#i can't believe it's only been 6 months yet how has it already been 6 months | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 3 months ago

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HER | part five.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

“And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’ Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze.

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!”

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place? But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.”

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

“Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions.

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen smut

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jemmo · 10 months ago

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Making sense of love for love's sake: the game

Despite all the things i absolutely adore about how the plot unravels and expands in love by love's sake, upon first watch, there's some things i couldn't piece together, which @lurkingshan echoes in their post:

'The way the author was messing with Myungha and forcing cruel choices on him really does not track with a desire to help him find happiness.'

And to preface, this is not something i fully get yet either. I think i'll need a good month and a sizeable reading list of relevant resources to understand just what/who this author/sunbae is and what his role is and how he is associated with myungha. But as always with the best shows for meta (aka bad buddy), as a plot unfolds, you can always find a better understanding by looking backwards and re-contextualising what you've already seen. so i watched ep 1, specifically the scene between myungha and his sunbae at the bar. And i will talk about how everything said in this scene has a whole new meaning now we know the full story, but for now i wanna focus on that question that they keep coming back to; "Then... will you change it for him?".

When you watch the show for the first time, your brain follows the simplest, most obvious version of the story you're being told, one where myungha has been pulled into the world of his sunbae's novel that's being turned into a game and given the opportunity to fix the thing he didn't like about it; making yeowoon happy, and thus you just think the rules of the game are imposed by the author, and so when these cruel choices first come up, you see them as the difficult roadblocks that are nevertheless necessary to any kind of game, forcing the player to make an impossible choice so that the game can continue in a certain direction and its only after that you learn whether it was the right choice or not, or there is no right choice, it simply changes the game you are playing.

And when its revealed what this game actually is, at first i tried to interpret these cruel choices, namely the choice between yeonwoon and myungha's grandma, and at best i could come up with the concept of this being a choice between staying stuck to the past aka choosing his grandma, even though he knows that choice doesn't mean she's safe bc he knows the future where he loses here, its an inevitability, but thats the small happiness he knew before it was taken away and thus that happiness is known and safe, theres no risk, versus choosing to pursue a new happiness, a love of yeowoon and thus himself, which he doesn't know, he hasn't experienced yet, and could be risky. Its a happiness that isn't guaranteed like his grandma, but its a happiness that looks to the future and has hope in it that he can find a new happiness to pursue despite what has happened in his past.

And that fits nice, okayish. But then i watched ep 1 and heard that question "Then... will you change it for him?" And watching through the rest of the eps, we come back to this scene at the bar and each time we get a new run up to the author asking this question, either new dialogue is added or we hear a different piece of the conversation entirely. It starts at the beginning of ep 1 as:

"Because Cha Yeowoon is the only one who's miserable." "It can't be helped that some people's lives are like that" "The fact that some people are destined to live that kind of life is what's vile."

Then a bit later in ep 1 we go back and its expanded.

"It can't be helped that some people's lives are like that" "The fact that some people are destined to live that kind of life is what's vile." "Why? Do you think you'd write it differently?" "Yes, definately. Someone like Cha Yeowoon, or someone like me with an awful life, can also be happy."

And then all the way on in ep 6, we get this new dialogue.

"I don't like talking about destiny." "Why?" "Because it means everything is predestined." "Then do you not believe in fate?" "Fate and destiny are the same. My grandma likes to say that. She said life is like a written book, and how you'll live and die are written in it. (...)I don't like things like this. Even if fate is already destined, I think it can still be changed. Otherwise, there's no point in trying." "Really? Then Myungha..."

