortable heels, trying to dodge puddles, slush, and other mysterious substances on the sidewalk, on your way to a blind date. Emma had set you up with a friend of her boyfriend’s, and she’d made you promise you’d give him a chance.

Your last relationship had ended with a bang after you went to his apartment to surprise him after getting out of work early one afternoon, only to find him in bed with a blonde girl you never did learn the name of. 

You could easily find a man to wake up to the next morning, but after years of running your own business, it wasn’t as simple as walking into a bar to meet Mr. Right. You’d dated enough men with little ambition; you needed someone who had drive– had success.

All you knew about your date for the night was his name was Harry, he was a record executive, and, according to Emma, he was hot.

The pit in your stomach only grew as you approached Bella Napoli. It didn’t help you’d spent the last six blocks trying to lift your dress and nearly-floor-length coat high enough to keep it out of the puddles.

The little blue location dot on your maps app glided closer to the restaurant with each step you took, nearly there - mist ghosted over your nose with each exhale, doing nothing to keep it warm in the frigid weather of the city, and you couldn’t wait to get inside.

Finally, you spotted the marquee sign affixed to the small brick building half a block up, signaling the end of your journey. The glass-front double doors opened easily under your hasty pull, eager to feel the heat of the brick building’s furnace.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the hostess greeted from behind her podium. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and prominent cheekbones.

“Good evening, I have a reservation under (Y/L/N),” you brushed stray snowflakes off of your wool coat. Emma had ensured she would let Harry know the reservation would be under your name, and you hoped she hadn’t forgotten.

“Ah, yes, table for two? Right this way.” The young woman stepped from behind the podium and began heading toward the main dining area. You followed her as she snaked around the tables full of affluently dressed couples and businessmen in suits, reaching a small archway leading into a more dimly-lit section of the restaurant. 

She led you to a booth in the corner with velvet seats and matching curtains, held open by small hooks on either side - out of sight from most of the other patrons in the section, who didn’t seem to be paying any mind to you anyway. A small candle sat between two menus, adjacent to a traditional silverware layout and an empty highball glass on either side of the booth.

You slid onto the bench facing the room’s entrance as the hostess filled each glass with ice water. She nodded as you thanked her and informed her a man by the name of Harry should be arriving soon to join you. Just in case Emma had forgotten.

The menu was short but obviously well-curated. The wine list was almost twice the length of the food menu - just how you liked it. You skimmed the offerings, deciding on a merlot of the second-highest price point. Your anxiety still made itself known in the way your stomach was twisting. You checked the time. It was 5:58 pm - still two minutes early. You hoped the wine would drown the butterflies (or maybe moths) in your stomach.

Your eyes returned to the restaurant’s food offerings but were again drawn upwards as another person sauntered into the secluded section of the restaurant. His pale grey, half-unbuttoned silk shirt settled just under the gold cross necklace grazing the indent between his pecs. A blazer of a much darker grey draped his shoulders, matching the straight-legged trousers just long enough to only allow the front of his patent-leather black loafers to peek out from under them. 

The air suddenly felt heavy, like you couldn’t get a breath in. Who is the lucky lady he’s here with tonight? Your eyes darted around the section, trying to find his date, but coming up empty. 

Shit, is this Harry?

Your fears are confirmed as you realize the hostess had entered the room a bit ahead of him and was leading him to your booth. The poor girl looked entirely flustered.

“Here you are, sir. Your waitress will be over shortly to grab your drink orders,” she squeaked, turning on her heels and scurrying away as quickly as possible.

You smiled at him as you shuffled out of the booth and rose to your feet, trying to seem much more confident than you were. You reached about the height of his shoulder in your heels.

“You must be (Y/N),” he spoke with a slight smile, glancing at your attire before returning his eyes to meet yours.

“That would be me. And you must be Harry.” You smiled back at him, subconsciously smoothing out the part of the dress resting on your hips.

Harry took a step toward you with arms extended, pulling you into an easy hug, His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of vanilla, patchouli, and musk. Expensive. Even just brushing your fingers across his suit jacket as he pulled away, the feel of the fibers suggested it had also not been cheap.

“You look stunning. I love the color of your dress,” he complimented, pulling back slightly with his hand hovering over your waist. “It looks great on you.”

“Thank you, it was actually a gift from my mother.” Compliment-taking was not your forte.

“Well, she has great taste. Shall we?” He motioned toward the set table, waiting for you to take your seat before sliding into the bench on the opposite side. “Have you been here before?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve heard great things. Have you?” His ring-clad fingers picked up the beverage menu in front of him as you spoke.

“I have, it’s one of my favorites.” That must have been why he suggested it.

“Is the Merlot any good? That’s what I was thinking of ordering, but I’m open to suggestions.” You played with the seam of your dress under the table absentmindedly.

“Now that, I haven’t had. I’m more of a white wine guy myself. I’m a fan of the Riesling.”

“Really? My first guess would have been whiskey, honestly.” There exists a pattern in these kinds of men - they always drank some very expensive whiskey they needed to tell you all about, as if it didn’t taste like smoke-flavored lighter fluid.

“I tend to prefer a sweeter taste,” his eyebrows twitched as he raised the glass of water to his lips. You nodded before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, taking time to browse the food menu.

It wasn’t very extensive, with a few choices to pick from each protein category. You settled on a grilled chicken tagliatelle with a cream sauce, hoping it would pair well with the wine.

“Hi, my name is Danielle and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” a voice burst your bubble of concentration, “have we decided on what we’d like to drink?”

You recited your wine order first, with Harry following shortly after. The waitress jotted down your selections in her notepad before exiting the room with a promise to be back to take your food orders shortly.

“So, Emma said you work in marketing?” he spoke slowly. His accent was thick, only further drawing you into the conversation.

“PR, actually,” you replied, “I have my own firm, with a few employees. I love it.”

“That’s amazing,” he sounded sincere. “How long have you been in PR?”

“Almost a decade, but I’ve had the firm for a little over 3 years. At first, it was just myself operating out of my apartment, but we’ve been able to build up some clientele and move to an actual office space. Emma said you work for Atlas Sound, right?” you shifted the conversation away from yourself, curious about what exactly came with being a record executive.

“That’s right. I’m mostly in charge of production but I help out with some of the publishing aspects as well.”

“Ah, so no talent scouting? I was hoping this could be my big break…” you mused, narrowing your eyes at him. Harry chuckled, flashing the smile you’d found yourself dead set on seeing more of. 

“No, no, unfortunately, that’s not me, but I may know some people who could help. Let me guess, rap?”

You almost choked on the water you’d just taken a sip of, but managed to swallow it before the laugh burst from your throat. It caught you off guard - Harry honestly didn’t look like he would even know what rap is. A silly notion, given his career, but true anyway.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” Harry stated sincerely, and your heart just about stopped. 

Before you got the chance to respond, a full wine glass was placed in front of each of you. You hadn’t even noticed the waitress had come back. “Here are those drinks. Did we decide on what we’d like to eat? I can make some suggestions if you’re not sure what to get…”

It appeared as if she’d forgotten you were even in the room with the way she was staring directly at Harry. You couldn’t blame the girl - you’d been staring too - but she could definitely tell the two of you were on a date, so she could have at least been a little more subtle.

Harry smiled politely (and briefly) at her before turning his attention back to you to confirm you were ready to order. You both relayed your choices to the waitress, and you appreciated that Harry did not seem like he was interested in entertaining her advances.

“Anyways, where were we…” he smiled again, and your heart lurched.

Conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, aided by the wine in your glasses. You found yourself getting less and less nervous about him not being the right fit, but more and more nervous you were somehow making a fool of yourself. 

The story of how one of your interns accidentally jammed the copier so badly you had to buy a completely new unit made Harry laugh loudly. It was one of many stories you had from your job that were definitely funnier in retrospect than they were as they happened. You were aware you’d talked a lot so far, but you couldn’t help it. The way Harry spoke was attractive, but the way he listened was even better. He seemed genuinely interested in the stories you told, maintaining eye contact, nodding in the right spots, and asking thoughtful follow-up questions. It had been a while since you’d had a date genuinely listen to you, and it was refreshing. 

He asked more about your job, and you found yourself telling him how as much as you like being “in charge” and able to have control over your firm, sometimes it was incredibly stressful, especially in emergencies. He could see the stress that followed you home every day seep back into your expression, despite you trying your best not to let it show.

His ring-clad hand slid across the table, fingers gently entwining with yours and giving them a quick squeeze.

“You know, I think you’re brave for taking that risk. You should be proud of what you’ve built.” The eye contact he made with you as he spoke was intense, with sincerity behind his words. His hand was warm, contrasting the cool feeling of the metal rings, and you subconsciously squeezed it back in an attempt to keep it where it was. Luckily, your hands stayed intertwined for another couple of minutes as you expressed your appreciation for his kindness and shifted the conversation back to his job until your food was in front of you.

The meals were delicious, just as Harry had promised. He’d ordered a mushroom risotto that looked delicious, and your pasta tasted perfect with the wine you’d chosen. Good job, self.

Soon, you found your plate nearly empty and your body warm from the alcohol. Your thoughts felt slightly fuzzy, and you caught yourself staring a little too long at the rings on Harry’s right hand, as well as the fingers adorning them. The muscles flexed as he moved his hands while speaking, and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away. You knew how his hand felt in yours, but how would it feel touching your cheek, against your back, gripping your - 

“Did you save room for dessert? The tiramisu is incredible.” Harry’s voice broke your train of thought, and you quickly averted your eyes back to his. What seemed like a slight smirk played on his face, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d noticed the staring, or if the alcohol was just affecting him as well. You prayed for the latter.

“That sounds great, but I can probably only take a few bites. Would you want to share a piece?” you suggested, much too full for an entire dessert to yourself.

“I’d love to.” Harry absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm you couldn’t place, not helping your attempts not to stare. “So, tell me more about that yoga class?”

The conversation flowed again, with Harry ordering dessert when the waitress stopped by. Of course, you were just as interested in his words as he was in yours, hanging on his every accented sentence. He was a captivating storyteller and his facial expressions were no different - you loved how his eyes lit up at the good parts and narrowed at the bad in the story. The slight scruff on his face complimented the way his mouth moved as it formed words, drawing you closer. How would they feel against your own lips, you wondered? 

You could hear the words he was saying, but you weren’t fully listening as he continued telling you about the time he got a little too drunk at a friend’s birthday party and ended up volunteering to give a speech he had in no way prepared for. It was a great story, very funny, but your mind was otherwise preoccupied. Wine always made you… flirty.

Soon, the tiramisu was in front of you. This, too, looked delicious - Harry was right again.

“Would you like the first bite?” He offered, picking up one of the small forks laid out on the plate and scooping a bite of the dessert onto it.

“Well, ladies first I suppose,” you joked. You parted your mouth slightly as you leaned forward, waiting for him to place the fork on your tongue. What you weren’t expecting was for his other hand to reach out and lightly grasp your jaw, thumb on your chin to hold your mouth farther open. A choked gasp escaped your lips at the same time the sweet cake hit your tongue, but you could barely taste it, too distracted by the skin contact. Again, his eyes didn’t leave yours as he allowed your mouth to close and pulled his hand away from your face.

“Well? How is it?” he asked, with a definite smirk this time. 

You tried to compose yourself before answering, swallowing the dessert and the lump that had formed in your throat. “It’s good… really good.” Your voice came out breathier than you intended, and you blinked heavily a couple of times, trying to kickstart the part of your brain that could think of anything except what you’d like to do with the gorgeous man sitting in front of you.

Harry took his own bite next, letting his eyes flutter shut as his mouth closed around the fork. His long eyelashes rested atop his strong cheekbones, the same ones you almost had to physically stop yourself from reaching over to brush your fingertips over. His lips were a stunning, dark shade of red, still slightly wet from the wine he’d been enjoying.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the bite, slightly brushing against the collar of his shirt. Seafoam green eyes made contact with yours as he opened them again, and a small smile graced his face as he realized you’d been watching him intently.

“You’re right, it is really good.” Your heart raced under the fervency of his gaze. He was staring into you like he wanted to read the thoughts echoing in your brain. “Would you like another bite?”

“Sure, but I can feed myself this one if you like,” you attempted to lighten the intense mood that had befallen your booth so you might actually be able to catch your breath,

“That won’t be necessary, I was quite enjoying myself,” Harry mused, refusing to break eye contact until you did. He scooped another bite onto the fork, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before resuming his grip on your jaw and returning the fork to your lips. He felt your jaw flex as you chewed and swallowed the bite, but didn’t take his hand off of your face. Instead, he brought his thumb back to your lips and brushed below them gently, careful not to smudge your lipstick. 

He brought his thumb back to his mouth and slowly closed his lips around the pad of it, a half-smile tugging at his lips at your bewildered expression. “Sorry, you had a little something there. I figured I’d get it for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath instead of attempting to utter a response.

He took another bite himself before offering you another, which you obliged with little hesitation.

“You know, Harry, you need to be careful feeding me like this or I’ll get used to it.” Another feeble attempt to ease the tension and stop acting like a flustered teenager.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmured, voice sincere and slow, laced with something that sent a shiver down your spine, “if it means I keep getting to see your cheeks flush.”

He’d noticed how your body was responding to him, whether or not you tried to hide it. Your face burned again, sinking further into the booth behind you in slight embarrassment.

“Well, it doesn’t help that I’m on a date with an attractive man who’s feeding me tiramisu. I think that’s every woman’s dream.”

“So it’s working?” His face glowed in the candlelight, a smirk on his face but a subtle vulnerability behind his eyes.

You knew what he was implying, but wanted to regain some of the power you’d lost by being so flustered. “Maybe.”

“That’s not good enough for me. I need a yes.” He needed confirmation that you were on the same page.

“And what exactly am I saying yes to?” A sip of wine ran down your throat as you awaited his response.

“To letting me walk you home after this,” Harry stated bluntly, scanning your face for your reaction. You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, but you held your composure, leaning back casually against the booth behind you as you pretended to mull it over. You already knew what you wanted.

“Alright, Harry,” you smirked, bringing the wine glass to your lips once more, “let’s see where the night takes us.”

- - - - - - - - - - 

“God, it’s freezing out here,” you groaned, dodging patches of ice. You were nearly home, your apartment building visible up the street.

Harry had grabbed your hand under the guise of keeping it warm a few minutes ago, something you were grateful for now as you gripped it tightly, trying to navigate the snow-covered ground in heels with little traction. He’d offered to call an Uber, but you wanted some more time with him without a driver listening in on your conversation.

As you approached the building, your imagination ran with thoughts of getting him upstairs, into your apartment, into your living room… 

Before you could get too far, you were at the front door. Your free hand patted over the pockets of your jacket to ensure that you had your keys and found them in your left pocket.

“I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N,” Harry turned to face you, not letting go of your hand. “I’d love to do this again, sometime, if you’d be interested.”

A slight flush now graced his face, glancing at the ground as he awaited your response.

“I had a lovely time. I’d love to see you again,” you confirmed quickly, not letting him worry for too long.

He was beaming now, allowing you to admire his prominent dimples. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but smile right back at the sight.

“There’s that beautiful smile again,” he quipped. His free hand reached for your jaw, cradling it again as you both continued to grin at each other for a few moments. A silence fell upon you again, and Harry’s eyes searched yours for a second before flickering to your lips, which had slowly returned to a resting state. As he moved his gaze back up, your eyes gleamed with the reflections of Christmas lights and were swimming with the need for more contact with him. He inhaled slowly, nervously, before exhaling sharply. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded quickly, gripping his collar to pull him closer before his mouth met yours. Electricity sparked between the two of you, his luscious lips colliding with yours over and over again, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss started slow, but quickly became deeper, more desperate, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you close to him. Your hands searched for solace, moving from his collar to his cheeks before lightly running through the hair at the back of his neck.

He tore his lips away from yours but didn’t stray far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You could see both of your small pants in the air as they fogged due to the cold. A small smile played on each of your lips, and you just knew your lipstick was half-gone because you could definitely see some of it on Harry.

“You know,” you pulled away, straightening your stance confidently, “I have a bottle of wine upstairs if you’d like to help me drink it.”

Harry grinned. “I would love to.”

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (2/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a devastating crash, you’re left to face the hardest decisions of your life as charles fights for his.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1448

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. But that doesn’t stop the crushing reality from setting in, from stealing the breath out of your lungs and leaving you with nothing but a pit in your stomach.

The adrenaline’s worn off now. The chaos of the crash—the sound of metal twisting, the screeching tires, the moment when everything went still—has settled into a steady, numbing dread. The pit in your stomach isn’t just from fear, it’s from the void where your thoughts should be. You don’t know what’s coming next. You’re not even sure if you’re prepared for it.

Charles isn’t here.

Charles isn’t in the room with you.

You glance at your phone again, eyes scanning for any update, any piece of news that tells you he’s okay. There’s nothing. Just the same cold silence. You dial his team again, and again, and again. But no one answers. His car was mangled—wrecked beyond recognition, but the worst part? The worst part is that no one can give you any real answers. No one can tell you if he’ll come back to you, or if that’s a question you should stop asking.

You feel like you're caught in a never-ending loop, the crash replaying over and over in your mind. Every time you hear his name on the news, every time you see another mention of the race, it stabs you like a fresh wound.

“Is there any word?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, though you’ve asked the question a hundred times already.

One of the nurses glances at you, but it’s not the answer you need. They’re all running on autopilot, no one daring to face the gravity of what’s happening.

A few hours later, you get the call. It’s brief, clinical, distant. They’re transferring him to the hospital for further tests, and you need to come now. You don’t even bother with a response. You just grab your coat, your purse, and run.

When you get to the hospital, you’re not prepared for what you’re about to see. You’ve spent all this time worrying about him, and now that you’re here, you don’t know how to be ready for the reality.

They rush you through sterile hallways, and the air feels thick, suffocating. The nurses are too quiet, too busy to offer reassurance. You don’t need their words. You need him.

The surgery’s been a blur. A series of technical terms, each more frightening than the last. Internal injuries. Organ failure. The adrenaline that was keeping him stable starts to wear off. Everything’s urgent, but no one tells you what’s going to happen. No one tells you that he might not make it through.

His mother arrives as you’re sitting in the waiting area, your fingers anxiously twisting the hem of your sleeve. She doesn’t need to say anything. You can see it in her eyes. She’s feeling the same crushing weight of uncertainty that you are. You stand, not knowing what to say, not knowing if there’s anything to say.

“How is he?” she asks, her voice cracking before the words are even out.

“They’re still working on him,” you answer, though you don’t know much. You don’t know anything. “They said it’s critical. I... I don’t know if he’s going to make it through.”

Her face falls, and she takes a deep breath. You want to say something, anything to reassure her, but you can’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore. The fear inside of you keeps growing, pressing against your ribs like a weight you can’t lift.

The door to the surgery room opens, and the doctor steps out. His face is pale, his expression tight.

“Is he...?” you ask, your voice trembling before the question even forms. You can’t bring yourself to finish it.

“He’s stable for now, but his condition is still critical,” the doctor explains. “We’re doing everything we can, but the next few hours are going to be crucial. The adrenaline kept his body from fully going into shock. It’s buying us time, but there’s a chance that time won’t be enough.”

You feel the ground slip away beneath you as his words sink in. “What does that mean? Is he going to be okay?”

“We’ll know more in a few hours, but we’re monitoring his organs. There’s significant internal damage.” He pauses, searching for something to say. Something comforting. “He’s a fighter. We’ll keep doing everything we can.”

You nod, though the words don’t mean anything to you. Fighters don’t always win. You know that. The only thing you can do is wait. But it feels like the waiting is the hardest part.

His mother looks at you, her eyes pleading, her lips trembling. “What do we do now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You’re not prepared to make these decisions. You’re his wife, but you never thought you’d be here, making these life-or-death calls. This isn’t supposed to be your responsibility. You want to ask his mother what to do, but you can’t. She doesn’t have the answers. She’s just as lost as you are.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, feeling the weight of it all settling on your shoulders.

She looks at you with a deep sadness in her eyes. “You’re his wife. It’s your decision now.”

Those words hit you like a punch to the gut. You’re supposed to know. You’re supposed to know what he’d want, what the right choice is. But you don’t. How can you possibly know what to do when everything feels so out of control?

You want to run, want to disappear, but you can’t. Charles is still fighting. He’s still here, and that’s all you have. You can’t walk away from that.

As the hours drag on, you’re taken to see him. The room is sterile, cold. It’s not the hospital room you imagined. It’s nothing like that. It’s a place of quiet chaos, where everything hangs in the balance.

Charles is unconscious, tubes and wires running everywhere. His skin is pale, his face bruised. The doctors said he was conscious for a moment, but he’s out again, too weak to keep his eyes open.

You sit by his side, taking his hand gently, trying to feel his warmth through the coldness of the hospital room. You whisper his name, but there’s no response.

“He’s in there,” you tell yourself. You have to believe that. You can’t let go. Not yet.

Minutes pass, and still, nothing. His pulse steady on the monitor, but that’s the only sign that he’s still here. The rest of it is just a waiting game. You’ve been here before, waiting for someone you love to wake up, to come back to you, but it’s never been like this.

It’s never been this uncertain, this terrifying.

Charles is still here, but you know that might not be the case for long. The waiting is unbearable. Every beep of the heart monitor is both a reminder that he’s still alive and a warning that it could change at any moment.

As the nurse enters to check on him, you hold his hand tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to believe that this could be it.

“How long?” you ask her, barely able to look at the machines, not sure you want to know.

“It’s hard to say,” she replies softly. “He’s stable, but his condition is still critical. If we don’t see improvement soon, we might need to make... more decisions.”

That word. Decisions. What decisions? You’re left with nothing but the silence, the uncertainty. The questions. The waiting.

As the hours stretch on, and the doctor makes his rounds again, you finally hear the words you’ve been dreading. “There’s no improvement. We might need to consider...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you hear what he means. The fear inside you rises, a growing lump in your throat. The worst-case scenario is beginning to feel more real with each passing second.

Everything is slipping away, and you don’t know how to hold on.

You sit in the chair, staring at Charles, your mind racing with fear and doubt. You want to hope, you want to pray, but it feels like hope is a fragile thing, easily crushed by the weight of reality. The fight’s not over yet, but you’re starting to wonder if it ever will be.

