#good old fashioned OC nonsense

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting��happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

Chapter 2

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

[scary-pixie]

November 1st = New Tina Year! (secret diary entry and upcoming goals)

I'm mainly writing this down so I don't slack off! Cause if I slack off I can look back on this and think, "wow, you failed terribly. dingus."

Ahem.

Anyways, I am in the process of thinking up some new short term goals now that:

2024 con season is over (with the exception of some smaller events)

Spooky Season is almost over (I like posting non-stop spooky stuff during this delightful time)

Twitter is going inside the toilet

Magazine troubles (more on this below)

I have met the famous man whose inspiration played a big role in both: a) getting back into drawing my old OCs after 15+ years (little round glasses are a bad influence), and b) getting brave enough to be on video after saying I would never do this for god knows how long. (secret: I watched a certain music video with one of his characters the morning before I made my own). BUT HE WILL NEVER KNOW ABOUT THIS AND I WILL NEVER TELL! I AM FULL OF CRINGE!!!

This is what I'm thinking at the moment, in terms of my next creative direction. I appreciate any thoughts or advice!!:

My OC art was an absolute flop in terms of gaining new social media followers. Bluesky seems to be a LITTLE bit better, but it's still early to tell and I haven't posted too many of my OCs there yet either. For the time being, though, I plan to get back to my Schoolism subscription assignments since I've been neglecting them for a bit!

good lord I need to flatten my stomach somehow, as I cannot fit into my preferred fashion choices. I quit watching TV for a while in the summer, which helped a bit (I tend to eat everything in the house while I watch), so I may try this again soon.

arm workouts are going alright I guess, I am gaining a bit of muscle in my armes so they do not look so much like noodles.

Tempted to get back into posting video game screenshots and mini-reviews on social media since people really liked this stuff, but I'm worried it might just add more to my plate.

I'm really enjoying doing videos now, I'm just not sure which direction to take them (or if I even should take them places). I tend to film a lot of myself and a long-time friend in the car just saying stupid shit, but I don't really want to post all of these.

I wish to read more books without falling asleep, jesus christ this is tough.

On a similar note: the magazine I used to write book and comic reviews for has SHUT DOWN GOD DAMN IT so maybe I'll write some new stuff here?? Not sure yet!

I need to get back to my Japanese studies!! I used to do them at lunch and dinner but now I get distracted by all the awful political shit online! Aaaaaaaa!! I really hope America doesn't combust in the next few days but I guess we'll find out soon...

Finally, I need to be more active HERE! It's the best place for longform writing and art that might be a bit too "cringe" for the general public. Let's see if I can stick to it!!

I think that's all I have to SAY for NOW. Wish me luck in sticking to my goals instead of spiralling into ADHD Twitter nonsense, aaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Tagging a couple frands: @prometheus-ghost @fadingdreamerdream @thewebspinner @autolykiss @draganwhorror

Also anyone who actually wants to watch my shitty ass videos, the link is below. I have a bunch more but haven't posted them! https://www.instagram.com/kittensoft39/reels/

[rosietrace]

Errand Boy

Divider by @cafekitsune !

[ This short story is important to the main story of the central character ]

⊱───────────────⊰

Central Character ; 『 Sumeragi Yuuta, “The Golden Rule” 』

Mentioned (Central) ; 『 “Rei-Rei”, ‘The Secret Silly Symphony’ 』

【 This is both a short story important to the central character's story; All Ocs belong to their respective owners and will be credited at the end. 】

Synopsis: Crowley's favorite errand boy just can't catch a break, can he? Well, at least it isn't most of his errands Yuuta has to run.

Warning(s): Angst, comfort at the end(?), backstory spoilers, nobody knows it's his birthday :(, not proofread because grammarly sucks now and we die like men

⊱────────────────────⊰

Whatever they were talking about, Yuuta wasn't putting in any effort in listening. It was just how he operated most of the time.

Disassociation; a brief hum and nod as though he were paying attention; a snarky comment thrown in when he gets asked the age-old “are you even listening?”— all culminating into one of the most mundane ways for Yuuta to start his day.

Well, maybe that was a little cruel to say; Ellis and Circe seemed to be enjoying themselves just fine. Something about the former trying on a new shade of pink she, quote on quote, invented.

Yuuta sat on the couch he'd recently helped implement into Ellis' eyesore of a room, his eyes focused on the ceiling to refrain from rolling his eyes so far back they'd get stuck.

Are they done yet? Yuuta asked himself, completely disassociating from whatever conversation Ellis and Circe were currently having. He felt a little bad for being so inattentive; fashion was one of the few things he had in common with the duo.

Yet there he was, barely even paying a sliver of attention to whatever nonsense they were talking about. Something about ‘inventing new colors’, but he was too busy thinking to actually listen.

“Yuuta?”

He blinked, his gaze flitting between the pink ceiling — that he painted for Ellis — to Ellis herself. Seemed like while he was occupied with… anything other than what they were talking about.

“Hm?” He quirked up an eyebrow. “What?”

“We were just asking what you thought of this new design Ellis came up with,” Circe took hold of Ellis’ sketchbook and went over to Yuuta, handing it to him.

Yuuta got a good look at the sketch. It was good, he believed. Then again, Ellis always did have a knack for design.

“Well?” Ellis strode over to them, tilting her head to the side with a smile Yuuta couldn't dare break.

“What do you think?”

Why do you always ask me that? Yuuta thought. The praise Ellis received for her talent in fashion and all things related to it weren't unwarranted. She didn’t need to ask him, or Circe, or anyone about if a design looked good or not— there was no need to.

It was Circe's turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yuuta?” It was as though Yuuta couldn't hear them, hear anything.

Circe snapped his fingers twice, that hint of concern plastered on his face barely even comparable to Ellis’, who seemed to take that wave of concern and multiplied it by tenfold.

Yuuta couldn't stop thinking. About the day it was, about how nobody will know about the significance of it; about the errands he'll have to deal with today to keep Ramshackle afloat, about…

The buzzing noise of Yuuta's phone gave him that opening to leave as soon as possible. Better for him to complete his everyday tasks than to deal with the concern his friends had over him.

Yuuta stood, towering over Ellis but not quite doing the same for Circe. “I have to go,” he said in such a way that implied that whatever conversation they were going to have, it wasn't going to happen anytime soon, if at all.

“Huh?” Circe scrunched their nose. “What are you- No, where are you-”

“Errands,” Yuuta dismissed far too quickly than necessary, already making a break for the door before Ellis could intercept.

At least, he would have. Not until a thought popped into his head. So much so that he stood with his body halfway out of the door, frozen in place.

Circe's face contorted from silent concern, to surprise, to just straight up befuddlement. Ellis wasn't doing much better, tucking her arms behind her back with a similar expression on her face.

“What's he doing…-?” Circe whispered to Ellis, his nose wrinkling.

“I’m…” Ellis took a slight step forward, “... Not too sure.” Hence, from there, she walked up to Yuuta, tapping his shoulder with a featherlight touch to bring him back to his senses.

She could only hope that he wouldn't be like this for the rest of the day. The mere thought just made her even more worried than she already was.

“Erm… Yuuta?” Ellis called out to him, shaking him gently; body halfway out of her room, with his head hanging low. “Yuuta, are- Are you okay? Do you need a break, or something? I'm sure if we asked Crowley, he could let you take a bre-”

“Ribbon.”

Ellis blinked. “... Pardon?”

Ellis watched Yuuta turn his head to look her directly in the eye, his expression devoid of emotion.

“I'm gonna have to ask for some ribbons. Black, purple, and blue.”

⊱───────────────⊰

Crowley had been kind in the number of errands Yuuta had to run for today. Try as he may to hate the pathetic birdbrain, he could — at the very least — feel thankful.

Though…. If he continues to go on and on about his ‘kindness’, I might just punch my way through this goddamn maze.

Yuuta had already been in a questionable mood ever since the incident with Ellis and Circe earlier in the day, it just seemed like his mood worsened when he had to perform the tasks bestowed upon him by his “enigmatic” headmaster.

“Something on your mind?” Juvia asked, noting the grumbling Yuuta's been doing for the past few minutes while they assisted in painting the roses in Heartslabyul.

Juvia, bless her heart, knew that Yuuta wasn't going to be able to do everything himself, and out of the kindness of her blot-covered heart, had convinced Yuuta to allow her to help him out; well aware of his stubborn nature and his utmost refusal to receive help most of the time.

“I'm fine,” like everyone else, Juvia played victim to the dismissiveness of Sumeragi Yuuta. May the Great Seven bless her with more patience than anyone in NRC could muster.

Yuuta picked up another bucket of paint, heading for the next bush of unpainted roses with a look so nonchalant it almost disturbed Juvia to see him in such a state.

“You're clearly thinking of something.” Juvia climbed up a ladder to reach the upper parts of the rose bush she was painting; which just so happened to be next to Yuuta's. He wondered if that'd been intentional on her part.

But that thought faded very quickly. “Well, whatever I'm thinking of, it isn't any of your business.”

“I feel like as your roommate—”

“I'm basically your landlord.”

“No you're not! Crowley's the landlord!”

“Yeah, and he's a shitty one, too.”

He let out a tsk, proceeding with the tedious task of painting the roses red without staining his uniform.

Juvia’s frown deepened. “You're clearly thinking of something, y'know.”

Yuuta's eyes rolled. “And why’re you assuming that, of all things?”

“Because,”— Juvia pursed her lips in hesitation —“you have that look.”

He blinked. “What look-?”

“Y'know! The look!” To try and prove — as well as emphasize — her point, Juvia mimicked the expression currently worn on Yuuta's face.

Yuuta merely deadpanned, unimpressed by her feeble efforts at trying to get his thoughts out of him. She's too much like her.

He shook that thought away faster than the last one. No. She isn't her, and it isn't good to try and pretend that she is.

Bad, Yuuta. Bad.

Ignoring whatever Juvia had to say next, Yuuta finished his last batch of painted roses before he could leave to fulfill the rest of his errands of the day— not without taking two deliberately unpainted white roses from the bush, of course.

That was when Noriko ‘You must not bring dishonor to Lady Victoria's name!’ Dolion intercepted him on his way out.

“Where do you think you're going?” Noriko challenged, crossing their arms in disapproval. “Housewarden Rosehearts won't exactly be pleased if he saw you with those… it violates the conduct of the Queen of Hearts.”

Yuuta chortled, brushing past Noriko and retorting back, “As if you didn't plan on doing the same thing for your favorite Fae in Pomefiore.”

And so, Yuuta left Heartslabyul with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; with Juvia falling from her ladder, caught into the arms of a blue-haired Spade, and Noriko red in the face in shame.

⊱───────────────⊰

“You didn't have to do this, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I insist,” despite all of the errands he had to deal with earlier in the day, Yuuta had graciously offered to help Miren with two of his latest concoctions.

Some pastries, mostly cupcakes; as well as a creation so spicy it could potentially challenge Miren’s spice tolerance if he wasn't careful.

What confused Miren was Yuuta's insistence on making cupcakes while he was making that spiced up monstrosity.

“Didn't take you as much of a cupcake person,” Miren narrowed his eyes. Skeptical, and almost intrigued. At least until Yuuta got some frosting on his cheek.

Yuuta clicked his tongue. “What made you think that?”

“You don't eat sweets that much, clearly.”

“Well you clearly haven't seen me during a Heartslabyul unbirthday party.”

“That's only because your schedule's so jam-packed, you barely have time to attend them anymore,” Miren groaned out a sigh.

“Seriously, I'm starting to think you're only running so many errands for a better paycheck.”

That's one of the reasons, an unsaid reply from Yuuta. At least for today.

“Come to think of it…” Miren hummed. “You've been…. Busier, today.”

Yuuta arched up an eyebrow. “Hah?”

“You know what I mean. It's like you're overexerting yourself on purpose,” it had, very clearly, occurred to Yuuta that Miren Lockhart wasn't going to back down from this topic; possibly more so than stubborn Ellis, sassy Circe, and worrisome Juvia.

Miren leaned against the kitchen counter. It was hard to take him seriously with that smudge of frosting on his cheek, Yuuta thought.

Wanting nothing more than to just leave, Yuuta did just that. Taking the two of the dozen cupcakes he'd made, one with purple icing and the other with light blue icing, he held them with one hand to focus his free hand on lifting Miren's chin.

Once he'd done so, Yuuta had teasingly licked the frosting off of Miren's cheek. Which… just happened to be the same time Carol came in, with Mayuu and Chizuko in tow.

Carol wasn't even the least bit surprised. “I'm not even going to ask,” she said with a disapproving huff of breath as Yuuta brushed past her, Mayuu, and Chizuko.

Chizuko squinted her eyes, thinking it relevant that the look on Yuuta's was most uncharacteristic for him, indeed, but not putting in the effort to say anything about it. Simply crossing her arms and shaking her head.

Mayuu went over to Miren, slightly disgusted at Yuuta's embarrassing display. “What's going on with him?”

Miren looked off at the kitchen's doorway, his hand covering his right cheek, his face reddened with blush.

Miren just sighed, letting go of his cheek and shrugging his shoulders. Whatever bothered Yuuta about today, it was clear he wouldn't tell any of them about it.

⊱───────────────⊰

Finally, it was night. Yuuta liked late night walks; he'd indulged in them every so often with Ellis, often encountering ‘Tsunotarou’ on their walk around campus.

But tonight was a special night. A night where he wasn't burdened by a constant demand to help those around him, where it was just him. Alone. No Tsunatarou, no Ellis, no anyone.

He sighed to himself, his eyes fixated on the glimmering lights in the dark midnight sky. Gods….

He cursed to himself, far below his breath. Why had it come to this? Why was his persistence in pretending today wasn't special getting him to such a sad, pathetic, point?

He didn't know the answer to that. Yuuta didn't know if he'd ever know the answer to that. And maybe he'll know one day, and maybe he won't.

Clearly, it wouldn't be tonight.

“Maybe in some alternate timeline where I'm not… me,” Yuuta murmured, taking out a ring of keys from his pocket.

He unlocked the doors to the botanical gardens, making sure to not make the doors creak too much; Crowley had been surprisingly easy to bribe to get the keys, the old coot was even ‘generous’ enough to give Yuuta full ownership of the keys.

He made sure not to wake any of the others when he snuck out. And any opportunities to run into Malleus were quickly evaded with, in his words, “some impressive maneuvering skills”.

But that wasn't as important as what he was to do next. Other than the keys to botanical garden, Yuuta had brought a small bag containing… stuff.

He'd gone to the most secluded part of the garden, one where the glass walls couldn't see him, and a spot not even Leona knew about. A spot personal only to Yuuta.

He sat down, setting everything up with a forlorn, almost sorrowful smile on his face.

Two cupcakes with purple and blue icing respectively, with candles of the opposite color stuck on the top; two unpainted white roses with purple, blue, and black ribbons crudely tying them together.

And finally, a black rabbit stuffed animal with a blue ribbon bowtie, and bracelet.

The stuffed animal, in particular, had the added consequence of getting Yuuta relentlessly teased by his friends when they found it in his room. He never elaborated on why he got it, or where he got it, because it simply wasn't their business.

They didn't need to know any more about him than they already did.

Besides, Yuuta sucked in a breath, his throat tightening. it was her favorite animal…

Lighting the two candles of the two cupcakes together, Yuuta held in a breath, singing a soft, melancholic version of the birthday song. He sang it in such a short, hiccupped manner, that he knew — he just knew — he was on the brink of tears.

And he didn't fight them. He never fought those tears. Not when they were for her. His only true friend, his truest, kindest, friend.

A friend — a girl he saw as a sister — he'll forever miss.

“Happy birthday,” he breathed out, tears barely wiped, “to… me.”

Yuuta looked up at the glass ceiling, crying his little, broken heart out. Things couldn't be changed. He couldn't change the past for what it was, and he knew he couldn't change the way he treated her.

He wondered where she was, often. He cried himself to sleep, sometimes, at the idea she could be hurt. She didn't deserve that, she never deserved that.

Yuuta sniffled, closing his eyes after making his birthday wish. A wish he'd been making ever since her departure from his life, all those years ago.

I want to see you again, Rei-Rei. And just like all the times I've said it before, I'm sorry.

⊱────────────────────⊰

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Ellis Clawthorne — @starry-night-rose 💖

Circe Erfinderin — @geminiiviolets 👾

Juvia Yuyi Espejo — @jasdiary 🧡

Noriko Dolion — @terrovaniadorm / @hallowed-delights ‼️

Victoria Shard — Me! 😈

Miren Lockhart — @authoruio 💙

Carol Ann — @fumikomiyasaki 💚

Chizuko Minato — @sakuramidnight15 ⛓️

Mayuu — @nem0-nee ⏰

“Rei-Rei” (UNRELEASED) — @jasdiary

|| @twsted-princess || @mystery-skulls-ghost || @abyss-wonderer || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @spadecentral || @oseathepebble || @valse-a-mille-temps || @twst-stupid-ocs || @mintychocolate04 ||

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Near Miss | Sebastian Sallow x OC #37

Summary: Slytherin wins a Quidditch match and celebrates at the Three Broomsticks. Sebastian leaves early to see Evangeline; drunken antics ensue.

Words: ~6,400

Tags: Almost Confessions, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Friends To Lovers, Slow Burn, Longing, Unspoken Feelings, Romance, Soft Moments, Sharing a Bed

Timeline: Mid January

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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The Three Broomsticks was alive with the raucous energy of victory. The Slytherin Quidditch team had trounced Ravenclaw in a match that was as brutal as it was brilliant, and the team was reveling in their success. Tankards of clinked loudly, voices mingled in a cacophony of laughter and exaggerated retellings of the game, and someone—probably Jameson—was off-key in a bawdy version of the Slytherin house song.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his fifth old-fashioned in hand, grinning as Neva recounted her winning catch with the kind of dramatic flair only she could muster.

“And there it was,” she declared, lifting her hands as if holding an invisible Snitch. “The Ravenclaw Seeker didn’t even see it coming. Too busy gawking at Darian’s Bludger aimed for their head.”

“Distraction’s half the game,” Darian said with a cocky smirk, raising his tankard to her.

“To Neva!” Nicholas, their Keeper, boomed, standing and nearly knocking over his chair. “Fastest Seeker Slytherin’s seen in a decade!”

“To Neva!” the crowd chorused, their cheers echoing through the tavern.

Sebastian joined in, raising his glass in a toast before taking a deep swig. The warmth of the drink mixed with the buzz already humming in his veins. It was a good night. A great night, even. And yet, something was missing. No matter how good the moment, how loud the celebrations, there was a quiet space inside him that couldn’t quite be filled.

Imelda leaned over, elbowing him hard enough to make him jolt. “You’re quiet, Sallow,” she said, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Just pacing myself,” he lied easily, forcing a grin. “Someone’s got to keep you lot out of trouble.”

“Pacing yourself,” Jameson snorted from across the table. “You’re five drinks in. If anyone’s getting dragged out of here, it’s you.”

“Not likely,” Sebastian shot back, but his retort lacked bite. He took another sip of his glass, his gaze drifting lazily over the crowded room.

The Three Broomsticks was packed with students from all houses, though Slytherin’s victory made their green-and-silver scarves the most visible. Hufflepuffs huddled in a corner, chatting amicably; Gryffindors laughed boisterously near the bar. Ravenclaws were noticeably fewer in number—licking their wounds, no doubt.

Ominis was there somewhere, though Sebastian hadn’t seen him for at least twenty minutes. Likely, he’d found a quiet corner away from the chaos, tolerating the noise with his usual resigned air. Ominis was never one to miss out on Slytherin victories—though his patience for the accompanying revelry was usually limited.

Garreth Weasley, on the other hand, was front and center, thriving amidst the boisterous energy. He hadn't even wanted Slytherin to win the game, but it was hard to keep him away from a party, especially one at the Three Broomsticks. He was currently standing on a chair near the bar, bickering with Jameson about the Slytherin house song.

“It’s not nearly as catchy as Gryffindor’s,” Garreth declared loudly, gesturing dramatically with his tankard. “No offense, but you lot could use a chorus people actually want to sing.”