And while we don't hear the author ask the same question, I feel like him getting cut off like that insinuates that the conversation leads to that same ending point. All that is to say, every time we hear this question being asked, its like we learn more and more about what this whole thing is, what the game is, what myungha is saying he will do by agreeing to do what the author asks. And every time, we see myungha being more defiant against the idea of yeowoon being resigned to his miserable ending. He starts off thinking that kind of life is destined, and while it's miserable, its not something he can fight. Then he says he'd want to write the story differently, bc yeowoon, or even him, could be happy. He challenges the idea that yeowoon, and thus himself, is fated to be miserable, and opens up the possibility for happiness for them both, but doesn't yet have the means or resolve to do it, its like he knows its possible on a fundamental level, but doesn't see it as something he can actually achieve. But then we circle back to the idea of destiny and books, both of which came up in the previous quote, and seems incredibly pertinent seen as this whole thing is about a novel this author has written. Myungha talks about how he hates the idea that life is a book where everything written is predestined to happen, from the moment you live to the moment you die. He says "Even if fate is already destined, I think it can still be changed. Otherwise, there's no point in trying." That vile way of life he described before that he said was destined, he is now saying it can be changed, and that possibility is now something he's holding onto, its what he sees hope in so that he can keep trying, bc now he finally is trying, he has the resolve, he's trying to realise this thing, this impossibility of rewriting the life he thought was destined through the way he loves yeowoon.

And coming back to those cruel choices, given this fresh context, it made me think. bc this isn't actually a game that myungha has been put into where the rules are dictated by an author completely separate from him. He said himself, he'd rewrite it, he'd change things for yeowoon. And when you start to think of it less as him fighting against a rigid, removed system and more like him being a character in a story he is trying to rewrite himself, that has both the author and his own limitations, or just his own if you're in the school of thought that the author is some figment or part of myungha himself or his conciousness, then you can start to see where these cruel choices might come from. They could be myungha, the author making edits to this new story, imposing his own doubts and limitations on himself. When he says he has to pick between Yeowoon and his grandma, what if that's the new author myungha seeing this story unfold and thinking no this isn't right, he can't have it all, i'm not deserving of this much happiness.

And what makes me like this idea even more is that when we get that second choice between ending after 14 days or getting 100 days back at the cost of resetting Yeowoon's affection to 0, that whole conversation happens in what I think the bar actually is which is this frozen moment in time where myungha is in the water with this extension of a voice in his head that is talking through these things. That conversation in itself needs its own post, but when you look at it both as a decision to break up or not or a decision to hold onto life or not, you can see how the author is just this soundboard relaying the decisions myungha is going through in his head. The author's voice is his own, weighing up his decisions. And if he is the author here, it only reinforces that the person making the rules of this game is him. You can even extend it further to the idea of the debuffs, where he puts in place this thing that makes it so he causes harm to yeowoon when he's around, and its only by garnering affection that he can prevent it. He gives himself a reason from the get go to stay away from yeowoon and reason it as him doing it for yeowoon's safety, when in fact the only way to make yeowoon safe is to increase his affection, which he can only do by being near him. Its a system that at first gives myungha a reason to stay away aka not like himself, but ultimately says the only way you're going to make yeowoon like you, or the only way you can like yourself, is if you accept risk. And that in itself screams to me of a myungha writing in these game systems that are trying to encourage his own-self love while falling at the hurdle of his own lack of self-worth.

The idea is still messy in my head even for me, but i just really like the idea that myungha could be trying to fix this thing both as a character and game master, and that both these versions of him have these flaws that manifest in their different ways to cause the events we see. It kinda is the definition of being your own worst enemy, the idea that in order to work towards loving yourself, the biggest obstacle you have to encounter is yourself, bc we are the ones holding ourselves back, making all these rules that make it harder to like ourselves and pursue our own happiness. The voices in our head telling us that we aren't good enough and aren't deserving are our own, and while the things that happen to us can inform what they say, we're the one's reinforcing those words. And what this show teaches us is that, if we're the one holding that pen all along, we can choose to change what those words are. If we make the rules, you don't have to create a game with concrete ultimatums, you can create a game where rules don't control you. Instead, you make the decisions, and you can make the ones that make you happy.