“I’m here,” you whisper again, to him, to yourself. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But somewhere deep inside, you know. You know that the decision you’re dreading might be just around the corner, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[lxvemaze]

THE ART OF LOVE

chapter 016.

series masterlist

<<previous chapter | epilogue

SERIES SYNOPSIS. when chris texted an artist he found on instagram with the hopes of them designing an album cover for him, he never expected to fall head over heels in love with them.

PAIRING. bangchan x reader

WC. 4k

CHAPTER TAGS. written

CHAPTER WARNINGS. written from bangchan's pov, one out of pocket jisung comment (but not really), sad sad sad, but then happy happy happy, i'm delusional so i gave art girl my favorite coffee order

A/N. THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER I'M LITERALLY GOING TO CRYYYYYYYYY THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING THIS SERIES IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE THIS CHAPTER AND KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE EPILOGUE 🫶(also, i'm sorry if this is lowkey ass, i had to rewrite it bc my laptop hates me)

Cold was the only word on Chris’ mind as he woke from his nap in the green room. The group was doing an early-morning promotion, and Chris had gotten far less sleep the previous night than he would have liked. But how could he have gotten any sleep in this city? How could he have gotten any sleep knowing that he’s in the same city as her?

Every day of the past year, Chris had been doing nothing more than simply going through the motions. Every moment felt like it was draped in a haze, his life that was once clear and bright now felt blurred and dull. Chris’ whole being was constantly consumed by the guilt of knowing that she was out there, thinking about him.

He’d never intended for it to go as far as it did. When he first messaged her, he’d just recently been broken up with, and was trying to work through those emotions through the creation of a new album. The cover of the album was supposed to be symbolic, a visual representation of him letting his former lover go. How could he have expected to fall in love with the person he paid to depict it?

Even after his company had told him that they didn’t approve the artist, that she was a liability, that she could damage his career, he still held on. He didn’t tell her until it was too late. And that selfish action was enough to ruin not just himself, but also his younger brothers who’d grown to care for her like family, His best friend Hyunjin who loved her the same as Chris. But the worst part of it was that he knew it had ruined her the most.

Chris tried to tell himself that his feelings for her were just a fluke, that he was just lonely or desperate or something. That he’d get over her eventually. But how could that be true when a whole year later, she was still the only thing on his mind?

Chris went throughout his day as mindlessly as he usually did, wordlessly letting the stylists fix him up, bringing life back into his face that had slightly sunken and paled over the past twelve months. He gave polite smiles to the staff, answered interview questions as intelligently as his dazed brain could, and tried his best to be a good leader to his brothers- an area he felt he’d been trying to improve in lately.

After she left, Chris’ relationship with his entire group had been strained. His actions had tainted the smart, strong, caring older brother image that they’d had of him in their minds, and he was doing all he could to restore it. Oddly enough, his relationship with Hyunjin had improved greatly after the events of the previous year. They had a certain understanding of each other's actions that the others simply couldn’t see.

The younger members had slowly come back around to Chris- Jeongin slowest of all. Jeongin arguably had the closest relationship with The Artist, and Chris’ selfishness had hurt him so badly, Chris wasn’t sure that their relationship would recover.

And yet, slowly but surely, Jeongin came back around to him. In fact, Jeongin had been on Chris’ tail all morning long. Over the twelve hours that the group was on set, Jeongin had been by Chris’ side for roughly eleven of those hours. The two were planning on going to some cafe that Jeongin had recommended after the long day of promotions. If Chris were to tell the truth, he’d say that he was much too tired to go anywhere after promotions. He wanted a nap. SO badly. But fixing his strained relationship with Jeongin took precedence over his already suffering sleep schedule.

“You ready to go?” Jeongin peeked his head into the green room as Chris slowly rose from his seat, groaning and stretching his aching limbs. “Good thing we’re going to a cafe. You look like you could use some coffee.” Jeongin giggled as Chris followed him out of the small room and into the hallway. Chris nodded along, rubbing his eyes and letting the younger man lead him towards the front door, silently thanking him with a nod as Jeongin handed him a mask, immediately placing it over his face before they exited the building.

Chris stared out the window from the backseat of one of the staff members' cars, absently wondering if she was sitting in one of the dozens of cars they sped past. Chris didn’t know what he’d do if he saw her. Maybe he’d turn and run the other direction, maybe he’d immediately call his management to tell them that he’s quitting to run away with her. Or maybe he’d just stand there like an idiot.

The events of the past year had sparked a lot of conversation between the staff and members of the group, especially with their contract renewal coming up in just a few weeks. No one wanted another “Artist situation” as the staff were calling it. Chris didn’t know what they were thinking. Whether it be changing their contract to allow dating, or putting them on an even stricter ban, he didn’t much care. He genuinely didn’t know if he’d be able to find it in him to love anyone else for a long time.

On the other side of the car, Jeongin was practically vibrating with excitement as he stared at his phone, scrolling through the DMs he’d sent to his favorite person. He quietly giggled to himself as he opened his navigator app and saw that they were a mere ten minutes from reuniting with the person that had consumed their every waking moment of the past year.

“What are you laughing at?”

Jeongin reflexively shoved his phone in his pocket, folding his hands on his lap before looking up at his older brother in what he hoped was a very non-suspicious way. “...Nothing. Jisung texted me something.”

“Of course.” Chris chuckled, leaning his head against the window again. “What did he say this time?”

“Uh…” Jeongin took his phone out of his pocket, pretending to scroll through his texts for a moment while he attempted to think of something that could have come from Jisung’s foul mouth. “Something about…sucking dick?”

Jeongin saw Chris nod from the corner of his eye, sighing internally that he hadn’t seemed to pick up on what was happening yet.

The truth was, Chris had noticed Jeongin acting weird- Hyunjin too, for that matter. He figured it was just the time of year. It was just after the one-year anniversary of her leaving, and everyone had been dealing with it in their own way.

Minutes later, the staff member in the driver's seat pulled to the sidewalk and informed the two that they had arrived. They thanked the driver and stepped out of the car, looking around and taking in the sight of all the boujee boutiques, cafes, and bakeries on the downtown street.

“Is this it?” Chris pointed just down the street to one of the cuter shops of the street; a quaint little cafe/bookstore combo with numerous plants in the window and comfy looking seats inside. Jeongin nodded with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. The two started towards the cafe before Jeongin stopped in his tracks, smacking his forehead with his palm and exclaiming,

“Ohh wait a second!”

Chris turned to his younger friend, quirking an eyebrow at him as Jeongin looked down the street behind him. “What?”

“I forgot that I need to grab…a thing…from a store. You go ahead and order, I’ll be right back! Get me a peppermint frappuccino!” Jeongin called to Chris as he ran back down the street the way they came, leaving Chris absolutely dumbfounded at his friend's sudden exit.

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking in the direction Jeongin ran, and back over his shoulder to the cafe, mentally debating on whether to chase after his mischievous friend or to just go into the cafe and order an americano before he fainted in the middle of the sidewalk.

After little mental debate, he decided on the latter. The inside of the cafe was just as charming as the outside, comfortable mismatched heavily-cushioned seats surrounded several dark brown tables. Tall bookshelves adorned every wall, with paintings made by local artists filling any gaps left by the shelves.

There was a fairly long line stemming from the coffee bar in the back of the shop, Chris noticed as he stopped behind a girl with unnaturally colored hair that the menu didn’t have Jeongin’s requested order. He figured he’d just order a hot chocolate with a peppermint espresso shot.

The line was moving slowly, even though people sat down to claim a table after they ordered, it felt like the line wasn’t progressing at all. Chris glanced around the shop again and at all the different patrons scattered around. It seemed to be a hot spot for the local hipsters. As Chris’ gaze danced over all the different people in line, his eyes were quickly drawn to the keychain on the bag of the girl in front of him. 

When Hyunjin had taken her to the art museum back in Seoul, she’d gotten one that looked exactly like it. She said it was her favorite thing that she’d bought during her whole trip. Chris hadn’t realized the line had moved on without him until the person behind him tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to move forward.

Before he knew it, it was the girl with the colored hair’s turn to order. Apparently, she needed a moment as she stood in silence for a moment, looking up at the menu behind the counter, much to the chagrin of the barista at the register.

“Could I please get a lavender oat milk latte?”

It felt like Chris had been decked in the face with a bag of cinder blocks as she spoke. 

Any and all thoughts had immediately abandoned his mind as the barista rang her up and she thanked the worker in the sweet tone that Chris knew all too well.

Chris’s heart ached at the sweet smile on her face as she turned around. However, the smile quickly faded as she saw the man that had been standing behind her. The two stood in equally stunned silence as they took each other in. Chris’ eyes trailed down The Artist’s frame, quickly taking in the fact that she was paler and thinner than he’d remembered. The Artist noticed the same about him.

“Excuse me, you two are holding up the line.” The barista spoke from behind the counter, her annoyed tone prompting The Artist to turn around and flash her an apologetic smile, and gently place her hand on Chris’ bicep, leading him out of the line.

Chris’ eyes didn’t leave her face as she was looking seemingly anywhere but him. She cleared her throat nervously, Chris’ eyes burning into her face.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Chris nodded before she silently led him to the table for two by the front window, placing her bag over the back of one of the seats and sitting down, folding her hands on top of the table.

Chris sat across from her, and the two sat in silence.

Chris could hear her shaky uneven breaths, and noticed her folded hands shaking on the table. It took everything in his to not reach over and hold them in his own.

“I saw the painting.”

Her eyes glanced up to meet his as he spoke, but she looked away as quickly as their eyes met. “I was hoping you had.”

Another bout of silence.

“So…” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair before mirroring her position and folding his hands on the table, his fingers mere centimeters from hers. “What are you doing here?”

“Well…I was supposed to meet a potential client.” She was a lot quieter than Chris remembered.

“That could’ve been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well…I haven’t been out much lately. Figured this would be a good opportunity.”

More silence followed her statement, the pit of guilt in Chris’ stomach clawing at him from the inside. Her reasoning for being here, her visibly sunken appearance, her hair…

“You changed your hair.” She looked up at him again, her eyes remaining on his this time as she reached up instinctively to touch the colored locks, a small smile gracing her face.

“Oh yeah…Just trying something out, I guess.”

“I like it.”

The smile quickly dropped from her face at Chris’ words, her eyes looking down at her lap once more. Chris sighed and leaned back in his seat. What the hell should he say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘I still love you’? ‘Let’s run away together’? Although he sincerely felt every one of those statements, none of them could express how he felt. None of those would make up for the pain and sadness that he’d inflicted on her, himself, and those closest to him. He was stuck. This has to be hell.

“So, is your company not as fucked up anymore, or are you breaking the rules just by sitting here right now?”

Her words caused an unprompted laugh to escape Chris’ mouth. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face, taking a steadying breath before looking back at the woman across from him. She was still so pretty.

“No, I probably shouldn’t be here right now. Jeongin and I were just going to get a cup of coffee and-” Jeongin. Of course he did. “That little fucker” Chris sighed, looking out the window for any sign of the scheming young man.

The Artist across from him stared in confusion, “Jeongin? Where is he?”

“He…went to grab something before coming here. I don’t know. We’re here for a schedule and probably forgot something at home.”

“Chris…are we just not going to talk about-”

“Let’s just leave.”

“...What?” She stared at him completely dumbfounded by his words, his eyes staring intently into hers, completely unwavering.

“Let’s go.” He repeated softly, reaching his hands over to grab her own. “I can’t do this anymore. You have no idea how badly I missed you. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. I have spent every minute of every day regretting the fact that I didn’t fight for you. The regret of putting my career and my company before you has been eating me alive. I thought I could get over it, but I can’t. Seeing you again made me realize that. So let’s just leave.”

“Chris, you can’t do that to the kids.”

“We’ll take them with us. All of us can just live together in a secluded cabin somewhere.”

“You know we can’t do that. I know you know we can’t.”

Chris sighed and ran his thumbs over her knuckles, her bright pink nail polish peeking through the gaps of his hand. “I know. I just can’t say goodbye again.”

“Chris, I love you. I could never stop loving you. I just don’t know what to do.” Chris’ hands left at the Artist’s words. His eyes hadn’t left hers since he started speaking, and he’d noticed the tears starting to well in the corners.

“I’m supposed to be renewing my contract soon. I’ll tell them…I’ll convince them to let this happen. I don’t give a fuck about the company anymore. I can live without them. I can just start over. But I can’t live without you and start over with someone else.”

“God, Chris, I want nothing more than to be with you. But the last thing I ever wanted was for me to hold you back in any way.” She took a deep breath, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She opened her mouth to continue, but the two were startled out of their seats by a loud pounding on the window next to them. They turned to see the source of the noise, and saw Jeongin pressed against the window, waving excitedly. As soon as he was sure the two saw him, he immediately ran into the shop and made a beeline for The Artist, giving her a tight hug that nearly knocked her out of her seat.

“I missed you so much.” The boy cried as she stood up to return his hug properly, neither of them caring about the other patrons of the cafe side-eyeing them.

“I knew it was you.” Her voice cracked as her arms tightened around him, not minding the feeling of his shoulders shaking with his sobs, or the warm tears on her shoulder as he pressed his face into her neck.

Chris watched with a sad smile on his face as he watched the two embrace. Eventually, Jeongin pulled away from The Artist and turned to Chris, stretching his arm out, prompting Chris to wrap his arms around the two people who meant the most to him. His whole world.

ONE YEAR LATER…

“We’ll make it work.” Chris sighed as he pressed his lips into The Artist’s hair. “We can’t lose you.”

“Chan! Where’s my suitcase?” Jeongin called out from the living room, the sound of him stomping around the room was clear even where Chris stood in the kitchen.

“Minho put all the suitcases in the foyer.” Chris replied as he rushed to finish packing the bag of snacks from home for their long journey.

“Chan! Do you have an extra tote bag?” Felix asked as he passed through the kitchen.

“I think in the laundry room.”

“I don’t know where that is! Why the hell did you have to move into this giant house?”

“Because, they’re leaving room for growth. Chan and Art Babe go at it like, 24/7. They’re gonna end up with twelve kids by the time they’re forty. Surprised they haven't made an announcement yet. Laundry room is all the way down the hall and to the left, by the way.” Jisung mused as he strolled in, taking an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Shut up, Jisung!” Hyunjin yelled from the top of the staircase.

“I’m home!” A voice called from the foyer, prompting Chris’ head to pop up like a meerkat. Felix and Jisung rolled their eyes affectionately at their older brothers’ demeanor before Felix went to find the laundry room.

“Speak of the devil.” Jisung grinned, taking a large bite of apple as she entered the room, placing the grocery bags that adorned her arms on the counter, rolling her eyes at her friend.

“I don’t wanna know.” She sighed and she walked around the counter, placing a kiss to Chris’ cheek before washing her hands. “You guys heading to the airport soon?”

“Yeah, in about ten minutes, as long as everyone can find their stuff in time.” He ran his hand across her lower back as he passed her on his way to the pantry.

“Alright, I’m gonna go wait in the foyer just in case you two decide to start banging on the counter.” Jisung pulled a faux-disgusted face at the two, tossing his finished apple in the garbage and promptly making his exit.

“He loves us, really.” The Artist sighed as she dried her hands. Chris hummed in agreement and he shoved the last few items in the bag and zipped it up. “Oh!” She exclaimed, rushing to the fridge, taking out eight small tupperware and sorting them out on the counter. “I made meals for you all to eat on the plane. I know it’s not a long flight, but I know the kids all hate that airline’s food, so I figured they’d appreciate it.”

Chris smiled softly as his lover as she spoke enthusiastically about the individual meals that she’d prepared for their friends, the diamond on her left hand shimmering in the light. They’d been living together for six months now, and had been cherishing every second of it. Chris was thankful for every second that he got to spend with her. Just ten months ago, he had fought his company tooth and nail for his and his members rights to their own privacy. With the majority of their staff backing them and the fact that they’d all agreed to not renew their contracts if the company didn’t agree, there was nothing left for them to do.

After they’d successfully gotten their conditions written into their contract, Chris and his Artist were finally free to love each other as they always had. She moved into an apartment in Seoul a few months later, and not long after that, she and Chris bought their first house together. Just a week after that, Chris proposed. After a year of being apart, they realized that they didn’t want to waste a single second.

“Chan! The van’s here!” Changbin poked his head into the kitchen, giving a little wave to The Artist.

“Hey! Tell everyone to come in here and grab their dinner.” She addressed Changbin, who immediately nodded and gave her a little salute before turning and relaying the message to the others. She turned to her fiance, who was leaning on the counter, his eyes still on her. She leaned over the counter and gave him a soft kiss, bringing her hand up to run her hands through his curls that he’d been taking such great care of lately. “You’ll make sure they get their dinners into their carry-ons?”

“Of course.” He whispered against her lips, pressing a short kiss to them before pulling away and grabbing the tupperware marked with his name.

All at once, the seven other men in the house stormed into the kitchen like a stampede. One-by-one, they grabbed their dinners and hugged The Artist, bidding her goodbye and telling her they loved her before rushing out of the house and into the van that awaited them outside.

“I put the brushes I borrowed back into your art room, and I noticed you had some brushes soaking, so I put them on the mat to dry.” Hyunjin, who was the last to leave, informed The Artist and they embraced.

“I appreciate you. See you when you get back.” She patted his back and smiled sweetly at him as they pulled back. He returned the smile and turned to leave, giving her one last wave over his shoulder before exiting the home.

Chris waited before he heard the front door close before walking around the counter to his lover and pulling her in for a tight hug, his hands holding her close as his lips pressed into her hair, breathing in her scent before he had to leave. “I love you so much, my beautiful girl.”

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes, smiling at him, her gaze filled with nothing but adoration. She leaned in once more to give him another lingering kiss, making sure she wouldn’t forget the taste of his lips anytime soon. “I love you, too. My beautiful man.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.” His hands went down to her own, holding them gently, his thumb running over the beautiful rock on her finger.

“Go have fun. Keep an eye on those kids.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek quickly, grabbing the tupperware back off the counter. “You know I will. I love you.”

“I love you. Now get out of my house.” She gave his back a light push and followed him to the front door as he giggled.

“Hey.” He turned around, his hand on the door handle. “It’s our house.”

She couldn’t resist pecking him once more as he opened the front door. “Our house.”

He gave her a look that could only be described as pure love before turning and rushing towards the van. She stood out on the front porch, seeing the boys in the van waving at her through the window as the van pulled away from the sidewalk and drove off.

Her heart didn’t ache as the van drove out of sight. Because she knew that they would come back. That she’d never have to truly be without them again. Because they were family. And no one could take that away.

TAGLIST.

@nightmarenyxx @seungmincenteric @brbwritingfanfic @hanniesdegree @queenofviolenceandnerds @jennibahng @steddie-steddie @boofheadeily @weird-bookworm @bookishcaptain @sincerely-sun @vxllxnsworld @staytinyluv @ruth-odyssey @ravengxbss @hanniemylovelyquokka @thedistractedwriter @lixies-favorite-cookie @chrizrizz @stilldontknowhoiam @jazziwritesthings @s0mflwr @lostidiot24 @seungzsmin @soaplickerrr @youreyeson1y @mbioooo0000 @seungminsapuppy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @missvanjii @dailyyhyvne @skzaholix @starzystay @my-neurodivergent-world @hyunjinswrld @momhwa1117 @divineinsanity @rakshithanotrao @thatgirlangelb @sona1800 @mehli-00 @sukss @justiceforvillains @starlostastronaut @stephanieeeyang @reallychaoticwoo @finnbbl @borahae-reads @hopelesromanticy @crownj1min

[roonotrue]

Twisted Wonderland - He Hears You Singing (About Him)

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Heartslabyul Edition, Savanaclaw Edition

Prompt: While relaxing, and doing chores around the Ramshackle dorm for your weekend restoration of the barely standing building, your thoughts drift to love songs from your old world. You think of songs that remind you of your closest fellow NRC student and significant other, and end up singing one while you work.

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and they are referred to as 'MC/Prefect' in this one. And let's all just agree that MC is a great singer- cuz some of these songs have mad vocals that I would never dream of trying to sing myself with my incredibly average voice, and I imagine a lot of you are the same.

Included Characters: Octavinelle Edition!

Warnings: None.

Request Rules & Information Here

~~~

Azul Ashengrotto - "Adore You" by Harry Styles

- Why did he stop by Ramshackle? He can't remember. It was something about taste testing the new spring menu, maybe? He's not sure it matters anymore, given how enamored he is with the sound of your voice right now.

- Is frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, he hadn't even realized it was you singing (he thought it was from your phone or something on a radio) until he turned the corner and saw you.

- When you see him, he turns all kind of shades of scarlet, embarrassed at being caught staring, but he quickly composes himself.

- Immediate compliments followed quickly by an offer to sing at the Mostro Lounge sometime- you'd be paid generously of course-

- On the outside he's acting cool, but the song in question really did fluster him quite a bit, and thoughts of you singing it again just for him keep intruding in his mind, and if you look closely you can see his ears remain a pretty shade of pink the whole conversation after.

- Does truly think you would look stunning dressed up in lavish clothes, preforming on the stage of the Mostro Lounge, are you sure you don't want to? He'll throw in a free meal plus pay!

"My, my, MC, that was a lovely performance. You should put those wonderful vocals to use, I'm sure everyone would be in awe of you at the Lounge. Some may even show up just to see you- I certainly would."

~~~

Jade Leech - "Dive" by Olivia Dean

- He's honestly quiet pleasantly surprised when he enters Ramshackle (without knocking of course) and hears your wonderful singing voice.

- A soft (dare I say genuine?) smile makes it's way to his face as he approaches the living area where you're cleaning, and stands patiently in the doorway for you to finish the song- one he's never heard before but it flows rather smoothly, much like the jazz played at the lounge.

- He finds the lyrics rather intriguing too, now what would inspire you to sing such a romantic song? A crush perhaps? The idea of you having enough of a crush on someone to sing such a song about them makes him... Well, he'll just focus on what he has right in front of him for now, and save those pesky feelings for later self-analysis.

- When you catch him he is completely shameless in his staring, as a matter of fact, his smile grows, before he gives a curious tilt of his head and motions with his hand for you to continue.

- What? Your voice was beautiful, of course he wants to hear it more. What's he doing here? Oh, well, he's come to ask if you'd like to be the first to taste test the Mostro Lounges new spring menu.