Jameson, who was already a tankard deep in his argument, crossed his arms and glared up at him. “We don’t need a catchy chorus. Ours is about winning, Weasley. Not fluff and nonsense.”

Garreth threw his head back with a laugh, almost spilling his drink. “Winning? Is that what you call that ragged chant you all mumble like you’re at a funeral?”

The surrounding Slytherins roared in mock offense, while Garreth grinned like he was enjoying every second of their ire. Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk at the scene, shaking his head as Jameson clambered onto a chair to meet Garreth at eye level, red-faced and shouting about house pride.

Across the room, Natsai stood near the bar, her arms crossed and an amused smile tugging at her lips as she watched the chaos unfold. She caught Sebastian’s eye and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. She wasn’t one to frequent celebrations like this, but even she couldn’t resist the draw of a post-match party.

And yet, despite the sea of familiar faces, there was one conspicuously missing.

Evangeline.

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on the crowd as if searching for her, though he already knew she wasn’t there. She’d told him earlier she wouldn’t be coming. Something about catching up on homework, but he knew it was more about needing space. She never quite felt at ease in settings like this—too crowded.

He couldn’t blame her. But Merlin’s beard, he missed her.

Sebastian let out a slow exhale and raised his glass to his lips, as though the drink in his hand could fill the space Evangeline’s absence left behind. The warmth of the liquor spread through his chest, but it didn’t touch the ache that had settled there. He forced himself to focus on the celebration, on the rowdy laughter and the tang of spilled cider in the air, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

She’d probably be curled up in the Gryffindor common room by now, her nose buried in some book she’d insisted on borrowing from the library. Or maybe she��d already gone to bed, exhausted from another day of balancing schoolwork, Quidditch, and everything else she juggled.

“Another round, Sallow?” Neva called from across the table, shaking her empty tankard at him.

Sebastian glanced at his own drink—or what was left of it—and nodded. “Yeah, why not?”

Time blurred after that. Another drink appeared in front of him, then another. He laughed at Nicholas’s increasingly ridiculous stories, rolled his eyes at Darian’s attempts to charm Natsai, and even joined in the rowdy singing when Imelda dragged him into it.

But no matter how many times his glass was refilled, no matter how many jokes and toasts he shared, the ache remained. He wasn’t sure when Poppy Sweeting had slipped into the crowd, but she gave him a pointed look as she replaced his drink with a fresh one, teasing him about “getting ahold of himself" before disappearing again.

It wasn’t until his next sip that Sebastian realized she’d swapped his whiskey for water. He scowled, but the drink’s coolness was a sobering reminder of how far he’d let himself go tonight. The buzz in his head had turned into a fog, the world around him slightly unsteady.

At some point, the loud singing turned to background noise. The cheerful chaos became a blur of voices, and the once lively fire in his chest dimmed to a slow, persistent burn. He caught glimpses of his friends—their faces flushed with joy and drink—but they felt distant, their laughter too far away to reach him.

His thoughts drifted back to Evangeline again, as they always did. The way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating. The way her laughter always seemed to catch him off guard, light and musical in a way that made everything else fade.

And the way she looked at him sometimes—soft and knowing, like she could see right through him.

It hit him then, with the clarity only found in drunken realizations: he couldn’t do this without her. Whatever this was—celebrating, winning, living—it didn’t feel right unless she was there.

Sebastian pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, bracing a hand on the table as the room swayed slightly.

“Oi, Sallow!” Jameson called, raising a brow. “Where’re you off to?”

“Forgot something,” Sebastian mumbled, waving him off as he stumbled toward the door. The cool night air hit him like a splash of cold water as he stepped outside, and he inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head.

But his mind was already made up.

He needed to see her.

Sebastian shoved his hands into his pockets and started the trek back to the castle. The cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade were quieter now, the celebratory buzz contained within the walls of the Three Broomsticks. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their light casting flickering shadows on the path ahead. The cold air bit at his flushed skin, but it only sharpened his determination.

The trek back to Hogwarts passed in a blur. His legs carried him on autopilot, though the alcohol buzz made the journey slower than usual. He reached the castle, weaving slightly as he crossed the courtyard.

By the time he reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, he was already rehearsing what he might say. Not that he had a plan, really. The idea of seeing her was more a feeling than a thought—a pull he couldn’t resist.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow as he stumbled to a stop in front of her. “You’re a long way from your dormitory, young man,” she said, her tone skeptical. “And you’re not exactly looking… balanced.”

“Just… need to see someone,” Sebastian slurred slightly, leaning against the wall for support. “Could you, uh, open up?”

The Fat Lady was not amused.

“You’re not even in Gryffindor!” she huffed, glaring down at Sebastian as he pounded on the portrait. "And do you know what time it is? Some of us have standards!”

“Come on,” Sebastian coaxed, his grin boyish but desperate. “It’s important. Life or death.”

“Hardly,” she muttered, folding her arms. “Off with you, now.”

Before Sebastian could argue further, the portrait swung open on its own, revealing one of the Gryffindor prefects, though Sebastian couldn't for the life of him think of his name.

“You lost, Sallow?” He looked down at him with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

“No,” Sebastian replied firmly, straightening himself as best he could. “I’m here to see Evangeline.”

The boy frowned. “At this hour? She’s probably—”

“Please,” Sebastian interrupted, the word tumbling out more urgently than he intended. “Just… can you tell her I’m here?”

The Gryffindor hesitated, but something in Sebastian’s expression must have struck a chord. With a sigh, he nodded. “Wait here.”

The door swung shut again, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts and the Fat Lady, who eyed him disapprovingly.

“I’m watching you,” she said primly.

He didn’t have time to retort before the portrait opened again, revealing a very tired-looking Evangeline in her oversized cardigan and Gryffindor pajama bottoms. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders in waves, and she blinked at him in sleepy confusion.

“Sebastian?” she asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He leaned casually against the wall, his grin a little too easy, a little too loose. “Miss me?”

Evangeline sighed as she stepped into the corridor, letting the portrait close behind her. “I thought you’d be out celebrating all night. What’s going on?”

“Celebrating’s boring without you,” he said simply, the words tumbling out before he could think better of them.

Her eyes softened, though she tried to hide it behind a raised eyebrow. “You do realize that’s possibly the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me?”

“But it’s still true,” he shot back, his grin widening. “Now, are you going to come with me?"

"Come with you where?" She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head at him in mild exasperation. “Sebastian, it’s late, and I was about to go to bed. Wherever you think you’re dragging me, it can wait.”

“Absolutely not,” he said with indignation, taking a step closer to her. His voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity in his gaze that gave her pause. “I left the party early, Evie. For you. The least you can do is humor me.”

She let out a small laugh, though her arms stayed firmly crossed. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes,” he admitted with a shrug, his grin unrepentant. “But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Evangeline sighed. “Alright, fine. What is it you want?”

“First,” he said, holding up a finger, “I need to grab my pajamas. I can’t exactly sleep in this.” He gestured vaguely at his rumpled sweater and Quidditch trousers.

“And second?” she asked warily.

He leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken. “You’ll see.”

Evangeline narrowed her eyes at him, trying and failing to suppress the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Merlin's beard, fine. If only to make sure you don't pass out in the corridor."

“Excellent,” he said cheerfully, taking her hand without waiting for her to protest. “Come on, off to the dungeons we go.”

“Sebastian—” she began, but he was already tugging her along, his steps a little unsteady but determined.

The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet at this hour, the usual hum of student activity replaced by the soft flicker of torchlight against the ancient stone walls. Evangeline allowed herself to be dragged along, her hand warm in Sebastian’s firm grip. His steps were uneven, his balance betrayed by the drinks he’d clearly had far too many of, but he seemed undeterred, his pace almost gleeful.

“Do you have to stomp everywhere?” she asked, trying to keep her voice stern, though the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. “You’ll wake the entire castle and we’ll get caught.”

“Stomping?” he repeated indignantly, glancing back at her with mock offense. “I am striding, Evie. Striding with purpose.”

As they descended Gryffindor Tower, his antics continued. He bowed as they passed an empty suit of armor, then pointed out a crack in the wall that, according to him, “looked suspiciously like the headmaster’s profile.”

By the time they reached the main floor, Evangeline was laughing despite herself. "How much did you have to drink tonight, Sebastian?"

“Not enough,” he quipped, his grin broad and boyish as he dramatically swayed around a corner, narrowly missing the edge of a tapestry.

Evangeline shook her head, tightening her grip on his hand to steady him. "I beg to differ. You're walking like a newborn Mooncalf. You’re going to wake Mr. Moon at this rate.”

"Moon?" Sebastian scoffed, waving her concern away. "He's probably asleep, dreaming about confiscating contraband. Besides, I’m stealth incarnate.”

As if to prove his point, he attempted to tiptoe dramatically, his steps exaggeratedly light and utterly uncoordinated. The result was a clumsy shuffle that sent a small stack of forgotten library books tumbling off a bench.

“Very stealthy,” Evangeline deadpanned, stooping to gather the books. She shot him a pointed look. “You’re lucky Peeves isn’t around.”

“Peeves loves me,” Sebastian said confidently, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in what he likely thought was a suave pose.

“I doubt that,” she deadpanned, shaking her head as she returned the books to their place. “And if he catches you like this, he’ll never let you live it down.”

Sebastian grinned, unfazed. “Good thing I’ve got you to keep me in line, then.”

“Someone has to,” she muttered.

As they descended toward the dungeons, the air grew cooler, the torches casting long, flickering shadows. Sebastian’s grip on her hand tightened, not out of necessity but comfort. Evangeline noticed and didn’t pull away.

“So,” he said after a beat, his voice slightly more serious, “are you mad I pulled you out of bed?”

“I wasn’t in bed yet,” she replied, glancing at him. “I was about to, though.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he smirked, tossing her a wink that would have been smoother if he hadn’t nearly tripped over a loose stone in the floor.

Evangeline caught his arm, steadying him before he could fall. “For Merlin’s sake, Sebastian,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re going to break your neck. Come on. The sooner we get to the dungeons, the sooner you can stop trying to outpace your own balance.”

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh but followed her lead, the playful edge in his demeanor giving way to a quieter contentment. The Slytherin common room loomed closer with each step, the dungeon's familiar chill wrapping around them like an old cloak.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, “I really did leave the party for you.”

She glanced at him, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Why?”

“Because,” he said simply, his gaze focused ahead. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

Evangeline’s heart gave a small, traitorous flutter, but she masked it with a teasing smile. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“Maybe is loosens my lips,” he admitted, his lips quirking into a crooked grin. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”

They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and Sebastian fumbled for the password, his memory momentarily failing him. Evangeline waited patiently, her arms crossed, until he finally blurted out the right phrase.

The door swung open, and Sebastian gestured grandly. “After you.”

Evangeline scoffed, crossing her arms more firmly as she raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I’m not actually allowed in there, right? Something about Gryffindors tarnishing the sacred sanctity of Slytherin’s cold, dark lair?”

Sebastian grinned, leaning against the doorway with an exaggerated air of confidence. “Sacred sanctity, you say? Nonsense. Consider yourself an honorary Slytherin for the evening.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the dimly lit common room beyond him. “And what happens if I get caught? I’d rather not end up scrubbing cauldrons for a week.”

Sebastian stepped closer, his grin softening into something that bordered on earnest. “You won’t. I’d never let that happen.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she stepped past him into the common room, the warmth of the fireplace immediately enveloping her. The room was as she’d imagined—grand, moody, and distinctly Slytherin. Green and silver accents adorned the dark leather furniture, and the high ceilings cast long shadows that danced with the flickering firelight.

Sebastian wobbled slightly as he followed her in, and she shot him a pointed look. “You’re going to trip over your own feet if you keep that up.”

“Nonsense,” he said breezily, though he did grab the edge of a nearby couch for balance. “I’m perfectly steady.”

“Sure you are,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the room. “Now go get those pajamas you were so desperate for so I can go back to bed.”

Sebastian straightened, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as he wagged a finger at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You can’t go back yet, Evie.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m pretty sure I can. You said you needed pajamas, and now you’re here. Mission accomplished.”

Sebastian shook his head, stepping toward her with a dramatic flair, as if her logic had wounded him deeply. “Getting my pajamas was only the first part of the plan. You agreed to humor me, remember? And the second part hasn’t even started yet.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Sebastian leaned against the arm of a nearby couch, his grin wide and unrepentant. “You agreed to follow me, and now you’re in it for the long haul.”

“Sebastian,” she said firmly, giving him her best no-nonsense look, “it’s late, and you’re clearly very drunk. Whatever grand scheme you’re cooking up can wait until morning.”

“Come on, Evie. You’ll like this, I promise.” he said, his tone light but with a trace of something softer underneath.

She studied him for a moment, noting the stubborn set of his jaw and the slight sway in his stance that betrayed just how much he’d had to drink.

Evangeline let out a resigned sigh, shaking her head. “Fine. But if this involves sneaking out of the castle or into the Restricted Section, you’re on your own.”

“Not this time,” he said, his grin softening into something almost boyish. “Now wait right here while I grab my things. Don’t move.”

She watched him disappear down one of the narrow hallways, the sound of his unsteady footsteps echoing softly as he went. With a shake of her head, Evangeline moved toward the fireplace, the warmth of the flames drawing her in. She couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation.

“Honorary Slytherin,” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

It wasn’t long before Sebastian reappeared, a crumpled bundle of clothes and a toothbrush clutched in one hand. He looked far too pleased with himself as he sauntered back into the room, holding the bundle aloft like a trophy.

“Ready?” he asked, his grin wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Ready for what?” she asked, her arms crossed once more.

He stopped in front of her, swaying slightly but managing to hold her gaze. “The rest of the night, of course. Back to the Undercroft.”

Evangeline frowned. “Sebastian, I’m not walking across the entire castle again at this hour.”

“Yes, you are,” he said simply, his grin turning into a smirk. “Because if you don’t, you’ll miss the best part of the night.”

She hesitated, eyeing him warily. “And what exactly is the best part?”

Sebastian’s expression softened, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken. “Spending it with me.”

Evangeline groaned. "Are you kidding?"

"Nope," he shot back, his smirk triumphant. “Now come on, Sterling. Let’s go."

With a long-suffering sigh, she gestured toward the door. “Lead the way. But if you get us caught, you’re explaining it to Professor Weasley”

Sebastian laughed, the sound warm and unguarded as he took her hand once more. “Deal.”

They slipped out of the Slytherin common room together, the faint echo of their footsteps disappearing into the quiet of the dungeons.

Sebastian’s antics kept Evangeline both entertained and exasperated on the walk. He attempted to recount the highlights of the Quidditch match, though his details became increasingly muddled as he went on.

“And then Jameson—he’s the one who hit the Bludger, mind you—managed to knock—wait, no, it was Darian—anyway, the Ravenclaw Seeker didn’t stand a chance,” he rambled, his words slurring slightly.

“Yes, I did attend the match, you know,” Evangeline said dryly.

By the time they reached the Undercroft, Sebastian was leaning heavily against Evangeline, though whether it was from the alcohol or sheer theatrics, she couldn’t tell. With a bit of effort, she pushed open the familiar door, and they stepped inside, the soft glow of the enchanted fire casting warm light over the room.

Sebastian flopped onto the couch with a groan, tossing his pajamas onto the nearby table. “Home sweet home.”

"Yeah, yeah," Evangeline plopped down on the bed with a soft sigh, already tugging the blankets over her legs. She tilted her head to glance at Sebastian, who was still sprawled on the couch like he had no intention of moving.

“Are you planning to sleep in the bed, or are you just going to pass out right there in your Quidditch gear?” she teased, smirking at his sluggish response.

Sebastian groaned and pushed himself upright, stumbling slightly as he grabbed his pajamas from the table. “Patience, Evie. Greatness takes time.”

“Greatness?” She snorted, settling back against the pillows. “All I’m seeing is someone teetering on the edge of regrettable life choices.”

Sebastian stuck his tongue out at her like a petulant child before fumbling with the button on his trousers. Evangeline’s casual smirk evaporated as she realized what he was about to do.

“Sebastian Sallow!” she shrieked, sitting bolt upright and pointing to the changing screen at the far side of the Undercroft. “Behind the wall. Now.”

He paused mid-button, blinking at her with mock innocence. “What? It’s not—”

“Now!” she warned, her cheeks turning an alarming shade of pink.

Grumbling dramatically, Sebastian grabbed his pajamas and stumbled toward the changing wall. “Such prudishness,” he muttered loudly, though his words were more slurred than scathing. “It’s not like I’m completely—wait a minute.”

“What now?” Evangeline called, her exasperation bleeding through her tone.

Sebastian leaned around the edge of the wall, holding up the pajama bottoms with a sheepish grin. “Forgot the shirt.”

Evangeline groaned and stared up at the stone ceiling of the Undercroft. This was a new level of mortification. Sharing a bed with him had already become a delicate dance of pretending she didn’t notice things: the way his voice softened when they talked late into the night, the way his laugh came so easily when they were alone, and, most pressingly, the way his proximity made her heart race.

Now, she had to mentally prepare herself for a new challenge: Sebastian Sallow, shirtless and drunk, lying beside her.

Her mind betrayed her, flickering back to the only other time she’d seen him shirtless—when Lysander had cursed him on the Quidditch pitch last year. She’d found him in the aftermath, bleeding and refusing to go to the hospital wing. Evangeline had patched him up herself, and she could still remember the way his muscles tensed under her hands as she cleaned the wound, how he’d winced and tried to play it off like it didn’t hurt. He’d been so uncharacteristically shy then, keeping his eyes averted while she worked, mumbling about how he was fine and didn’t need the fuss.

But now? Now there was nothing dire about the situation—just the knowledge that Sebastian was currently stripping behind the wall and brushing his teeth, and that, in a matter of moments, he’d be crawling into bed beside her.

Evangeline squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering in her chest. For all his cockiness, Sebastian rarely flaunted himself in that way. In fact, it had always been surprising to Evangeline just how oddly modest he was around her.

But now? Now, apparently, drunken Sebastian had no qualms about shucking his shirt with her in the room. Fantastic.

The sound of fabric hitting the floor jolted her from her thoughts, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay calm. This is fine, she told herself. You’re friends. He’s drunk. This doesn’t mean anything.

But her resolve cracked the moment he sauntered out from behind the wall.

His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his grin was utterly infuriating.

“Well?” he asked, holding his arms out as if inviting her to critique his attire. “How do I look?”

Evangeline peeked through her fingers, the gesture doing little to block the sight of him. Her breath caught in her throat, betraying her. He was, indeed, shirtless, and it was a view she wasn’t prepared for.

He was taller than she usually noticed, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his torso tapering to a narrow waist. The firelight played over his tanned skin, its warm glow casting shadows over the musculature of his chest and abdomen, though there was a softness to him that she could only assume was the result of his relentless sweet tooth.

Her eyes betrayed her further, flicking down to the freckles—oh, Merlin, the freckles—that dotted his upper torso like constellations against the tanned canvas of his skin. They were most concentrated on his shoulders and collarbones, but a few daring ones scattered lower. She wondered, absently, how many of them dotted his back, his arms, the skin she couldn’t yet see.

Her gaze—unbidden and entirely against her better judgment—drifted lower, to where his pajama bottoms hung daringly low on his hips, exposing the deep V of his lower abdomen and where a faint trail of dark hair began just below his navel, disappearing teasingly beneath the waistband of his pajamas.

It was maddening, this casual display of perfection, and Evangeline willed herself to stop looking, to stop thinking about how unfair it all was.

Sebastian tilted his head, his grin widening. “You’re staring,” he teased, his voice low and drawling in a way that set her nerves on edge.

She threw her pillow at him with a startled squeak. “I am not!

He caught the pillow with ease, his reflexes frustratingly intact despite his obvious inebriation. “Relax,” he said, holding the pillow to his chest as if that somehow counted as covering up. “It’s just skin. Everyone has it.”

“Yes, well, I’d prefer not to see yours,” she muttered, trying to sound composed but failing miserably. Her voice wavered, betraying her, and Sebastian caught it immediately.