#wow look at me writing actual kinda thought out meta #also something something about how the pen being in his pocket wasnt a pen given to him by the author its a pen that was his the whole time #look even if this isnt the right interpretation as intended by the author i just kinda adore this headcanon ive come up with and i cant wai #to rewatch the show again through this lens and see if it holds up #i just adore the idea of this whole thing being this manifestation of a flawed doubtful person trying to navigate through their own messy #nonsensical thoughts to find their own happiness #bc yes thats what triggered me thinking of this whole thing. me seeing that post and thinking yeah that doesnt make sense7 #but then again when you tell yourself things an put your own mental blocks in the way they dont make sense either but you still have to fin #the ways to work around them in order to find happiness #like those things dont go away we just find the loopholes or the ways to overcome them that mean we can be happy #the game is your own mind - deal with your own existential crisis as you wish #anyway this is only part 1 in what i hope will be a very extensive meta analysis of this show - stay tuned #love for love's sake

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wardenparker · 5 months ago

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 18

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics, mentioning of pregnancy/babies, family planning, breeding kink* Flirting, sexy talk, nudity, tooth rotting fluff, Marcus has been getting buff. Summary: It's time for a White House wedding! Notes: Here it is, dears. The last chapter of Marcus Pike's soulmate story. Next week will be the epilogue, but I will be missing this beautiful family and all of its extensions like crazy. 😭😭 As always, please remember that the gif choice for each chapter does not reflect the appearance of the reader, only the tone of the chapter.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17

After the rehearsal dinner, you had gone separate ways. For the sake of upholding a silly little tradition, Marcus had spent some time with his parents at their hotel before going home to have a night of personal reflection. You had gone with your siblings back to the White House residence for a sort of last hurrah sibling sleepover. Both Alex and June will be moving out of the residence this month to live with their soulmates, making your parents officially empty nesters. They've promised not to get teary about it, but you can't be sure that will hold for very long.

It's after a few hours of board games with your siblings – Alex policed the hell out of Junie when she tried to cheat, as usual – that you're climbing into the bathtub of your guest bedroom. Donna Pike had gifted you a little self-care basket for tonight with your favorite bubble bath, scented candle, face mask, and several other indulgent bits, but the missing piece of this bath is at the other end of a phone call. Once you're settled in, you dial Marcus's number and put your phone on speaker to set it on a stool next to the tub.

"Hey Hummingbird." Marcus's voice is warm and soft, happy to hear from you. He had known one of you would call the other, but he hadn't wanted to interrupt any activities that might have been going on. He knew everyone was having a game night. "How is your night going? Is it sad to say I already miss you?"

"If it's sad, then we're both sad." You chuckle quietly and shake your head, wishing he was beside you instead of on the phone. "Remind me why we agreed to sleeping apart tonight?"

"Something about 'tradition'." He scoffs playfully. "But I don't think that I can sneak into the White House." He laughs. "Something tells me that it wouldn't go over so well."

"You wouldn't have to sneak," you remind him. Calling him was the best decision you could have made under the circumstances. You're feeling more relaxed already. "The Secret Service loves you. You could drive right up to the place and they'd wave happily to see you."

"Only because they don't have to background check me." He jokes, hearing a small splash and smiling. "Are you in the bath?" He asks.

"Of course I am." Another laugh, from both of you this time, and you splash more loudly for him to hear. "Aren't you?"

"Not yet." He pouts, jumping up off the couch and grabbing his beer bottle to rush towards your shared bathroom. "Give me two minutes though and I will be."

"Your Mom made me a little bath basket." It's still the single sweetest gesture you can imagine from your mother-in-law. She must have poked around your bathroom last time she was here to find out your favorites. "I'm going to be so relaxed when I crawl into that giant bed."

"And cold." He chuckles, turning on the water and immediately starting to strip after he puts his own phone on speaker and sets it on the edge. "You always want to snuggle close when you want to warm up."