- Sure he didn't knock, but it's honestly your fault for not locking the front door- oh, the locks are broken? That can't possibly be safe. Perhaps you should stay at Octavinelle until they are fixed, that way he can hear your voice much more often.

- As a matter of fact, instead of 100 thaumarks a night for a room, he's sure he can arrange for you to sing at the Lounge every night for payment instead.

"Oh, please don't mind me, continue. Your voice is quite delightful, you should consider singing at the Lounge- though, I'm not sure I want anyone else to hear you but me..."

~~~

Floyd Leech - "Risk" by Gracie Abrams

- oHohOHo, you're never gonna live this down PT. 3

- The moment he barges into Ramshackle in a poor mood, looking for his favorite Shrimpy to cheer him up, he freezes at the sound of you're voice.

- But not for long.

- One second, you're alone, singing as you do some chores, and the next second you're being spun around in Floyd Leech's arms as he laughs cheerfully.

- He loves your voice. Keep singing! He wants to dance with you while you do! Forget those boring chores! He's here now, so you can both have fun! You're so adorable he could squeeze you till you pop!

- You should come by the lounge sometimes and sing to him to make his shifts less boring. He's sure Azul wouldn't mind- and if he does, then you two can just leave and have your own party elsewhere!

- He will, without a doubt, demand that you sing to and for him at the most random of times, hell, he might even barge into the middle of your class in a foul mood and demand a serenade from his Shrimpy.

- If you truly won't sing to him, his mood may worsen and you won't see him for awhile while he sorts himself out, whereas if you do sing for him, he will immediately start to feel better.

- The best moment he could ask for to fix his mood, is laying beside you his head in your lap, while you sing. It helps him decompress, and feel so much better from whatever was overwhelming him or souring his mood.

"Shrimpy~! Nice set of pipes! Well, don't stop singing, let's dance together! I knew you'd be doin' something fun, you always cheer me right up!"

~~~

Can you guys tell that Octavinelle is one of my favorite dorms? Particularly the twins? Especially Floyd, his unpredictability with his mood swings are very relatable as someone with severe untreated ADHD and bipolar tendencies. I just think he's neat guys. And fun to write. Anyway! Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you next post! ~ Roo

[writersblockiskillingme]

Russian Roulette | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After doing everything in your power to find the salesman who got you and Gi-hun into all this mess, he unexpectedly shows up in your motel room.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!!, angst, unspoken feelings (until now), guns, playing Russian Roulette, threatening, mocking, blood, character death, cursing (maybe, idk), tears, talk about the games, tension, reader gives off femme fatale energy, also reader has longer hair to fit into a braid but if you don't just ignore it please, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I just watched the first few episodes, and for a little while, I got out of the writers block. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE!

Rain was pouring down like crazy, wind blowing around as I drove my black car with full speed as I tried to get to the Pink Motel that Gi-hun and I co-owned as fast as I possibly could after today's events. Gun that was placed on the seat next to me was jumping slightly as I drow down the road every time I hit a bump or such. My left hand gripped the steering wheel til my knuckles turned pure white as my right hand gripped the phone to the same extent.

"I found bloodstains there!" I practically shouted into my phone as I came to a stop, the images of blood seeping down the trash bags and the knife thrown on the ground never really leaving my mind. "Gi-hun is still looking, I'm sure they didn't get far from that alley."

"What do we do, miss?"

"Check all the CCTV and dashcam footage you can collect from the area and keep asking around." I continued to practically shout for him to hear me over the rain on the street, my braid swinging over on my left shoulder as I got out of the car, running towards the entrance to the Pink Motel.

"I'll join you soon." And with that, I ended the call, quickly putting my phone in the left pocket of my jacket.

I roughly pulled loose threads of hair that fell on my eyes as I quickly took out the key. However, I came to a sudden stop. Something wasn't right. I found myself freezing as I slowly moved my head to look around. That's when I noticed. The sign of the Pink Motel was lit up.

Someone is here, and they want me to know that.

I stood there in the rain for a little while before I decided to take a deep breath before entering. I walked up all the way to the fourth floor before entering, the light going on as I did. I walked into my bedroom as quietly as I could. But even before I could prepare myself for what I was about to see, just as I walked to the end of the first corner, I saw him.

After three years of endlessly, tirelessly trying to find him, he was here. Right in front of me. He was standing in front of my wall, a shining black gun in his hand, looking at the calendar on which I crossed the dates with red marker every single day for three years. Next to in was a map of the underground, every single route mapped out, drawn on, and my handwriting shone on it to.

"It's been a long time, Miss."

For a while, I said nothing. I was just standing there, soaking wet, the rain that I took with me inside dripping on the floor. I was staking in his appearance for a moment. He was just as tall as I remember, standing there in his suit. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't change one bit, like nothing changed from the moment that I fist saw him on the train station three years ago.

But it did.

His hair was longer, I won the games alongside Gi-hun, we weren't on the train station, but in my Motel room, he wasn't holding a briefcase, he was holding a gun and I didn't.

But his voice was the same, he was still as tall as I remember, I suppose his smile was the same, too. And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same feelings he did three years ago before I gained and lost it all.

I just sighed and moved towards the table I ate. There was a towel that I threw last night. I started to pat my hair, trying to dry it off as I looked around for some dry clothes.

"You should've gotten on that plane that day." He said, looking over at me as I paused.

"I changed my mind when I saw you there." I said before continuing to dry myself.

The moment of quiet continued as I put the towel away. He tapped the map with his gun before he started to speak again. I truly didn't know how to feel. After I wasted three years trying to find him, he just shows up at my motel room. Funny.

"It looks like you've been trying hard to find me, darling." I could just hear that ignorant smirk in his voice. Motherfucker.

"Don't let it get to your head." I told him slowly, my voice completely calm. "I just wanted to thank you." I said as I took off my wet jacket, throwing it in the corner.

"Thank me?" He asked as he sat down on one of the sofas by the table next to my bed. I turned to look at him slowly, a dry jacket in my hand. That's when I noticed blood on the collar of his suit and his face. Motherfucker.

"For inviting me to the game." I said as I approached him, his eyes on me as I sat down, opposite him. "I won and took a bloody fortune with me."

He kept quiet, listening to me, his dark eyes flickering all over my face as I spoke.

"So the decent thing of me to do would be to thank you for it."

"I'm just a messenger who delivers invitations." He smirked, but before he could say more, I continued, all off my anger resurfacing.

"And just who had you deliver those invitations, handsome?" I spoke, venom infecting my every word. "Let me meet him. I have something to say to him."

"Give me the message, and I'll pass it along." He continued, giving me a smile at the end. It appears that I was right. His smile is the same.

"Oh, dear." I mockingly pouted as I crossed my legs. "I'm afraid that it's not something I can discuss with an underling like you."

His smile quivered as he raised his eyebrow. Waiting on me to continue.

"You prey on people who are hanging by a thread and corner them at subway stations." I could feel myself slowly starting to shake from anger and despair. "Someone like you wouldn't be able to understand what I'm trying to say, of course."

For a while, there was silence yet again. We were just looking at each other. Our eyes never leaving each other's.

"You know what the funniest thing was?"

"What, miss?"

"For a moment, when I was hunting you down, I was just delusional enough to think that we could actually team up. You know? Take down the games and whoever was behind them. I liked you. And I liked to think that. But now I realize just how wrong I was." I whispered, turning away from him as I spoke. Yet I still felt his eyes on me. "And boy was I wrong. You will never change. You like the monstrous things that you are doing."

"How do you think I got to where I am now?"

"I don't fucking care." I spat at him as I turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I don't care how you became their dog. I just want you to bring me your master."

He looked down, sighing as he cracked his neck, gun still in his hold. After a while he spoke again.

"I used to work in the games when I was younger. I removed and burned the bodies of countless people like you."

He was the pink guard once.

"'These things aren't human. They're just trash utterly useless in this world.' I kept telling myself that and worked hard for a few years." He spoke, suddenly smiling again. "Then they gave me a gun."

The triangle guard.

"It felt pretty good." He said as he lifted up his gun, examining it. "Like my existence was acknowledged for the first time in my life. I don't know which year it was, but one day, I was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. Guess who it was."

I kept quiet.

"My dad." He finally said. "My dad was suddenly standing in front of me. He was in tears, desperately begging me to spare his life."

He suddenly moved his hand, placing the gun in front of my forehead, but his suddenly, quick movement did not startle me one bit. I was used to it.

"I shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, 'Ah. I'm cut out for this job.'"

He was looking straight at me, his dark eyes mad. I narrowed mine at him. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Maybe, but I didn't. Not only did he enjoy it, but he also has no idea how it was like for me. All the things Gi-hun and I went through. All of people we lost along the way... Ali... Sae-byeok... Sang-woo...

"Whether you shoot people in there or con them outside, it doesn't change anything." I said, slowly leaning over towards him. "You have always been nothing more than their dog."

He clicked his gun, putting his finger on the trigger, his expression darkening.

"Miss." He started, his hand shaking slightly as I kept completely still. "Do you think you're special because you won the game?"

I said nothing. My expectation still as I leaned forward just a bit more, pressing my forehead directly on his gun. His dark expression broke into one of shock.

"Someone like you could never know or understand how I made it out of there alive. And how it feels to play the games."

Suddenly, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. My expression barely changed, yet I could he on his face that my eyes old him every. Shock, disappointment and sadness.

He sighed before leaning over to me on the table that until now kept us at a distance. He was quiet for a while. I suppose he has always been that way.

"Let's play a game." He smiled at me.

I didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table, letting a song play.

Time to say goodbye.

He leaned back against the seat as he lifted up his gun.

"I'm sure you've seen this in the movies." He started to explain, never breaking eye contact with me. "It's called Russian Roulette."

Motherfucker.

"Usually, you place one bullet in the gun, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger." He said, clicking the gun in its place before pulling the trigger, explaining the game as he showed me what to do. "And before the next round, you spin the cylinder again. It rests the odds back to 1 in 6."

"I know." I mumbled and he smiled.

"But I'd like to make this game a little more serious." He smirked. "Because you're truly special, love."

"Cut to the chase." I glared at him and his stupid antics. He blinked at me and continued.

"We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over." He paused. "What do you say?"

"Spin the gun." I frowned.

He smirked before gently placing the gun on the table. This could end badly on both sides, but for a moment, I found myself being selfish. Maybe, just maybe, if I lost this game after everything I went through, I could die and find peace with the people I lost. I could join them and leave with the feelings I have for him, that he possibly realized, unsaid. I could finally end it all. The night terrors, the time I spent searching for him, my cigarette addiction, mourning what I lost and what I couldn't have, yet at the same time not enjoying the money I got form the games. Who could enjoy that? Who could possibly enjoy living the life that I live.

He spinned the gun, and its tip pointed at me. Without a second thought, I took the gun and placed it by the side of my head. A few seconds later, not looking away from him, I pulled the trigger. Noting happened. That chamber was empty.

I put the gun on the table. I barely had time to move my hand before he took the gun, placed it by his head just like I did and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He sighed in content as he placed the gun back on the table, smiling at me almost lovingly. I knew.

I took the gun and placed it by my head again, but before I could just pull the trigger he spoke up.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." He smiled before he laughed a little. "For, one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji."

I said nothing, glaring at him. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened once again.

He looked at me, impressed by my luck so far. I looked him straight in the eyes as I threw the gun on the table. It slid over on the other side, right in front of me.

He took the gun after he took a moment to just look at me. Not breaking eye contact, he took the gun. Leaned over to me until he was basically touching me, pointing the gun at me. Then he did something that I did not expect at all. He put the gun in his mouth.

Motherfucker.

He pulled the trigger. I winced a little. Nothing again. He laughed at my expression as I tried my hardest to keep myself composed. He slowly took the gun out of his mouth before sitting back, putting the gun back on the table.

I took the gun and as I was about to place it by my head he spoke up again.

"What's the matter?" He asked me, raising his eyebrows. "Is your mind starting to race?"

I scoffed slightly.

Motherfucker.

"Now your odds of death are 1 in 2." He nodded. "That's pretty high indeed. I'm sure you're afraid, darling. Lots going through your mind."

I said nothing.

"Let me guess what you're thinking right now." Motherfucker. "'The gun is in my hand. Screw the rules. Pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow his face off.' Isn't that right?"

I kept looking at him, glaring as I did. All while he spoke. "If you and Gi-hun want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket." At that I allowed my eyes to travel all over him. "You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. But I'll have you admit one thing."

He took a moment to pause, my hand still holding the gun by my head. He leaned over once again.

"That you're a piece of trash, just like Gi-hun, just like everyone else that was in the games." He leaned over more closely, our lips practically touching as he spoke. "A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster."

He laughed as I pressed the gun against my head, our lips barely an inch away from each other's. This was it, I thought to myself. This round will determine if I live or die. I tightened the grip on the gun, my knuckles turning white again. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He looked at me, then at the gun and then back at me. I started to chuckle lowly, like a maniac. Perhaps I was one. I watched his face closely as I pulled the gun away from my head. The grip on the gun still tight as I pointed it at his chin before slowly opening up my palm, waiting on him to take the final, real shot.

His hand touched mine. I felt him and myself freeze at the contact as he took the gun from my hand. I pulled my hand away as he looked at the gun.

"What's the matter?" I taunted him, my face mirroring the smirk that he always wears. "Is your mind starting to race?"

He said nothing as I spoke to him.

"That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me." He looked pale at my words. "But... before you leave me forever this time. I'll have you admit two things."

He looked at me as I brought my hand at his cheek, wiping a little bit of blood on his face.

"You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark, and wave your tail for them. You're nothing more than their dog." I told him before my voice became gentle.

He waited on me, his eyes soft.

"And regarding this." I said as I waved my hand slightly between the two of us. "You really are a dog. A dog that loves me. And... perhaps I am a fool, too. Because I love a dog that could've made it all work out for us but was too much of a coward to do so."

I leaned over to him, my hand landing under his chin, holding him.

"Admit it." I whispered as we looked each other in the eyes. "Admit that you love me, that you did ever since you gave me that fucking card."

For a moment, there was silence. His tortured eyes, looking at me. I knew. I always did. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, for a moment. This would be the last time that I spoke to him, that I could look into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

All of a sudden, there was a loud sound followed by blood spraying my face as his body fell backward.

I stood up and walked over to him. I don't know how long I stood there, but after a while, I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. My hand touched my cheek as I whipped it away.

Motherfucker.

[thepixelelf]

warnings: none. wc: 871

[mistletoe misbehavior] "This..." Jihoon gaped at the ceiling. Or, for a better description, what used to be the ceiling. "...is ridiculous."

"I think you mean genius," Soonyoung said as he crudely taped up the last piece of mistletoe. He climbed down the small stepladder and put his hands proudly on his hips, admiring his two and a half hours' worth of hard work.

Every single square inch of the ceiling was covered in mistletoe.

If Jihoon didn't know the roof was supposed to be white, he wouldn't have been able to tell. How Soonyoung even managed to find this much mistletoe in the first place was a mystery of its own.

"If this is because they're coming over tonight, you're an idiot."

Soonyoung beamed at the mention of you, eyes sparkling with mischief at the thought of you falling right into his trap.

With a roll of his eyes, Jihoon ignored him and went back to his original goal of setting the table. He felt like the job was insignificant compared to something like making the mashed potatoes, but when Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Joshua were in the kitchen together, no one else was allowed to touch anything in there -- not even the microwave.

Soonyoung himself was banned from the kitchen year round after the Chuseok Pajeon Fire of 2021, an accident you were not only witness to. Back then, you and Vernon were the only ones calm -- aka not freaking out -- enough to be able to extinguish what could've been a real disaster. Since you were technically half the reason the paper towel caught on fire, though, you too were forbidden from Mingyu's sacred kitchen.

Making one last check that no area of the ceiling was left uncovered, Soonyoung gave himself a pat on the back and put away the stepladder. His phone chimed with the Duolingo correct answer noise (a ringtone you had chosen for yourself).

[🎄mistletoe victim🎄] can u come downstairs and help me? i brought too much stuff

He wasted no time in meeting you down in the apartment lobby, where you were waiting with a huge stack of shiny, jewel-toned gift boxes. You wore only jeans and a garish Christmas sweater, but somehow, you radiated merriness. Something about the holidays always made you more cheerful, which was why Soonyoung liked them so much (but he wouldn't tell you that).

As soon as you spotted him, you waved. "Merry Christmas! Can you help me with these ones?" You pointed at one of the piles. "You guys don't have a chimney, so we'll have to use the elevator."

While you laughed at your own joke, Soonyoung joined in as he scooped up each meticulously wrapped gift.

"Oh! Don't forget this one," you said, putting a small, navy blue box on top of the pile in his arms. He could barely see over the mountain of presents you'd brought.

The trek to the boys' apartment wasn't too long, but Soonyoung's excited anticipation to see you fall for his trap made it seem much longer. He was practically bouncing in his slippers by the time the elevator opened.

In his excitement, the small blue box tumbled off the pile of gifts onto the floor, somehow sliding in the opposite direction of the room and behind their floor neighbour's potted plants. Soonyoung went after it, but you kept onward to the apartment.

He struggled more than he thought he would at picking up the runaway box, having to put down the pile and push around the pots to actually find it. He heard distant laughter which he knew was you being greeted by the rest of the group, and something you said that he couldn't quite discern.

As quick as he could, he picked everything up again and ran to the doorway, only to be greeted with the image of you giving both Joshua and Mingyu quick pecks on their cheeks.

"Hey!" Soonyoung shrieked, roughly setting the presents on the floor. "You can't do that!"

It was directed at the boys you'd kissed, but there was no doubt you'd already done the same to the other guys in the room, judging by Seungkwan's playful smile and Jihoon's combination of a smug grin and crossed arms.

"Can't do what, Soonyoung?" Jihoon teased. "It's tradition."

Everyone nodded in agreement, all of you pointing up at the mistletoe-infested ceiling.

"This isn't how it's supposed to go!" he protested still. "It's not fair!"

"Aww," you cooed. "Does Soonyoungie want a kiss?"

Seungkwan and Joshua joined in, making those annoying thirteen-year-old-boy noises kids did when someone was in trouble.

Soonyoung sputtered, "No! No, I just--! It was--!"

You giggled at successfully turning his trap around, the holiday spirit making you more forgiving. "Don't worry, we can make things even right away."

Quick as a flash, you walked up to Soonyoung and placed one gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning in for a peck on the lips.

Mingyu was the one who started the loud, teasing noises this time before you followed them to the edge of the kitchen to see how dinner was going, leaving a starstruck Soonyoung in the entryway.

You didn't fall for his tricks this time.

No, it seems he fell for you instead.

[please-destroy]

First Fall of Snow

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

.

‘Downstairs in ten minutes.’ Natasha walked right past you with her matter of fact greeting.

You held your tongue but your gaze caught Tony’s knowing one. You rolled your eyes at his smirk, every morning was the same.

You kept quiet as you stood up from the breakfast table. Your muscles ached with anticipation for the inevitably exhausting sparring match.

It was just a regular Tuesday.

You never thought you’d be used to such a rigorous regime.

.

You’d first been identified for the Avengers’ Initiative after you’d tipped off the authorities about a human trafficking ring in New York. 

It had been the scariest moment of your life. Your sixth sense for reading other people’s intentions was something that you’d always wanted to keep hidden. You were terrified of what might happen if the wrong people found out.

You couldn’t explain how you’d learned about the criminal gang. You’d hesitated to even call the police.

In the end, you’d left the anonymous tip and intended to leave the city too.

A nondescript van had been waiting for you at the airport instead. 

Director Fury had recruited you right then, on the drive back into the city. 

You’d been wary of the prickling warning signs that even his presence gave you. You’d reminded yourself that complicated intentions were not always bad ones.

Instead, you’d focused on Agent Hill, sitting across from you in the van. Her piercing stare was steady and integrity radiated out from her. 

You decided that there were worse organisations to join.

It had taken Shield less than a day to move you into the Avengers Tower. 

It had taken Natasha Romanoff just over a week to return from her mission and take over your training.

.

The first time you saw her, you were playing video games in the shared living area of the Tower. At her entrance, you automatically stood up from the sofa.

Her hair was braided neatly back. Her gym clothes were non-descript. 

She was so beautiful that it stung.

Natasha’s stare was assessing. She asked you a question. You watched her lips move as you forgot how to process the English language.

Tony muttered something rude from his seat to the side of you. 

‘Downstairs in ten.’ Natasha simply announced, leaving you to scramble back to your room and change into some gym clothes. 

Everything about Natasha’s entrance felt purposeful. 

You wondered if she was careful with her intentions around you, or if she really lived in such a steady state of calm. 

You were already impressed before you’d even walked into the gym. 

When you entered, Natasha looked small from across the room. More ironically, she looked harmless too.

She had a knee pressed against your throat in the first twenty seconds.

A sixth sense was definitely useful but your lack of defensive skills was a glaring weakness.

You quickly learned that Natasha Romanoff did not tolerate weakness.

.

That year, you watched the first New York City snowfall through the highrise windows of your new home. 

You also received purpling bruises as if they were early Christmas gifts.

Your life stopped being your own. Your diet was prescribed. Your training was exact.

By the New Year, you were exhausted, tired and painfully aware of your lack of ability.

You considered quitting the team every time that you walked into another sparring session. Great opportunities were only great if you wanted to have them. You’d never wanted to be a fighter.

.

There was one morning when you took an unexpected hit from Natasha. She caught you unexpectedly from the side and you tumbled sideways, slamming into the hardwood floor unceremoniously. 

You lay on the ground, trying to catch your breath as you watched Natasha walk away with some otherworldly grace to the side of the gym. 

Your gaze landed on the door at the farside of the room. You felt the sudden urge to walk out. All this pain and your progress was hardly noticeable. You couldn’t think of anything you wanted to do more than leave.

For the first time, you felt Natasha’s intentions shift in front of you.

‘Go on then.’ She called out before taking a gulp from her water bottle. 

It had taken nearly six months for her to break a sweat whilst sparring with you. Your eyes caught on the wisps of hair that escaped her braids. They were curling slightly as heat radiated from her. She seemed more beautiful now than ever.

‘If you can’t take it, then you can leave.’ Natasha continued, voice openly challenging. Her eyebrow raised daringly as she stared at you.