He smirked, the kind of smirk that usually preceded him doing something reckless. “Oh, come on, Evie. It’s not like you’ve never seen me shirtless before.” He stepped closer to the bed, tossing the pillow back onto it as he loomed over her. “Remember last year? Quidditch pitch? Blood everywhere? You were very hands-on then.”

Evangeline’s jaw dropped, her mortification reaching new heights. “That was completely different, and you know it!” she hissed, yanking the blankets up to her chin as if they could shield her from the sheer audacity of him. “You were injured. I was trying to keep you from bleeding out, you prat!”

Sebastian chuckled, plopping down on his side of the bed without an ounce of shame. “Still. Surely I don't look that different?"

Evangeline hesitated. The truth was, he did look different. Sebastian had always been attractive—infuriatingly so, with those warm brown eyes that could either smolder or sparkle depending on his mood, and that grin, the one that made her feel both exasperated and weak-kneed. But now? Now, it was almost too much.

Somewhere between last year and now, he had grown up. His shoulders were broader, his frame more defined, with a softness around his edges that only added to his maddening appeal. He was no longer just the boy who teased her mercilessly; he was a man, one who didn’t seem to realize, or perhaps care about, the effect he had on her.

She risked another glance at him, and her heart sank when she saw him watching her with that insufferable smirk still playing on his lips. He leaned back slightly, his weight on his palms as he tilted his head at her, clearly enjoying her flustered state.

“What?” he asked, his tone almost teasingly innocent. “Cat got your tongue?”

Evangeline scowled. "No."

“Then stop dodging the question,” he countered, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Do I look different or not?”

She groaned, wishing she could sink into the mattress and disappear. “You look the same,” she lied.

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Hmm, I don’t think I believe you. You’re looking at me like I’ve got three heads.”

“You act like you do,” she shot back, trying to regain some control of the situation. “Now will you please go to sleep before I hex you?”

He laughed, stretching out with a contented sigh. “But Evie,” he pleaded, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down her spine, "How will I sleep without hearing the answer?”

Evangeline froze, her heart lurching at his words. What was she supposed to say now? Should she tell the truth? That, yes, he looked different—that he looked better than ever, that something about him lately made her want to scream and blush all at once? That she could hardly be around him without feeling like her heart was trying to claw its way out of her chest?

No. Absolutely not.

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay steady. “There’s nothing to answer,” she said, keeping her back turned to him. “You look the same as you always do—annoying.”

“Liar,” Sebastian drawled, his tone a mix of amusement and something else—something almost disappointed. "...Do I look worse or something? Is that why you won’t say?”

She turned her head slightly, her eyes darting toward him despite herself. He was lying back now, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely against his chest. His brow was furrowed just enough to betray his unease, though he tried to mask it with a nonchalant expression. It didn’t fool her.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice softer now, almost gentle. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His gaze flicked to her, and for once, he didn’t look amused. “Then why won't you answer?” he asked, his tone quieter than before.

Evangeline sighed, sitting up slightly so she could look at him properly. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you really want to know... you don’t look the same. You’ve... grown up. Over the summer. Even last term. You just look... older now. In… a good way.”

Sebastian tilted his head, studying her in the dim light of the Undercroft. His expression shifted, softening into a kind of quiet thoughtfulness that made her heart stutter. “So do you."

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard. “What?"

“You’ve grown up,” he said, his voice low, deliberate.

Evangeline let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing against her wand. The tension in the room was too much, pressing against her chest like a weight she couldn’t escape. She needed to break it before she said or did something she’d regret.

With a flick of her wrist, the room dimmed until only the enchanted fire remained, its warm glow flickering across the stone walls of the Undercroft. Shadows danced around them, softening the edges of Sebastian’s features but doing little to lessen the intensity of his gaze.

“We should get some sleep,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes as she leaned back against the pillows. “It’s late, and I’m—well, I’m exhausted.”

Sebastian didn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretched between them, making her pulse race. She kept her eyes firmly on the ceiling, refusing to glance his way. She couldn’t handle it—not the way he looked at her, not the quiet sincerity in his voice, and definitely not the fact that her heart was still pounding in her chest like it was trying to escape.

She heard the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted, the sound far too loud in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re trying to avoid me,” he said finally, his tone soft but tinged with amusement. “You think turning out the lights is going to help?”

Evangeline groaned, dragging the blanket up to cover her face. “I’m trying to sleep, Sebastian. For once in your life, take a hint.”

But, of course, he didn’t. She heard the faint creak of the mattress as he sat up, the warmth of his voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. “You’re terrible at lying, you know.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the blanket.

He laughed softly, the sound low and unguarded, and it sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Her cheeks burned, and she peeked out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him. “Firstly, you don't think I'm cute, you're just saying that because you're drunk. Second, I am not flustered.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning lazily against his pillow, his grin only widening as he caught her glare. “Firstly,” he said, mimicking her tone with exaggerated precision, “you have no idea what I think. Drunk or not. And secondly, Evie, you’re absolutely flustered.”

“I am not,” she insisted, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Oh, come on,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl that made her insides twist. “You’re practically glowing over there. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” she scoffed, throwing the blanket off her head completely to fix him with a proper glare. “I am not adorable. I’m... formidable.”

Sebastian laughed again, a rich, genuine sound that made her want to simultaneously melt and hex him into next week. “Oh, you’re definitely formidable,” he said, raising his hands as if to placate her. “But you can be both, you know.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then promptly shut it again, unsure how to counter that. The audacity of him.

"Oh shut up, Sebastian."

Sebastian smirked, his grin widening at her flustered silence. “I’ll take that as a win," he said, settling back against his pillow with an air of triumph.

“It’s not a win,” she snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It’s me choosing not to dignify your nonsense with a response.”

“Sounds like a win to me,” he drawled, his voice tinged with laughter.

Evangeline groaned, grabbing the edge of her blanket and yanking it back over her head. “I regret every decision that led to me being stuck in a room with you.”

“No, you don’t,” he countered smoothly. “You love this.”

She didn’t reply, willing herself to ignore him, to not let his words worm their way into her chest and make her heart do that stupid fluttering thing again.

The room fell quiet after that, save for the soft crackle of the fire. For a moment, she thought he might have finally fallen asleep, but then his voice cut through the silence, softer this time, almost hesitant.

“Evie.”

“What now?” she muttered, her voice muffled by the blanket.

He hesitated, and she could hear the faint creak of the mattress as he shifted again. “You really don’t know, do you?”

She frowned, lowering the blanket just enough to glance at him. “Don’t know what?”

He met her gaze, his expression suddenly serious. There was something in the way he was looking at her, too, like he was seeing right through her defenses and into the thoughts she desperately tried to keep hidden.

“Sebastian?” she prompted again, her voice quieter this time, unsure if she really wanted an answer. “Don’t know what?”

Sebastian blinked, like he’d just realized how long he’d been studying her. He exhaled slowly, his expression shifting back into something more guarded, more familiar. “Ignore me,” he said, shaking his head as he sank back onto his pillow. “I’m drunk.”

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “No, you can’t just do that! What do you mean?” she demanded, her heart still pounding in her chest.

“Nothing,” he muttered, turning his head away from her and closing his eyes. “Forget I said anything. Just... let's go to sleep.”

But Evangeline couldn’t let it go that easily. She sat up slightly, her hands clutching the blanket tightly as she stared at him. “Sebastian.”

“Goodnight, Evie,” he sang, his face turned toward the firelight to hide the faint flush on his cheeks.

She opened her mouth to argue, to press him further, but something in his tone stopped her. It wasn’t deflection, not entirely. It was something softer, something almost vulnerable.

With a frustrated sigh, she sank back against her pillow, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Fine,” she muttered, though the tension in her voice was clear. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Sebastian didn’t respond, his breathing steady and slow, though she doubted he’d already fallen asleep. And as the room fell into silence once more, she couldn’t stop herself from replaying the look in his eyes, the way he’d hesitated, the way he’d said, Ignore me, I’m drunk.

But she couldn’t ignore him. Not when the memory of his gaze lingered, making her chest ache with questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to ask.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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[cryp1ccyn]

Welcome to my Introduction Page, my friend—

My name is Val, but V or Louis work perfectly fine as well. Whichever is alright with me. I use she/he/they pronouns, so I really don’t mind what ones are used.

Don’t mind my manner of speaking, I literally go all over the place. It is the definition of chaotic: From ye old language, Shakespearean to dead brain 3am rants, and of course nonsensical shite. So, I apologize for all that makes little sense.

I am just a fellow who has quite a few hyper-fixations and interests. By few I mean a ton.

Some Fandoms I Like: MCU—Marvel, DC, Merlin, MCR, MLP, FNAF, Invader Zim, Sally Face, Fran Bow, Chilla’s Art, Cry of Fear, Alice: Madness Returns, Creepypasta. Analog Horror. There’s still more.. but I’ll spare myself the hassle of typing more. My hands cannot handle to sheer effort of my writings as of late. I listen to a colorful array of music genres, but I often lean towards alternative, metal, rock and instrumental compositions.

Movie and Films /// Slashers, psychological and tragic thriller/horror movies, artistic or abstract films.

- Silent films, of course: The Man Who Laughs, Nosferatu, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, etc

- Musicals and the art of theatre: Jekyll and Hyde, The Phantom of the Opera, Beetlejuice and Hades Town. I would very much like to discover more, but alas my procrastination and inability to just sit still and watch them…

- the 1920’s and Victorian Era - I like learning about the past, especially the fashion I cannot get enough of it. Dude, I cannot express enough how I aspire to dress like Victorian men and women. Crimson peak had me dying—beautiful in the fashion designs and artistic expressions. Thomas Sharpe’s fashion - I want my own wardrobe now. I love alternative and emo stuff too. And grunge? Is that a word, thing?

What Content to Expect

I am a person with many interests — fascinations and can never entirely settle on one idea at one time, so expect me to be a bit all over the place (My ADHD brain, good lord…) Or perhaps not since I'll try to be as coordinated as possible.

Expect a lot of lore dumps and writing rambling’s. I go real in depth with my own writings, research and characters. I have a few ocs that are a part of some fandoms, and with these particular ocs, I do far too much work that isn’t always necessary. I seriously go to great lengths to gather info and research for my characters and the world building itself. Readings for hours, days, you name it.

Research is a thing I do. Do a ton of it for my ocs. It’s a process.

Creepypasta ocs and a bunch of character designing? Lore crap.

Mostly traditional art, but I do experiment with digital as I’m always trying to improve in that manner.

Randomness… drafts, sketch’s, random shite

Also, side note, I’m a rather forgetful person plus my mental health affects my consistency in the art I create, so my posting will be a little infrequent. Apologies.

Ig: _bu11ets

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @sabewebb!

OC Questionaire

My questions:

If you were a cocktail, which one would you be?

You’ve been chosen to represent your home/planet/country/etc in a global competition. What sport or activity are you doing?

What’s the last thing you did for the first time?

Is money important to you?

What is the worst nickname someone gave you?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

What genre of story would you rather be in? (as opposed to the one they are currently in)

Do you think you'd survive the movie A Quiet Place? (must stay as silent as possible or alien creatures hunt you down)

What's your idea of a quiet get-together with a close friend?

That's a looootta questions. I'll answer for Ivander :)

1) If you were a cocktail, which one would you be?

"Hmmm, what a curious question. I suppose I'd be a gin and tonic. Bitter, with a certain air of limelight elegance."

2) You’ve been chosen to represent your home/planet/country/etc in a global competition. What sport or activity are you doing?

"If I'm representing Illaros for anything, then we're truly in dire straits. Oh gods, what even are my talents? I'm a decent detective, I suppose. There aren't really competitions for that though. Given that, I'll go with sharpshooting. I'm no Shuari deadeye, but I've got a fair sense of aim."

3) What’s the last thing you did for the first time?

"Don't call me out in such a manner. I... I guess I tried orcish food for the first time a few weeks ago? I'm not really the Go Out and See What the World Holds type. It's hard enough to find comfort within my routine, so why would I go out of my way to break it?"

4) Is money important to you?

"Very. The pursuit of it might’ve ruined my life, but that's the funny thing about money; you always want more. To be perfectly frank, I grew up in the lap of luxury and I don't think I could survive anywhere else."

5) What is the worst nickname someone gave you?

"Do you know how many times I've heard someone call me blueboy? I swear, that was all I heard for my first three years at the BAI. I'm not even blue, really - I just have blue blood. Usually, I'm in too high of a tax bracket, but I've also heard a good old-fashioned cripple from time to time."

6) Are you an early bird or a night owl?

"Night owl. My curse gives me trouble sleeping, so I tend to stay up late reading rather than stay up late laying miserably in bed. I'm about the furthest thing you could get from an early bird. Left to my own devices, I'll usually drag myself up sometime after noon."

7) What genre of story would you rather be in? (as opposed to the one they are currently in)

"This whole 'Mystery' of the Mortal God stuff is bull. I have one chapter of detective work, and the rest is adventuresome nonsense involving far too much camping for my taste. Give me a real mystery, preferably with lots of juicy secrets and semi-legal meddling."

8) Do you think you'd survive the movie A Quiet Place? (must stay as silent as possible or alien creatures hunt you down)

"I'm not surviving any apocalypse, I assure you. Not making sound wouldn't be easy, but I could wrap the end of my cane in something soft and be fine. Once I can't order take-out anymore is when I starve to death. Monsters are one thing. Societal collapse is another, far more frightening, thing."

9) What's your idea of a quiet get-together with a close friend?

"Oh, I suppose that's the only sort of get-together I really enjoy. Ceyrel and I go out for dinner quite frequently. We talk shit over appetizers, then move on to baseless rumors by dessert. When we're both caught up on some choice gossip, we'll go out to see a play or opera or somesuch. I usually have to explain the opera to her - the uncultured meathead - but she sneaks in popcorn, so it's alright. By then, I'm usually rather exhausted, so she drops me off at my apartment, and we part ways amicably. ...These nights really are the highlight of my week, but I could never tell her that. I'm sure she'd rather be out dancing late into the night. It means much that she humors my limited stamina."

I'll tag @theink-stainedfolk @elsie-writes @honeybewrites and anyone else who wants in :)

Your questions:

What's your favorite summer activity?

What does home smell like?

What's your favorite thing about your favorite person?

[sidesteppostinghours]

also 2 for cyrus, 10 for caine, 14 for cecilia annnnd… 23 for cynthia please 😌

round 2 baby!!! lets go!!

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

hmmm,,,, i think people would be surprised to find out how patient he is. his style is grungy and during retribution he purposefully made himself look off-putting/aggressive to discourage people interacting with him, but hes more tolerant of nonsense than he comes across. i mean,, you kind of have to be to be friends with ortega for as long as he has. its just that when he loses his patience, he loses his patience. oh, and i also think people wouldnt initially guess how flirty he is, but hes trained for that stuff! he knows hes pretty, and its an easy way to garner connections. hes the type to casually slip an innuendo into a sentence with a completely straight face and move on to leave the other person wondering if he meant it like That. again, another reason hes managed to live with ortega for so long.

10.What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

my aus for cyrus, ceci, and cynthia: oooo wouldnt it be fun if i changed this or put them in that cute little scenario? haha!

my aus for caine: ok so how else do i psychologically torture this man.

there are. So many aus i have of him where every event is nearly the same up until a singular point that changes the trajectory of the rest of the story. but personally, im partial to the one where ortega doesnt find him in the diner, and instead they get discovered by chen during the dog park. its a Fuck ton of fun because it involves chen and caine building the most awkward camaraderie, chen lying to ortega even more (because you bet your ass caine would be begging him not to tell ortega that hes alive), and probably the worst way to reunite with your dead best friend: finding them walking out of your nemesis layer, getting them caught in a car crash, and having them be kidnapped before you get a chance to have a singular conversation with them. all three of them are having So much fun over there.

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

as both cecilia and lupin, shes always seen as friendly and a little untouchable, and thats exactly how she likes it. it makes it easier to talk to other people while giving herself a modicum of protection from anybody who might think to go against her. not to mention, being feared and loved at the same time is doing Wonders for her ego, and only encourages her to play more into the role that she cultivated for herself.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

oh definitely anger. on both counts. she was always taught that anger would land her in trouble, that it was too destructive of an emotion. in both the farm and hero work, it was discouraged. she well and truly doesnt know what to do with all the rage shes been given, so she just. represses it. maybe express it in the form of sadness, since that comes easier to her. heartbreak giving her the revenge scar dug up those feelings as a persistent itch, so when the good old fashion repression stops working, she turns the rage inwards. this is what healthy and moral people do, she is sure of it.

questions from here!

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Our Place

Summary: Michael Gavey was gone from school for a good two weeks being sick. He gets back to find out that the most horrific of things have happened: someone has claimed his favorite spots in the library and the cafe.  And spanish class. She was American.  Worst of all…she was pretty and he could definitely grow to like her. Maybe. 

Word count: 1260

Rating: T for swearing, i guess

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Gavey, he belongs to the Saltburn universe created by Emerald Fennell

OCs:

Amy Ryan (face claim is the fantabulous Elena Kampouris)

Professor Julio Sanchez (face claim is the sexy, sexy Taika Waititi)

Michael didn’t understand why people were looking at him like he was the one out of line.  During mealtimes or when studying in the library, you can’t really lay claim to an area.  He got that.  Classrooms were different, though.  Everyone sat in the same spots.  The new girl had already parked herself at his favorite library table and at his favorite lunch seat in the cafe. He had acquiesced both times and gone to sit somewhere else.  This Spanish class seat was his.  He was asking nicely.  It was his seat and everyone knew it.  Everyone, that is, except for the new girl.

Her name was Amy and she was very pretty but that did not matter. Women like Amy who dressed in what was known online as “cottagecore goth” did everything they could to avoid even breathing in direction of guys like Michael.  Well, women who wore anything.  Any woman, really. Men too. That was not the matter at hand, however.  Seat. His. Pretty or not, she had to move.

“I sit there. I always sit there.  Please move?” he asked again. 

“Dude, there’s like a million other empty seats.  I’m not gonna move.” With that, she continued to set up her section of the desk bench, taking out her laptop and a notebook with some pens. 

People kept staring and some even started to laugh as Michael stayed put.

Don’t let them see you upset.  Don’t let HER see you upset.  It was time to enact some good old fashioned psychological warfare.  He would annoy her away from his seat.  HIS seat.  It didn’t really require any effort on Michael’s part.  Being himself seemed to work just fine, usually.

“You know what?  You’re right.” he said, taking the spot right next to her.  He pulled out his own laptop and materials as she stared.  “Change is good.  Variety is the spice of life.  Good enrichment for my ‘enclosure’, so to speak.” He grinned at her, his hands clutched together on top of the table area where their seats were.  

“Dude…”

“Listen, I know it might seem like I’m following you around but I promise I’m not.  It’s just that, in a freakish set of coincidences, you’ve managed to take all my usual spots.”

“Hmm.  ‘Your’ spots?  All of them?  What are the odds of that?” Amy asked. She crossed her arms, leaning back. 

Michael smiled. Time to annoy! “You’re asking the right man! It's really quite a mathematical anomaly, actually.  To ha-”

“Me hacen el favor de callarse el hocico!?” Came the shout from the pit below.  Amy and Michael turned to attention.  

Professor Sanchez had arrived. Speaking English was forbidden in his classes.  It helped with the immersion.  “Hay que empezar con el trabajo de hoy.  Ustedes bien saben que los Viernes son para CALLARSE EL HOCICO y aprender los nombres de lugares famosos.” he said, with a clap of his hands.  He turned to scribble on the blackboard.

The class got busy copying the words onto their laptops (Professor Sanchez insisted that students either write or type the words themselves, no pictures and no recording.) Michael snuck at glance at Amy.  Her laptop was covered in stickers.  Band stickers.  Restaurant stickers.  Tv show stickers.  Most were worn and faded, a couple were glossy and clearly new.  You name it, she had a sticker on there. 

Amy noticed him looking, pausing to stare back.  “What’s up?” she whispered, no-nonsense in her voice. 