"I'm not sorry to tell you." The guiltless grin in your voice is obvious. "That that has less to do with warmth and more to do with the sexy naked man."

"Is that why we always end up having sex?" He chuckles quietly as he finishes stripping down to climb into the bath. "It's sneaky and I like it."

"It's not really sneaky," you defend half-heartedly. But both of you are laughing and it doesn't matter. "I just get so distracted by my naked fiancé. But I bet my naked husband will be even more distracting."

"Maybe." He groans as he starts to slips into the water and reaches for his phone again. "How was your game night? Did Junie try to cheat again?"

"Of course she did. For a girl who is so upright about pretty much anything else, she is a ruthless cheat when it comes to board games. I almost wish she'd take up poker and make us all a fortune." The soft groans and splashing sounds of Marcus climbing into your large, sunken bathtub make you smile all over again. "Comfy, handsome?"

"I am, but I have to admit...this tub is a little big without you in it with me." He reaches for his beer bottle and smiles as he remembers another time he was drinking the bath. "I guess I'll just have to imagine it like we did when I was in London the first time we took a bath together over the phone."

"Oh, I'm definitely imagining it." You lean back in the clawfoot tub you're in and reach for the face mask to really indulge. "I have to say, this tub is very definitely one person-sized. No hanky panky in the Lincoln bedroom's bathtub."

"I bet we could make it work." Marcus chuckles. "I can't believe you're staying in the Lincoln bedroom without me." He huffs playfully.

"Yeah? Mr. I'm getting ready for the wedding in the Oval Office?" Blowing a raspberry at him over the phone makes you laugh because you can perfectly picture the exact face he is making in response. "I can't believe you talked my mom into letting you do that. Talk about bragging rights."

He laughs, shrugging even if you aren't there to see it and wearing a smug grin. "It's going to make for one hell of a photo though." He brags.

"History books, baby," you hum as you apply the jelly-like face mask to your skin and sigh at the cool contrast to the hot water surrounding the rest of your body. "It's going to be in history books."

He hadn't really thought of it in those terms, but you're right. "You aren't getting cold feet, are you?" He asks, smirking slightly because he knows you are just as eager as he is for tomorrow. "It would be pretty embarrassing if you didn't show up when the wedding is in your parent's backyard."

"The only thing I'm going to have cold feet over is magazines and papers and the internet having their hands on our wedding photos." It is what it is. And you know that. If you truly had objected, you could have easily eloped, or elected to hold off on getting married until your mother is out of office. This is the way you're doing it and that's fine. "No, my love, I'll be there with bells on. Maybe even literally," you tease. "After all, I never told you what my something blue is."

"Are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait to find out until tomorrow?" There is something so comforting in knowing that you are less than twenty-four hours away from being his wife.

"Oh no, you absolutely have to wait." A fact which makes you giggle mischievously. The shimmering blue nipple covers that will be safely tucked into your white shapewear are just for his eyes. Sydney had suggested tiny blue panties, but you wanted to do something a little more creative for Marcus.

“Evil.” He hisses, but there’s no heat behind his words. “I think you just want me to drag you out of the reception early.”

"The very idea that we wouldn't leave the reception early is laughable," you tease. "I've seen the suit you're wearing, baby. You're gonna look like a whole three-damn-course meal."

“And I haven’t even gotten a glimpse of your dress.” He pouts.

"Which is exactly how it's supposed to be. Tradition, remember?" The two of you had gone along with almost all of them. You did, however, opt out of the garter toss at tomorrow's reception. There will be none of that.

“Much to my dismay. I’m rethinking this tradition shit.” He huffs. “Not sleeping next to you when I’m not on another continent seems like a crime.”

"You'll get to see my dress in..." You glance up at the clock on the wall. "A little less than twenty-one hours."

“I know, I can’t wait.” It’s easy to admit, he’s looking forward to this. He has been for his entire life if he’s honest with himself. You are his soulmate.