It was a front. Your sixth sense pricked as Natasha’s disappointment filled the room.

You thought of all the lives that you could have saved. All the bad intentions from stranger’s that you’d chosen to ignore.

You got to your feet slowly. 

Agent Romanoff could walk through fire unscathed. You wanted to be that brave. 

You owed it to the people who had died because of your hesitation.

The feeling of Natasha’s satisfaction was overwhelming. The only hint of it on her face was the smallest of smirks.

It was hard not to have a crush.

Natasha was unshakeable. You were never good at feeling steady.

You were careful not to assume even a friendship with her. 

It had happened naturally with the other Avengers but with Natasha there was a tension in the air. 

Maybe, it was because she’d seen you at your least competent.

Maybe it was because you wanted Natasha to like you far too much to risk the rejection. 

.

Soon enough, the summer sunshine returned to New York. You watched the trees change in Central Park.

You buried your feelings. You worked harder in every workout. 

Training started to feel like all you had, days merged together. You let it be enough. You lived for the brief cracks in Natasha’s calm mask. The flicker of a smile, the passing of a water bottle when you’d finally earned a break.

.

Somehow, living with the Avengers, each day felt endless but whole months could fly by.

The rhythm of meeting Natasha in the gym was second nature to you now. You came to breakfast already in your workout clothes. 

You took the employee staircase at the back of the building down to the gym, learning to shave a minute from your journey time.

Natasha had demanded high performance from you since the day she’d met you. Finally, you were learning how to give it.

.

It was as you hurried past the large window on the staircase landing, that you saw the first snowflakes flutter down over the city.

Your heart stopped at the sight. You wondered if the seasons could really change so fast.

You paused on the staircase and gripped the bannister. You saw the well-defined muscles in your own arm tighten.

Deja vu coated you like its own fresh flurry of snow. You remembered the aching bruises that you’d had the last time you’d seen a view like this.

You felt peaceful and victorious as you stared out. Your shallow breaths misted the cold window. 

You let yourself lose track of time.

You jolted when you heard the swinging door shut below you. You looked over the bannister. 

Natasha stared back up at you, arms folded in an imitation of impatience. 

‘Ten minutes.’ She reminded you, as if it was still your first day. 

You smiled.

Maybe it was because of the way her short ponytail bounced as she craned her neck upward.

Maybe it was because of the fresh snow on the windowsill and the feeling in your veins like you might finally have made something of yourself.

Maybe it was because nothing sounded better than spending another morning with Natasha.

You smiled wider. 

You realised that you couldn’t stop. Your cheeks stung with the electric buzz of happiness.

You felt an answering ripple in Natasha’s calm exterior. 

Confusion rolled through her as her head tilted curiously. You saw her crossed arms tighten. 

‘I can’t believe it’s been a year.’ You said softly. ‘Thank you Natasha, for everything.’

Natasha blinked twice and her eyes seemed impossibly wide from your higher up position. 

She shrugged and her voice rasped when she next spoke.

‘You’re the one who did all the work.’ Natasha reminded you. ‘You’re the one who didn’t give up.’

You didn’t know how to acknowledge all the credit that she was shrugging off.

You started to walk down the rest of the stairs.

‘Sometimes, I think about all the things I could have done.’ You confessed suddenly. ‘All the lives I could have saved if I’d been prepared before.’

Natasha’s breath caught and you felt a wave of shock shatter through her emanating confidence. 

‘And now, I’ll never have to hesitate again.’ You continued, as you closed the distance between you. It was warmer down here, standing away from the large window. 

Impossibly, Natasha felt closer now than she’d ever been before. 

You paused as her arms slowly unfolded and her hands moved to her sides. You caught the brief movement of her fingernails digging into her palms.

‘I know that exact feeling.’ Natasha rasped out. 

Her voice was a whisper and you focused on her lips as you tried to catch every word. 

Her hands tightened into fists again.

‘There was this place called the Red Room.’ She told you with the same tightness. ‘It took me years to end it.’

The air was filled with brokenness. For the first time, Natasha seemed fragile. Her eyes darted between you and the bright light of the window. 

Every instinct told you what to do next. You still paused. 

You’d learned how to fight with Natasha. You’d taken blows and bruises nearly every time you’d sparred together. Never had you been so hesitant as right now. 

Your fingers slipped carefully in between her tight ones. You slowly loosened her fists, rubbing out the tension in her knuckles. 

Natasha’s intentions shifted one more time. 

Your own attraction mirrored hers. Your eyes focused back to her lips.

Sudden shyness prickled at the back of your neck. It could only be Natasha’s.

You froze.

Natasha’s jaw clenched as she caught your reaction. 

You realised how exposed you must make her feel.

Natasha’s eyes darted away again for a split second. Embarrassment filled you.

You followed her gaze and caught sight of the snow falling outside. 

Your shoulders loosened. You’d spent a whole year stepping out of your comfort zone. You knew how to be brave now. You knew because of Natasha.

You gently interlaced your fingers with Natasha’s again and gave a soft squeeze. You took a step back toward the staircase.

‘Come on.’ You said. ‘I want you to see the snow.’

Natasha followed you readily up the stairs to the landing with the large window. 

You looked over the city together, your shoulders touching. Neither of you spoke.

Natasha’s breath started to fog up the window pane. 

You turned to face her slowly. Natasha’s cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were wide and she looked younger.

Hesitation gave way to anticipation. 

Your hand touched her waist.

She was gentler than you expected when she pressed her lips against yours. 

You felt her happiness like it was your own.

[slushycoookie]

Between Two Worlds ~ Loser! Miguel O'Hara x Stripper! Reader (Pt.7)

★ Word Count: 6.5k

★ Content: Uh oh Dana alert. Tyler alert too. There's fun in a hot tub. Intense making out. Oral sex (male receiving). Vaginal fingering. A lot of sexual tension in here. Minors DNI!

★ A/N: This is wayyy longer than the every other week time frame that I wanted to set, but it's okay y'all are gonna be eating good this chapter. Let's just say this an early New Year's gift from me. Enjoy!

⁺˚⋆���°✩Prev | Next ✩°｡⋆˚⁺ Masterlist | Commissions

“Did you just arrive?”

Miguel nods, pointing at the front desk behind him, “Yeah. The room's not ready yet.”

“I see.” Dana’s eyes check out his attire and the bag filled with snacks dangling from his arm. “How was your drive?”

“Good. Fun. Yours?”

“We didn't drive.” Miguel’s brow raises when she continues, “I told Tyler I'm not a fan of long car rides so we flew.”

“You…don't like long car rides?”

As Dana shakes her head, memories of all of the long trips they took together flashed in his mind. Even back in college, when they drove for eight hours to attend a festival she wanted to go to in Virginia. No hint of discomfort when they piled into his dad's mini-van, blasting songs that would play at the festival the entire time.

His hand rests on his churning stomach.

“It’s…it's good Tyler was able to accommodate you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Her gentle smile makes him sicker. He wants to know where you are, to get away as far as possible. “I know I asked before but, are you sure you'll be ok?”

Miguel’s throat clears, “What do you mean-oh.” Amusement lingers in his throat, “Yeah I will be.”

“Are you sure? We can have dinner later on tonight if you want-”

“Hi, baby!” You crash into him, hugging his side tightly. “My bad for taking so long. I had to call my mom to let her know we arrived safely and then I had to text the group chats to let them know too.”

Miguel immediately wrap his arm around you, his laughter coming out and directed at your presence. The sickness in his stomach goes away and butterflies remain.

“You’re okay.”

“Miggy? Who's this?”

He hasn't heard that nickname from her since they separated. Xina used it for him back in high school and Dana caught on. She'd only used it when being overly affectionate.

You face her, a smile so wide that appears to be genuine. Miguel knows it's fake. You resort that smile to the rudest customers at The Weave.

He introduces you to Dana and you shake hands. It goes on a little bit long as he watches Dana access you. She does that when she's trying to feel out someone. To see if she likes them or not.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” Dana flashes a polite smile, “I'm sorry, I was under the impression that Miguel would be alone this year.”

“And why would you think that?”

Your head tilts, feigning confusion. Dana shortly laughs. “Well, he didn't tell me that he was bringing another woman along. Given it's been, what a few months since our break up?”

Almost six, but who's counting?

“I thought you wanted him to take your advice? You know, about moving on?”

“Oh.” She stammers, “I-I guess I did tell him that.”

The beeper goes off in his hand and it's time to escape.

“Our room is ready now.”

“Yay!” You kiss his cheek. “I'm so ready to put my stuff down I am tired.”

Miguel beams, “So am I.” He turns back to Dana, “You mentioned something about dinner, right?”

“Oh yes!” She recollects herself, “We're going to this Japanese restaurant. I can squeeze you, uh you two in if you want?”

You glance over at him, waiting. Avoiding Dana and Tyler was something he wanted to try and do all weekend. But it would be a good opportunity to lessen his anxiety. And you'll be there.

“Sure. What time?”

“Is seven okay?”

Miguel looks over to you and you nod, “Seven is great.”

The room at the hotel is a one bedroom suite.

When walking in there's a kitchenette to the right and a living room area straight ahead. Going further in the suite was the bedroom, with a king sized bed and a spacious bathroom on the right. It contains a large glass door shower that can easily fit him and you inside.

The best part is the hot tub.

You're in awe seeing a patio connected to the bedroom. A hot tub sat in the middle of a gorgeous view of the lake that's nearby the hotel. The walls on each side seal the deal on how private it is.

No one can say Alchemax doesn't treat it's employees well.

“It has a massage feature.” Miguel picks up the remote, “And it changes the color of the water.”

“You already sold me on the private hot tub. I will definitely use this later.”

The two of you waste no time unpacking for the event tomorrow. Just to get everything out of the way before relaxing for the rest of the evening.

“So, I thought you wanted to avoid them this entire trip.”

Miguel grimaces, “I did. Then she sprung dinner on me and I thought that maybe we should go. It'd make the banquet less awkward.”

You hum, not saying anything else when you hand him your dress. He briefly admires the sparkle from it before looking at your face. It's lowered and he's unsure if you're upset with him.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine, Miggy.”

He pouts when you use his nickname in that way. In a condescending tone.

Miguel comes closer, brushing against you with his chest. A corner of your lips go up, but you try to hide it. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

You pause momentarily before snorting, “Maybe you can eat me out. Then I'd feel better.”

“Okay.” He checks the time on his watch, two hours before going to dinner. “Let me brush my teeth first.”

“Whoa wait!” You grab his hand when he turns towards the bathroom. “Hold on, I was joking.”

Miguel blinks, “You were? I don’t have a problem with that-”

“Yes I was. I need to freshen up anyway so…”

“I don't care about that.”

It's your turn to blink, “God…you're perfect. B-But I'm fine, for real. I was fucking around.”

“Oh.”

Maybe it's for the best. If he ate you out, that would lead to him making love to you. And it would be your first time with him so he'd want to take his time. It's not ideal when having dinner plans in a few hours. Miguel wasn’t the type to stand anyone up.

You relax when he backs down, not upset anymore.

Dana sends him the location of the restaurant.

It's about ten minutes away from the hotel, tucked in between a confectionery and a distillery. Both of you make a plan to stop by the confectionery after. His eyes adjust at the dim atmosphere of the restaurant, creating an intimate ambiance.

Miguel gave the reservation name and held your hand, following the waiter throughout the restaurant. There, they’re led to the back where the VIP tables are. Larger tables with comfortable seating. Tyler and Dana sat at the rounded one that’s next to a fountain. The latter waves her fingers in greeting while the former makes an effort to be polite when reaching over to shake Miguel’s hand and kissing yours.

Miguel holds back in grimacing at Tyler touching you.

“Aren’t you a surprise?” He says, eying you up and down. “We weren’t expecting Mike to find another person so quickly.”

Dana gasps, hitting Tyler’s arm. “Hey, I thought I said not to call him that anymore.”

“Force of habit.”

Miguel’s upper lip twitches. He’s always hated that damn nickname. Ever since he found out that Tyler’s his actual father, he wonders if it’s the name he’s always wanted to call him instead of Miguel.

You force out a chuckle, “Well, it hasn’t been that long. And look at Dana! She’s doing exceptionally well for someone that’s also moved on so quickly. It’s almost like it was instant, really.”

Tyler and Dana shift in their seats, sitting up straighter if possible. You keep going, starting to casually gaze at the menu.

“Did you all order yet?”

“We wanted to wait for you two.” Dana says.

“Aww, that’s nice of you.” You look at Miguel, “Isn’t that nice, Mig?”

“Yes, it is.”

No one says anything at the table. Even as Miguel searches through his options; sushi, udon, salad. The air felt thick. Tense. He didn’t like this. He should've just went out to get burgers with you like you suggested during the road trip.

The waiter comes by, starting everyone off with some drinks.

Both of you decided on the yuzu lemonade that's offered while Dana and Tyler go for a brandy.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Miguel glances over at you, who’s unfazed. He didn’t want to fabricate a story of how he met you, with your ass in his face. While making the trip up, he expressed concern about you and him once more. You wanted to see their reactions when telling people that you strip as a side job, but thought it was more appropriate to say that you dance. You didn’t want to be inappropriate in front of his boss/father.

“We met at a club!”

Dana’s eyes go wide, “A club? I didn’t know you go to clubs, Miguel.”

“It’s a recent development.” He states while sipping his lemonade.

“I wish you can see him, he couldn’t keep his hands off of me.” Miguel does his best not to choke while you giggle, “I changed your life that night, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes you did.”

You wink at him and Dana clears her throat, “That’s…that’s good to know. It’s good to try new things, right?”

Tyler’s lip curls upward, “I guess. Didn’t think you had it in you, son.”

Miguel grimaces, but he plays it off as if he just had a brain freeze. He appreciates you caressing his temples and leans into your touch.

“Oh the waiter is here!” Dana’s shouting alerts a few nearby tables.

After ordering appetizers, a sashimi platter, and a main course which consisted of wagyu, the menus were gone and the couples went back on track.

“Do you work?” Tyler asks you, “Miguel here is a busy man. He’s often home late due to the mountains of work I put on him, so I don’t want you to end up all alone as pretty as you are.”

Miguel’s fists clench under the table. Did Tyler just call you pretty? It’s true, but you should hear that from your boyfriend and no one else.

You laugh, “I do work, yes. Two part-time jobs. I work at a retail store at a mall and then I dance on the side.”

“You dance?” Dana questions, “What type of dancing that you do?”

“Pole dancing. It’s been a huge thing these past couple of years.”

“Wow, I have heard about that. Although,” She examines you, eyes going up and down. “isn’t it difficult due to someone of your stature?”

Your head tilts and Miguel immediately cuts in, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh.” She rapidly blinks, shifting in her seat. “I just mean I’ve seen a lot of people with much…slimmer body types participating in that type of dance, that’s all.”

Miguel scoffs, but you snort, “Girl, you need to expand your horizons. Pole dancing isn’t limited to skinny girls. You should see me dance sometime. You too, Tyler.”

They look at each other while Miguel tries not to make an outrage at what Dana was implying. You slide your hand over his under the table, squeezing it affectionately. It helps him calm down.

“Sorry, I wasn’t implying-”

“Too late. I knew what you meant.”

Dana stammers, but is saved by their appetizers.

You immediately forget the entire conversation and start eating your sashimi. Smearing a ton of wasabi on each piece and eating it with ease. Not ruining your lip gloss in the process.

“Miggy?” You called and hold up a roll for him to taste. He quickly eats it, the burn from of the wasabi shooting all over his face from his ears all the way up to his eyes. “Good, right?”

“Mhm.”

Dana eats one of her spring rolls and sends the rest over to Tyler, who doesn’t eat it from her hand and instead grabs it.

“Speaking of jobs,” You say, dabbing your lips with a napkin, “do you work, Dana?”

“Oh, no I don’t currently have a job.”

“You don’t work at that department store anymore?” Miguel asks, knowing she liked working there.

“I told her to quit.” Tyler takes a sip from his glass, “I’m providing for her now. That’s what a real man should do for the woman he cares for.”

You laugh loudly, alerting the tables nearby. “Oh my god, how old are you?” Tyler’s displeasure doesn’t go unnoticed and you continue, “Sorry, sorry I know that’s rude to ask. It’s just that type of mentality is a little dated, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” He grunts, ordering another drink.

“It’s okay. I understand. I would love to be taken care of so more power to you, girl.” You raise your glass in solidarity. “I’m sure it gets boring since Tyler here is a busy man being a CEO and all.”

Dana waves you away, “No, it’s alright. I can usually manage just fine while he’s gone.”

“Ooh, so you’re spending up his money?”

“W-Well…”

You lean forward, holding up the dessert menu to act as a barrier between the men side. “Go ahead, it’s just between us girlies.”

She nervously laughs, putting down the menu gently. “No, I don’t just shop. I’ve been getting into hobbies like golf, since Tyler plays.”

Tyler nods, halfway listening as he’s checking his phone.

“Golf? That’s an…interesting hobby to get into.”

Miguel doesn’t say anything, but his scrunched up face probably gives it away. Since when is Dana interested in golf?

The main course arrives and you quickly take a picture of the wagyu course before digging in. There’s mainly silence, besides the gentle music playing throughout the speakers. You’re obviously enjoying the meal, saying they should come back here next year.

“Are you ready for the banquet?” Dana asks Miguel.

“Yes. I have everything prepared and ready to go.”

“With his cute little flash cards.” You nudge his side and he smiles bashfully.

Dana giggles, “You’re still using flash cards? Ever since high school, you never stopped using them.”

“They’re very handy and efficient.”

“I know, I know.”

After dinner, no one takes dessert to go. Tyler pulls out his card when the check arrives and stops Miguel from pulling out his own.

“My treat.”

While walking out of the restaurant, you say your goodbyes.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“Of course, it’s no problem.” Dana waves the two of you goodbye when Tyler whisks her off, leaving Miguel and you alone.

“I should’ve had a drink back there.” You lean against him, sighing from fake exhaustion.

“Well, the hotel has mini wine bottles that’s complementary.”

“Say less.”

After coming back from the double date to wind down, you suggested going in the hot tub. He did read a study saying the jets helps relax your muscles. He just didn’t expect to see you like this inside. Relaxing with a mini bottle of prosecco in your hand. Entranced at the multitude of lights glowing in the water.

When he walks out on the patio, you lock eyes and smile at him.

“Care to join me?”

“Yes.”

Miguel steps in, only wearing his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss how your eyes scan his upper body. Taking in how moderately fit he is. He holds in getting flustered at your gaze before sitting down, not too close from your own space, but not too far. The jets against his muscles help them to relax and he needed it after dinner.

You’re still looking at him, eyes lowered. That could just be the alcohol in your system. He’d get some too, but decided not to.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“I did, despite the bullshit from your ex.”

Miguel pouts, “I’m very sorry about that.”

You shrug and remain silent.

The led lights shifts colors and he’s able to take note of your swimsuit. A black, two piece that ties in the front of your chest. He doesn’t see any sparkles and is surprised that it’s plain. Miguel scoots a little closer to get a good look. Maybe you have something sparkling in the back?

When he does, you smirk before taking a sip from your wine bottle. “That’s as close as you’re gonna go?”

Miguel perks up, quickly moving back to his original position. “Sorry, I wanted to give you space.”

“Here you go again…” You place your bottle to the side, “I don’t want space from you. I’ll tell you otherwise.”

Dana always wanted some distance from him. She liked her space and never hesitated to tell him. Although, occasionally she gave mixed signals. Her tone being lighter than her words. Saying she wanted to be alone, yet she remained in his presence.

Miguel moves closer. Your face lights up, matching the intensity of the hot tub lights. It makes his heart pound in his chest when his arm brushes along yours. He exhales to lessen his anxiety.

“Is this better?”

“Much.”

You trace his arm with your fingertips. The water droplets running down his bicep and back to the hot tub. Goosebumps gathers on his skin from your touch. Not to mention the blood rushing down to his lower half. You keep gazing at him, a low smile on your features, enjoying the fact he’s right next to you.

“Are you nervous?”

He gulps, hoping you aren’t catching his strange behavior. “A-About?”

“The banquet tomorrow. You’re presenting.”

“Oh! No, no I’m okay. I have my flash cards and there’s rehearsal tomorrow, so I’m prepared.”

“Good.” The water sloshes when you move in front of him, getting in between his legs. Not there. Anywhere but there. “It just sounded like you thought I was talking about something else though.”

Miguel shakes his head, “No, I knew what you were talking about.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes.”

You snort, your hand on his chest and his cock twitches at the contact. “It’s okay, Miguel. You know it’s just us here.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him. Your head on his chest, right where his beating heart lie. He knows you can hear it. The way it’s wrapping against his chest like a drum.

“Am I scaring you?” You playfully pout. “You can tell me.”

“You’re not.”

Miguel wants to smack himself for making you think that. He thought he’s over being nervous, right when there’s a gorgeous human being like you in front of him. His actions are showing otherwise.

“Then…?”

Miguel cups your face, leaning down to give you the most gentlest kiss in the entire world. He licks his lips at the taste of prosecco, before giving you another kiss. And another. And another. Soon, he’s making out with you in the hot tub.

Your lips follow along his. Your hands grip his forearms as if he’s going to part from you. Miguel doesn’t and keeps you confined to his embrace. Your tongues brush along one another, entangled in bliss.

He sighs against your lips and turns you around. Your back against the tub. The kiss gets heavier. Messier. Miguel is swallowing you whole, securing you with his body. His palm presses along your breast, missing how it felt under him. He smiles against your lips when he fondles it and you moan.

Miguel’s cock is hard against your thigh when he does it once more. His thumb rubbing along your clothed nipple, feeling it harden under his touch.

You quickly pull away. He doesn’t have time to be concerned when you motion towards your top.

“Take it off.” Miguel starts reaching around, but you snicker and stop him. “It unties in the front.”

“Oh.”

You poke your chest out, allowing him to untie your top. Miguel sticks his index finger under the knot, pulling it up to loosen it. Once so, he pulls the fabric apart as if he was unveiling a grand surprise. Your breasts, glistening from the water of the hot tub. You barely have a chance to remove it completely when he pulls you close to him.