Michael gave a small chuckle and pointed at her computer. “You’ve got some laptop on your stickers.” he murmured, attempting to keep his voice low and out of Professor Sanchez’s hearing range.

Amy smirked…but to Micheal, it didn’t feel mean.  “Really?  That’s the best you’ve got? Corny. Corny as hell.” she whispered back, shaking her head and returning to her typing.  She was still smiling.  It sounded like she had accepted an invitation to play a game. Maybe dodgeball.. Did Americans play a lot of dodgeball? Oh well, time to keep the annoyance going.

“Don’t think there’s a whole lot of corn in hell.” he continued, also typing away at his laptop. He felt a bit nervous. This was way more than they had talked earlier in the day.  

“Ok, what would you suggest as an accurate threshold for corniness?”

“Depends.  Are we talking per capita?”

“Sure.”

“America itself is pretty corny. Literally.  They’re the top corn-producing nation in the world. China is second and they produce almost ten percent less tha-”

“Michael, que rayos les dije hace unos minutos?” Professor Sanchez had turned around, hand on one hip and the other hanging with the piece of chalk still in it.  He was staring straight in Michael’s direction.

Spanish was Michael’s worst subject when speaking it.  He did perfectly well writing and could read it no problem as well.  Speaking it? Bloody hell. “Um...que me..que me..” Michael struggled for a few more seconds, some snickers peppering the classroom’s air.  They wouldn’t be laughing if this was Mathematics, he thought.

“Que nos callarmos el hocico.” Amy spoke up, trilling that ‘r’ perfectly. 

“Muy bien.  Dale las gracias a tu novia por salvarte, si?” With that, Professor Sanchez turned around.

Michael was burning with shame.  He knew perfectly well what ‘novia’ meant and doubted that Amy wanted to be considered that.  He opened a new document, quickly typed out “Sorry about that.” and motioned for Amy to read it.

Amy read it and smiled.  She opened a document as well and Micheal read it as she typed it out. “No worries!” it began.  “Listen, if it really means that much to you, you can have your spot back next time. I don’t give a shit where I sit here.”

Michael quickly typed back “It's fine, actually.  It’s not as if I’ll die if I don’t sit in that particular spot.  I’ll sit somewhere else next time.  Broaden my horizons. : ) “

Amy was still grinning when she typed and Michael was quick to read it, curious as to why she was smiling. “An emoji in a word document? Really?? CORNY.  Anyways, you can stay.  I don’t own the damn place.  Sit wherever you like. I’m fine with it, I promise! ;)”

“Cool. I’ll just sit next to you, then. 😀 “

“Cool cool. 👍” she typed back. “So what do you say we meet at our place in the library after I’m done with my classes at like 3? I can tell you all about the non-corny side of America (fuck yeahhhhh)!”

Michael happily typed back, trying his best to act non-chalant at her mention of “our”.  Americans were overly friendly.  It probably didn’t mean anything.  “Got it. Our place at 3!”

“See you there! Don’t bring actual corn.  I feel like I can see the cogs in your head physically turning, trying to come up with something as corny as possible. 😂 “

“Will do.  No corn, only maths.  To explain the whole debacle of you being every place that I also like to be.” 

“Sooooo you like being wherever I’m at? 😜” Amy typed out, smirking as he read the text.

This was a game. It didn’t mean anything.  She wasn’t flirting.  She would say this about anyone, she’s American. “Yep,  You caught me.” he responded. 

“Knew it! 😂 Welp, see you there then.” 

They settled into a comfortable silence, the gentle clacking of their keyboards punctuating the air.  The conversation had come and gone like a car quickly driving by.  He didn’t know how it had happened, but Michael Gavey was pretty damn sure that even if Amy didn't consider herself his girlfriend, he had just gotten himself a date with her.

[peachesgarden]

also random fun facts about my ocs from princess royal force that i wanna talk about bc shut up let me ramble

amanda;

she talks in her sleep; she either talks complete nonsense or something really scary

she has a huge fear of bugs (except for butterflies she likes em)

she makes friendship bracelets and gives it to pretty much everyone who is her friend

reads a lot of yuri/GL (she's a hopeless romantic ok-)

SPAMS heart emojis like there's no tomorrow

kezia;

she doesn't known how to handle compliments, she gets flustered easily

she's a perfectionist (she gets stressed quite easily because of that)

she's a dry texter (not even in a rude way she's just dry lol)

good at subjects that involve math

she often says she doesn't fear anything, but secretly she's kinda of a germophobe

she loves pearl and gem necklaces

she also likes collecting perfumes, her personal favorites are floral and sweet scents

her favorite animals are birds, and birds always seems to like her back (like in a disney princess way)

she can play the violin and the piano

she can sing as well, many people describe her voice calming to hear

her and Leo are childhood best friends, they met when they were around 7-8

leo;

he expresses himself through his wings (per example if he's scared or anxious his wings will be open and stiff)

similar to kezia he's also the brain of the friend group but he's more chill and laidback

he's very athletic, he can exercise for hours and not get tired

doesn't own any pets but he's a cat person

he may look like he's zoning out all the time but he's a fast thinker, like if you throw a rock at him he will grab it before it hits him (dont throw rocks at people btw)

dominic;

he's a gymnast, more specifically for rhythmic gymnastics

because of that they're flexible

they really like painting their friends' nails

if someone has their self esteem low around dominic, he WILL lift up your self esteem no matter what it takes

is a huge fan of horror movies (selene gets scared by the movies he chooses on sleepovers lol)

amanda and dominic are best friends, they met in 7th grade

they're a huge fashion fan, sometimes they like styling their friends outfits

i will write more about lily soon but for now here's a tiny lily for you

a little bonus

the friend group calls themselves "the magical squad" (amanda came up with the name)

dominic and leo are the two oldest of the group, both of them being 16 going to 17, and lily is the youngest, being 12 years old

and technically lily and leo aren't fully humans. leo is an angel, and lily is a puppy-human hybrid

kezia is a witch, but in my story's world, a witch is a human born with an uncommon power or ability, so she's a human lol

[miblue]

Kikue honeybee

Okay so here's some context for kikue. She is a old oc of mine. She was first created in 2014, she is the second oldest child of one of my oldest ships with a friend of mine (we meet during out big adventure time Fandom phase and we shipped our oc)

Kikue is the second oldest of 5. There's her older brother lucien, middle twins sage/ash, and then youngest bby sister Hana.

Kikue is a very confident high fem girl, she is very a type personality and very good at keeping to a schedule. High achiver, always with high expectations for herself. She's a sweetheart but has a sharp tounge (very will insult you with a very sweet gental tone). In school for high fashion/design and buisness (she more wants to run a fashion industry rather then just do pure design). No nonsense and takes no slack (especially from her less driven brother), she has no problem telling you to your face that your wrong and why your wrong.

I've had her for a long time and I love me a good strong women who is kinda a bitch (if I told you some of my fav female characters, you would see what I mean. I love Me a bad bitch) and I really wanted to have her in a story, and to get her in another relationship after the ship I had with her fell apart when me n that person stopped being friends. So I figured instead of hoping one of my current friends would fill that slot, I said fuck it and did it myself xD. She is canonical pansexual but her type tends to be very phyicaly strong types, and dos like to lean more twords women.

Warning old art of kikue coming in from 2018-2019

If anyone wants to know more, or of any other older ocs I have, pls ask, I love to talk about my babies.

[hotcocoaandstripedsweaters]

OC-tober Day 10: Kisser in a different time period

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Once again, this has run long--longer even than the last one--so it's under a read more. I just couldn't resist writing a cute little fic cliché with everyone's favorite womp rat.

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

Din Djarin has gotten used to rolling with the weird stuff that comes from having a Force Sensitive kid.

Well, he certainly likes to think so, anyway.

Right up until his kid triggers a lightshow in some old ruins and a young Boba Fett falls out in unfamiliar armor.

“Karking shit hells,” Boba groans, face down on the stone floor.

Din has to agree.

Grogu burbles happily, slapping at the symbol he’d touched on the wall. Fortunately, there are no more light shows.

Boba looks Grogu and smiles, lighter and freer than Din has ever seen. “What’s a tubie like you doing out of the creche?” he asks as he sits up.

Grogu babbles happily, toddling over to Boba and gesturing at Din. Boba almost dismisses him, then does a double take.

“Heyyyyy, Mando,” he draws out the greeting uncertainly, in a distinctly un-Boba-like fashion.

“Fett,” Din greets.

Boba tilts his head in confusion, even as he holds a hand out to Grogu–palm open, relaxed, and not poised to grab. “Sorry, you got the wrong guy. Name’s Kisser.”

It’s Din’s turn to tilt his head. Grogu babbles and slaps at the proffered hand happily.

“Buuur,” Grogu coos.

“Yeah, your buir’s got me mixed up with someone,” Kisser says, nonchalant despite not taking his eyes off Din. “Why’d you bring me here, youngling? Need some help?”

“He likes old Temples,” Din says, as if that explains anything.

Kisser glances around. “Ah, Force Nonsense.”

“You’re familiar with Jedi magic?” Din’s surprised. He doesn’t know many people who sound so confident when it comes to Grogu’s magic.

Kisser laughs and confirms, “Yeah, enough to know most of them will reflexively tell you it isn’t magic. Why? You need one?”

Din shakes his head. “The kid chose to stay with me, rather than his teacher.”

“Aww,” Kisser coos, turning to Grogu, “You really love your buir, huh?”

Grogu shrieks happily, tugging Kisser’s fingers as though to pull him closer to Din.

“Kid,” Din scolds, “Give him a minute.”

“Nahhh, it’s alright,” Kisser waves off Din’s protest, standing in a crouch so that Grogu can drag him over to Din. When Grogu lets go of his fingers in favor of clinging to Din’s shin, Kisser stands. He’s a little taller than Boba is, and younger. He doesn’t have the same scars, and his attitude is completely different as he smiles at Din. “Seems like your kid wants me to meet you properly.”

“Seems so.”

“Think I can head back the way I came?”

“Probably not.”

Kisser sighs, “Thought you might say that.” He opens a panel in his vambrace and taps at some kind of navigation unit. “Looks like we’re out in Mandospace too. You don’t happen to be on good terms with Kryze, by any chance?”

Din shrugs, “We didn’t part on good terms. You know her?”

“Not personally,” Kisser says casually, “But I heard a rumor my General was pretty close with her once upon a time. Thought she might be able to get a call out to him.”

“I got comms on my ship,” Din offers slowly.

Kisser looks up from his nav in surprise. “You sure?”

“Why not?” Din counters, curious.

“Mandalorians don’t like Jedi and Mandalorians don’t like Vode,” Kisser says, confident as though he’s listing simple truths of the universe. “Figured with a kid on board, you wouldn’t want me there.”

Grogu makes an affronted noise and starts crawling up Din’s leg. He snorts and picks up the little womp rat.

“There are a lot of different kinds of Mandalorians,” he says, as though he has always known this and it isn’t at all a recent revelation. He turns to lead the way to his ship.

“You know Jango Fett,” Kisser protests, even as he keeps pace. His tone is light, but the way he glances around for another exit betrays his hesitation.

“Don’t know a Jango,” Din corrects him, “Just Boba.”

Kisser looks startled, “How?”

“He took over Mos Espa on Tatooine.” Din shrugs.

“They let kids take over cities out there?”

“Kids?”

“He’s not even fourteen standard yet, is he?” Kisser protests, doing a quick count on his hands.

“He’s older than you,” Din says, baffled.

“Well yeah,” Kisser scoffs, as if it’s obvious, “But I know some Vode decanted around the same time as him, and they said he ages like a Human.”

Din eyeballs him, “And you’re not Human?”

“I’m a Vod,” Kisser eyeballs him right back. “A clone. Do you not get Republic news out here?”

“Which Republic?” Din says tiredly. There were so many ridiculous little governances since the Empire started shattering, how was he supposed to keep up?

“Which–?” Kisser splutters, coming to a stop in his shock. “The one that standardized Galactic Basic, also known as Republic Basic? The language we’re speaking?? Right now???” 

“I thought that was the Empire?” Din tries to reach back to the history lessons he got before he was adopted by the covert, but it’s too fuzzy.

“Empire?!” Kisser shrieks. Grogu makes soothing noises, a toddler’s imitation of what Din does to calm him down. His adorableness is wasted on the distracted adults. 

Din tilts his head. “They’re the largest single government in the galaxy?”

“The Republic is the largest single government in the galaxy!” Kisser says despairingly. 

They stare at each other.

“Clone like…the Clone Wars?” Din finally asks. He doesn’t really want him to answer.

Kisser, blessedly, doesn’t. “How old is Boba Fett, exactly?”

“Let’s go ask.”

The walk is tense and quiet, but they get back to the ship. When Boba answers the call, Kisser takes one look at him and is gone–armor falling to the floor, letting out a small puff of dust.

“What the hell was that, Djarin?” Boba demands.

“A Vod,” Din says, completely bewildered.

Grogu bursts into tears.

~+~

Day 11

[salvadoerena]

hey! this is chance & here’s this week’s prompt. what websites or resources do you use while you write or develop a character/story? what do you think of them and would you recommend them?

OOOOO GOOD QUESTION!!

Funnily enough, tumblr is one of the main ones. My characters tend to develop from ye olde tumblr oc ask/rp blogs, so I got in the habit of reblogging a lot of funny posts tagging my characters. It still happens even if I'm not tagging them. For example if there's a post like "every friend group has the chihuahua, the yorkie, and the borzoi" or like, a picture of someone holding a giant mouse or something, in my head I go "haha, yeah Andy is tooootally a yorkie. Too much energy and slight diva tendencies" or "oh man giant versions of little things would be rad. is there a way I can worldbuild on that? more oxygen in grounded islands means bigger bugs?"

Sometimes, if I'm looking for inspiration regarding character designs/fashion references, I might go on picrew or pinterest and just look and see different styles people might have or mess around with doll makers. Usually picrew doesn't have what I'm looking for exactly, but it'll be something like "oh there's a fishnet top in this one. i think Mareilli would absolutely wear this" or "oh this is a fun hairstyle. i should give more of my characters long hair so they can do more updo's," you know? So if you're looking for character design/inspo, highly recommend!!

If you wanted my biggest website inspiration though, it's probably youtube. I spend a lot of time on there watching speedpaints/character designs/costume builds/etc and it's a HUUUUGE inspiration. A lot of dichotomies I make between Grounded/Aerin islands comes from listening to people like Bernadette Banner regarding like...okay so like she made a video re: the costuming choices in Game of Thrones and that REALLY sent me on a spiral into looking at what differences in fashion and textiles you would find in islands that...float...and have windstorms haha;;;

This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would so the rest is under the cut! (Please read under the cut there's some writing programs and editing services I recommended under there).

And I know everyone says this but seriously: consume as much media as possible. I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much television, music, film, books, anime, manga, comics, podcasts, and video games have either driven me to better my writing or have inspired me to make certain creative choices.

A lot of things from Seraetia were heavily inspired by Black Sails, from things like costume design to obfuscating certain characters' motives to me deciding to go whole hog on including polyamory as an end-game relationship status for some characters. Reading The Locked Tomb series and the Percy Jackson and the Olympians (plus literally everything else in that series haha) really pushed me into forcing myself to work on my imagery and prose, while also forcing me to think about pacing and how/if I should write it as a saga or how arcs should work. Nonfiction stories and documentaries also help!! Though, I'm pretty biased as I'm more into animals and psychological research, but I have definitely referred to those things when thinking up like, units of measurement and cuisine and things.

Also do NOT underestimate the power of infodumping and word vomiting with friends. When I write out my acknowledgements, @okiedoki and @miscbeary are going to be front and center "Thank you guys so much for letting me speak nonsense for hours on end and just nodding along." Roleplay with friends!! Even silly little inconsequential things or alternate universes or iterations upon iterations will help you to flesh out your characters! I've come up with so much about James and he's gone through so much development because I would go "Haha what if he was in the modern world he'd probably own an iguana that would be funny. Why an iguana...? You know, it's probably because he likes to be seen as different, but also because he just thinks they're cool. They're dinosaur-like and he enjoys the fact that something so unconventional and kind of scary can love and be loved--OH MY GOD JAMES SEES HIMSELF AS A MONSTER AND USES THE IGUANA TO PROJECT AND TEACH HIMSELF HE'S WORTHY OF LOVE."

*cracks knuckles*

Now in terms of actual programs you can use to write stories!!

Google Docs tends to be my go-to, but ever since I discovered StimuWrite 2, I tend to switch between both. Since I do most of my writing at night, Gdocs is really harsh on my eyes (even with f.lux, blue light glasses, and darkreader), so I like that you can set a gentler background on StimuWrite. Even better, it makes my ADHD brain happy and actually stay on task bc there's so much stimulation in there lol The only downside is that it doesn't really save your work (there's an emergency back-up it creates, but it's only for the last couple of writing sessions I believe), so I'll use it to write out a bulk portion and then transfer it to Gdocs.

If you're planning on writing a serious novel and want something with a little bit more organizational prowess, I would go with Scrivener. It has a lot of bells and whistles that are actually pretty neat, like being able to save reference documents/photos and putting it in the same "container" as the actual writing passage. Honestly? It's a lot. But!! It includes a built-in tutorial that does a REALLY good job of going through everything, so highly highly HIGHLY recommend following it because it explains the features very well and I do quite like them! Unfortunately, it does cost $60, but it's a one-time purchase and genuinely very useful.

If you're more into screenwriting that novels and the like, cannot recommend FadeIn enough. We had to use that in my Creative Screenwriting class and it was SO easy to use and made exporting scripts SUCH a breeze. In fact, Welcome to Irth was entirely developed in FadeIn, haha.

If you're looking for more like, art resources I would go with things like Clip Studio Paint/Paint Tool SAI. I used to use FireAlpaca like a decade ago, and I really enjoyed it! Can't say how well it's held up, though. PureRef is great too!! It helps you keep track of your reference images, and you can set it to "float" on top of other programs.

FINALLY LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!!

If you're looking for an editing service, please please PLEASE look into RoseLark Publishing. I had the privilege of working with them this past summer getting a Manuscript Assessment and I'm so glad I did. They're very professional and are great at communicating their timelines and everything! They might still be accepting editing assessment applications at this time, but you can shoot them an e-mail on their contact page!

Anyways, I am going to stop myself here or I will literally not shut up. Thank you for asking!! I looooooove love talking about my writing and apparently about the writing process as well, lol.

[liminevator]

Basic terminology list

(This is just a quick rundown of terms you may see a lot here on this blog, just so everybody's on the same page about things)

"The Outer Bounds" - This is the name of the realm The Liminevator was designed to traverse, the name does also apply to every world within it but purely by itself it is just a void of nonexistence in between the different floors.

"Floors" - What good is an elevator without floors? Floors are the nickname for the different worlds in The Outer Bounds that the Liminevator goes to, these worlds are often strange, nonsensical, and have a strong sense of being woefully incomplete no matter how large they may be, they can either be terrifying and a woefully regretful experience to visit or leave you with a strange calm and an odd bittersweet feeling that you have been here before, even if you haven't. Floors are the bread and butter of the Liminevator.

"Elevator Denizen" - This is the most commonly agreed upon term for those from reality who now reside in The Outer Bounds and The Liminevator, although some Anomalies can also be considered Elevator Denizens.

"Anomalies" - A blanket term for all living beings that originate within the Outer Bounds, although it's primarily used for things that are not known to be sapient it does technically apply to some denizens too.

"Home Floor" - A "home floor" is a concept not always fully understood by denizens, but the long and short is that it means once you have grown emotionally attached enough to a certain floor for one reason or another The Liminevator will recognize it as your new home, and should anything happen to you on another floor (usually death) it will bring you back there through unclear means (almost) completely unharmed, having a home floor is extremely important due to how dangerous using The Liminevator can be, the process can't be forced though- the connection has to be organic.

"LEET" - This is an acronym that stands for "Liminevator Exploration Team." The LEET are a group thats formed in hopes of understanding and cataloging the various happenings of the Liminevator, it's especially been important in helping explore and better understand most floors that wouldn't have been otherwise, as well as helping discover new anomalies. Yes they are well aware that their name sounds silly.