"Me either." The broad grin on your face is audible, which only makes you smile even wider. "I love you so much."

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He hums quietly.

That particular sound is so comforting that you practically purr in response. "And I can't wait to be your wife."

“Mrs. Pike.” He coos softly. “Are you ready for all the annoying paperwork changes?”

"Oh, absolutely." Just because he can't see you nod doesn't mean you aren't doing it. "It's all already printed out, filled out, and sitting in a folder in the office at home. My dad promised to file it for me while we're on our honeymoon. I just have to sign everything and bring him the folder at Constance's birthday party."

He should have known. “You’re perfect.” He promises. “You are just….perfect.”

"I'm excited to be your wife." Something you always knew you would be able to say to the partner you chose to stay with forever. You just never imagined anyone as wonderful as Marcus.

“Twenty hours and thirteen minutes left.” He muses. “But now I’m thinking we should have had a morning wedding.”

"That would have been a good idea." It was an idea that was bandied about, but you had ultimately decided against it. Though you can't remember why at the moment.

“Yep. By lunchtime we could be back in our hotel room. Or back home.” Marcus smirks at the small sound of protest you give.

"I'm extremely excited that your parents aren't starting their housesitting until after our wedding night." Matthew and Donna will be taking care of your place, collecting your mail, watering your houseplants, and generally looking after things for the two weeks you're in Scotland. But tonight and tomorrow night they are staying in the inn so you can have some privacy for your wedding night.

“Yes. I would be very unhappy to have them sleeping right next door.” Marcus snorts. “Because they would hear things.”

"And your parents do not need to hear things." Especially not when Marcus gets you going and you can't keep your volume down. "Just like my parents do not need to hear things. And we will not need to hear things when our kids are grown."

“Our little girl is going to be a good girl.” He teases. You’ve had the conversation about when your children are older and are both on the same page. There’s not going to be separate rules for girls versus boys. That’s not fair.

"Need I remind you that you routinely call me a 'good girl' while fucking me into oblivion?" You laugh, though, knowing that this is very much a non-issue at the moment. "Good girl is a relative term."

Marcus chokes on the mouthful of beer he had been about to swallow. “No. No. Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Daddy and good girl can stay sexy for now.” Your laugh turns soft and you lean back in your bath again, imagining how red his face must be.

“You’re such a brat.” He growls, shaking his head. “Do you want me to spank you tomorrow?” The two of you have ventured into spanking and light bondage, finding it a fun new expansion of your sexual experience.

“Oh, I absolutely want you to spank me tomorrow. I thought that was a given.” And as much as the thought is tantalizing, you’ve already promised yourself you won’t masturbate yourself to sleep tonight. Somehow the idea of Lincoln’s ghost watching over that is too creepy.

“Already needy.” He teases, having snorted out loud when someone asked about traditional roles in marriage during the sit down interview. Both you and Marcus believe that traditional roles have to be fitted to modern times and there have been several private jokes about that.

“Always needy.” The correction doesn’t really mean anything, but you hum it softly like a coo in his ear.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans, loving when you drop your voice into that pitch. It makes him shiver and his already hard cock twitches. “You’re making it hard to keep my promise to myself.”

That actually has you laughing so hard that you snort and you pick up your phone with your dry hand to bring it closer. “Did you make a no masturbating promise to yourself, too?”

“Of course, because what is one night?” He asks sarcastically.

“One night is nothing,” you huff, giggling that you both had the same idea.

“And now you’re talking about me spanking you?” He growls, shaking his head. “Baby, you know what that does to me.”

“I believe the phrase ’Spank me, Daddy’ almost made you cum in your jeans last week.” A fact which you fully intend to exploit at a future date. At many future dates.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing his thighs together to apply slight pressure to his balls. “You’re not being nice. How would you like it if I didn’t let you cum tomorrow as punishment?”