Miguel’s mouth latches on to your neck, suckling on the skin. He knows it’s not a good idea to get too crazy with you, knowing your dress shows your neck. So after licking and kissing, inhaling your signature scent, he moves lower to the apex of your chest. He suckles on your breast, groaning against your skin. His tongue circling around your nipple while your hand grips his nape.

“Fuck me…” You shudder against him when he switches to your other breast. Suckling and flicking your nipple while he pinches the other, rolling it under his index finger and thumb. He grinds his hips against you to show you how you’re affecting him. No sign of nervousness when his pleasure takes over.

Then his phone alarm goes off.

It scares the two of you. You hide along his body as if someone was about to walk in and see your upper half. Miguel quickly reaches over to grab his phone, turning off the alarm completely.

“What was that?”

He facepalms, “I…set that alarm so I know when it’s time for me to sleep. The rehearsal is early in the morning.”

You check your phone, grimacing at the ten-thirty time. “Really?”

“The rehearsal is important. I want to be wide awake.”

“Miguel…” You gesture to your bare chest and his hard cock against his pants. “You can’t stay up a little late?”

Miguel rubs his neck. He wants to finish what he started with you. But the thought of him wanting to take his time with you came back.

“I want to have sex with you.”

You grin, “So do I.”

“You are very attractive and enticing and I’m trying not to rush into it because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“You practically fingered me back at the club.”

Miguel sighs, “I know, but I do want you, really. I want to take my time.” He gives you a simple peck.

“I get it.” You reciprocate once more, before glancing down at his erection. Miguel knows its going to be hard to sleep like this for a while, but it’s not like he hasn’t had this before. You trace his swim trunks slowly. “We don’t have to have sex right now though.”

He raises a brow in question, “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say…” You cup his dick through his pants, making him hiss at the touch. “I can make sure you have a goodnight sleep.”

Miguel checks the time. He can do with another twenty to twenty-five minutes.

“Okay.”

You have him sit on the edge of the hot tub. You pull down his pants enough to release his uncircumcised cock. His father, George, decided against circumcision in the delivery room. He’s learned to accept it, but issue a warning whenever his lovers is about to see it.

Dana was flabbergasted. She eventually got used to it and reassured him that it wasn’t his fault. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t say anything when you gave him a hand job at the club. Not a peep when his large shaft is in your face.

You admire it for a moment like a work of art. The sight of you licking your lips causes some cum to leak. The droplet slowly crawling halfway down his shaft before you lick it up. Your tongue makes him groan. He watches you stroke him, while pulling back the hood.

Miguel bites his lip when your mouth encloses around him. His eyes rolling back as you slide down his shaft. His pre cum across your tongue. He gasps when you manage to take him completely, your nose ticking his curly hairs. Your saliva coating his length. His hand grips the nape of your neck when you slide back, creating a moderate pace.

Sure, it’s been a while since he’s had sex.

It’s probably he feels so sensitive. The way his tip hits the back of your throat. His hood grazing along the roof of your mouth. How your breasts move in tandem of your movements, still soaked from the water. He wants to lick them. Nibble on your nipples while he’s buried deep in your cunt. Or maybe you’d let him cum all over your chest. Coat you in his sticky seed as proof that you’re his.

Miguel whimpers, not once removing his hand from you. He doesn’t remove eye contact from you, watching you in what feels like you’re sucking his soul away from him. Can he die like this? From your slick, wet mouth? Your fingertips stroking his balls every time you fully take him in.

He can’t take any more of this. It’s getting too much.

“O-Oh I’m…oh I’m…” He whines, struggling to tell you what’s coming. You don’t pull away. You take his load of cum when he shudders. The grip on your neck getting stronger while his seed spills down your throat and you swallow it all.

He tries to gather his bearings, taking deep breaths while you admire your handiwork. Your cocky smile telling him everything that he needs to know what you did a good job.

Miguel fixes his pants and gets back in the tub. Your brows furrow at his action when he picks you up with one arm, settling you on the other edge. He pulls off your bikini bottoms, tossing it aside to have you spread your legs. Eating your pussy is something that has to wait. Otherwise, he’d spend all night between your thighs.

“Your turn.”

He silences your moan with a kiss when he rubs your clit. His lips never leaves yours when a thick finger pushes inside you. Miguel falters at how slick your sex feels. How easy it is to bump along your soaked walls. He immediately adds another finger, absorbing your cries of pleasure. Your nails dig into your bicep, not able to do much besides take him.

Miguel’s fingers pumping into you all while thumbing your clit. You always sound so pretty. He wants to insert your moans into his head and section them in an archive. You push your hips against his fingers. He holds you still with an arm secure around your waist. He takes in your body jolting, toes curling as he doesn’t stop playing with your cunt.

He knows you’re almost there when you start squirming, trying to escape. Miguel doesn’t let you, keeping you secure when you reach your peak. You crying out under his lips as he feels your pussy get soaked. He keeps pumping into you, extending the duration of your climax. All while nipping at your bottom lip.

Miguel doesn’t let go while you come down from your high, your breaths fanning his neck. He strokes your back while kissing your forehead.

“Now, you’ll sleep good too.”

He doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Even as the alarm rings to tell him to get up, Miguel’s too busy being absorbed by you. You’re warm and soft. Fitting along his body perfectly like a puzzle piece.

When you awake, your lashes flutter open like a dream. He can’t help but kiss your forehead, holding you closer to him.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too.” You turn and hug him, his chest overshadowing your entire face. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

You perk up, “Breakfast just started thirty minutes ago.”

“I know. I’ll go down and bring you back something. You don’t have to-”

Before he can say anything else, you sat up. “Nuh-uh, I’m coming down with you.”

“You don’t have to. You can get some more sleep-”

“I’m coming.” You give him a big kiss on his cheek before going to the bathroom.

Miguel stumbles out of bed to get dressed in a reasonable attire.

He’s so used to going alone while he’s with Dana. She wanted to sleep in while he wanted to take advantage of the breakfast the hotel had to offer. He’d always bring her back food, not after eating alone by the window, with his omelet and fresh fruit.

The breakfast area was in a smaller hall.

Assortments of breakfast, rows of cereal, granola, and oatmeal on a variety of tables. An omelet bar with an extensive amount of choices from jalapenos to shredded cheese. Waffle and pancake makers that were right next to a juice bar. All topped off with a display of fresh, cut fruit for anyone to enjoy.

“Goddamn, this is a lot of food.”

Miguel nods in agreement, “I know. I usually stick with an omelet and fruit.”

“That’s it? No waffles? No fruit parfaits?”

“I just focused on eating so I can take food back to Dana-”

“Enough about her.” You silence him with a finger to his lips, “When do you have to go to rehearsal?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“You have plenty of time.”

Miguel grabs a few plates via your instructions. You wanted to have a grand breakfast, since the hotel offered so many options. The best plan was to divide and conquer. You focused on the waffles and the fruit while Miguel went to order omelets and meat. The entire hall wasn’t too crowded either. The later crowd usually arrived around 9 - 10 and the hall is packed.

So it was easy to ask for two omelets, filled with his usual spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and cheese, then pile up his plate with sausage, bacon, turkey bacon, and ham. You two reconvened and sat at the spot Miguel always sits at. That had another view of the lake nearby.

He admires the spread with you. You quickly take a picture of the food and him before doing your cute shimmy.

“You did an excellent job, partner.”

“I just had years of experience.” He hands you your omelet, checking to see if there’s any meat you wanted before diving in.

Food at the Sunset Grove Hotel never disappoints. They’re always consistent all the years Miguel’s been able to come there. It’s the one thing he looks forward to every year.

“I can see why you like this spot.”

Before he can ask why, a few ducks land in front of the window, taking in the sun. They’re so close to the window, contempt in just existing. It makes their little breakfast spot peaceful, blocking out the hustle and bustle.

“Yeah, it’s nice to share it with somebody.”

Your lips purse, but go back to normal. “This is our special spot now. We’re going to sit here every year.”

“While eating waffles.” He raises his glass and clinks it with yours.

“While eating waffles.”

When it’s close to rehearsal, Miguel walks you back to the room. It’s supposed to end around twelve, which gives him some time to rest then get dressed for the banquet later. He goes to apologize about leaving you alone for a few hours, but you don’t mind it. You reassure him that you can keep yourself entertained.

You kiss him in goodbye and he lingers in that kiss all the way through rehearsal.

Miguel never has any problems when he rehearses.

He’s always prepared with his flash cards that he memorized. His section was never long. After researching what was the best time to have a presentation during a high end event, he resorted to seven to eight minutes. Not too long and not too short.

All of his presentations included whatever Tyler wanted him to say to get the shareholders invested in the company. This year, he managed to correlate his spider DNA work with a drug early in the works. Project Rapture. He hoped that name was just a placeholder.

While communicating with his other coworkers who was also presenting, Tyler didn’t bother him. He didn’t bombard him with questions of the presentation like other years. Or make a sly comment here and there to embarrass him. No, he remained idle. Hardly saying a word in his direction besides a ‘Morning’.

Did it have something to do with the dinner last night?

After rehearsal, Miguel walks over to his boss, who’s currently with the coordinator about the finishing touches of the banquet.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He says, “I wanted to ask about my presentation?

Tyler quickly waves the coordinator away, wanting her to give him a moment. “What about it?”

“It’s…okay, right? No glaring issues or concerns?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Is that all?” Before Miguel got a word out, he’s cut off. “Good, now if you’ll excuse me.”

With a brush of his shoulder, Tyler was gone, back with the coordinator. Miguel’s boss was always busy, but he still found time to heckle him. He wasn’t sure what to do but decided to go back to the room.

On the way to the elevator, he checks his messages.

Gabriel and the family asked how the trip was going. His brother insinuating if he, in his words, ‘bumped uglies’ yet. That earned an eye roll and a ‘not yet’. His mother requested to bring back those macaroons she liked, as she does every year, while also filling up his messages with the work in progress of the house. The living and dining room completely gutted with tarp on the floor. He managed to see the color she was working with which was a bright orange. An interesting color.

You sent him messages, mainly flirty of how good you bet he looks on the podium. That you won’t know how to act when he puts on his suit. Also about a rerun episode of a cop sitcom you were watching.

Then Dana sent him a message. Miguel will admit that he ignored the one she sent him last night while he was with you in the hot tub. She asked if Tyler behaved well during rehearsal, knowing how he heckled Miguel when it came to it.

So that’s the reason his boss acted strange.

Miguel’s stomach twists when he stepped out the elevator. He should be grateful, relieved at Dana’s generosity. Yet, the only emotion that stirred inside was annoyance. It’s hard to explain and Miguel wondered if it was just because he was wracking his brain for no reason at Tyler’s behavior. But it’s not a good feeling to have when he’s going to see them again later tonight.

So he pushed it away, shoving his phone in his pocket.

You were busy. When Miguel came in, you had your wig on its head stand for tonight. Your makeup out and ready to go for later. You were watching TV when you jump off the bed to kiss his lips in greeting.

“Rehearsal went well?”

“Yeah, it did.” He didn’t want to tell you about Dana texting him. He had a feeling you get annoyed every time she was mentioned.

“Good. Now, I had a quick question for you.” You motion to your dress hanging up in the closet, “Should I wear a thong or a bikini under it?”

“Thong-oh, uh, I mean, whichever you think is comfortable.”

“You said thong first, like I knew you would.”

Miguel felt the blood rush to his cheeks while you kissed them.

He spent the few hours he had relaxing. His suit already pressed to his liking. Miguel watched an episode of that cop show with you before taking a nap on your lap. Your hand stroking through his soft hair contributed to it. Your sweet smell comforting him, carrying him away in a bed of clouds.

If the banquet didn't happen tonight, he'd be in bed with you for the rest of the day.

After hearing his ‘get ready’ alarm, you two were up. You take showers before getting ready in your respective areas. Miguel gave you space when you mentioned you wanted to wow him. So he got dressed in the living room.

With thirty minutes until the banquet starts, you came out of the bedroom.

“Prepare to be speechless-whoa.”

Miguel’s eyes went wide at seeing you. Your black, sequin covered dress hugging your body. He couldn’t help but gaze at your cleavage, how nicely held up together your breasts are. And your hair. Long, full brown curls that grazes your shoulders.

“Whoa, yourself.” He stepped closer, still admiring you. “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. It was worth the wait.”

The entire time you're speechless. Not saying a word as your eyes trace his body. Miguel shifts, your silence being unnatural.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong.” You huff, closing the distance. “Look at you, baby.”

Miguel glances over at the mirror, seeing himself with his hair parted to the side. Small curls framing his face. And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Oh, the no glasses? I-I don’t wear my contacts often. Only for special occasions.”

“You’re hot as hell right now.” You trace his chest up and down, eyes getting that same spark as it did in the hot tub. “I mean, you're always hot but…”

He shudders when you press against his body. Just once, he cups your bottom, groping your cheek. He remembers that you're wearing a thong underneath this.

“I don't want to be late…”

“I know.”

No one makes an effort to pull away. The kiss you two have is gentle. It's slow, yet heated. Miguel doesn’t want to ruin your makeup. He wants to hike up your dress, pull that fabric to the side and sink himself inside you. Rock his hips along yours while your manicured nails dig into his shoulder.

They just have to get through this night.

After that tense kiss, you take a few pictures together. A cute video in the mirror. You send that to your multiple group chats before grabbing your purse. Miguel takes your hand, kissing it while admiring you by the door one more time. You squeeze it to let him know that you're ready.

The two of you make your way towards the banquet.

Tags:

@miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317

@slut4oscarissac23 @anythigbutmiguel @moonlight00sthings

@bajbr @freehentai @chubbybyunnie

@ilikeowlsidkwhy @questionable-behaviour @imamexican

@tatatida @aphinthestars @bluesidez

@saintdiior @prettygirleli @twinkdrakez

@vicravluv @brown-eyed-thang @peachipeachy

@sonicbutbutter @mermaidian02 @celi-xxmoon

@roserfz27 @hellokittyloverrxox @sweeetas

@avengersinitiative2012 @takeyour-pants-off @avis15

[jeonginslefthand]

More please ♡🩸

Pairing: Vampire!BangChan x Reader Genre: Suggestive (18+. minors/ageless blogs do not interact <3)/Thriller Word count: 2.0k+ Summary: You caught Chan in the middle of his midnight activities, marking the start of an unexpected relationship.  Warnings: Kidnapping mentioned, force feeding, grinding, biting, blood (lots of it), small mentions of depression A/N: Railway MV has made me feral and I had an idea. Also hope writing this will cure my writer's block for the San series cause I'm struggling rn. This is more of a drabble and [mostly] proofread. Hope y'all enjoy 🫶 Stray kids masterlist

~~~

“I need more~”

It hurts when Chan bites into your neck. You expected some pain, but not a pain like this. It stings and there’s an ache you can’t begin to describe. But it feels somewhat arousing. Chan on top breathing heavily as he is sucking the life out of you makes you feel something in your core. You forget for a moment that his teeth are sunk in your veins as the agonizing pain turns into pleasure. 

It’s hard to say how you got here in the first place. You and Chan had been acquainted since he moved to your neighborhood a few years ago. Nothing he did ever tipped you off that he could be hiding this secret. And Chan had been careful to keep this secret too. Surviving off animal blood, only feasting on human flesh when he needs to. He was sure he would never get caught. Until last night when you decided to take the shortcut path on your nightly walk and stumbled upon the area where Chan does his bidding. You were frozen in fear unsure what to do as Chan looked at you. So he did what any vampire in hiding would. He took you back to his hideout away from the world until he could figure out his next move. 

And here you are, under him as he’s making up for his interrupted midnight snack. By now he feels he sufficiently made up for the interruption and slowly removes his teeth from your neck. You feel that stinging pain again and feel a bit faintish. You see out the corner of your eye blood dripping from the two fresh holes. Gross yet arousing at the same time. Chan notices and licks up the excess blood as if he wants to savor your taste. You feel another jolt of pain, but Chan massaging the area with his tongue helps to ease the pain and turns it into more pleasure. 

“Your blood tastes so sweet~” Chan growls as he licks the remaining blood and pulls away from you. “I swear I could drink this forever.” 

It sure felt like he was going on forever. You even forgot that he did kidnap you and that the bodies of his previous victims surrounded you. Coming back to reality the fear returns to you wondering if that is your fate. 

“C-Chan… I promise I won’t tell anyone about this. A-and you can have all the blood you want just please let me go.” You mutter out on the verge of tears. 

“Oh I will have all the blood I want, 'cause you’re not leaving here,” Chan responds smiling, baring his sharp teeth now covered in blood. You flinch for a moment thinking he’s going back in for seconds. Chan notices and chuckles in response. 

“Don’t worry dear, I won’t hurt you more than I need to. It would be a shame if you died on me.”

~~~

Despite the situation, Chan is pretty gentle with you. Aside from the blood-sucking sessions, he makes sure you’re well taken care of. You find out that the place you’ve been taken to was a castle, somewhere far off in the mountains. You slowly fall in love with the gothic architecture exploring a new room each day. You even have your room, decorated head to toe in the dark gothic aesthetic with a soft queen-sized bed made just for you. 

Chan cooks for you every night. At first, you refused to eat the meals, still in fear of what he could do and barely working up an appetite. After a few days of the act, Chan got annoyed and one day took matters into his own hands. 

“Come on sweetie, if you don’t eat your blood won’t pump properly and you’ll be weak.” Chan calmly says as he forces a piece of chicken into your mouth. You try your hardest to resist but his vampire strength overpowers you. Tears well up in your eyes and fall on your plate. You want to spit the chicken out but you can’t bring yourself to it as Chan stares at you intensely, wiping the tears away from your cheek. 

“Aww don’t cry. It’s okay, you’re okay. The chicken tastes good right?” Chan coos and you nod in response. 

“Good. Then swallow~” Chan commands.

You hesitate for a moment but reluctantly swallow. The chicken wasn’t bad, but you still feel a lump in your throat. You want your body to reject the food so badly but you also hadn’t eaten for days and knew that eventually you would have to give in. 

Chan feeds you the rest of the chicken and side dishes. This was the only way you were going to eat for that night, still in fear that he could do much worse. After that day you stopped refusing to eat knowing that Chan wouldn’t hesitate to force-feed you again. You two started having somewhat normal dinners. Chan would talk about his day and sometimes the drama going on at his day job and you would talk about the room you explored that day and your thoughts. Sometimes he would talk about his past life, his experiences, and what it was like being the way he is. These deeper talks made you more intrigued about him. He was slowly peeling back layers revealing his true nature, showing there was some humanity left in those eyes. 

~~~ 

Of course, Chan would still get a taste of your blood now and then. Biting in the same spot, careful not to take too much that you faint, but enough to keep him satisfied for a few weeks. You got used to the pain and a part of you almost looked forward to these sessions. The pure ecstasy you felt with Chan on top and pressed against you as you were helpless under him, you almost didn’t want him to stop. You wanted more from him. 

One time you decided to make a bold request to Chan at dinner.

“I want you to suck my blood tonight,” you stated clearly. Chan nearly chokes on his food shocked that you’re taking the initiative this time. 

“Y/N, I appreciate the offer and you know I would love that. But I’m fine it’s only been a week.” Chan responds.  

“But I want you to! I need that feeling of you sinking your teeth into me. It’s addicting and I want more of it!” 

Chan gets up and walks over to your seat and leans towards you. 

“I have a better idea sweetie~,” Chan says. 

“And what is that?” you respond, desperate for him to do something. Anything.

Chan leans in closer and presses his lips into yours. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate kissing him back. The same feeling of desire is felt between both of you, but more intense than when Chan is stealing your blood. Eventually, you stand up and push him on the table (well, more like he lets you) kissing him deeper and with a passion you’ve never felt. The air feels warm around you, savoring Chan’s taste while your mind’s on cloud 9. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about this. Wondering what his lips would feel like in other areas of your body besides the sensitive vein of your neck. 

The burning desire in your core doesn’t settle down and you instinctively grind on Chan’s thigh to get some kind of relief. Chan doesn’t notice drunk on his desire for you, but eventually, he pulls away and places his hands on your hips. 

“Feeling a bit needy today I see~” Chan teases. 

“Oh you have no idea,” you say shakily, catching your breath.

Chan starts to respond with a witty joke but you sink back into his lips before he responds. You kiss him harder than the first time and the desire builds up in your core harder. The room feels it’s on fire as you and Chan feel each other’s hot breaths and as you continue to grind his thigh. Chan gets so lost in your soft moans that he doesn’t notice his fangs grazing your bottom lip. He presses on your lips harder and his fangs accidentally sink into your lip as you yelp in pain. Shocked by your scream, Chan quickly pulls away from you, but also accidentally knocks over a plate in the process remember that the two of you were making out on the dinner table. 

“Oh my god Y/N I’m so sorry!” Chan says concerned, caressing your lip. The blood quickly drips down from your mouth covering the lower half of your face. 

“Chan I’m fine! It didn’t hurt but it was shocking. Maybe… warn me next time,” you respond with a witty tone. 

“Funny. But still, don’t want you to lose too much blood.” Chan leans towards your lips again and starts licking up the blood starting from your chin and ending with your bottom lip. He passionately licks every last drop like it’s the last he’ll ever get your blood. 

“Say… why don’t we continue this somewhere else,” Chan suggests as he pulls away from you. You look at him hazy with lust and out of the corner of your eye notice a certain desire growing in his pants.

“I think that’s a great idea love~”     

~~~

After that erotic night, it felt like time slowed down living with Chan. You’ve lost count of how long you’ve been here. Maybe a couple of months? A little under a year? In your mind, you knew you had to go back to your old life, back to your friends and family. They have probably been looking for you. But in your heart, you didn’t care. Nothing in your life mattered anymore except Chan and his twisted love for you. You would give anything to be with him, to stay with him forever. 

One night as the two of you cuddled in bed, you suddenly brought up another proposition. 

“Channie, do you think you can… turn me into a vampire?” you ask suddenly. 

“W-what?!” Chan says, taken aback. 

“I-It’s just an idea. I’ve seen it done a lot in vampire shows. But knowing what I know about you now I don’t know how accurate that is. And I realize that you’re the only one I want to be with for a long time and it would suck dying knowing you would still live on forever…” 

Chan is silent processing your request. You give him some time and then follow up with your statement.