"LEDAXT" - This is also an acronym that stands for "Liminevator Destruction and Exit team." LEDAXT are a group dedicated to finding a way to somehow deactivate or destroy the Liminevator, believing this is the key to freeing everybody trapped inside The Outer Bounds. They are not often seen because the Liminevator tends to try and actively avoid floors with members located there, so members of LEDAXT usually have to traverse between floors the old fashioned way.

-

(And for clarity, some extra terms not exclusive to this place but worth clearing up for readers sake continuing past here)

-

"Crafengoverse" - The name of my primary OC project, in the context of here it's primarily a blanket term for the reality almost all elevator denizens come from, it's an incredibly flawed reality and these crack and flaws within it are the reason The Outer Bounds even exist to begin with, like a cell undergoing a cycle of aggressive cancerous growth.

"Phonian" - Earth does not exist in this world- or well, not in the same way it does for you the readers, Phonia is a planet with its own long history too long to summarize here but the long and short of the info needed here is that it is where the origins of The Liminevator reside as well as where many of the denizens come from. (Other terms along this vein also just mean they are from another planet besides Phonia)

(I may add more terms here as needed but for now this should be alright)

[experimentalmadness]

A Bad Bet

Heyo, back with more Harvey/Jacky one-shots. Y’all have been so nice in sharing and liking these little stories. Thank you! :D If you’re looking for more content with this bonkers OC you can check out her tag here. 

---

“What is it that you want to do, Jacky?”

She was busy cleaning off the espresso machine before getting started on wiping down the counter. Most of the lights were off except for the ones in the front. She could hear rain coming down from outside, one of those sudden summer downpours. The AC was on high in the bakery and it was a rare Gotham night that actually made her happy to live in this city.

“Break into this whiskey after I count out the till?” she smiled to herself, casting a glance at the one lone customer left in the shop.

Harvey Dent sat at a corner table, surrounded by papers, books, and a laptop. He’d been held up in that position since he’d come in from his office three hours ago. “That’s not what I meant,” he clarified, wagging a pen in her direction.

“You’re using me to procrastinate, Harv,” Jacky countered, ducking down to get at the cabinets below the register.

“C’mon, humor me.”

She grinned at the sound of his voice, even though she couldn’t see him. “I dunno,” she said as she cleaned. “Keeping this place together is about all I can handle.”

“You told me this was always your sister’s dream, and Miri’s clearly better at it.”

“Excuse me?” Jacky popped her head back up, glaring at the smug man across the way. “Who exactly has been making you coffee for the last few hours?”

Oh, the crimes she was capable of committing to get a smile out of that man. He’d been so stressed recently with the DA elections, the move to get Maroni behind bars, the only time she saw him now was when he was using her shop as a work space after hours. And then only because Gilda was already drowning in his paperwork that he left around their apartment, and he knew full well Jacky would ply him with better coffee than whatever he was getting in his office.

“Okay, alright, I’ve thought about going back to school sometimes. Not sure for what, but...nah it’s stupid.” Jacky shook her head waving off Harvey’s renewed enthusiasm at her answer. “When would I have time to do that, anyway?”

It took most of her extra funds just to keep the place running, not to mention Miri’s medical expenses. Something told her Falcone wouldn’t be too keen on funding his hitwoman’s college funds. Even the idea seemed absurd.

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Harvey’s voice cut through the despairing thoughts rattling around in Jacky’s head. “Take some courses at Gotham U at night if you have to.”

Sure, only doing prime working hours. Jacky rolled her eyes, grateful she had the distance of the counter as Harvey came over. He had that conspiratorial look in his eyes.

“No way,” she said, poking him in the chest “And stop procrastinating so I can close up.”

Harvey pulled out the silver dollar he kept in his pocket. She knew instantly what he was going to do. That little coin flip routine of his was so incredibly cheesy. And charming. He leaned over the counter. “Make a little bet with me, Jacky.”

“Seriously, Harvey, I’m happy with the way things are,” she lied through her teeth as those blue eyes trapped her in place.

“Heads you’ll at least put in an application. Tails, you win and you can stay working in your sister’s place and I’ll never bring this up again. Ready?”

“You’re not getting any more free drinks from me, Harv,” Jacky teased, watching him toss the coin up in the air.

Harvey didn’t even watch the coin, opting instead to give Jacky a wink as he caught it one-handed. He kept his hand closed tightly around the coin as another devious smile stole across his face. “What do you want it to be, Jacky?”

The bell over the door to the shop chimed and Jacky’s good mood vanished as Carmine Falcone flanked by two of his men stepped into the shop. She dropped the rag and immediately straightened up, leaning away from the counter where she had been inches from conspiring with the new would-be DA. “Mr. Falcone, I was just about to close up for the night.”

Taking his cues from Jacky, Harvey also stepped aside. She watched an unnerving illusion steal across Harvey’s face, wiping away any visible markers of her friend. Those bright blue eyes went ice cold. The smile vanished into a thin, hard line. He pocketed the coin, but his hands were still balled into fists.

Falcone did not seem phased in the least. He assessed the other customer in the shop with a cursory glance and a civil nod before reverting his attention back to Jacky. “You’re closed now. Tell your last customer to get out.”

“Of course. Mr. Dent, I apologize for the inconvenience, but if you would—?”  

“Like hell,” Harvey snarled.

Oh no, not here, not now. Tension gave Jacky a spine of iron as she stepped around the counter. “Let me just help you gather your things.” Her voice was impossibly even, calm, and devoid of all emotion.

Harvey looked as if he was about to haul off and clock Falcone across the face. Jacky saw every outcome in between those seconds of her moving towards the table. The two men with Falcone would pull out their concealed revolvers and shoot Harvey, multiple times, even though they were good enough to kill him with one bullet. Then she’d be told to clean up the blood, and at this distance she’d be coated in it herself. Or, Harvey would swing, and they’d only kneecap him and she’d watch as he’d be dragged into the car that was no doubt out front. Then she’d be getting in. They’d go to a warehouse on the docks, somewhere secure where Falcone would tell Jacky to kill him. To make an example of him. Jacky could not make her mind imagine the look on Harvey’s face.

Mechanically she swept up the papers, closed the laptop, took the books and shoved as much as she could into his briefcase, all the while watching as Falcone and Harvey stared one another down. “Mr. Dent, if you would?” her teeth were going to break if she had to keep talking to him like this. “I’d hate to damage something valuable,” she held out the case.

A small line of tension released as Harvey took a step towards her, breaking contact with Falcone. He took the briefcase, grabbing her wrist at the same time. “Please,” Jacky whispered as quietly as she could, keeping her face neutral, impassive. She did not know this man, he was just a customer, and if Falcone so much as saw her twitch in recognition they’d both be dead tonight. “Go.”

Harvey’s grip tightened on her arm, his head gave a small shake. “Jacky…”

“Thank you so much for coming,” she pulled out of his grasp and opened the door for him. Every second he hesitated she saw new ways he’d die tonight. He hadn’t even been elected DA yet and every crime family in Gotham knew Harvey Dent. Falcone had been ranting about him for weeks. Even if they both did everything right tonight Falcone could still decide the timing was too perfect. He was alone. And Jacky was right there, and she had her gun under the counter. All Falcone had to do was give the word.

But Harvey was going to walk out of here tonight and she was going to see him alive tomorrow if it was the only decent thing she ever did in her life.

He walked slowly, mechanically towards the door. Murderous intent radiating with every step away from Falcone. In his eyes, she saw the promise of violence and worry, raw and palpable for her. He didn’t know this was only a surprise business meeting. He’d think the worst. On any other night, if it were any other scenario this city had to offer, Jacky would let that tug on already vulnerable heartstrings. The second he was beyond the threshold she slammed the door shut, bolting it. He lingered at the window while Jacky frantically tried to tell him to leave with only her eyes.

“It’s late, Mr. Falcone,” she said, turning back to her boss with a friendly smile. “I can still get you something if you’d like.”

He never came to the shop after hours.

He or his boys would come by during the day and Miri, smart as whip, knew it was in her best interest to keep them happy. She never questioned why Falcone’s men frequented her little bakery. It was Gotham.

“Take a seat, Miss Ripley,” Falcone gestured to her own table as he pulled up a chair.

This wasn’t a business meeting.

Jacky sat down as the two other men took up space on either side of her. She recognized them both, but they wouldn’t make eye contact. Falcone rifled through a briefcase of his own before he pulled out yesterday’s paper and laid it flat on the table. And Jacky felt real fear lock her limbs into place.

The splashy page six spread had a picture in black and white of her and Harvey Dent dancing at Wayne Manor. Jacky had cut a clip of it and stashed it in a shoebox under her bed in her room. She liked the woman in that photo, happy, carefree. She liked how the photographer managed to get the shot where Harvey was laughing at a stupid joke she had told. She liked how Harvey had been right and that getting her name in the Gazette had been leading to a slight bump in customers. It almost looked like a little window into a world where a girl like her belonged with a man like Harvey Dent.

“You’re moving up in the world, Miss Ripley,” Falcone said, reminding her exactly why a girl like her could never belong to a man like Harvey. “You’ve gotten some friends in rather high places.”

“Mr. Falcone, I had to accept that invite...it was good for the shop—”

“What have you been telling that lawyer?”

“Nothing! Jesus, sir, I wouldn’t do that after all you’ve done for me and my family. Look, he comes into the shop. We’re near the courthouse, what can I do? I gotta make nice when I’m helping Miri out.” Somehow Jacky managed to keep her voice calm while her heart hammered through her ribs.

“You see why this makes me nervous?” Falcone sat back, eyeing her with a look of disappointment.

“I do, Mr. Falcone,” she nodded a little too vigorously.

“And then I come in and see him here,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Jacky, what are we going to do about this little problem?”

“Look, you want him gone, boss, I’ll tell him he can’t come back to the shop.”

“I suspect that’s not going to work the way you think, Miss Ripley. Your knight in shining armor is still watching us.”

Jacky forced herself to turn around slowly. Sure enough, there was Harvey, looming in the rain-soaked night under the street lamp. What was the idiot thinking? “You know what that tells me, Ripley? It tells me you and Mr. Dent have a rather cozy relationship. And that’s what troubles me.”

“Mr. Falcone, have I ever done you wrong?” She was betting on a lot here, punching way above her weight.

“No,” he replied, settling back against the chair, folding his hands on his lap.

“Ever had a job go bad? Ever compromised your family?” Jacky turned back to face him, locking eyes with him, feigning something that tasted like bravery. Falcone shook his head to each of her questions. “Then why would I do something so phenomenally stupid now? He’s a customer, Mr. Falcone, nothing more.”

“While we’re keeping score here, Ripley, do me the courtesy of not lying to me.”

“Sir, I’m—”

“He’s not just a customer.”

Jacky’s impassive eyes went wide ever so slightly. It was enough. “...no…” she whispered.

“You’ve been quite friendly for...two years by my count. Now, Mr. Dent wasn’t much of a problem until his recent forays onto the political stage. I could overlook your dealings with a prosecutor because, as you said, your loyalty and work have always been impeccable. You’re a smart girl, Ripley. You know what happens next.”

Jacky sagged in the chair. “Don’t...don’t take it out on the shop, Mr. Falcone. This is Miri’s place, not mine. She’s been nothing but good to you and she doesn’t know...she doesn’t know, Mr. Falcone. Now look, I’ll sit here and take it. I know it’s business. I’ll fix this after, you know I will.”

Falcone stood up from his chair, rapping his knuckles on the wooden tabletop. “You see that’s why I’ve always liked you, Ripley. You have a sense of honor, however small,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll leave the shop as is. Your sister’s a fine woman, none of us want to upset her, do we boys?”

The two men on either side of Jacky shook their heads. Falcone made his way to the door. “Your knight seems to have left you, Miss Ripley,” he remarked as he stared out onto the empty street. “If he comes back I’m afraid we’ll be revisiting upsetting that sister of yours. Good night, Jacqueline.”

***

It wasn’t as bad as she had thought.

The men had only broken one table.

And Jacky guessed they’d only broken two of her ribs. Fair deal.

She sat, slumped, against the wrecked table legs, blood dripping from a cut above her forehead. Her nose was broken. Again. She poked her tongue around her mouth. No missing teeth, at least. All things considered, she’d gotten off easy. She’d have a nasty black eye and a swollen jaw for a few days and the rest of Falcone’s crew would know exactly what happened to her next time they saw her. Lesson well learned.

She was just contemplating getting to her feet and cleaning the place up before Miri could come home when she heard a bang from the back door. It repeated in quick succession as Jacky hauled herself upright, on hand clutching her ribs as she hobbled to the counter for her revolver. This night just didn’t want to end. The banging turned frantic as the door suddenly crashed over, hanging off its hinges, leaning awkwardly against the baking trays stacked up on the sink.

Jacky already had the gun out. If it was Falcone’s men coming back for the actual jump, she’d fire first, beg forgiveness later. If Falcone wanted her dead he ought to have shot her while she was still sitting in the chair expecting a business deal.

She dropped the gun as Harvey Dent came careening into the shop.

He was soaking wet, panting, and looked about as unhinged as the door. Jacky had enough time to back up against the counter as Harvey lunged for her. “You have to get out,” she choked through gritted teeth.

Not even an hour ago she would have killed someone herself to get him to so much as accidentally brush a finger against her. Now he had a whole arm around her shoulders as he pushed her into a chair. “How in deep are you, Jacky?”

“Harvey, get out, go home, I’ve got this under control,” she waved his hand away as he reached out to assess her injuries.

Someone was probably still watching the shop. The lights were all one, the blinds open. Anyone could see right in.

“Falcone’s got most of the businesses in Gotham paying protection, you don’t think I know that? Why didn’t you tell me he’d gotten a hold of this place? Jacky, I can help—”

“Help me by going home and telling Gilda I have to cancel our plans tomorrow,” Jacky grunted. She wasn’t going to be making any outings anytime soon. And she still had to come up with a story before Miri got back from the movies with her friends.

Harvey fumbled for the cell in his pocket. “What are you doing?” Jacky groaned as he put in a call. “I’m not going to a hospital if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Hey Jim,” Harvey said, ignoring her, “Yeah I know it’s late, but I need a squad down on 9th and—”

Jacky surged out the chair, ribs screaming as she knocked the phone out of Harvey’s hands. “Falcone gets even a fucking whiff of cops around my place and you’ll have killed me sure as the gun he gets to off me.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Jacky,” Harvey retrieved the fallen phone, the call having already been ended, thank God. “I’m going to get them off these streets. Falcone, Maroni, I’m taking them all down.”

“Yeah, but not tonight,” Jacky sat back in the chair. She’d heard the speech before, but never with this much bite. She doubted this much anger would play well with voters.

“This is our city and we’re gonna show them exactly what happens when they go after what’s ours.”

Jacky didn’t think the knock she took to her head was that bad, but that did not sound like Harvey’s voice. It was a guttural growl, a nasty little threat that was league’s away from the man who had been teasing her about going back to college. He shook his head, a hand going up to his brow as if he was shocked by what he had admitted.

“Go home, Harvey.”

Those blue eyes were looking to trap her again, make her say things she barely cared to admit to herself. She’d never seen them look that helpless. Harvey had a plan for everything, had to help everyone, always ready with the magical solution making life seem easy. And in a perfect world if she was just a down on her luck working class gal who had made the wrong deal with the wrong guy she’d leap at the chance to have a man like him solve all her problems. But the solution here was that neat little jail cell she knew was coming. Selfishly, she just wanted a few more days where he looked at her like she was someone worth saving.

“I think you should come with me, we’ll call Miri, and you two can stay at Gilda’s and mine’s until—”

“You know what I think?” Her ribs hurt too much to start crying. “I think...maybe it’s better if you don’t come by the shop for a few days.”

“You can’t let that man dictate your life, Jacky,” Harvey took a step towards her as Jacky flinched back in the chair. If he touched her now she’d crack, fall apart like a house of cards and ruin everything.

“It’s not for my life that I’m asking.”

She let that hang between them as Harvey slowly nodded, turning to leave. “I’ll...I’ll, ah, get the door fixed for you.”

Jacky laughed so hard her chest heaved and tears fell down her cheeks. “Harvey?” His face was blurry in her washed out vision. “Just so you know...I really wanted it to be heads.”

[biffhofosho]

Another Year Wilder | Part One

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch.

Word Count: 12k (The whole thing is about 30k, but I don’t love the idea of posting a oneshot that long, so it’s two parts.)

Pairing: OT7 x OC (you read that right)

Trope: Coworkers to lovers

Synopsis: At 36, things haven’t exactly panned out the way Jordana had hoped. Sure, she has a great job with a great group of guys, but her personal life is a disaster area. Of course, it wasn’t like she’d planned on wasting the prime of her youth on a crappy ex who left her in the lurch, but she had. Now, birthdays feel like a jab in the gut as she realizes she’s still single and aging out of all her prospects. Lucky for her, her seven adoring coworkers are here to remind her she’s still got it.

Part One | Part Two

The Vibe: Gamer nerd/entrepreneur Monsta X, New York state of mind with Brazilian flavor, OC’s feeling pretty sorry for herself and needs a pick-me-up, supportive coworker friends with secret crushes swoop in to the rescue, spoiled on her birthday, after-hours partying at the office, lighthearted humor with loads of innuendo, inappropriate games, lots of hidden agendas, romance under layers of raunchy smut, guys who won’t quit until they make a woman incandescently happy, devious Minhyuk always, Shownu and Kihyun are forever in control (or are they?), respect, adoration, love love love, shared power, new experiences, and a look to the future we’d all die to have.

A/N: WARNING! THIS FIC IS NOT SAFE FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION. THIS IS UTTER TRASH AND IS MEANT ONLY FOR TRASH TROLLS LIKE MYSELF. (If that’s you, hi! Let’s be friends!) 

It’s probably the kind of fic people like on their side blogs with the likes hidden so you don’t have to admit to being so damn thirsty on main. :D

This is all @starlightfantasy​‘s fault. She makes one damned spicy comment, and the next thing I know, I’ve got tens of thousands of words on the page and sky-high blood pressure. 

I’m not going to try and dress this one up with nonsense words like “eightsome” or whatever makes it seem less seedy—sometimes a garbage scow is just a garbage scow. This is a good ol’ fashioned, wildly irresponsible, completely unbelievable office gangbang. Or maybe more aptly, a gangbang with feelings? IDK, whatever you want to call this mess other than just de-fucking-praved. Like, no one should probably ever read it, it’s such dumpster fire.

Too much fucking insanity for the tags so let’s gooooooo: group sex/gangbang, boss(es)/employee relations, nothing but unprotected sex, blindfolds, spitroasting, blowjobs, facials, handjobs, fingering, multiple multiple creampies, just generally showered in cum omgwhy, dumbification, competitive fucking because why the fuck not, exhibitionism and voyeurism elements, manhandling, dom/sub elements, orgasm denial, possessiveness, sir kink, restrained by others (but most def not dubcon), so much fucking dirty talk, so so so much fucking praise, mild self-inflicted degradation lol, body worship, the loveliest aftercare (hey, she works fucking hard in this—she deserves it), probably other stuff because this is a shitshow.

Jordana prodded the chocolate curly-cue on the top of the cupcake in front of her before Hoseok jabbed a candle into it. She recoiled with a scowl and tsked. “Tell me again why you people are making me celebrate today.”

“Because it’s your birthday?” Jooheon reminded with a roll of his eyes. “Happens every year on this day, you know.”

“I know, smartass. Every year for 36 years. I wish you wouldn’t remind me.”

As Hoseok dug for the matches in the breakroom drawer, Kihyun stared at the sulking woman across from him. “What’s the matter, Jordana? You’ve never had a problem with your birthday before.”

“Maybe because the last 35 didn’t remind me that I’m old, single, and likely to stay that way forever.” She poked the frosting again, and this time when her finger came back with a hunk of chocolate on it, she smeared a streak on an unsuspecting Jooheon beside her, who blustered and snarled while Changkyun chuckled.