“On our wedding night?” You laugh in utter disbelief, knowing he’s bluffing but finding it amusing that he’s trying. “You wouldn’t.”

He wouldn’t and both of you know it. “No.” He admits with a chuckle. “You’ve got me there.”

A soft, warm silence settles between you, and you look at your phone screen as tenderly as if it was his face. “We should get some sleep, my love,” you hum quietly. Even though you’d rather stay up and talk to him all night. There is a lot to do tomorrow.

“Do you want to go to sleep with the phone on, or should I let you go?” There have been a couple of times where you’ve slept with the phone still connected and he smiles as he remembers you snoring softly through the line.

“Are you going to tease me for snoring?” Like you can read his mind, you set the phone down again and start washing off the gently abrasive face mask.

Marcus laughs quietly. “No, I promise I won’t make fun of you.” He swears. “I think it’s cute.”

“You snore too, ya know,” you huff. But there’s no heat in it. Just soft affection from and for you both.

“I know. You don’t think I know that? With this nose?” He jokes, laughing at himself.

“I love your nose.” And if he were here with you, you would kiss it to make your point. The number of kisses you’ve left on the prominent, proud bridge is numerous. “I hope all our babies look exactly like you.”

“God no.” He groans. “I don’t want that. I would not look good as a girl.”

"Pike genetics are full-proof," you counter, washing off the last of your face mask and lifting yourself out of the bath carefully so as not to splash too much water. "All of your cousins are fantastic looking. I have no concerns for our kids."

He grumbles, unable to really articulate a rebuttal when it’s the truth that his cousins are all attractive. “I want our kids to look like you.” He murmurs.

"For better or for worse, I don't think we get to pick." Your bathrobe is nearby, and you slip it on to stay warm as you climb out of the bath. Marcus does have a point. You're always cold after a nice hot bath.

He sighs softly and smiles as he finishes his beer and hits the drain for the tub. “I hear they have those 3D ultrasounds now. Where you get a clearer picture of the baby? You think you would want to do that?”

"I'm on board if you are." The sound of both tubs draining in unison takes over for a few seconds but you step away from the tub to dry off and moisturize. "It might be kind of weird at first, but seeing more of the baby doesn't sound like a bad thing."

“Did you take a test tonight?” It’s silly but he had shoved a test into your bag in case. It’s still way too early, but he’s excited.

"I had my period less than two weeks ago," you remind him, although you grin at the idea and look over to see the small, wrapped test sticking out of your overnight bag. "It would be way too soon to show up on a test."

“Yeah.” He exhales in disappointment and sighs at his impatience. “Damnit.”

"Do you want me to keep taking tests during our honeymoon?" The lotion that Donna packed in your bath basket is the same scent as the bubble bath was and the whole bathroom smells perfumed and beautiful. "Or do you want to hold off until we get home again?"

“That’s up to you.” He doesn’t want you to feel pressured or have it take away from the trip.

"I think..." Once you're dry, moisturized, and wrapped up again, you pick up your phone to go back into the bedroom you'll be sleeping in tonight. "I honestly think if we test negative on our honeymoon it will upset us both. And we'll pretend not to be upset, which will make one or both of us pouty. Let's leave the tests at home, love."

“Agreed.” Marcus easily accepts that. “I don’t want anything but for us to enjoy our trip and not worry about anything. Not even your uterus.” He snorts. “Except when it comes to making sure it’s filled up.”

You hum in agreement. "And that is not a worry, it's a pleasure."

“Yes it is.” He agrees, wrapping the towel around his waist and padding into the bedroom to crawl into an empty bed. Hating how you aren’t waiting for cuddles already.

The sound of him getting into bed is comfortable and familiar, though you wish the mattress beside you was dipping with his weight. Unable to stifle a yawn, you clap your hand over your mouth to cover the sound and ask, “What time are you getting here tomorrow?”