“It’s okay if you can’t and I’m probably overthinking this. That’s so far ahead of us and I’m happy spending whatever time we have. I just love you so much and—”

“No no, I can turn you. It’s possible but… are you sure you want this?” Chan says cutting you off. “It’s a dangerous path to take. The constant bloodlust is not easy to control. And there are many days that there will be a numbing feeling you can’t get rid of. Constantly feeling empty and at some point feeling like life isn’t worth it is not something I want for you.”

“I don’t care if I spend the rest of my days hating the world. As long as I’m with you I won’t feel empty. Doesn’t matter if that’s 10 years or the next 1000 years, life with you will always have meaning!” 

Another moment of silence passes and Chan pulls you into his chest. He starts stroking your hair as he responds.

“There’s no talking you out of this is there?” Chan sighs. 

You giggle into his chest. “I’d do anything to be with you for as long as I can!~” 

Chan kisses your forehead. “Then, enjoy your last night being human love~”

You fall asleep into Chan’s arm as he drifts off to sleep. Who knew what the next years would look like for the two of you? You dream of all the potential adventures you two would go on, the lives you would live. It would be chaotic and messy, but that didn’t matter to you. In the end, you can call the man you once feared yours and you were his. And you couldn’t want anything more.

~~~

If you liked this leave a like, reblog, and/or comment! I appreciate it and thanks for reading!

[pinksobg]

What can help you level up this time? ❤️🧺🎀

This is a direct and insightful reading designed to guide through different aspects of journey. Each pile reflects a unique vibe, offering specific messages that correspond to various areas of growth. I hope you enjoy it and that it can provides meaningful reflections for you! ❤️🌷

Pile 1 -

🌷How can your intuition/spiritual connection improve? – Ace of Swords, Seven of Cups.

Seek to act more rationally, resolve unresolved internal issues, ask for help from the Universe/Your Belief with more clarity and confidence, finish projects, reflect on recent choices (or the lack of them).

🍵How to improve in work/studies? - Seven of Swords, King of Cups.

Set healthy boundaries with yourself or colleagues, be cautious of tendencies to overwork, work with love/passion and enjoy the journey, appreciate/cherish what you have right now.

🎀 How to take better care of yourself? - Knight of Pentacles reversed, Eight of Wands.

Don’t define your worth by just one thing (e.g., your income or the need for a specific relationship). If possible, move your body. Keep progressing in the area you love/what you enjoy doing. Invest in new good things for yourself, like healthy habits or something you've always wanted to try.

Song: APT – Rosé + Bruno Mars; Chasing That Feeling – TXT.

Pile 2 -

🌷 How to improve your relationships overall? – Three of Swords.

Heal past wounds, heartbreaks, or even betrayals. Ask for help if possible. Have more compassion for yourself. Connect with what you love. Be patient with yourself. Be proud of all you’ve accomplished.

🍵What is “missing”? – Five of Swords, Page of Pentacles.

Try to understand what you perceive as “defeat.” Move forward with what you can learn. Turn your struggles into opportunities.

🎀 What could help you be happier? – Two of Cups reversed.

Spend more quality time with yourself. Get to know certain aspects of yourself better. Do something nice for yourself (like taking yourself out to eat something special, lighting a candle, or anything that makes you feel good).

Songs: Bad News – Kiss of Life; No Doubt – Enhypen.

Pile 3 -

🌷How to improve focus on your goals? – Five of Pentacles reversed, Seven of Pentacles, The Hierophant.

Believe in positive changes. Invest in your passions. Help others. Ask for help from someone you trust (like a mentor, for example). Be patient and persistent with yourself and your goals. Improve your planning and organizational strategies. Think about the rewards.

🍵How to improve self-confidence? – Temperance.

Understand that nothing is perfect; everyone has difficulties and flaws. Value what you already are. Recognize that you are good enough. Step out of your comfort zone little by little, in ways that feel good to you. Accept love for yourself, from others, and the love others have for you. Connect with water, animals, or nature in general. Journaling.

🎀 How to take better care of yourself? – Ten of Wands reversed, King of Pentacles reversed, The World.

Acknowledge your past struggles and pains. Try to move away from a scarcity mindset. Recognize that you have and will have everything you aim for. You are doing well. Recognize that you are already good enough (the same message again). Acknowledge the wholeness within you and your ability to create.

Songs: Thirsty – Aespa; Nemonemo – Yena.

________

Regardless of the pile you chose, remember that every step of growth is valid. Trust the process and, above all, trust yourself. ❤️❤️

[itsgodepi]

If I lose my mind | Ch. 12

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a couple problem-solving courses would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 5,4k Also on AO3

The sun bears down with an almost tangible weight, each ray a fiery tendril pressing against your skin. What began as a blissful oasis—a magnificent sunbed that cradled you in its warm embrace after your swim in the icy water, rocking you to the rhythm of the lapping waves—has betrayed you. The once-soft fabric and plush cushions have gradually transformed into a stifling grill beneath your back. Sweat beads at your temples, and the tingling heat along your shoulders hints at a sunburn brewing just beneath the surface 

With a sigh, you sit up, the teak deck creaking softly beneath you. The Mediterranean stretches endlessly in every direction, a tranquil expanse of sapphire shimmering under the sun’s golden touch. You slip into your sandals, the straps warm against your skin, and head toward the shaded back deck. If you're honest, when Carlos first mentioned his latest "shiny acquisition," you’d pictured a sleek little boat, perfect for a casual day on the water. Nothing could have prepared you for the sprawling luxury of the yacht anchored at the port outside his beach house this morning. 

Just another reminder that you and Carlos don’t exactly share the same tax bracket. 

The shaded area greets you with a rush of cooler air and the sight of Carlos lounging on a plush sofa, still in his swim trunks. His tanned skin glistens with the remnants of saltwater from your earlier swim, his eyes glued to his phone, a half-played chess game abandoned beside him. 

You shake your head, smirking. He and Charles had been bickering all morning over chess strategies like two old men in a park. They’d finally decided to settle it with one last match, and you’d used the chance to escape and catch some sun. Clearly, they’d taken their sweet time. 

Carlos notices your footsteps before you even reach him. His face lights up with that familiar grin, and as you approach, he puts his phone down and extends a hand toward you. His fingers slip around yours effortlessly, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a warm, unhurried motion. It’s oddly comforting, a habit of his that’s grown on you. 

“Did you lose?” you ask, arching a brow at the abandoned game. 

“Never,” he replies, the arrogance in his tone undercut by the grin tugging at his lips. 

“Where’s Charles?” 

“Talking on the phone. His mummy called,” Carlos quips, his tone teasing. 

You roll your eyes, leaning in to flick his forehead with your intertwined hands. “Don’t act like you weren’t calling your mum this morning all like, ‘Mami, que nos vamos con el barco, (Mummy, we’re taking the boat)’” you mimic, your voice climbing to a falsetto. 

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, though he tries to protest, “I don’t talk like that!” 

“Que sí, mamá, que tenemos cuidado (Yes mom, we’ll be careful)” you continue, doubling down on your impersonation, complete with dramatic hand gestures. “Ya me he puesto crema, ¡no traigas más mamá! (I’ve alredy put oon sunscreen, don’t bring more!)” 

His jaw drops at your performance, mock outrage lighting up his expression. “Stop making fun of me!” he exclaims, though his laughter betrays him. His free hand darts out to tickle your side, a sudden and ruthless retaliation. 

“Hey, stop it!” you yelp, struggling to squirm away, but Carlos is far stronger. His previous grip on your hand prevents any real escape, and with his other hand, he mercilessly tickles you until your resistance falters. You trip in your attempt to escape, tumbling onto him. 

“¡Que me tiras! (You’re going to make me fall!)” you gasp, half-laughing, half-protesting as you land awkwardly against him. 

“That’s the plan,” he says smugly, locking his arms around you in a triumphant hug 

“Carlos, I’m all sticky with suncream and sweating!” 

“I don’t care!” he replies, his voice sing-song as he pulls you closer. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation deflating your protests. The driver’s hold on you is inescapable, his strength far outmatching yours. His next words come as a triumphant whisper against your ear “Por lo menos he conseguido oírte hablar en español (At least I got you to talk in Spanish)” 

“Huh?” You pull back slightly, blinking at him. He has a point —you don’t think you’ve ever had a proper conversation with him in Spanish. It’s not a conscious decision, you are always surrounded by non-Spanish speakers, and when he does approach you alone, he usually defaults to English.  

It’s oddly endearing how pleased he seems with himself though. 

“No tienes que practicar más tu inglés (You don’t have to practise your English no more),” he adds with a grin. “¡Ya sabes más que yo! (Already know more than I do!)” 

“Sure, sure,” you reply, skeptical. You don’t really know what he is talking about, when did you ask him to practice your English? 

“È meglio in italiano?” he switches languages, his grin widening. 

“What did you say?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“C’mon, Charles told me you wanted to practice your Italian before Monza. You can practice with me too.” 

Oh, Charles did mention something like that one of the first times you met him, even talked to you in Italian a couple times. You could never really follow the conversations, only understanding half of what he said because of your Spanish, so he didn’t push any further. 

“I don’t know Italian,” you deflect, shaking your head. 

“Two years in the Ferrari academy, and you didn’t pick up anything?” Carlos teases, his disbelief evident in his tone. His grin is wide, mischievous, and altogether too charming. You try to shrug it off, but his raised eyebrow signals he’s not letting you off the hook “That’s where you met Charles, right?” 

You blink. New information. You really should speak Spanish with him more often if this is the kind of intel you’ll get. 

“I guess,” you say nonchalantly, feigning indifference. Inside, though, you’re already planning to search about it the moment you get back. 

Carlos narrows his eyes, suspicious of your evasiveness. “I guess?” His voice rises in mock exasperation, and then, before you can brace yourself, his hands attack your sides again in a relentless tickling assault. 

“Okay, okay, stop!” you gasp, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from your chest as you twist and squirm, your hands blindly grappling for his wrists. His grip falters just enough for you to catch one hand, then the other, but the struggle only lands you in an even more precarious position: half-seated on top of him. “Fine! Yes, I knew him from there, before he was in Sauber. Happy now?” 

Guess playing those guess the driver based on their teams challenges from tiktok had to come in handy at some point. You got addicted at those. 

Carlos leans back slightly, utterly unfazed, not putting resistance against your hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he teases, his voice as warm and smooth as the sunlit waves lapping against the boat, cradling you from side to side. 

One of his hands settles casually on your hip when you let go, the other remaining loosely trapped in your grip.  

“Whatever,” you mutter, but your tone lacks conviction. You let out a soft huff of air, trying and failing to suppress the smallest of smiles when he throws you a wink, boyish and entirely too charming.  

You still can’t understand how he always manages to turn your interactions into moments like this — moments so tender and charged that they feel almost deliberate, yet completely unspoken. The way your eyes linger on each other, the way you’re so close, sometimes even holding one another. How easily you’ve slipped into this dynamic with the Ferrari driver. 

Why doesn’t this closeness feel strange? You’ve known him for such a short time, and yet it feels natural, like you’ve always been this way. The gentle way your fingers trace patterns along his, the soothing circles his hand draws on your side, a gesture so unconscious it sends a quiet shiver up your spine. 

‘It’s just Carlos’ you tell yourself, as if that’s enough. Carlos, with his disarming warmth, his easy-going nature and unguarded affection. He seems so comfortable with this closeness, so unafraid to seek it out with you — it’s simply who he is. With you.  

And somehow, without a second thought, you let yourself sink into it.  

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, his voice soft enough to blend with the gentle crash of waves. His gaze is unwavering, those warm brown eyes studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. 

The wind tousles his hair, leaving it a mess of dark strands framing his face. His bracelet catches the light as your fingers toy absently with the cord, the handmade piece adorned with his initials and the tiny Ferrari badge drawn on little white cubes. It’s a fan gift, of all things, but its presence now, between your hands, feels... 

A pang shoots through your chest, the ache of it almost too much. 

It’s not... real. None of this is real. 

“Nothing, I’m…” you smile, the tremble on your lips so easily noticeable and so difficult to hide. “It’s just..., you know, this, and I’m...” you bite down on your tongue, physically restraining the words from escaping. 

Forcing yourself to just shut up.  

You take a breath in, trying to push down the thoughts that so easily started poisoning the moment. Your eyebrows draw together and you keep your eyes down, letting go of the cord of his bracelet like it’s burning. 

It’s fake. Everything. 

I’m scared, you want to say, I’m so fucking scared of this —of all of it. Thirty-six days of living this surreal, impossible life, of being thrust into a world of fast cars, flashing cameras, and unimaginable luxury. Of private boats and breathtaking views, of thinking how nice you fit into the arms of this amazing man. And the quiet horror of realizing how easily you could lose yourself in it.  

“Carlos,” you begin, the words spilling out before you can stop them. But what are you supposed to say? That this isn’t real? The boat, this life, him? You glance at his expectant face, the furrowed brows, the quiet weight in his gaze. He’ll think you’ve lost it, that you’re going crazy under the weight of it all. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m… you’re— none of this is—”  

The sudden creak of the driving cabin door cuts through your faltering confession, and your head jerks up to see Charles stepping out, his phone clutched in one hand. He doesn’t notice you at first, his thumb furiously swiping at the screen.  

He stops just short of the two of you, his gaze flicking up to you, then Carlos, and finally settling back on you. Something lingers in that glance, his green eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that makes your stomach tighten. 

“Think we should head back,” Charles mutters, his voice clipped, as though reluctant to interrupt. “Some weirdo’s been taking photos.” 

Guess Charles wasn’t talking to his mum after all. Instead, it was someone from the Ferrari media team, calling to warn him about the photos of you that had been slowly making their way onto social media since this morning. They had just received a fresh batch of unseen ones just a couple minutes ago: a series of candid shots of the three of you, lounging on the boat, laughing, completely at ease, unaware of the long lenses pointed at you from the distance. 

Both teams scramble to get the photos pulled, sending messages, making calls, trying to keep the damage contained. But it doesn’t take long for them to see the light. And, as expected, the reactions are far from kind. 

_______ 

“You should stop looking at that” Charles advices, his voice even softer than usual as he sets the pile of plates and cutlery down onto the table on the back patio. 

The faint scent of saltwater from the sea mixes with the cool evening air, and the setting sun casts a warm golden glow on everything around you. He moves with practiced ease, placing everything in its place. 

You pull your legs from the chair and sit up, stretching as you glance back into the house. Phone left over the table, still displaying the article you found about your ‘escapade’. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Inside, the lights are all on, and the shadows of indistinguishable figures move about the kitchen, the soft clatter of utensils filtering through the open window. 

“Are they already making dinner? Sorry, you need help?” 

The Monegasque stops you with a swift gesture of his hand, starting to place everything on the table by himself. His hair is damp and unruly from his recent shower, the blue shirt he's wearing showing traces of the droplets that must have been falling just minutes ago. He looks so effortlessly nice. 

“Don’t worry, Carlos’ mom warned us not to bother you” 

“Is that so?” you chuckle softly, a hint of relief creeping in. But you don’t stop yourself from reaching for the forks and knives, setting them in their places on the table —seven seats in total. Carlos’ sister and her husband are joining you tonight. "You should’ve told me anyway..." 

"I don’t think she’d let you help even if you wanted to. She even sent the cook home for the night" he calms you, finishing his task and resting his arms on the backrest of the seat opposite to you  

“What is she making?” 

Charles hesitates, his gaze darting back to the kitchen before turning to you again. His mouth opens and closes with stray syllables that don’t really make any dish you have ever heard before. “Some kind of fish, I think? They’ve said the name a couple times but I didn't get it” he shrugs lightly, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. "It smells good though. That’s all I can say" 

“It does smell nice” you give him, a grin of your own pulling at your lips. You sit down again as ordered, taking your still light up phone from the table and turning off the screen. 

She should respect herself is the last thing you manage to read on it, one of the nicest comment of the hundreds hanging on the comment section of the page. You sigh. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a few meters away filling in the silence that falls right after. 

“Try not to worry about it too much, okay?” he almost whispers, his hand moves through his hair, shaking it out of place “I know it’s hard, but... some people are just assholes, no use in reading the shit they put out there” 

A sigh slips from your lips as you lean your elbows over the glass table and glance away, the weight of your thoughts pressing on your chest. "A lot has come up about Monaco too..." 

While you can hardly stomach the repulsive comments surrounding the supposed relationship between you Charles, or Carlos, or both of them? Some even asking themselves how your closeness with Lewis might fit into the mix. The constant invasion of privacy, the sense that you’re being watched every second of every day, has been weighting on you lately. 

They know where you've been. Where you ate. What you wore. They even managed to snap a picture of that tiny clay hedgehog Charles bought you back at the artisan market —a detail so small, yet so personal, and now it’s making the rounds in social media. It’s all out there now, for anyone to dissect, to judge, to speculate. 

One thing is people knowing your hotel back in the middle of a Grand Prix, and another thing entirely is being followed back to Charles’ building entrance. There’s even photos of you carrying the suitcase inside the Sainz’s villa just couple days ago. 

The thought of going back to Monaco after this trip to Mallorca feels suffocating. You’re not sure if you can face it. Not after everything. You feel so exposed, like there’s nowhere safe anymore. 

Charles’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. "No, I don’t even look at those things anymore," he confesses, the finality in his voice talking of a decision he took long ago. The driver has spent years on the spotlight, for good a not so much "Look, I know we talked about this before, but I really don’t care what anyone says." 

His words linger in the quite night, his eyes never leaving yours. "I enjoy this. Being here, with you. Spending more time together outside of racing and being normal, you know?" His smile softens, but there's something deeper in his expression, something you can’t quite put your finger on. "And I loved showing you around Monaco, having you at home. So really, why would I care about what some loser has to say about it? This... this is just me and you. Us." 

Oh, that’s...  

What? 

A rush of warmth blooms across your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest, leaving you breathless for a moment. Your heart flutters, faster than it should, that’s so nice, so comforting in a way you didn’t expect. And the way he’s looking at you, the intensity in his gaze expressing a million things more than he can manage to put into words.  

But where is all this coming from? He’s never said anything remotely close to this before. Sure, he’s talked about how great it was spending time with you, how much fun the last few days were, but this? 

“I...” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your mind struggles to catch up. You look up at him, heart racing and nerves threatening to unravel you entirely. What are you even supposed to say? His words, his tone, the way his eyes seem to search yours with such quiet urgency. It all feels so much deeper than just this conversation “I had a lot of fun too, Charles”  

As soon as the words slip from your lips, you realize with a sinking feeling that you’ve said the wrong thing. The change in the air is almost tangible, as if the moment itself has shifted, taking on a new weight you can’t shake off. Charles’s smile is still there, but it’s different now. It’s more distant, reserved. 

You open your mouth instinctively, your mind scrambling for something to say, something to undo the sudden tension. But the words don’t come. They’re caught somewhere, stuck behind the pressure building inside you. 

But nothing comes. The words stay lodged in your throat, swallowed by hesitation, and all you can do is watch as he turns and walks away. 

“Toma, dale a la cría más jamón, hombre (Here, give the girl some more jamón, boy)” Carlos Senior voice breaks through the chatter, abrupt yet kindly, leaning over the table to take one of the dishes of cut meat scattered around the table and giving it to his son. 

You try to wave it off, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, no, no, por favor,” you stammer, already chewing on a bite of the rich, salty meat. But before you can protest further, Carlos takes the plate from his father’s hand and places it in front of you. A bit of heat rises to your cheeks, “Sorry, it’s been a while since I last got to eat it and-” 

“No, love, eat some more! There’s cheese here as well, do you want some?” Reyes, Carlos’ mother, swiftly diverts the talk, not waiting for an answer before picking another one of the dishes and sending it down the table towards you.  

“Tendríamos pedir más y así se llevan los chicos (We should buy some more, so the kids can take them home)” she suggests to her husband, taking her glass in one hand and turning to the other guest at the table “Charles, do you like it too? And the cheese? We’ll prepare some for you to take back” 

You laugh under your breath, trying not to look overwhelmed. The plates seem to multiply around you, the family circling you both in a flurry of food. You catch Charles’ eye across the table, his dimples flashing in an innocent smile. He’s probably not understanding half of the conversation, the rapid-fire Spanish swirling around him too much to keep up with.  

Your mind drifts briefly to Nick, he's definitely not going to be happy about this. From the delicate codfish Reyes had spent hours preparing, to the fragrant cake Carlos' sister brought over, you’ve already eaten more than you intended. This time you’re truly not sure if you’ll fit on the car.  

Well, the trainer had actually seemed quite willing to ease up on the strictness of the diet when you brought up your conversation with Daniel a few weeks ago. He even programmed a new plan just a couple of days later. For some reason and despite their differences, Nick was oddly pleased that Daniel had discussed the topic with you, even admitted he wasn’t really comfortable with such a rigid calorie count either.  

So then, why was it programmed in the first place? 

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?” Carlos' sister leans forward, finishing her piece of cheese as she watches the scene unfold around them, her eyes scanning the quiet evening. 

“We were going to Palma, to see the market, but now that they know we’re all here...” her brother reclines lazily on the chair, a sigh flowing out his lips “I don’t know, maybe take a trip to Menorca?” 

Carlos glances over at you and Charles, his eyes scanning for a response. You nod encouragingly, the idea appealing. It'll throw the paparazzies off for a while, the island not that far from you, but enough to be off the radar for a bit. 

His father also supports the idea, instantly taking out his phone to show Carlos a restaurant they visited a few years back as a suggestion for lunch “Your mother loved this one, it had a terrace over the sea and all. And there was this plate of roasted lamb...” 

Carlos and his sister both chuckle at the enthusiasm in the man’s voice, exchanging a look with their mother. It’s probably not the first time they’ve heard this story, and judging by the way their father dives into every single detail of it —even in English—, the last time won’t be anytime soon either. 

The conversation drifts to other places worth visiting before they leave the island. The family has had this house for years, and while they know Mallorca like the back of their hands, they’ve explored the other islands multiple times as well. 

After a while, Carlos’ hand fall onto your knee to gain your attention “Like the plan?” 

“Menorca? Yeah, at least for tomorrow” you whisper back, your eyes meeting his. They’re the ones who know how to navigate the chaos of fame, so you better follow along with their advice. 

The Ferrari driver nods, his hand giving your knee a reassuring squeeze before leaving it to rest there, calm and steady. The warmth of his touch lingers as the evening stretches on. Yeah, he’s getting too smooth at it, you think —but you don’t mind. 

_____ 

Turns out the Sainz family has an excellent taste, from the restaurants they recommend to the activities Carlos is roped into taking you on. Menorca, it turns out, is even more enchanting than the glossy postcards or travel blogs ever hinted at, with its tranquil waters and the shimmering sun. You spend most of the trip in a blissful haze, thankfully managing to avoid too many encounters with paparazzi or curious fans. 

That conversation with Charles from the first evening? It’s not mentioned again, by either of you. The air between you settling back into that familiarity slowly but surely. Still, it lingers in the back of your mind, and you make a mental note to talk things through with him once you’re away from all of this. 

The days on the islands vanish like grains of sand through your fingers, blurring into an endless string of sunsets and laughter. You try to memorize every detail —the way the sunlight catches on Carlos’ grin, the sound of Charles’ rare and genuine laugh, the warm feeling being with them bring you. But no matter how tightly you cling, the end still comes. 

Your escapade to the Balearic Islands has come to an end, and now you’re heading to Monaco for the last couple of days you’ll get to spend with Charles. 

When the time to finally part ways at the airport comes, Carlos holds you tightly. His hug is firm, his arms wrapping around you as if they alone could keep you from leaving. He sways you gently from side to side, reluctant to let go. 

“So, you’re coming back every break, aren’t you?” his words, though light, strike a chord deep in your chest. 

You want to respond, to reassure him, but the truth lodges in your throat. Because this, whatever it is, probably won’t happen ever again. You won’t get to spend your holidays with the two drivers, won’t be able to talk to them again, to see them, to hug them. This dream, or whatever this temporarily insanity of yours is, will come to an end at some point. Right? 

But even as you nod and give him a wry smile, the question haunts you: do you want it to end? 

The thought keeps circling your mind over the following days and weeks, as you try to convince yourself of the only sane solution. You have to go back, to your apartment, to your work, to your life –How? You’ll have to figure that one out too. Nevertheless, this feeling reaches its breaking two weeks later, at the afterparty of the Belgian Grand Prix, cradled in his arms once again, this time under the crisp chill of his victory night as you lose yourself in his eyes. 

Do you really want this to end? 

“Thanks again for coming,” Carlos murmurs, looking down at you in a hug that you both refuse parting from. “I know you’ve been a little anxious about parties and going out lately” 

You lean back slightly to look at him, the warmth of his presence anchoring you “I couldn’t miss it.” 

“Who knows when I’ll win again, right?” he teases, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

“Oh, shut it!” you laugh, swatting his chest. The sound of your voice bounces off the quiet entrance, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. 

“What? You’re the one who said it first!” 

“Me?! When?” your incredulous glare only makes his grin wider “It’s you who heard that, always thinking the worst of me” 

“If that helps you sleep at night”  

You push at him in mock indignation, stepping back from the hug to create some distance, but your heel catches on the uneven ground. The world tilts alarmingly, but before gravity can do its worst, his hands are there—firm and steady—gripping your waist and pulling you back upright in one seamless motion “Nope, we’re not having none of that tonight” 

“What? can’t a woman fall down with dignity now?” you spurt back, regaining your footing. Your feet hurt with these heels, you thought rich people parties were supposed to be more of sitting down fun, some wine and expensive food. Instead got that undanceable music 

“With dignity?” he chuckles, low and warm, letting you adjust yourself but keeping his hold on you. You don’t know if it's in fear you’ll fall again or simply a need to keep you close “Someone just had a little too many daquiris” 

You look at him then, big eyes on display and your lower lip pushed out, like a child caught red-handed and whine “They were so good, Carlos, so sweet!” 

“I knew you’d like then,” Carlos’ smirk softens, glad you enjoyed the drink he recommended “When I tried the cherry one, I immediately thought of you.” 

“Oh, that’s why it tasted like a lollypop!” The revelation feels groundbreaking in your slightly woozy state. His sweets words somehow flying pass you. You point at him accusingly then, wobbling a bit in your heels. “But don’t change the topic, I’m not drunk no more, I swear!” 

“No? You’re not?” 

“Perfectly fine now. Just the heels, I promise” you nod, you haven’t drink that much and he know it. He is just teasing “I’m, like, tipsy. Fun tipsy.” 

“Fun tipsy, you say?” Carlos repeats in a chuckle, voice almost a whisper, and his gaze lingers. The noise of the party behind you fades to a distant hum. He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression makes your chest tighten and your stomach flip in equal measure. 

You don’t notice when his hands begin to slide, one moving up from your waist to rest just below your neck. His thumb brushes along your jawline, tentative but deliberate. The gentle warmth of his palm against your cheek is intoxicating, and before you know it, you’re leaning into the touch, your body betraying you. 

“Then...” the man’s eyes glimmer, catching the golden glow of the patio lights. His voice is laced with hesitance, searching yours for a question he suddenly feels too shy to ask “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” 

The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, all you can do is nod, barely aware of the small, trembling movement. The distance between you vanishes as he leans in, his hand cradling your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath hitch. 

When Carlos’ lips finally meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The first touch is soft, testing, as though he’s afraid to break the moment. You respond almost instinctively, leaning into him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. The kiss deepens, his lips pressing against yours with a growing confidence. 

His other hand finds its way back to your waist, anchoring you to him, steady and unyielding. Your hand clutching his shirt while the other drifts up to his shoulder. The warmth of him seeps into your fingertips, your skin, until you feel like you might melt into him entirely. 

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. His fingers graze along your jawline, tracing a path as if trying to memorize every inch of you in this fleeting moment. You’re hyper-aware of everything —his touch, the way his breath mingles with yours, the slight tug of his lips as he smiles into the kiss. 

When he pulls away, it’s agonizingly slow, his lips lingering against yours as if reluctant to part. His forehead comes to rest lightly against yours. 

 “That was really nice” Carlos murmurs, his voice hushed, almost reverent. 

“Yeah, it was” you agree, your voice barely a whisper. You lean back, looking up at him with a smile that betrays the fluttering in your chest and can’t help but chuckle “A bit unexpected maybe, but—” 

"Unexpected?" he asks with a relaxed laugh, his fingers drawing invisible circles on your waist, his touch light but steady. "You can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted to do that." 

Before you can respond, he leans in for a quick, soft kiss, his lips brushing yours one last time, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. 

“Like two hours?” you guess, playfully, as you play with the buttons of his dark shirt, and he shakes his head in denial 

The sound of a car approaching cuts through the moment—the unmistakable hum of your Uber arriving. Carlos glances over his shoulder at the car, then back at you, his expression softening “Guess it’s time for you to go, I’ll tell you about it another day” 

The Ferrari driver pulls back and reaches for your hand, guiding you down the stairs and toward the car. You pause at the door, feeling a little reluctant to part ways, but before you can say anything, Carlos steps close again. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss, one that leaves you with a small smile on your lips. 

"Send me a message when you get there, alright?" he murmurs, his lips still close to yours. 

"Yeah, I will," you reply, a little breathless, before stepping back and getting into the car. 

"Goodnight, Carlos" 

“Buenas noches, cielo” 

Author's note: Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated! I know it's been way too long

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub @darleneslane @therealcap @aespie

[mariaofdoranelle]

Stay a Little Longer - part 2

Fic masterlist

Written for @tomtenadia as part of our Rowaelin secret Santa! Thank you @goddess-aelin for organizing the event <3

Words: 3,7k

Warnings: none

After visiting a healer to check her well-being, it took Aelin almost an hour searching for books on Fae bonds until she partially gave up on secrecy and asked a librarian where she could find a section about Fae history and folklore.

Aelin refused to accept this bond until every other possible reason for its nonexistence had been ruled out.

So far, her theory was that after being in her human form for weeks, her Fae senses had fooled her into thinking she had a ridiculously rare bond with a prince from a kingdom Terrasen had a grim relationship with.

A carranam bond.

It had to be, since it snapped when their magics touched, a couple of weeks into becoming acquaintances and co-existing in the Ashryver castle. A cold feeling spread down her spine, dread taking over with the mere thought of being mated to Queen Maeve’s general. If they were something, it had to be carranam.

And if they were carranam, what would it entail? As a crown princess, Aelin was a political being more than anything else. If she needed him at war, what would he ask in return? Would he expect her to aid him in the war crimes Queen Maeve was known for?