“Thirty-six’s a little young to be throwing in the towel, don’t you think?” Hyunwoo chastised from his lean against the counter. “Since when is that old?”

“Yeah, if 36’s old, a few of us will be knocking on Death’s door soon, too,” Hoseok observed before he found the matches and thrust them in the air with a victorious fist.

Jordana pursed her thick lips and challenged the company president with her sharpest glower, though Hyunwoo only quirked an eyebrow. “It’s old since I started working for a bunch of baby-faced entrepreneurs. I could have rocked all your cradles, you know.”

“Settle down and blow out your candle,” admonished Kihyun.

Someone flicked off the lights in the breakroom before a chorus of seven voices broke into a spirited round of “Happy Birthday,” with Minhyuk belting his usual over-the-top flourish of “AND MANY MORE!” at the end. Jordana puffed out the candle, and the light came back on along with a round of cheers.

“Did you make a wish?” asked Minhyuk.

“Yeah, for seven new coworkers who don’t make me celebrate my birthday anymore,” she retorted.

Jooheon nudged her shoulder with his, and when she looked over, she found that obnoxiously handsome tiger’s grin bracketed by two of the deepest dimples known to man. “You told us your wish. Now, it won’t come true, and you’re stuck with us.”

“Damnit,” she grumbled.

“Oh, eat your cupcake and be grateful,” Kihyun said as he dug into his own.

Changkyun tugged out a chair and kicked back, his spindly legs stretched out to showcase the huge holes in his designer ripped jeans and his toned thighs tensing beneath them. It might have stuck out as unprofessional if Jooheon wasn’t also sporting a similar pair while Hoseok flaunted his hard-earned upper body in a far-too-revealing compression crew and Minhyuk and Hyungwon cozied up in hoodies. The only professionally dressed people in the office on any given day were the president and vice president. Hyunwoo and Kihyun sported their usual button-ups and slacks, and if Jordana hadn’t been working for them for the last five years, looking around, she would have thought this was some kind of survey group picked at random off the street.

Of course, if she had started a gaming company with friends, too, she supposed she would have had the guts to wear her favorite hoody to work. As it was, she’d been a necessary hire, so she was dressed in business casual as usual since that’s what the bosses wore. It felt too weird to dress down even if she’d been told a hundred times she was allowed.

“Are you eating your cupcake, Hyungwon, or are you inhaling it?” scolded Kihyun as he watched the tallest employee open his mouth like some deep-sea monster and shove the dessert in with a few desperate gasps for air around it.

Through a mouth full of crumbs, Hyungwon garbled, “The day I let Yoo Kihyun tell me how to eat is the day I die. You want a knife and fork for yours, Grandma?”

Jordana couldn’t hide her smile at the pair of frenemies’ latest round of bickering while Jooheon leaned close to her ear. “Enjoying yourself a little now?”

She did her best to shrug indifferently while she peeled off her cupcake wrapper. “The chocolate helps.”

“Are you really serious about this whole anti-birthday agenda?” asked Hoseok.

Jordana picked the wrong time to look at him. The raven-haired beast of a man was sucking his fingertips clean of frosting one-by-one, and it wasn’t an easy image to ignore. She forced her attention back to her birthday treat instead and said, “You’re just worried about getting one less cake out of a year.”

“Hey, you know I like cake, but I like you more, and we all really love celebrating the girl who takes care of all of us all year long.”

“It’s true,” echoed Minhyuk from behind her. Jordana jumped, not realizing he had snuck up beside her other ear.

She sighed and abandoned her cupcake to slouch in her chair. “Listen, guys, I appreciate you always going out of your way to do such nice things for me, seriously, but I don’t know—I’m kind of over it. Guess I’m just going through some shit—stuff. Sorry, boss.”

Even though they were all off the clock at this point in the evening, Jordana targeted her apology for the curse word to Hyunwoo, but the big man was as unflappable as ever. He polished off the last of his dessert and brushed his hands over the meat of his thighs, and she returned her attention to rolling and unrolling her cupcake wrapper.

“At least you guys didn’t go overboard like last year,” she said. Hyungwon and Hoseok exchanged looks, and Jordana groaned. “What did you do?”

Hoseok offered a sheepish grin and nodded toward the corridor. “It’s better if you just see it.”

Everyone filed into the hallway, with Kihyun taking point and Hyunwoo bringing up the rear as usual, as the vice president led them into the conference room. On any normal day, it was a cool, austere space featuring an oversized table with a dozen high-end gaming chairs, three huge screens, and a water cooler, but today wasn’t a normal day.

Tacky cardboard birthday banners drooped across the ceiling, and someone (she suspected Hoseok) had hung copious amounts of metallic fringe around the entire perimeter of the room. Someone else (Jooheon, she thought) had put a party hat on the water cooler. Meanwhile, each screen cycled through picture after picture of Jordana’s toothy smile, umber skin, and sloppy brown bun almost always pierced with a pen.

Most of the shots had at least one or two of the boys in it, too, although the middle screen was a solo headshot of hers, up close and spontaneous, just like Minhyuk liked to take them. She vaguely remembered him surprising her in the parking lot one day to take the shot. Her smile was lopsided, her eyes were pinched high in laughter, and her hair flung loose mid-spin.

“Oh my god, you guys didn’t,” Jordana groaned.

“Oh, yes, we did,” sing-songed Minhyuk as he jiggled several bottles of beer in his hand before adding them to the line of liquor on the table. “So, enjoy it and get plastered with us. Uber’s on us.”

He shoved a bottle of her favorite IPA into her face, and Jordana had no choice but to take a deep swig. Before she knew it, she’d downed the bottle as the boys stared wide-eyed at her.

“Seriously, what’s up with you and this birthday?” Changkyun probed as he took a seat and crossed his arms. His trademark intense stare penetrated even Jordana’s thick hide, and she relented.

She sank onto the edge of the table and cracked open another beer as uncomfortable emotions swirled with the booze in her stomach. “Ugh, you’re making a bigger deal of this than it is. I mean, you guys know I broke up with Carlos last year, so that wasn’t awesome…”

“What are you talking about!” interjected Jooheon. “He was the worst.”

“The actual worst,” echoed Hyungwon.

“Yeah, well, he was somebody. For five years, he was somebody, and for at least four of those years, I figured he’d be the somebody. And since then, nobody, not even a bite. I can’t even get a blind date—blind! I mean, I’m not ugly, right? I don’t think I am at least? So it’s got to be how old I’m getting. Unless maybe I am ugly…”

Hoseok was at her side in a second, his body glued along hers as his arm wrapped around her shoulder and cemented her even tighter to him. His strength was astounding, his muscles warm but his eyes stern. “Don’t ever say things like that. Ever.”

“O-okay.”

She hadn’t been fishing for compliments, more like confessing her very real feelings, but the look he was giving her bordered on outraged, and even Jordana’s sassy side cowered a little. But Hoseok’s fury disappeared with her concession, and his broad, beaming smile turned his face boyish again. “Good. Glad you agree. And as for all those losers, they’re just too afraid of a woman like you.”

Jordana laughed, feeling less and less anxious with his arm around her shoulder, like he was her weighted blanket back at home. “Oh, so they’re afraid?”

“Terrified.”

“Because I have Resting Bitch Face?”

“Because you can break a man’s heart with one word.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Vegetarian?”

“No,” Hoseok said simply, ignoring her joke. “The word is ‘no.’ You’re out of every guy’s league, and they know it.”

Jordana turned to scoff at him, but Hoseok was looking at her so sincerely that her rebuttal fell dead on her lips. When she finally remembered where she was, she glanced around the room, but every other man was just as silent and sincere as his friend. She cleared her throat and reached for another beer, relishing the way the cap resounded like a gunshot and startled her coworkers out of their weird intensity.

“Hey, look, guys, I’m not looking for pity. I just want everyone to forget my birthday entirely. Cool?”

Hyungwon frowned and crossed his arms. “No, not cool. Nobody here pities you, YoYo. That’s not what this is.”

“Oh, so it’s an intervention?” she retorted around the mouth of her beer bottle, realizing the irony too late.

Her lanky coworker threw his hands in the air and turned to his nearest neighbor, Changkyun. “She doesn’t get it.”

“None of us are dating either,” Changkyun reminded her.

“That’s not because you couldn’t. That’s because you’re too wrapped up in your work,” she replied.

“Not Minhyuk,” laughed Hyungwon.

“No, he’s too wrapped up in himself,” Jordana teased.

“Hey!” the caramel-haired man shouted.

“What about me?” asked Kihyun. “What’s my excuse?”

Jordana brought a finger to her lips and considered for a moment. “You don’t trust anybody.”

“That’s not true,” the vice president protested. “You think I would give these guys an equal share in the company if I didn’t trust them?”

“No, but you came up with everybody here. I’ve known you for years, and you still won’t let me proofread your pitches even though my degree’s in public relations.”

Kihyun looked wounded, his strong cheeks softened by downturned eyes. “That’s not because I don’t trust you.”

Jordana hummed. “You’re right. That’s the wrong word here. I guess it’s that you like all the control.”

“You’re making me out to be one of those BDSM guys.”

She quirked an eyebrow and hid behind the lip of her bottle. “I always assumed you were.”

Minhyuk and Hyungwon laughed, but Kihyun stared back at her blankly.

When the vice president’s gaze got too intense, Jordana cleared her throat. “Look, guys, let’s just forget the whole thing, okay? This is all really great, and you guys are great, so let’s just hang out. Deal?”

Jooheon raised one charismatic eyebrow. “Beer’s already hitting you, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Lee,” she volleyed back, and they both laughed.

Jordana could hold her liquor like a champ—she’d had enough practice, especially the last several months post-Carlos—but there was no denying that warm buzz radiating from her stomach and tickling her fingers and toes. With the help of seven handsome faces and teasing smiles, the alcohol had singed off the edges of creeping doom, and once again, she was feeling more like herself.

Feeling cocky, she said, “So, where’s my present?”

“What makes you think you get one?” challenged Kihyun.

“Other than the fact that you guys give me one every year? Well, for starters, Hoseok just said I take care of you all year long. I think that warrants something.”

“Way to go, Buffbunny,” clucked Hyungwon, using Hoseok’s gamer handle. “Now we have to get her something.”

Hoseok pretended to pout as Jooheon and Minhyuk shoved him out the door, the dimpled blonde shouting after him, “Steal something from the boss’s office. She’ll never know.”

Jooheon turned and shot a wink to Minhyuk, who didn’t even try to hide his sly fox smile.

“You guys are so extra,” Jordana said. Her legs swung freely over the edge of the conference table. It was safe to say she was leaning into her buzz, and she was grateful she wasn’t doing it alone again on her crappy couch.

While Hyungwon livened up the party with a little music, Hoseok trotted back in, hiding his face behind an opened Amazon box. He peeked around the edge, his eyes pinched up into little slashes, before he thrust it into her hands and grinned at the others from ear to ear.

Jordana glanced at the box with a smirk. Another year, another present with no wrapping paper except the bubble wrap it came in. Boys, she thought with a laugh.

It only took a second to unspool the wrapping and find a stapler—a dented, chipped, circa 1992 stapler. Confused, she looked around the sea of eager faces and said, “Wow, you really did go shopping in Hyunwoo’s office.”

“You don't know that,” teased Minhyuk.

“Uh, yeah, I do. You don't forget a hunk of junk like this.”

“Hey,” the president objected, “that's a perfectly functional hunk of junk.”

“I thought we agreed on the tape dispenser?” Kihyun snapped.

Hoseok shrugged. “She doesn't need a tape dispenser. She said she needs a stapler.”

“That’s sweet,” Jordana said with a hand on the shoulder of the hard-bodied but soft-hearted gamer, “but not this World War I cannon that thunders next to my office all day.”

“You blew our cover,” scolded Jooheon.

“And the tape dispenser would have been funnier how?” Hoseok said.

“It ruined the joke!” Kihyun exclaimed. “Everybody knows that stupid stapler.”

“I repeat: hey,” Shownu grumbled in his ever-hushed voice.

“I didn't ruin anything,” persisted Hoseok. “I enhanced it while simultaneously showing I listen to YoYo.”

“Lay off Hoseok,” Hyungwon said. “It's even funnier now because everyone hates Hyunwoo’s stapler.”

The president’s thick lips pursed while the buff bunny slung his arm around his tall friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

Changkyun rolled his eyes. “If you don't finish laying it on so thick, you're going to miss it.”

“I resent—” started Hoseok before he was cut off by a high-pitched squeal.

Everyone turned to the girl in the center of the room who was now holding a bouquet of long-stemmed orchids in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. Her brown eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open.

“You guys,” Jordana said quietly, “this is a ticket to IZA.”

Hyunwoo shook his head. “Actually, those are two tickets to IZA.”

“One for you and one for your sister,” interjected Minhyuk.

“You said you wanted to take her because that’s her favorite singer, right?” Jooheon echoed, his elbow propped on Minhyuk’s shoulder.

“But—but they only had floor seats left,” Jordana insisted, her brain barely comprehending the paper in her hand. Then her eyebrows ticked up a few notches. “These are floor seats! Guys, they're so expensive!”

“Not if we all chipped in,” Hoseok said with another one of his thousand-watt grins.

Kihyun, the young flexer of the office, added, “And we did, especially your very generous bosses.”

Jordana looked at her friends still just as shocked as when she’d found the flowers and paper hidden behind her on the table, no doubt slipped there when Hoseok and his squabbling coworkers had commanded all her attention. “Porra! I can’t believe I’ll be able to take Adriana to see her. You don’t even know—this is going to land me Sister-of-the-Year.”

“The way it’s landed us Coworkers-of-the-Year?” suggested Hyungwon.

“Coworkers-of-the-Century, honestly. I don’t even know what to say. Seriously, I’m— Just… thanks for making this birthday worth celebrating, guys. I mean it. This is awesome. You’re awesome. I can’t believe I get to work here with people that care this much about me.”

“We definitely do,” Hyunwoo reinforced, and Jordana bit her lip.

The boys looked at one another with proud smiles, exchanging pats on the back and fist bumps, and it shook some sense back into her.

“Don’t go getting big heads now. You’ve just set a bar for the rest of the time I work here. Good luck topping this.” Hands sagged and grins drooped before she belted out a long laugh. “Just teasing. Maybe.”

Changkyun jumped up on the table beside her, swinging his legs in sync with hers. He toyed with one of the orchid stems, brushing the velvety petals along her jaw. “What about the flowers, huh? They’re nice, right?”

Jordana laughed. “Gorgeous. Did you pick them?”

“I did, after a lot of research.”

“Hey!” barked Jooheon. “I helped, too.”

“Not that much. You just picked them up.”

Jooheon sported his best scowl before Minhyuk swooped in to rub his back.

Jordana turned her attention back to the vibrant pink petals and thumbed a few of them idly. She bumped Changkyun’s shoulder with hers and said, “Okay, let’s test how much research you’ve done. Why orchids?”

“Because they would remind you of home?”

“You sound like you’re second-guessing yourself, Kyun…” she teased.

“I’m not,” he declared though he stole a glance at Jooheon.

The dimpled man put his hands on his hips and shook his head at his friend. “Don’t look at me. You already took all the credit. You’re on your own.”

The youngest of her coworkers looked betrayed, but Jordana was in too good a mood now to let him suffer long. “You’re right, it’s Brazil’s national flower, not quite like these beauties but close. So, in all this very extensive research you did all by yourself, did you come across what they symbolize?”

“Friendship?”

Jordana looked down at the magenta blooms bursting forth like butterflies ready to take flight, and somehow, she felt them fluttering in her stomach. She kept her eyes trained on the petals so the guys couldn’t catch the rush of color at her cheeks. “My mother always said each flower represents a kiss. See the lips here?”

With the tip of her finger, she traced the long, dark mouth of the bloom, and she could feel every pair of eyes on her. Her finger felt heavy, and she dropped it to her lap along with the bouquet.

“So,” Jordana said, clearing her throat, “maybe next year get your coworker something a little less…”

What? Expensive? Colorful?

No. Romantic, she realized. These flowers were too romantic. They were on all the girls’ wrists when dances and date nights came. They were in wedding bouquets and tucked behind ears as ladies sashayed in tight dresses through the streets at Carnival.

“A little more,” she corrected, “coworker-y.”

“You don’t like them?” asked Changkyun. She thought he’d sound disappointed or even annoyed, but instead, he sounded amused.

“Of course, I like them! I love them. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Ah,” Kihyun said, his cheeks high and smug, “she’s saying she doesn’t want us to give her kisses.”

Flustered, Jordana hid behind the bouquet as she pretended to inspect it. “You’re so annoying, Ki.”

“Is that any way to talk to the Boss-of-the-Century?”

She sighed. “I knew that was going to come back to bite me.”

Minhyuk, however, was grinning like a Cheshire cat. There was a reason his gamer handle was DemonicJester, and just from the way his eyes narrowed, Jordana knew he was coming out to play. His tongue poked the corner of his lips as he appraised her before he said, “So is something else you said earlier...”

The liquid courage bubbling in her stomach brought the challenge to her gaze as the pair squared off. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“When you were bragging how well you knew all of us.”

“About the girlfriend thing? That wasn’t bragging, that was just observation. I spend half my life with you guys. I think I’ve picked up a few things over the years. I know who’s coming down the hall by footsteps alone, I know everybody’s laugh, and I know all your poker tells, especially yours, Min.” Jordana mimicked his head-thrown-back laugh, which she’d seen dozens of times in games he knew he’d win.

“She knows a lot, doesn’t she?” Kihyun said, but there was something else in his voice—something she couldn’t place—a textured darkness that she wasn’t afraid of but enticed by.

The tissue paper crinkled loudly as she clutched her flowers a little tighter.

Minhyuk grinned, his eyes shifting from coworker to coworker. His confidence was as endearing as it was annoying. “Let’s liven up this party, what do you say? Want to put YoYo’s knowledge to the test, guys?”

“What does that mean?” asked Hoseok.

“Yeah, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jordana demanded.

Minhyuk smiled. “Seems to me you think you’ve got us all figured out.”

Kihyun had been staring hard at her, but now those sharp black eyes narrowed as his chin tipped up. “It does seem that way.”

She was suddenly keenly aware of how close Changkyun was next to her, how broad Hoseok’s shoulders were, and how imposing Hyunwoo looked with his arms crossed over his chest. “Look, guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone—”

But Minhyuk just cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy. “Now, who said anything about that? I’m just talking about a game. Those are meant to be fun, aren’t they? And didn’t you just get done complaining about how you don’t have any fun anymore?”

“Excuse me if I don’t trust you, Min. Maybe I know that part of you too well.”

The room erupted into a symphony of bark-laughs and cackles, but Minhyuk weathered them all as though he hadn’t heard any of them in the first place. He was too preoccupied with his mischievous showdown with Jordana.

“You’ve got your scheming face on,” she warned.

“This is my game face. So, what do you say? Wanna play with me?”

“Ugh, you’re such a perv.”

Minhyuk just waggled his eyebrows.

Jordana looked to the others for help, but there was no clear consensus in the room. Some looked confused, others as wary as she was, and still others were simply amused. Then there was Hyunwoo, who waited stock still on the edge of the group with a perfectly blank expression. She let out a very long sigh and said, “What’s the game?”

Minhyuk’s warm hair tossed as he bounded between her swinging legs and clapped his hands. He was well inside her personal bubble, but that was nothing new with Minhyuk as everyone in the office could attest. Almost every lunch ended with him feeding someone, and most of the time, when they were gaming, he was thigh-to-thigh with someone on a couch or even wedged in the same chair. It was as much a part of who he was as it was a disarming tactic, and it always fucking worked, just like it was working now.

“All right, picture this,” he said, his hands flailing dramatically, “you claim to know us all by sight, sound, and smell, but—and stick with me on this—what about taste and touch?”

Jordana raised one finely sculpted eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Min—” Hyungwon started with this hand on his eager friend’s shoulder, but Minhyuk shook him off without breaking eye contact with Jordana for a second.

“A kiss contest!” the troublemaker declared with his hand in the air. “You close your eyes, and we each give you a kiss, and you see if you can guess who’s who. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

Jordana’s stomach dropped into her feet.

“Sounds like a sexual harassment lawsuit,” Kihyun deadpanned.

But Minhyuk blew a raspberry and shook his head. “Nah! Not if YoYo agrees. It’s all in the name of birthday fun and bragging rights. Besides, it’s not like any of you are going to turn down this chance.”

Minhyuk received a few death glares from Kihyun and Jooheon, but none of it shook his unbridled enthusiasm.

“How much have you had to drink, you chucklehead?” grumbled Changkyun. His arms were tightly stacked across his chest, but his sharp eyes were studying Jordana’s profile now, and she could sense them at her lips before they darted away.

“You can’t just obligate all the other guys to something like that,” Jordana spluttered, her wide brown eyes ping-ponging between the rest of her officemates. “They don’t want to pity-kiss their coworker.”

“Sure, we will! We talk all the time about—”

Hyungwon elbowed Hoseok in the ribs, and the big guy yowled like a surprised cat.

“Talk about what?” she demanded, but Jooheon dove across the room to cover Hoseok’s mouth while Minhyuk tipped forward so the only thing she could see was his handsome, candid face.

“It’s hardly a pity-kiss, YoYo. It’s a game, and we all want to play with you.”

Jordana squinted at him, trying to find the jokester under that imp mask he was sporting, but his charm armor was too strong.

When she didn’t answer, Minhyuk pushed gently, “Don’t you want to play with us?”

“I’m—too old to play these kinds of games.”

Now it was Changkyun, leaning close enough that their shoulders touched while his mouth only hovered a few inches from her ear.

“Enough with that,” he admonished, “seriously. If I ever see that asshole Carlos again, I’ll break his nose.”

“Changkyun!” Jordana said, honestly surprised. Even during his most intense Fortnite runs, she’d never seen the youngest gamer so serious.

“What? I’m not the only one. Hoseok and Jooheon are already honing their Fight Club skills, look.”

She glanced over Minhyuk’s shoulder to where the two friends were punching the air and snarling. She wanted to laugh and just appreciate her coworkers for looking out for her, but Jordana felt weirdly self-conscious about the whole thing.

She waved everybody off and said, “Guys, forget Carlos. Forget my age. Forget I brought any of it up. Let’s just go back to hanging out.”

“Done!” said Minhyuk, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he propped an elbow on her knee and stooped awkwardly against it, all without losing his upbeat grin. “Doesn’t change the game at all though. I still want to play and win.”

“Minhyuk, no.”

“Why not?” he whined.

“For starters, you’d lose. You’d all lose. So there’s no point in playing.”

All at once, all eyes were focused solely on her. These men were gamers to their very core, not just profiting off their own games and accessories but running their own Twitch streams and, more importantly, facing off against each other every minute they could. Jordana knew exactly what she was doing in challenging them, but she also knew she was 100% right. She’d recognize these crazy boys anywhere.

Hoseok smiled and glided over to her free side. She could tell from the way his arms were puffed up by his chest that he was flexing while still trying to look casual, and she braced for his bravado. “Sounds to me like you’re just afraid of the competition, YoYo. Easier to say you’ll win before you have.”

“It does sound like that,” Hyungwon agreed.

“Come on, another year older, another year wilder,” Minhyuk egged on.

Jordana rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure that’s ‘wiser,’ not ‘wilder.’”

“Nah, Min’s definitely right,” agreed Jooheon.

“You’re just saying that because you want a kiss.”

Minhyuk turned and pinched his friend’s cheek as he said, “Aw, don’t give Honey a hard time.”

“What about the hard time he’s giving me!” she wailed.

Jooheon had already wriggled out of Minhyuk’s grip to bully Hoseok out of the way so he could sidle up to Jordana’s side and offer her a flirty smile. He smelled like cedar and leather, like a bad boy with an angel’s grin, and she struggled to look unaffected. “Am I giving you a hard time?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled and chugged the last of her beer.

“Then there’s no problem,” Kihyun clarified from across the room. He stepped forward, looking extra impressive with his hands in his suit pants and his eyes expressionless. “If we’re all in agreement, how about one round, and we’ll see just how good you are.”

Jordana’s skin was bristling now, like the room was charged with static electricity. Her legs automatically tightened, but Minhyuk was still standing between them, and he smiled when her thighs gripped his hips. His fingers brushed lightly against her bare knee as he gauged her expression, but when she didn’t cringe or yelp, he gripped it and pushed it open just enough for him to slip out—and just enough to send a sharp pulse to her core.

“Everybody’s in, right?” the handsome troublemaker trumpeted to the room.

The yeses rolled in fast and furious, and it deepened the color at Jordana’s cheeks as well as the skin at her collar. More than anything, she was shocked when both Hyunwoo and Kihyun joined in the chorus, too.

“This… doesn’t feel like a good idea,” she hedged.

“Why not?” Jooheon complained.

“Because we all have to work together tomorrow?”

“So?” said Hyungwon.

“So, things will be different.”

“Will they?” he pushed.

“Won’t they?”

Maybe it was the self-deprecating headspace she'd already been wallowing in, but now Jordana was just annoyed at the fact that none of them seemed to care that they were going to kiss her. They were making it all about the game, yet it made her want to make them care, and that was a whole other recipe for disaster.

Jordana blew a long raspberry and glanced around the rest of the conference room in a hurry for anything to distract from the number of eyes all trained on her. “Fine, fine, but I need a shot first. We got any soju around here?”

Hyunwoo was quick to pour one for her, and she downed it just as fast, blanching as the liquor stung her throat.

“Beer before liquor, never been sicker,” Changkyun tutted beside her.

“That’s just an urban legend,” Kihyun informed. “They’ve done studies to prove—”

“Oh my god!” Hyungwon griped, covering his ears. “You’re ruining the party vibe.”

Kihyun glowered at his friend but stuffed his diatribe while Jordana polished off the last of Changkyun’s beer, too.

It was Jooheon’s turn to glower. “I’m starting to get a little offended that you need all this booze just to kiss us.”

“It’s a couple of beers and a shot. I can handle a lot more than that. Besides, I do my best work tipsy. It’ll make my gloating celebrations that much more elaborate. I’m fixing to bring Carnival-level festivities in here when I embarrass you all.”

“That’s putting the cart before the horse, don’t you think? First, we have to set some rules,” Kihyun reminded.

Hyungwon elbowed Hoseok and grumbled, “Here he goes with rules now. Wake me up in twenty.”

Kihyun shot a glare over his shoulder but only for a second before he returned his full attention to the brown-skinned woman literally on the edge of her seat. Even with music playing, things felt far too quiet.

Her boss took a step closer, just shy of the gap between her knees where Minhyuk had just stood. “For starters, you'll be blindfolded.”

“Is the blindfold really necessary, Ki?” Jordana asked dramatically, hoping it would cover the quaver in her voice.

“Uh, yeah,” answered Hyungwon. “You’re a total cheater, YoYo. You’ll peek.”

“What the hell are you talking about? When have I ever cheated?”

“Seems to me someone forgot the time we played Overwatch, and you threw on an aimbot and massacred everyone here in seconds.”

Jordana pouted. “That was just for fun.”

“So is this,” said the president from across the conference room in a voice far too deep to be safe. Hyunwoo unspooled his tie from his collar and presented the shimmering silk to his vice president.

Jordana couldn’t take her eyes off limp material draped over Kihyun’s elegant fingers. Somehow, she could already feel its cool kiss against her eyelids, and she shivered.

“If you don't like that rule, you definitely won't like this one,” Kihyun continued. “We can touch you, but you can't touch us.”

“Why the hell not?” she demanded.

Changkyun bumped her shoulder, and she turned to him just in time to catch that cute, close-lipped smile he always did when he was holding something back. Before she had a chance to wonder what it could be, he said, “Because then it won't be the kiss you focus on. You know what each of us is wearing, so you'll know instantly who’s who.”

“I guess that’s fair. Any more rules you tyrants want to impose on the birthday girl?”

Hoseok laughed. “A few minutes ago, she didn’t want anybody saying the word ‘birthday’, and now she wants special consideration. How cute is that?”

“Last rule,” said Kihyun. “One kiss, one guess. You get it wrong—”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Jordana said with a smug smile, and someone in the room made a low growl. She couldn’t tell who, but it set her nerves on edge. Suddenly, her smugness evaporated.

“All the same,” the vice president continued, “if you guess wrong, you have to be that guy’s office assistant exclusively for a week until you get to know him backwards and forwards.”

It didn’t seem terribly unreasonable, though something about it smacked of duplicity. Still, Jordana agreed and Kihyun presented the tie. Hoseok was quick to snatch it from the vice president’s hands despite a very noisy gripe, and the next thing she knew, silk encircled her eyes as Hoseok’s muscles encircled her head to firmly tie the scrap of fabric. Her face was practically buried in his thick neck, and this close to his skin, she could still pick up a whiff almond and warm wood and, under both, a hint of natural masculinity. If she had any less willpower, she might have licked that warm juncture at his shoulder.

Before Hoseok pulled back, his thumb coasted over her cheekbone, and in the new darkness, it blazed bright like fireworks. Jordana couldn’t help it, she exhaled long and low. She heard several rumbles and whispers, but no one said anything to her.

With nothing else to focus on and no one left beside her, the room felt ten degrees colder. The feeling of being watched itched all over her skin, and she stowed her arms tightly across her chest to feel a little more comfortable. Jordana cleared her throat and said, “I can’t win if you don’t play the game, guys.”

“Somebody’s impatient,” Minhyuk sing-songed. “This is almost more fun than the game.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Changkyun said darkly, and a fresh wave of goosebumps blistered across her arms and legs.

“Would somebody just kiss me already?” she barked.

Hoseok laughed. “So damned impatient!”

“All right, everybody, let’s give the lady what she wants,” Kihyun said. “Sudden death kai-bai-bo, winner goes first. No hints, no cheers, no arguing. In fact, I don’t want to hear any commentary at all, Minhyuk.”

“Hey! I can handle myself! This was my great idea anyway. You can all thank me later.”

“Already he can’t shut up,” chided Changkyun before Hyunwoo cleared his throat, and everyone listened again.

There was some shuffling, some light slaps or punches—Jordana couldn’t tell which—and then the muffled sounds of hands flying. Only a minute later, a pair of lips fluttered against hers so fast, her head barely had time to process what had happened.

“I can't tell anything from just a peck!” she shouted.

“I know,” laughed Minhyuk from directly in front of her. “That was just for me. Now, let's make room for the first player.”

“Spread your legs wider now,” Kihyun commanded, and an intense, unexpected tingle surged through her body, settling insistently in her most secret recess.

Jordana’s heart was hammering in her chest so loudly she thought the others might hear it over the soft R&B that now trickled through the stereo (no doubt Changkyun’s playlist now). She scooted to the edge of the table and parted her legs a bit further, blindly fumbling with her skirt to tuck it chastely over the waves of heat radiating from between them.

“You remember my rules, right?” the vice president continued. “You can lean back on your hands or tuck them under your thighs, but if you touch, you’re disqualified from that round, and the consequence still stands.”

Her brow furrowed under Hyunwoo’s tie. “What if I lose my balance?”

“We’ll take care of you, YoYo,” Jooheon promised.

She bit her lip, but someone’s thumb pried it free before soothing the plumped skin.

“Ready?” Hyunwoo asked.

Jordana summoned the last of her bravado and said, “Bring it.”

Fabric brushed between her exposed knees as the first player stepped into their shelter. Her breath ramped up immediately, her rabbit heart thrashing in her ribcage. She thought he would just dive in quick as Minhyuk’s kiss had, but instead, she languished in a pregnant pause filled only by fabric ruffling and short, steady breaths.

Two hands framed the outside of her thighs, applying just enough pressure to remind her that there was a man looming over her. Jordana braced on her wrists as she fought the urge to grab the guy and slam her against her mouth so she could get this over with. Whoever it was, he was taking his sweet time.

At last, she felt the delicious first glaze of freshly balmed lips against her own. They were luscious and broad, matching her full lips with plenty to spare. The pressure was gentle at first, as though ready to recoil at her slightest hesitance, but Jordana had none. She needed him to kiss her harder—she wanted him to. When she didn’t pull away, he moved in, his wrists pressing more firmly against her thighs as he pushed in against her lips. A moment later, they parted, and she felt the tentative gloss of his tongue against the tip of hers.

This, too, was slow and deliberate, chased with a malty tinge of beer and a hint of sweetness from a cupcake. There was something intoxicating about the darkness she now found herself encased in, which gave her the ability to taste and feel this man all the more acutely. She tried to imagine the face on the other side of the blindfold, but it was hard to keep her focus when his tongue was back and deeper in her mouth now, caressing hers as one of his hands now caressed her cheek.

Jordana couldn’t help it: when his mouth pulled back for a breath, hers followed, her tongue sinking between his lips and drawing a surprised sigh from him.

“Hyungwon,” she murmured, and a raucous chorus of groans shattered the moment.

“You idiot!” shouted Kihyun. “You gave it away.”

Hyungwon pulled back much to Jordana’s dismay and left her cold and open-mouthed on the table as he snapped back at his friend, “It’s not as easy as you think, Tin Man. She put her tongue in my mouth!”

A few surprised “oh’s” bubbled around the room, and there was something about the way they said them that made Jordana’s skin charge.

“YoYo’s playing dirty,” Jooheon remarked, and she could hear the hook of his grin.

“I am not! You guys gave me a challenge. I’m just going along with it,” she said. “Nobody said I couldn’t kiss back.”

“She’s right,” Hyunwoo agreed.

“Thanks, boss. And anyway, I would have known that was Hyungwon even if he didn’t make a noise.”

Jordana heard the tall man’s amused laugh before he said, “Yeah?”

“Well, yeah.” She could feel her cheeks blazing, and she wished she had a way to hide them. “You’ve got those great lips and skinny hips, and you kiss lazy, too.”

The boys erupted into laughter, and she could hear the beanpole being jostled around as his friends roughed him up to a chorus of “Lazy! Lazy!”

“Hey, that’s not a bad thing!” Jordana added. “I liked it. It’s really sensual. Made me feel, um, savored…”

Suddenly, it was dead silent. Before she had time to regret her own words, hands were on her again, but this time, instead of chaste, one slid around the small of her back and the other around her neck as another man settled between her legs. He lifted her up as his mouth came down in a clash of teeth and lips. There was no hesitation as he slid his tongue into her mouth and tangled with hers.

His breaths were fast, and hers rose to meet them. There was so much quickness and power in his kiss that it startled her. All his heat rushed into her until her body flushed, too. Jordana could feel the heat of desire creeping above her collar even before the hand at the back of her neck crept under the fabric there, his short nails scratching just enough to tease a hint of possession.

Just when Jordana was running out of breath, he switched direction, puffy lips racing over hers before he dove back in. Unlike Hyungwon’s surprise when she’d returned the favor and tasted his mouth, this man seemed to expect it, and she could feel his desperation in the knot of her shirt at her back. He urged her body tighter against his, and she lost her grip on the table below her. To steady herself, she wrapped her legs around his hips, which brought an unexpected hardness pressing at her through her skirt.

He grunted, and she shouted, “Jooheon!”

She wasn’t sure if she was calling out an answer or her own expectation.

Reluctantly, his fingers unraveled from her hair, and the usually-loudmouthed player stepped back on uneven footing dead silent. Instead of a round of jeers for his inappropriate sound effect, the room remained quiet, too.

“A-aren’t you going to ask me how I knew?” Jordana said through heavy breaths. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and waited for an answer, but none came. The silence was so intense, she felt spotlighted by it, and since anything else was better than that, she added, “You’re all about fire, Jooheon, and that was fiery.”

She could still only hear her heaving breaths, and it was starting to get very annoying. She was trussed up like a chicken letting her imagination run absolutely wild, which was only making the increasingly uncomfortable tingles on her lips and between her legs that much more noticeable. She reached for the blindfold as she said, “So, you guys give up already, I take it? Probably for the best.”

Not a second later, the emphatic clack of dress shoes thundered toward her. Jordana felt another body slip between her knees, and she smiled.

“I recognized your footsteps, Ki, sorry,” she admitted, but hands cupped her face all the same as hot breath feathered over her lips.

“I don’t care.”

Kihyun tilted up her chin, so her bottom lip jutted forward, and he captured it immediately, suckling it into his mouth to run his tongue over it. The sensation was like a shockwave, and the tremor continued all the way down Jordana’s body. Her hands shot up to steady herself on the sleeves of his dress shirt only to find he’d rolled them up. Instead, her nails dug into bare skin, and the rumble of her boss’s purr traveled through his mouth and into hers.

He guided her face in every direction he needed to in order to better access the warm recesses of her mouth. There was a dominance to every sweep of his tongue that had her offering herself up to him immediately. Everything he wanted, he took, and this time she did not help herself to him. If he wanted something from her, she knew he’d tell her.

When he was done making his commanding impression, Kihyun pulled back only far enough so she could feel the ghost of his smirk on her mouth.

“If I hadn't given myself away, would you still know it was me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

His voice was low and perilous. “Tell me how.”

“You're always in control, remember?”

“Hm, you know what? You may be right.”

Kihyun released her face and stepped back, and Jordana struggled to regain her senses. Was it still a game? It didn't feel like they were playing even though she definitely felt like she was losing.

“Next!” Kihyun ordered, shattering her peace, and Jordana tensed.

“Wait!” she said.

Minhyuk laughed. “Giving up so soon?”

“Please. I just—”

“Need a minute?” Kihyun said cockily from somewhere still far too close to her.

“Damn it.” Jordana adjusted herself on the table and grumbled, “Fine, fine, who’s next to lose?”

The music turned up just a touch, more chill RnB rhythms piping through the surround sound and effectively drowning out any footsteps. Unfortunately, when two thumbs curled inside her knees and spread her legs a little wider, it wasn’t loud enough to cover her throaty gasp.

Jordana felt warm breath on her neck, the skirt of a nose along her jaw, and then finally, a kiss at the corner of her mouth. The soft musk of rose and patchouli enveloped the couple as lips languidly dragged over lips. The bitter tang of soju swapped between breaths as the tips of their tongues met. He knew just the right angle to taste her while inviting her to return the favor.

Something about the moment made Jordana want to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him tighter. Where she had been the one holding back in her first kiss with Hyungwon, this time, this man was holding back, and she longed to truly open him up. She tried to push into his mouth, but he wouldn’t allow it and spent his time, instead, focusing on tasting her. Just before the intensity could sweep both of them away, he pulled back and waited, his hands still resting on her knees.

“Hi, Changkyun,” she teased with a smile, and he kissed the other corner of her mouth to even her out.

“Good girl,” was all he said in his luscious baritone before he disappeared. He didn’t ask for her explanation, but she hadn’t expected a man like him to either.

Jordana needed the next contestant to step forward before feelings could overwhelm her. She cracked her neck to loosen herself up and proclaimed, “Four for four. You’re running out of time to stump me, boys.”

A light chuckle passed amongst her coworkers as though there were a joke she wasn’t let in on, and her nerves got the better of her again until the next man stepped forward.

“No touching,” reminded Kihyun, and thank God he did considering the man who came next.

Jordana should have known from his deep inhale what was to come, yet she was unprepared for two strong arms to sweep around her and lift her like a doll up toward a plump and expectant mouth. A moment later, he sat her back on the table even as he held her vice-tight, and she had to sit on her hands to keep from clawing at his back.

He kissed harder than anyone else, almost as though he was trying to steal her breath from her. His lips did most of the work with just tantalizing brushes of his tongue to underscore how fucking good he was at making her feel like a woman. His head pivoted from one side to another to make sure he didn’t miss any of her, but with his body pressed this closely, there was no way he could have.

Their chests crushed together along with their hips, and it was such an easy fit, Jordana forgot this wasn’t her lover but her coworker. Before sense could ruin everything though, his hands wandered up and down her back until a few rogue fingers caught on her shirt hem and slipped along her skin. She gasped and arched into him, offering up whatever else he wanted to explore.