Good thing that snap was just a misleading trick of her senses.

Aelin searched the shelf, grabbing every book about magical bonds she could find. It would be suspect to take them all to her quarters, so maybe she’d take only the bulkiest—more information, she presumed. It was an old copy with a leather cover, but it promised to be divided in two detailed parts, one for each bond.

“I find this author to be rather tedious and redundant. If you’re looking for a quick yet complete read, I suggest The History of Fae Bonds by L. M. Emrys.”

Aelin jolted towards the source that creeped on her book searching, but she knew it was Rowan before seeing him, with all his tallness and broadness and maddening smell.

“Prince Rowan.” She nodded. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yes. You.”

He looked at Aelin in a reverent manner that unsettled her, but she had years to perfect the art of not fidgeting in uncomfortable situations—in this case, when you have a potentially false bond that, even if it’s true, should not be acted upon.

“Very well, then. You’ve found me.” Aelin tilted her head and aimed for a playful approach. “I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes, but I’ve never been hunted down just to be stared at.”

“I did—find you, I mean,” he babbled, still looking dazed. Rowan straightened. Swallowed. Looked deep inside her eyes and said, “I never dared hope the gods would bless me with a mate—to have one so breathtakingly beautiful makes me feel lucky beyond words.”

Rowan was a smooth one—he and his bone-melting words. It was the longest sentence she’d ever heard from him, and the sweetest a potential partner has ever said to her. For half a second, it was almost enough to make her wish the bond was true.

“As flattered as I am, I’m afraid your senses have fooled you.”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“I just don’t think there’s a bond, that’s all.”

“And that snap I felt as distinctly as a skull crush, you mean to tell me it was… ?”

“Could be anything. I just came back from the healer, you should do the same.”

Rowan cocked his head. His lip twitched. “If we’re not bonded and I’m simply ill or insane, then why are you researching Fae bonds?”

Shit. Prince Rowan wouldn’t be easily gaslit. She opened her mouth, a reply ready when he lifted a finger to stop her.

“By all means.” He turned around, and his eyes roamed the reading area before he picked a sofa and effortlessly levitated it towards them, the wind strong enough to life that particular piece of furniture, but controlled enough to not rouse a single one of the thousands of books laying around. He gestured at the sofa, now placed beside them. “Please, tell me everything about how we’re not bonded.”

Aelin sat, always ready to make her case. She had been told that her wits and strong will repelled suitors—however, instead of “correcting” it as a flaw, Aelin decided to use it to her advantage.

“I’m just… not convinced.”

Rowan nodded, brows furrowed as he tried to understand her.“You’re not convinced we’re mates?”

“Oh, no. I’m throughly convinced we’re not mates. I’m not convinced we’re carranam.”

“Carranam?” He leaned back, deep in thought. “It’d make sense given what happened today, but I’ve never heard of carranam bonds snapping—just mating ones. As far as I know, you can’t tell until you try.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I mean it. If we were to be mated—which we aren’t—to have my husband picked by fate after years fighting to choose him myself would be a cruel joke of the gods. And it doesn’t matter if we’re carranam or not. Even if I trusted you with the innermost recesses of my mind—which I don’t—our kingdoms are polar opposites when it comes to geopolitics. We would never aid each other in war.”

“Maeve is dead, Princess. I answer to a much kinder and fair ruler now.”

Oh yes, the very trustworthy Queen Sellene, who so far reigned for less than a year.

“Maeve would never leave Doranelle. She’s probably infiltrating Queen Sellene’s sleep or trying contact through a spirit board.”

Without leaving him time to retort, Aelin picked the book he recommended and got up.

“Now, I’m going to read this book out of curiosity, but you and I should never have anything other than mere courteous acquaintanceship.”

Aelin was two steps further away from him when he called again.

“Wait.”

She turned around and waited, silently prompting him.

“Your magic,” he said.

“What about it?”

“You’re a gifted fire-wielder, but not a skilled one.”

If this was his idea of wooing a “potential mate”, Prince Rowan was even more socially inept than she’d figured. “Your point is?”

“You’re not skilled because the most powerful magic wielders are engrossed with quests other than teaching a young royal, and the regular tutor’s technique revolves around using their pupils’ magic to the fullest, not channeling only a sliver of the overwhelming amount that claws beneath your skin.”

Aelin stiffened, except for her raging fire. Gods, the male’s audacity. “My parents have known that Doranelle has spies in our castle since before I was born. This is hardly a threat, Prince.”

“You overestimate my importance in Maeve’s reign. I know all of that because it was, once, my struggle as well—it took me thrice the amount of time you’ve been alive to fully master my skills. I’m a self-taught wielder, but you don’t have to be.”

She tilted her head. “How old are you?”

“Enough.”

“Enough?”

“Old enough to master my magic on my own,” his eyes brimmed with mirth as he continued, “and young enough to keep up with you once you accept our bond.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, chuckling. “You sound very confident about this.”

He raised both hands in mock-surrender. “The only answer I’m asking you to give me is about the magic lessons.”

She opened her mouth, ready to politely decline, but Rowan beat her to it.

“Think about it. Tell me tomorrow.”

˜˜

The one day Aelin had an excuse to wake up late, she couldn’t tell it was because of the late research in her room.

“I think you should do it.”

Aelin’s face whipped towards the divan Aedion was sat, a brush halfway to her face. She told him everything that happened with Prince Rowan while she adorned her hair and face for the day, and her cousin’s response was much different than what she’d predicted.

“Are you sure? I was afraid I’d have to talk you out of strangling him by now.”

The overbearing mother hen that he was—even worse than her dad. Aedion joining her in this trip was the only way her parents allowed her to spend the summer in Wendlyn, in the first place.

“I mean, it’s obvious that he only offered the lessons to warm you up to the idea of being his mate. But if you’re certain you two aren’t bonded, you should humor him while you can. He’s a legend. I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity in a million years.”

Aelin sighed and picked up a Varesian pigment to color her cheeks she bought on her first day here. “I’ll be treading carefully with him. I know the Fae are drawn to power, but for our very first interaction alone to be a claim like this…”

“Fae are drawn to power, yes.” Aedion kneeled besides Aelin’s chair and tapped his under eyelid. He would never paint his entire face like Aelin did, but he did enjoy when she concealed the bags under his eyes. “But any male could be drawn, just as much, to your wits, bravery, or any of your many traits, Your Most Pertinacious Highness.”

She chuckled. Between her magic, beauty and royal title, Aelin knew she’d have no chance at finding real love—it was impossible to know if a suitor would ever genuinely love her should she lack those three things. However, the one thing she could count on was her father’s promise to at least allow her to choose her future husband.

Her choice, not fate’s or the gods’.

Aedion continued, “And if you decide to take the lessons, you won’t need to worry about anything. I’ll be chaperoning your every interaction.”

Aelin threw her head back and cackled. There he was.

“Surely, you can find better ways to enjoy your trip.” She carefully swiped the brush under his eyes. If he let go of half of the nonsensical worries about Aelin, his lower eyelids wouldn’t be near as purple. “Think of Lord Fenrys. I’m sure he’ll will need some entertaining while I whisk away his friend.”

“He is rather handsome, isn’t he?” But then he shook his head, as if shaking the idea off as well. “No. I’m not leaving you alone with a Doranellian male.”

Indeed, Queen Maeve had been a creepy aunt of sorts for as long as both of them were alive. Her demanding to see Aelin and sending spies to her home while being a morally questionable ruler that collected powerful Fae raised her parents’ hackles, to put it lightly.

But Maeve was dead, killed by the demi-Fae she chose to neglect. Queen Sellene, on the other hand, was satisfying the demi-Fae’s demands so far, and the new taxes were an indication that she might want to open the borders further for trading. For Aelin, it meant that if Sellene wanted a less closed-off international approach, her general wouldn’t risk Doranelle’s relationship with Wendlyn by attempting something against Aelin at the Ashryver home.

As long as she didn’t give him any crucial information that could give him political leverage in the future, she’d be fine.

When she told Aedion as much, her cousin didn’t sound convinced.

“Fuck them. Terrasen doesn’t need anything from Doranelle.”

She smirked. “But you were rather fond of that Fae wine Fenrys showed you, weren’t you?”

“You make a compelling argument—one that I’m not falling for. Expect me to glower at Prince Rowan during every lesson you two have.”

Aelin sighed and went back to fixing her own face.

She had already scrutinized every angle of this last night. If his claim that it took him over sixty years to fully master his magic was true… she was screwed.

So far, Aelin got it all under wraps. An explosion in the Oakwald after trying to light a bonfire could be easily turned into a display of her power, a threat. But if her skills failed her in a way that would expose her lack of dexterity… it’d be an international disaster, for sure.

The sheer existence of a fire-wielder as powerful as Aelin was enough—it got Terrasen good allies and a strong threat looming over their enemies’ head, with a few downsides such as a castle booming with spies. The disclosure of the unstable nature of her magic would only cause more fear and attract assassination attempts, making her sound more like a natural disaster bound to happen than a honed weapon.

There was no chance Aelin would skip those lessons, evil Doranellian professor or not.

Once she was ready, Aedion rose to his feet and offered his arm, ready to escort her to wherever the pastries were. Aelin might be missing home, but the hazelnut tarts the Ashryvers have for brunch are quite effective at making her less homesick.

However, this time, she was joining brunch with a bit of an unsettling feeling in her stomach, because she still had the matter of Rowan—there was nothing to think about, yet she couldn’t help herself.

Who wouldn’t? It’s not everyday that a cute prince from a wicked land claims you’re his promised wife.

As wrong as he was, she let herself entertain the idea for one night only, to see how she felt. And did she feel things. Not for him, but for the way his shoulders filled his tunic—how all of him did, really. Prince Rowan filled his clothes so well, it almost made her forgot about his lacking sense of fashion.

That perfectly round ass. Aelin wondered if it was as tanned as the rest of him, and how it’d contrast with her bedsheets.

“You smell disgusting,” Aedion said, putting a stop to their stroll. “I’ll give you a second to recompose yourself before we join the others.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but he was right. Nothing good came from a princess that smelled aroused in daily functions.

She couldn’t think about Prince Rowan like this, because he served as a general for a ruthless kingdom. One that had very fine Fae. The finest, even—Aelin concluded as she recalled the bulge of his muscles as he sparred with Galan last week.

No.

What was a pair of strong arms worth for, anyway? Sure, they were capable of pinning her in bed and doing the most sinful things… like breaking into her mind through the carranam bond and turning her into his slave. Among other things hot princes from dishonorable lands could do… like carrying little babies in his sexy arms… and teaching them all about the segregationist shit the full-blooded Fae in Doranelle were known for.

No. Nononono. Absolutely not. All sexy visions of Prince Rowan must be banned from her mind, for the sake of her homeland.

Actually, the last one was enough to cease her odd thoughts.

Aedion escorted her through hall after hall until they arrived at brunch… just to stumble upon Galan, Fenrys and Rowan leaving.

Aelin frowned. “Brunch ended so soon?”

She was really looking forward to those hazelnut tarts.

“Only for Rowan and Fenrys,” Galan said. “They were supposed to leave town a few hours ago, but a headache delayed their departure.”

“A hangover,” Rowan corrected, eyes narrowed at his coyish-looking friend.

Their departure.

So Prince Rowan was leaving about 12 hours after he practically proposed to Aelin in the library.

For a second, she felt bad for judging him based on his birthplace. As it turned out, males were still the same all around the globe—Doranelle included.

Aelin tried and failed to conceal the snark in her tone as she said, “When you offered to… spar with me, I didn’t realize the offer would stand for such a short period of time.”

“I had no idea you’d take on my offer.” He said, eyes sparkling. “How rude of me,” Rowan told Fenrys, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave for our hunting trip. I didn’t realize I already have an engagement with Milady.”

A hunting trip?

Oh, so he wasn’t leaving for good. Aelin felt silly for reacting how she did, but at least she would be accepting his lessons either way.

“How unfortunate,” Fenrys said, his eyes bloodshot and struggling to keep his head high. “I’m sure I’ll be able to forgive you after I sleep on it.”

The poor thing. The only thing Lord Fenrys looked sorry for was getting up from his bed this morning.

“I’ll be ready after brunch,” she told Rowan.

“By all means,” he said, gesturing towards the door that separated Aelin from all the pastries. “You’ll need the extra energy.”

˜˜

The Dueling Hall had been designed specifically for magical combat, shielded with enchantments that protected both the people on the bleachers and the intricate art with Wendlyn legends that adorned the walls.

And Aedion should never learn about that specific part of its architecture, since Aelin told him not to chaperone her for his own safety.

When she found Prince Rowan at the bleachers, he was already looking at her. He gestured towards the iron-bound doors across from the ones she came in from. Once they crossed them, Rowan sat at the short and broad marble staircase that led to the hall, facing the gardens.

Aelin sat besides him and, gods, it was beautiful out here. The Varese Royal Castle had a warm yet imposing sort of classical beauty that made its every corner beautiful, but this stretch felt different. Away from the busiest part of the castle, it was just Aelin, Rowan, and quartz statues witnessing whatever would happen here. If the birds and butterflies happened to be Fae guards, then they were doing a lovely job of adorning perfectly-trimmed trees and bushes to complete the scenery.

Aelin broke the silence. “I suppose I should thank you for not disclosing the true nature of our meeting.”

As in, for keeping her secret and telling people he’d be sparring with her instead of teaching her how to properly use her magic. Just the mere thought of having her lack of skills outed was enough to keep her up at night.

“No need. It works for me too.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “I spar with a lot of people. This raises less questions.”

“Very well, then.”

Rowan crossed his legs, leaned against the Dueling Hall’s outwall and closed his eyes.

By the Wyrd, was he taking a nap?

Aelin cleared her throat. “I guess we should start?”

“We’ve started.”

“We’ve… not.”

“Feel the sun on your skin. The pattern of your breathing. Let it soothe your magic.”

Aelin closed her eyes and felt. In and out once, in and out twice. “Done. Can we move to the juicy stuff?”

“Not yet,” Rowan said with a measured tone, his politeness stretched thin. “Magic is easier to manipulate when it isn’t raging to be unleashed, and it follows your relationship with your mind and body. If all are peaceful, the fire will follow suit.”

“I feel very peaceful.”

“You’re impatient.”

Aelin huffed. “I thought we’d be blowing shit up by now.”

“We’ll be blowing a lot of things if your magic is unsettled when we start.”

Fine, Aelin thought to herself, as bratty as ever, and Prince Rowan chuckled. Gods, did she say it out loud?

She closed her eyes and followed his instructions.

The sun? Tingling her skin.

The birds? Chirping. Nicer than any bard.

Her breathing? Breathing.

La la la. What a waste of time. Ha ha ha.

Aelin’s deep breath ended up sounding more like a sigh. “I feel very rested and peaceful.”

Without opening his eyes, Rowan drew a small smile. “The gods know me too well,” he said, “they’ve sent me a mate as stubborn as me to keep me on my toes.”

Very stubborn indeed, if he was still insisting on that mate gibberish.

“Again with this?”

He finally opened his eyes. “Of course. We’ll be tied together for the next several centuries, I’m afraid.”

Aelin’s laugh was dry. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. Even if we were mates—which we’re not—why are you so certain I’d want a bond like this?”

“Nonsense. Every Fae longs for a mate.” Rowan tilted his head, as if he was trying to puzzle something out.

“Prince Rowan, I’m afraid you’re in love with the idea of having a mate rather than me.”

“I’m inclined to agree, though your theory may prove itself wrong in the foreseeable future.”

He couldn’t be serious. Aelin studied his earnest expression—softened pine-green eyes that peered back at her and full lips with its natural curves only, not smiling nor frowning—and wondered which one of them was going insane.

“I think you should kiss me,” she concluded.

There was a slight, ear-deafening silence before he said, “That’s quite the change from how our conversation started.”

“You see…” Aelin licked her lips, watching how Rowan watched them as he brought himself closer. “There was this boy I liked when I was 16. Lord Allsbrook’s grandson. I was so sure I was madly in love with him, but the spell was broken the moment we kissed. Were were just that incompatible. That could be your case, too.”

By now, he was so close Aelin could make out the darker patches on his already tanned skin—she couldn’t possibly be mated to a male that didn’t wear lightguard lotion on his face. Yet, her heartbeat grew faster each second with his proximity, heart-faltering when he tenderly drew his knuckles along her jaw.

“As endearing as your puppy-love story was, that won’t be our case,” he whispered an inch away from her lips. Caressed her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. “When I kiss you, Princess, it won’t be with the intention to repel you.”

Neither was Ren’s case, she wanted to argue, but her brain ceased to function with him this close—she lost all snark.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“They are,” she whispered, waiting.

“Good,” he said, and it was the last time she felt his words puff against her lips, his own retreated before their lips touched. “Now loosen up and feel your breathing.”

And then he retreated to how they were five minutes ago.

How rude.

Despite herself, she complied.

The sun? Not as hot as the flush on her skin.

The birds? Still chirping. Not as loud as her thoughts.

Her breathing? Erratic.

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or joining my (sometimes glitchy) one general tag list!!

TAG LIST

@aelinchocolatelover

@anarchiii

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

@fangirlprincess09

@fauna-flora11

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@lululululululuop

@mis-lil-red

@nayaniasworld

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@s-uppertime

@sarahjswift

@staghorn-mountains

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[bestruction]

Flower's language

Summary: How you two stared to secretly date

Warnings: None

@enouche

Following his release from prison, Sasuke finally had the time to focus on the Uchiha district, a place abandoned and forgotten by time. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to face that place alone, so he called you for help. And how could you say "no" to him knowing everything that happened there ? Little by little, you found yourself drawn into the work, getting lost in the process of restoring what was left behind. After all, he had once been your friend— even more than that. Not that it mattered anymore.

Part of you was still hurt after everything that had happened, but another part understood what he went through. For all the good memories you shared, you promised to help him make the house more... livable. After that, you hoped to finally let go of the feelings you refused to admit you still had for him.

By morning, you were ready and made your way to the district, just as you had every weekend for the past few months. The main house—his house—still exuded a haunting stillness, as though frozen in time. The grandeur of the Uchiha clan lingered in its bones, but the absence of warmth and life was palpable. Each creaking floorboard and the faint rustle of wind through the broken windows echoed the loss and tragedy of the clan that had once lived there. It was a place both beautiful and melancholic, a physical embodiment of Sasuke’s memories and grief.

Today, you two had agreed on cleaning the garden and planting a few vegetable seeds that could be useful for him. 

It doesn't take long until you find him in the back of the house. You left your backpack on a bench and knelt beside Sasuke, your hands quickly brushing the earth as you worked to clear the area, pulling out invasive plants and cutting away dead branches.

You look around noticing how the once-meticulously groomed garden had succumbed to nature's reclaim. Stepping stones lead to a koi pond, now murky and overrun with algae. A stone lantern leans precariously to one side, and the bamboo fountain no longer flows. Wild wisteria and ivy climb over stone statues of Uchiha symbols, and the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

Sasuke wasn't much to talk but he seemed particularly off, his broad shoulders stiffed while he focused on the task he was doing.

“Do you know what this is?” you asked trying to save him from whatever was happening in his head.

He looks at the small sprig of something you’d found struggling to grow amid the chaos “A flower?.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s lavender. In the language of flowers, it symbolizes calm and peace. Your mother might have planted it here for that reason.”

Sasuke paused in his work, his gaze flickering to the delicate sprig in your hand. “The language of flowers?”

You nodded, smiling faintly. “Every plant has a meaning. For example, the camellias over there—represent admiration and longing. And the wisteria near the gate is a symbol of endurance and devotion.”

He looked toward the garden as if seeing it for the first time, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t know you were an expert.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not. But I’ve always liked the idea that flowers can say things people can’t"

He looked at you wondering if his mother thought the same. He remembered seeing her in the garden many times but the reasons for it now were blurry and lost in his head. Sasuke didn’t respond, but you caught the way his shoulders seemed to relax slightly as he returned to clear the weeds.

"What does this one mean?" He asks pointing at a single tulip he had found in the middle of the invasive herbs. You got closer to see it better, thinking to yourself it was unusual to see such a delicate flower in a wild scenario.

"Love," You say looking at it. It wasn't grown and its petals were suffering from the lack of care, but it still had the charm only a tulip could have.

"I thought roses were the flowers for love," He said looking at what, in his eyes, was just a plant.

"Roses and tulips," You said caressing the dry petals "Roses represent love and its nuances, but tulips represent it as a whole"

His dark eyes were fixated on you and when you looked at him again, and in that short second that followed you gulped thinking he had grown into a handsome man. You coughed pushing away that thought and quickly said "Did you buy the vegetables seeds that we talked about?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab it"

You drummed your fingers on your legs, waiting for him to come back while telling your stupid heart to stop beating so fast.

He came back and the two of you set to work planting the seeds, side by side. The quiet companionship that had grown between you was something you cherished, but it was still fragile like stepping carefully over thin ice. As you dug into the soil, your hands brushed his. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. You froze, glancing up at him, only to find that he was already looking at you.

"You didn't have to help so much"

“I know,” you said with a small shrug. “But I wanted to.”

Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a taut string. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Sasuke leaned closer, his dark eyes searching yours. His long fingers brushed the dust on your cheek but not just that, he was testing the waters, and once you didn't move away, he let his fingers hold your chin before putting his lips on yours. It was tentative, almost unsure.

His lips were unsteady as if he was uncertain of how to give or receive this kind of tenderness. He placed his lips on yours, feeling the texture and taste of your toothpaste. You closed your eyes and his hand found its way to the back of your neck while his tongue finally entered your mouth to quickly meet yours.

Fuck, did he have to taste so good?

You hold his shirt pulling him closer, making him smirk in the kiss while you wrap your tongues again and again until the world seems to slow down its rotation just to make it last longer. You felt the soft scrape of his teeth against your lower lip, a gentle bite that sent a shiver down your spine. A low sound escaped you, barely audible, but he heard it. And god, if you were gonna whimper like every time he kissed you, he would do it until your lips were swollen or both of you were naked.

You break the kiss reluctantly, needing to breathe. Sasuke gives you a few more pecks, loving the way your mouth is wet, before pressing his forehead to yours.

"This..." You whisper not opening your eyes but you can feel his gaze burning on you "Doesn't change anything, hm?"

"Doesn't it?" He asks pressing his lips on yours shortly once more

"Sasuke..." You lean back, trying to create space between you and him but grabs your waist, anchoring you closer "You are not being fair to me"

The Uchiha's house wasn't the only thing stuck in time after he left, you were stuck in time too. Lock in the feelings you had for him and unable to move on. Then why the part of you that hated him was so easily folded?

"I know" He whispers knowing he is being selfish by not letting you put an end to this cycle "We can take things slow, huh? See if it still works out between us and if it doesn't..."

You want to say "no" but your head shakes in a "yes" before your lips can open and you hate yourself for feeling so damn hot at the way he holds you close now, nearly pulling you on his lap "No one needs to know, okay?"

"Sure" He nods, eager to make you stay "Anything you want"

You stayed there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his touch, your heart warring between reason and desire. The garden seemed to hold its breath, as though the ghosts of the Uchiha district were watching, bearing witness to this fragile new beginning. Sasuke's grip on you loosened just enough to let you step back, but not enough to let you go. No matter how much you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you weren’t ready to walk away from him, and not from the chance that, just maybe, some things were worth saving.

[rauchendesgnu]

Since I keep seeing people and fic mentioning Silco's lack of depth perception, I'm gonna spend a minute on writing this. Obviously, there are many, many different ways blind and visually impaired people experience the world, and my view (haha) is just one of them. However, I do think my disability comes close, at least in part, to what Silco likely experiences, which is why I decided to write this thing.

How does lack of depth perception work? The magic happens in the brain. It gets two images, one from each eye, and the brain makes them into one (simplified, I'm not a doctor). Lack of depth perception happens either if one image goes missing, e.g. because of blindness, or if the brain doesn't do the thing right.

People can adapt to it. I've been born with my disability, so it's all I've known, but people who experience trauma that leads to the lack of vision on one eye will still be able to adapt. This means that as long as the things we'd like to grab are on the stronger side of our vision, we will not have any issue in actually grabbing it. I'm not going to miss the glass and spill water everywhere because I live with my vision every day, and since neither I nor the glass are moving, I know roughly where it is and I can pick it up without issue. The problem is when things are either in the area of my weaker eye, or if they start moving.

Movement. This is where it gets tricky. It makes things like dodging, moving out of the way, jumping over obstacles, catching and throwing things, climbing, and almost all kinds of sports incredibly hard, especially if you play/train together with able-bodied people. It's easier when the movement is slow. I would probably be able to catch a ball if it was thrown at me slowly in a nice, high parabola. Anything with speed, such as all ball sports I know, is nigh impossible.

The weaker eye. Again, I'm not a doctor, so the way I define terms will not line up with what an oculist might call it, but my main visual input comes from one eye. That's what I use to navigate my life. The other eye is all periphery vision for me. The vision is very weak and the overlapping part (the part of the input of both eyes that overlap (think venn diagram)) of my weak eye mixes with that of my strong eye, but they don't quite align, plus I assume my brain works on eliminating as much the signals my weaker eye sends so as to not impair my vision even more, that if I close said weak eye, it feels like I'm losing periphery vision, not half my vision. Sometimes, I catch myself closing my weaker eye to concentrate better. This happens when the weaker eye's image interferes too much with my stronger eye. In addition, if you have a lazy eye, it's likely that its image moves around a bit (at least it does for me), while the stronger eye is steady, which adds to more confusion.

How do we apply all of this to Silco? I am going to assume that Silco's vision is somewhat similar to mine, based on the fact that his left eye follows the movements of his right eye, so he has some control over the muscles that move the left eye and a direction of where it needs to go, so it's unlikely that he doesn't have any vision at all in that eye. A) His eye is likely very dry and needs to be moisturised a lot. B) It seems like what is causing his impairment is the damage brought by the toxins. For his vision, we can assume this means that it eats away at e.g. his lens, which would mean that his vision on the left eye is blurry and the eye itself is highly sensitive to light to the point where the outside light of cloudy days can be painful. At the same time, we see that his pupil doesn't dilate, so the iris isn't working properly, which means that in case of head trauma, internal bleeding can't be checked. There could be more damage that affects his vision, but since I have no experience with other impairments, I won't include them here to avoid spreading misinformation. (If anyone has similar visual impairments or disabilities, feel free to add to the list.) C) He probably lacks depth perception. This will play out the way I have illustrated above. D) It will be easier to startle Silco when not announcing the approach from his left due to the weak vision of his eye. E) In addition to the pain from having toxins in his eye, he's likely to get headaches and eye strain.

I think that's all for now. I might add to this if I come across something else, but for now that's what my tired brain can come up with. I think what's most important to me personally is that we are more capable and independent than many people think (which is pretty universal to all people with disabilities), and also that we don't walk around as if the world was made out of egg shells. We're perfectly fine doing most domestic tasks. Some of us need a different system for it than able-bodied people, but that doesn't make us less capable.

[genderqueerdykes]

i completely understand the dysphoria around something a lot of people celebrate, im a perisex trans guy, and i have a ton of dysphoria about having a dick (as well as a vagina) and so bottom growth has been dysphoria inducing. however, i dont have to accept it! people talk about having both, but i discovered you can have neither (genital nullification) and its been a light in the darkness so to speak.

i know bottom growth isnt celebrated by a lot, but in a community that seems to assume wanting a dick, it can be hard to express my dysphoria.

(this was asked after seeing the other ask you answered about being dysphoric about body hair, so while this is a very different situation, it resonated with me, cuz like. yeah. it can feel isolating)

continued:

"(sent ask about nullo and dysphoria about bottom growth)

im also sex repulsed, so the fact that my body gets aroused and stuff makes me wanna cry every time, which contributes to feeling like nullo is the only light in a very very dark room."

hey im glad you found something that gives you a sense of relief. it's totally okay to be dysphoric about that. just because you don't want bottom growth for yourself doesn't mean you're demonizing it or the people who want it. it's perfectly fine for that to make you uncomfortable, although i'm sorry that it does. it's absolutely okay for you to discuss that dysphoria. just because it makes one trans guy euphoric doesn't mean it will make all of us euphoric

i also totally understand why being sex repulsed would make that even more uncomfortable. due to being on the asexual spectrum, i sometimes feel very uncomfortable and even disgusted when i experience arousal, not because i'm ashamed, but because it genuinely feels bad. i def get why you'd feel that way, dysphoria impacts a lot of areas of one's life

if the idea of having neither sets of genitals appeals to you, then there's nothing wrong with that! i've known TONS of trans and intersex people who want to get rid of their genitals altogether. some people don't want a penis OR a vagina and that's okay. you shouldn't be forced to settle for an organ you don't want. i just wanted to let you know that i hear you, and that it's fine to feel this way. i'm really glad you found something that helps, and you're not alone!

if anyone else feels the same way, please feel free to chip in for anon. i'm sure they'd appreciate hearing from others like them. take care for now!

[hford0311]

I had him

You softly hummed as you walked through the main common area of the Tower. "It should be a quick in and out mission, fellas. Max is an overnighter." You informed no one in particular as you put on high heels. A low whistle came across the room of silence. You finished touching up your lip gloss in the mirror and turned around. "What?" You lightly chuckled at the group of males with all eyes on you. You really noticed how Bucky's jaw clenched. "Remind me of the mission again." Tony spoke, the most casual about it all. Your more revealing outfit, extra make-up, hair not pulled back, or in any other style that was your go-to for a mission. "Just taking down a Hydra spy. He likes to hang in a club, nothing crazy." You shrugged and pulled your purse over your shoulder. "You have enough protection?" Steve questioned. You pulled out your knife and small pistol. "Yes, cap." You rolled your eyes before placing the weapons back into their places. "You sure you don't want anyone coming with you?" Sam questioned out of concern. "Again, only one member. Not 5, not 100, only one just like how many Avengers should go: one." You deflected. "Guess our little agent has grown up. She doesn't need our help anymore." Tony cooed, finding his seat once more. You huffed, "Yes, all grown. I'm going now." You confirmed then made your exit.

"Okay, who's following her?" Sam asked the group after a matter of ten seconds since you walked out. "I will." Bucky volunteered. "Buck-" Steve started before the brunette man started for his own requirements for the mission. Steve sighed in defeat as a few minutes passed and Bucky reappeared, only to exit the same door that you had. Steve then looked at Sam, only to get, "I'm not following him. Metal armed man will throw my ass back here."