“Hyunwoo…” she mewled, and he stopped, though he didn’t let her go.

“How did you know?” he whispered gruffly against her lips.

Jordana cleared her throat and tried to regain any of her faculties, but they were too wrapped up in the taste of waxy lip balm and the spice of clove and vetiver swirling around her head. “I, um, your smell—it’s that damned Boy Toy cologne you always wear.”

“Toy Boy,” Hyunwoo corrected.

“Oh, um,” Jordana stumbled as utter horror washed over her at her Freudian slip, “yeah. Whatever, that—yeah.”

“That’s the only way you could tell?”

Why did he sound disappointed?

“No, no! Not just that, of course not. You, um—” God, she sounded like a total moron in front of her boss, no less. This was mortifying. “You kiss with a lot of power.”

“I do?” There was that hint of a smile in his voice now, coloring his masculine tone with reassuring warmth.

Jordana nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

With that, Hyunwoo stepped back. Only a few more boys were left in the wings, and she was already lamenting the end of their game.

She recognized her next coworker just from the way his fingers walked up her shoulder to her neck, but she didn’t feel like spoiling his fun—or hers—so soon. His first two kisses were quick, like a middle-school boy stealing them from a girl he has a crush on, but when he centered himself before her and locked one hand in her curly hair and one in the small of her back, things changed dramatically.

He was surprisingly tender, his forehead bumping against Jordana’s, as his lips meshed with hers. He had a playful rhythm of long sweeps and hints of tongue before he switched again to something hungrier and much more intense. The hand in her hair tightened, raising little hills with the electricity it generated. At the same time, the hand at her back moved to her wrist and twisted it behind her enough to make her gasp, and the moment she did, his tongue flooded her mouth in earnest.

The higher he hitched her arm, the higher Jordana’s breath hitched until a moan came out instead. He stopped for a second, his lips poised at hers until her body felt like it was on fire with embarrassment. But he didn’t leave. He just held her like that, wrist high, head tipped back, mouth open and puffing frantic breaths into him until he returned with one final thrust of his tongue against hers. Two more little pecks sealed his turn, and he released her.

Jordana crumpled into herself and shook her head. “You’re a real son-of-a-bitch, Min.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, but you knew that.”

He laughed. “I also knew you recognized me right away. Thanks for letting me have my fun anyway.”

“Brat,” she spat. “That’s how I knew it was you, you little tease.”

“You have no idea,” he said darkly.

“You realize I’m going to make everyone here pay for this torture later.”

“We’re counting on it,” challenged Jooheon to a score of chuckles.

“So…” she started, clearing her throat. “Does this mean I won the game?”

“You didn’t guess Hoseok,” Hyungwon reminded.

“Process of elimination means I didn’t have to.”

Hoseok huffed. “That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

Jordana unleashed a long laugh. When the muscular juggernaut was jealous, he had the saltiest pout of any of her coworkers. “Fine, bring it in, mystery man.”

She opened her arms and spread her knees a little wider in anticipation of the last man with the thick thighs. Only a second later, lips crashed into hers, and right away, she shoved the player back.

“Get out of here, Min!” she scolded to his gleeful cackle at stealing one more kiss. “Selfish ass!”

“Very,” Minhyuk laughed as he stumbled back toward what sounded like a couple of high-fives from her traitorous coworkers. “Too clever for her good, isn’t she?”

“Don’t give her a bigger head,” Changkyun admonished.

“Bad enough as it is,” agreed Hyungwon.

Jordana scowled. “Would everyone shut up and let Hoseok have his turn? You’re very annoying, and I’m getting tired of this blindfold.”

“Sounds like she’s the one with the control issues, eh, Ki?” Minhyuk whispered, and her scowl deepened.

“Heightened senses, remember? Shut up, Minnie, or you’ll find your office rearranged come tomorrow.”

Jordana beckoned Hoseok forward again, and a second later, there was no doubt she had the right man nestled between her thighs. His muscles were rock hard beneath his sweatpants, and his chest was a slab of granite as it crashed against her.

“I was hoping you didn’t forget about me,” he mumbled against her ear lobe, and she shivered, grating her hard nipples against his pecs.

“Never,” she promised with a snarky grin, but that vanished instantly.

The next thing she knew, three quick kisses christened her lips. She beamed against him and decided she’d had enough rules for one night. She flung her arms around his sturdy neck and brought her lips up to meet his. Even with the blindfold, it was easy to tell he was smiling through the kiss until her tongue ventured forward for a real taste, and gone was the sweet, giddy office prankster.

Hoseok pushed back forcefully, nearly sending them onto the table before he caught them just in time. His arms were so strong around her, squeezing her tighter than he no doubt realized, and Jordana had never felt smaller. His excitement overwhelmed as his mouth moved hungrily and his chest squashed hers.

Hoseok was fond of teasing her with his tongue, running it over her bottom lip or massaging all the soft parts of her he could explore, but he wasn’t sloppy. He was sampling her, and as the tip of that determined pink muscle grazed the sensitive roof of her mouth, Jordana couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of it working other forbidden corners of her body.

At last, Hoseok helped her up and straightened out her shirt and skirt before backing off with a chaste pat on her knee like nothing untoward had happened.

“Aw, look, guys!” shouted Jooheon. “Have you ever seen anything cuter than YoYo blushing?”

She pressed her hands against her cheeks, hoping to cool the lush carnelian there, but they were still burning with the feeling of Hoseok’s skin. Instead, she reached for the tie on the blindfold until a couple of the guys shouted, and her brow furrowed. “What the fuck?”

“Ah, hold on, hold on, hold on!” Jooheon said.

Hyungwon echoed his friend’s outburst. “It’s still your birthday.”

Jordana cocked a brow over the tie. “Yeah, so?”

“So,” Changkyun retorted, “we’ve got to keep the party rolling.”

“Can I at least use the bathroom first?”

“You promise to come back?” said Hoseok.

“Uh, yeah, it’s not like I planned on storming out or anything.”

“Because the kisses were good?” Jooheon pressed.

Jordana wrinkled her nose. This was not a discussion she’d ever expected to have with her coworkers. Sheepishly, she admitted, “Yeah, they were good. So can I go to the bathroom now?”

A few of the guys laughed, and Jordana took off the tie from her eyes. She had expected smirks and shit-eating grins, but she didn’t expect seven pairs of very dark eyes and seven sets of swollen lips, not to mention more than a few unexpectedly tight-looking pants.

Jordana cleared her throat and made a beeline for the bathroom, where she liberally splashed her face and neck and cleaned up the very uncomfortable mess between her legs. There wasn’t much she could do about dampness in her underwear, and she cringed when she pulled them back on. Hopefully, the guys didn’t turn this into a dance party because even the slightest friction was sending electric shocks through her core.

Back in the conference room, the guys were waiting quietly for her return. As Jordana took her seat back on the table, Hyungwon offered her a water, which she gratefully downed. She’d thought things were moving back to normal until she saw how intently each man studied her, and she almost choked.

“What?” she demanded, more than a little annoyed.

Hyunwoo held out his tie again, and Jordana scowled.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

“No?”

“You said you wanted to keep the party moving,” reminded Hoseok who grabbed the tie from his friend and brought it back to Jordana’s eyes.

She sighed but let him plunge her back into darkness. “Okay, but why do I still need the blindfold?”

“You’re so good at guessing, let’s experiment some more,” suggested Minhyuk as he always did—the man had the most problematic brain of the group. They could always count on the little devil to up every ante. “There are so many more things you could guess.”

A prickle was slowly making its way down Jordana’s spine to where there was already a fresh set of butterflies deep in her belly.

“Like your colognes?” Jordana asked. “I think I’ve already nailed those. Besides, none of your kisses stumped me, like, even a little, guys. Oh god, wait! Please don’t make me do a taste test of food you’ve cooked. Hyungwon’s might kill me.”

“Hey!” the string bean balked.

Kihyun’s voice hushed any more chuckles at once. “No, beautiful, we’re not trying to kill you. We’re just trying to get everyone a little win here.”

The room was silent except for the unmistakable heavy breaths of everyone in it.

Her throat was bone dry. The nickname was jarring, but the unexpected innuendo had her nearly falling off the edge of the table. Jordana struggled to get her next words out. “What does that mean?”

“You know how competitive all your coworkers are, don’t you?” the vice president continued, his voice as heavy as a teacher’s, and she sat up a little straighter.

“Sure, yeah. I mean, we’re gamers.”

“We are. We don’t like to lose.”

Kihyun’s words were tangled in the birthday pennants fluttering in the air conditioning overhead.

Jordana had to be reading this vibe all wrong. Yeah, they’d all just traded a little spit, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done in middle school. Okay, so maybe it was a little more advanced than Spin the Bottle in Fernanda’s basement, but the guys said it was a game, so why should she take it so seriously? Usually, when the boys started getting ultra-competitive in their Overwatch campaigns, humor helped, so she shifted gears.

“Then you better switch games because my record is seven and O.”

She heard a round of chuckles before she heard Kihyun’s silken voice: “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Uh, what—what were you thinking?” asked Jordana with a hard swallow.

“You guessed all our kisses too easily,” Minhyuk interjected. His voice was surprisingly throaty, not at all like the spritely tease he was around the office. Coupled with the husk in Kihyun’s, it was doing all kinds of unfair things to her overwrought mind. “You should guess something else now.”

The breathing was louder now, but Jordana’s heart drowned it all out as blood rushed between her ears and her legs. All she had to do was say no and call an Uber. She could sleep off the booze greasing her lips and the lust greasing her sex, and tomorrow, she could come back to work in sunglasses, a turtleneck, and mom jeans, and they could all forget the fact that her knees were still wide open and her skirt was too high and her nipples were jutting without regard for her demi bra and blouse.

“Okay...”

Did she really just say that! Did she really just further her descent into insanity? Was she this desperate for attention that she would jeopardize her job for this?

Almost as though he could read her mind, Hyunwoo was at her side, his heavy paw on her shoulder. “Jordana, you don’t have to play if you don’t want to. It’s your birthday, and nothing changes here if you don’t want it to.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You run the place. You’re all friends, and you’ve been friends forever. Me, you can just get rid of.”

Hyunwoo cleared his throat in that soft, subtle way he always did when he was puzzling over financials or sales statistics but was determined to conquer them. Something about the sound had always thrilled her; it was no different now.

“Take it,” he said quietly to someone, and the next thing Jordana knew, her boss’s lips were smothering hers again, this time with one finger coiling under her chin as his hand grabbed the blindfold knot and finished jerking her head back. All too quickly, the fiery brand of his lips left her mouth singed and aching.

One corner of her blindfold peeled up, and Jordana found the lights dimmed as they often were for gaming sessions. Emerging from darkness into the twilight made it easy to spot the seven slack-jawed but handsome faces all trained on her, but in the end, her attention fell to the glowing beacon in Minhyuk’s hand. He held up her cell phone with the picture he’d just taken.

It looked exactly as it had felt—fierce and overwhelming—with her body limp under her boss as five other faces watched their kiss with narrowed eyes and pressed lips. For all intents and purposes, in the photo, they had total control of their subordinate.

A second later, Minhyuk closed the app, and her lock screen returned.

“No way to delete the incriminating evidence now,” Hyunwoo said with a half-smirk. “Feel free to bring down the whole company if you ever feel like we’re mistreating you.”

“You’re a part of us, Jordana,” Kihyun reassured. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“So, do you still want to play?”

Jordana looked from her two bosses to her five other coworkers behind them. The darkness in their eyes had tempered with sincerity, and there wasn’t a shred of doubt. She trusted them completely. How could she not? She knew everything about them—even their hearts—she’d just proven that. There was no reason to question that now.

Slowly, she nodded. “I do.”

“Okay,” Hyunwoo said with one last wisp of a smile before he pulled his tie back down over her eyes, and already she missed the sight of them. “Not here though.”

“Take care of it, Hoseok,” Kihyun ordered.

Before Jordana’s breath could even catch, she was scooped up, her little yelp puncturing the tension. Strong arms cradled her shoulders and knees like a basket as her arms shot to her muscular taxi’s neck. Just as she knew the men like the back of her hand, so, too, did she know the office. Past four doors on the left and four on the right, they’d come to The Crash Pad, as the boys called it, a rec room made specifically for those late-night coding sessions or intense gaming campaigns. It sported a couple of televisions, of course, and all the usual consoles, but this was ultimately where the guys could zonk out when it was too late to head home. The highlights were the matching twin beds and a pull-out couch.

It was like a library here with just Hoseok and Jordana and their very loud, in-sync breathing. His arms tightened around her as hers responded reflexively around him.

“Want to get a head start on the game?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“I don’t even know what it is yet, Hoseok.”

“I’ll be more than happy to show you the rules.” His thumb stroked the side of her calf, and Jordana wriggled in his grip.

Just then, something dawned on her that made her hands sag from his neck to his chest. “How… How do you all know the rules already when the game hasn’t even been announced?”

“I— You know, maybe it’s best if we wait for the others after all,” Hoseok replied, his lisp more pronounced than usual. He deposited Jordana on the couch and sat beside her.

She didn’t have the benefit of time without sight of a clock, but it felt like it had stretched like putty in the short jaunt down the hall. “Where are the others?”

“Cleaning up, I guess,” he answered. “Don’t worry, none of them can wait much longer either.”

Jordana’s mind was spinning so hard, she was thankful she was already sitting. It felt like there were so many things under the surface, like a whole new world but still shifting and distorted and out of reach.

“HoHo?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yes, YoYo?” he returned, and she swore she could see his grin shining even through the blindfold.

“Is this a good idea?”

He considered for only moment before he pecked her cheek and whispered, “No, it’s the best idea.”

“Hey!” shouted Jooheon from the doorway. “No fair! No head-starts. I’ll tell Kihyun.”

“Tattletale,” Hoseok retorted.

The office’s most competitive employee wheedled in between the pair to loop his arm around Jordana’s shoulder. She nudged Jooheon’s chest and chided, “There’s nothing to tell, Honey, I promise.”

“Knew you should have had a chaperone,” he grumbled anyway as he snuggled her against him.

Jordana sniffed the air and found a fresh scent of mint she didn’t recognize from earlier. She laughed. “Jooheon, did you brush your teeth?”

“What’s the big deal?” he returned, but she’d been flustered enough herself this evening to recognize the same in one of her coworkers.

“Oh nothing, just an observation.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Hoseok said, and she felt him lift from the couch. “Tell them I’ll be just a sec.”

The big guy disappeared, but a moment later, she heard lots of noisy feet replace him. The room felt different now, down to the heaviness of the scent—like warm blankets of musk wrapping around her and dulling her other senses so all she could focus on was a smell as rough and primal as fucking on a cave floor.

“So, um, why are we here?” Jordana asked.

“You’ll be more comfortable here,” Hyunwoo answered.

Posts scraped across the carpet as furniture was moved, and Jordana tried to piece out what they could be moving and why. What exactly did they expect of her?

“Back!” trumpeted Hoseok, and she could smell his fresh breath from her seat. “Oh, that’s smart. Should make things a lot easier.”

“What things? What’s smart?” she begged.

Minhyuk thumbed her puffed bottom lip and chuckled. “Lord, you’re cute when you’re frustrated. So promising.”

“You guys, I’m dying here! Can we please get this game show on the road? Did it ever occur to you I might have plans tonight?”

“Do you?” asked Hyungwon.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

Someone let out a relieved breath.

“That’s not nice, YoYo,” Jooheon scolded, his hand tightening on her shoulder. “You got us all worked up thinking you had a date.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” she protested, but it was half-hearted. She was already getting spoiled, and the moment she had felt their attentions fade, her chest had started to pang. She should have been more guarded. It was too easy falling into their charms just as she had their mouths, but this was a game, and she had to start treating it like one.

“Jordana’s right,” Kihyun announced. “We’re burning through the evening. It’s time to put our birthday girl to the real test. Let’s go over the game, shall we?”

Minhyuk let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Don’t you always?” groaned Hyungwon.

“Why doesn’t YoYo tell us what she thinks the game is?”

Jordana froze under Jooheon’s arm. It was one thing to be told what they wanted to do with her, but it was another to voice it herself. Her brain was already overreacting in tandem with her libido. If she guessed based off the ache in her sex and she was wrong, she’d be equal parts humiliated and disappointed. It would be easier to hide those things if she’d never been the one to put them on the table.

“I don’t want to, Min,” she protested.

“She doesn’t—”

“Shh, Wonnie,” the charismatic instigator continued. “She knows what it is. She just doesn’t want to say it.”

Jordana bit her bottom lip. Someone grunted. In her sweetest voice, she asked, “Could I at least have a hint?”

“Now who’s not playing fair,” Minhyuk complained. “Who could say no to that face? Go on, Honey, give her a hint.”

Jooheon’s hand moved from her shoulder, the back of his knuckles gliding down her arm to her fingers knotted in her lap. He unspooled one of her hands and placed it on his thigh. Slowly, he slid their hands higher like a planchette on a Ouija board creeping closer and closer toward “yes”. As their hands scudded over the holes in his jeans, Jordana fought the urge to burrow into them and rove about the tender skin there. It was bad enough the way he sucked in gulps of air at every hint of contact. At last, he stopped at the juncture of his legs, leaving her fingertips frozen at the elusive secret she’d already developed a craving for during their kiss.

“What’s your guess, love?” asked Hoseok. His voice was higher, breathier too.

Jordana’s voice matched his identically, but with far more stuttering. “Y-you want me t-to guess the guy based off a part of the body?”

“That’s true,” Minhyuk agreed, “to an extent. But it’s the same part on every guy.”

Her heart was racing. Her mouth was full of cotton.

“His thigh?” she squeaked.

“Honey, she’s being intentionally difficult. If that’s the way she wants to play, then let her go,” Minhyuk said. Jooheon started to balk, but his friend continued, “We all have to be equally committed to the game.”

Reluctantly, Jordana’s seatmate removed his hand from hers, and before she could think, she shouted, “No!”

Kihyun sniffed a laugh, and she heard a clap on a back. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good work, Minhyuk.”

“What’s your real answer then, YoYo?” pushed the gamemaster.

“Say it or we’ll end this,” Kihyun underscored.

“Your cocks!” Jordana declared and immediately raced to cover her shame. “Minha nossa Senhora! I’m sorry!”

Jooheon pried her hands from her face and held them in his. His voice was gentle, but she could hear the amusement in it. “Why are you sorry? You got it right.”

She couldn’t see, but she jerked her head around the room all the same as though she were looking for confirmation from each and every man. “What?”

“You got it right,” Hyunwoo repeated.

“You guessed who was kissing you,” said Hyungwon.

“Now, let’s see if you can guess who’s fucking you,” finished Changkyun.

[livira]

How could be Erika a better,enjoyable character:

be more intelligent and say less nonsense (so don't be stupid)

be a good manipulator (for the sake of the story)

be more beautiful

be more sense of style xd and likes more fashion (for the sake of my OC😌😂)

be more peaceful and so be less fiery when it's not necessary to be

be less brave (maybe a bit shy because it'll be cute and maybe then Lance didn't hurt her in that case, in my opinion)

play hard to get (because it made some routes more interesting)

should have joint the Light Guard to not let Huang Hua to lie to her and she could have known what's happening (because they supposed to not go on missions so she didn't have to use his powers but maybe she could go diplomatic mission and so that's why:

Be more diplomatic and able to compromise (for example at the Genkaku mission)

Be more funny (I mean i don't find funny her "humour")

likes more the music and so singing and dancing and that's why go to parties more at HQ (in my mind she couldn't live without music or at least my OC xd)

be more cheerful and more loose/open (especially with Lance in ANE)

do a route with Lance in TO or an alternate life (as in MCL) so we could get a romamce with old Lance and with this better Erika

Don't be a soulmate tie with Leiftan just maybe in Leiftan's route. I think it will be fair this way.

be better at lying

don't speak stupid things and don't act like a stupid person

be a better observer and she knows people better (because if she's a social person i think it should be natural)

be a better at understanding of things

That's it for now. If something cane to my mind, I will extend it and maybe i will do it with other chadcter too🤔 if you liked it😄 and if you want to more.