~~~

Nearly immediately. Spotted. Your hands streaming down a man's chest, both bodies only mere inches apart. If there hadn't been so many other voices, clinks, music, or even if he was closer, Bucky would have been able to manage to hear what the hell you your mouth was speaking to the what-had-to-be HYDRA spy. Every muscle in his body was cramping by not going up to him and throw him onto the viscous floor. His mind kept reminding every inch of him that you wanted-no-had-no-needed to do this on your own. This piece of filth was your mission and he was only there because you being safe was his.

God, how he hated how the hands of your mission were touching places he couldn't begin to comprehend exactly how'd it feel of your body. Your hands managing to go up to the face of the enemy, whispering in the ear, your hand dragging him somewhere off of the dance floor. Mind your distance. Keep her in sight. Bucky reminded himself as he walked a similar pathway.

A small tiny back room. Soft, indistinctive voices behind the semi-opaque curtains. One was undoubtably yours. He stood in a far corner of the hallway. James was stiff, trying to make out more of any context clue that was happening. Wanting your mission to end sooner than later. Just end it.

A hitch of breath. Gasp. Quiet yelp that was smothered into a whimper. Can't hold back anymore. He yanked the curtain to expose the enemy with a hand on your neck and the other over your mouth and nose. Wham. Bash. Thud. The now lifeless body slid into a slumped position. Small pants came out of you and Bucky. Yours from surprise, his from anger. Then, your eyes met his piercing blue ones. "I had him!" You shouted, all of your anger now escaping, "I don't need protecting-" "Sure as hell didn't look like that from this angle." "I was rolling with it. If you had given me two minutes-" "So he could choke your last breath out, yeah that wasn't going to happen." Bucky insisted and yanked you out of the curtained area by your wrist to the taxi to the Tower. Tense silence between the two of you.

Entrance back to the main door that you left an hour and half ago. You began to just walk up the stairs to your apartment, Bucky still by the front door. "You two are back quick." Sam stated, a little surprise. A knife whizzed across the room, hitting the doorframe behind Bucky. "I had him." You managed to leak out with too many emotions for the testosterone in the room to understand and made a disappearance all while the Tony glared at the knife blade that barely poked out of the frame.

Steve looked at Bucky with confused and concerned eyes that met his somehow both eerily angry and calm ones. "What happened?" Bucky only sighed and walked in the direction of his apartment. "Well, I don't know about you, but I thought that was great communication." Sam tried to ease the mood in the room.

In the morning light, you angrily stirred your coffee, avoiding eye contact with everyone possible. Steve wasn't so accepting of this avoidance. He sat across from you at the table and lowered himself to meet your eyes. "Wanna tell me what happened last night?" You rolled your eyes. "Bucky got the guy. I didn't." You grumbled under your breath.

"I'm sure he didn't just come in and do the job for you." You grimaced and raised your eyebrows. Steve gave you a small, empathic smile, "I'm sure he had his reasons." You took another sip of your coffee, listening to Steve and his father-like words. "He knew how much it meant for you." You nodded along with his words, not wanting to cause a scene this early.

The hush grew more as Bucky entered the premises. All eyes darted between the two of you like a tennis match, waiting for words or fists to fly. Knives weren't accessible until the upcoming week, thanks to Tony putting "tantrum locks" on all the drawers. You glared up at him through your eyelashes then blinked back down at your coffee and your eyes flicked back up at Steve. "Good talk, Cap." You simply said and took your coffee to go.

~~~

You felt the weights slam onto the ground during your last rep. You huffed out one of your breaths. "Here, let me get that for you." Bucky spoke from behind you and started to grab one of the weights. "No." You stated and grabbed what was in his hand quickly and put it back. Silence filled. You then put the remaining weights and the bar. His blue eyes still on you and all your steps. You couldn't handle it anymore. "I had him. You shouldn't have followed me. You shouldn't have completed my mission! It was mine! I don't need help!" You screamed. Bucky sighed. "I didn't do it for that reason." His voice barely hearable. You got in his face. "Then, what was it, Barnes? What was your reason?" His body tensed, unable to come up with words. You were holding back a punch to his face every second you went unanswered. At ten seconds, you shook your head and walked away.

"He touched you." His words finally came as you changed shoes. You looked at him with disgust, almost as if he was the one with the hands that had touched you. "It was part of the mission. I needed to lure him to get away from the public." You defended. "Don't...use the mission as the reason." He exhaled. You got a foot away from him, "Barnes, I can do or use whatever the hell I want to." He grabbed your arm with his flesh one. You tried jerking away from him without any success. "No one should touch you like that for a mission, especially with their hands around your neck." He grumbled. You rolled your eyes, "Or what...you're going to tell Cap on me? He would've given me the extra time to kill the stain of a human." You countered. "If I gave you the extra minute, you wouldn't be arguing with me now." You chuckled, "You're right. I wouldn't!" He gripped your harder, his fingerprints imprinting into your bicep. "That's not very funny." His voice near a growl. "What are you going to do about it?" You challenged in a near whisper. Both of your eyes staring into each other's. Natasha cleared her throat. Bucky let go of your arm and you marched to your room. "Do I want to know?" She said with a smirk. Bucky rolled his eyes and walked out.

~~~

You sighed at the bar you had just been a night ago. Cut one head off, two more appear. At least they got their slogan right. Eventually, after multitude of flirtatious looks, you pretended to be drunker than you really were and stumbled into one of their laps. More minutes past and once again, the curtain closed behind you and a spy that no one in the world besides the operation he works with. However, before you could just finish closed it, a hand grabbed your shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart, I wondered where you wandered off to." You held back the eye roll and looked back at the man with the metal arm. "I was just making a new friend." You painfully smiled. Bucky leaned in and whispered, "Go ahead and show me what you do to new friends." The smile turned from painful turned into joyful. "Thank you, darling."

Somewhere along the way after leaving the bar and the front door, your hands were on both sides of Bucky's face and his were on your waist, lips never leaving each others.

"I'm guessing the mission was successful." Sam chuckled at the view from the upstairs window.