“I’m just going to pretend like you don’t know I’m going to be there as soon as I can.” Marcus laughs. “Is there anything you need me to bring? Anything you’ve forgotten?”

“Just my husband.” Words that will be perfectly true in less than twenty hours. “I was very silly to leave him behind tonight.”

“Yes you were.” Marcus teases, folding his hand behind his head and laying with the phone on his chest. “Don’t worry, he won’t let you leave him behind again for a very long time.”

“Never.” You promise him without hesitation. “I’m never going to be that foolish ever again.”

“Are you curled up under the blankets?” He asks softly, imagining your nightly routine since he’s seen it enough.

“Mmhmm.” The stack of plush pillows doesn’t quite make up for his absence, though, so you tease. “It doesn’t smell like you. I might have to count sheep or something to get that rhythmic snore going for you to fall asleep to.”

“I just imagine you sprawled out here on my chest.” He admits. “Cold feet on my legs.”

“Cold feet, warm heart,” you tell him with a drowsy giggle, though that isn’t quite the traditional saying.

“The warmest heart imaginable.” Marcus agrees, knowing you are getting tired. “I love you, sweetheart. Close your eyes, I’m still right here.”

“I love you.” You have from the beginning, you came to terms with that a long time ago. And by this time tomorrow, you’ll be his wife. It’s almost the day you’ve been working so hard for, and you can’t wait.

Marcus is up early, his sleep is brief, but he feels rested. Energized because the day that has been planned for so long is here. He’s going to marry you. The phone is still connected and he smiles when he hears you start to stir.

It probably shouldn’t surprise you at all to wake up and find the call to Marcus still connected, but you smile sleepily and hum when your eyes fully open to show you how many hours you and your soulmate have been on the phone together just sleeping. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning.” He smiles as he sips on his coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmmm…” Another hum, but this one comes with a small grumble as you stretch and sit up in bed. “How long have you been awake?”

He snorts. “Two hours.” He admits, grinning when you huff in annoyance at him not waking you. “I couldn’t sleep anymore knowing that today is the day.”

“Our kids are going to be early risers like you, aren’t they?” You grumble in a playfully accusatory tone. “I tossed and turned all night because I was impatient for today.”

“I just kept waking up and looking at the clock.” Marcus admits. “I’m excited. Must be something interesting happening today.”

“Must be.” Before you can say more, a soft knock on your door announces that the day has officially begun. “That’s my wake up call,” you tell him, and the energy in your voice lightens noticeably. “I love you, Marcus Pike. Get your cute butt over here so we can at least be in the same building again.”

“Do you want to exchange gifts before you need to get dressed?” He asks. “Or wait until we are alone tonight?”

“Let’s save it for tonight.” His technically doesn’t exist yet, for that matter, but you’ll be able to explain better at the house. The shed that you’re having built for him behind the house will be whatever he wants it to be, but when you return for Scotland it will be filled with paints, tools, other accoutrements of whatever hobbies he is enjoying at the time – and enough space for kids or a dog to come and visit him.

“That works for me.” He chuckles quietly. “Just needed to make sure I was going to bring it or leave it.”

“It can be a sweet, private moment,” you suggest, and giggle quietly when the knocking outside comes again and more loudly. “Right before you put a baby in me.”

“Birdie.” The nickname is growled out, his thoughts immediately on peeling you out of your dress.

“Love you, baby, see you later!” You cackle into the phone, making a smacking kiss sound before hanging up and jumping out of bed to throw your robe on over your nightgown. “I’m up!”

The door is thrown open and Junie, Sydney and Selena flood the room with happy squeals. Sydney carrying coffee cups which she picked up on her way to the White House. “Happy wedding day!!!!!”

“Ohhhh, thank you loves!” The cup from your favorite coffee shop even says the same, with hearts and well wishes written out by the baristas this morning — which only attests to how often you go there and how well they know you. “Everybody feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed?”

“We have been waiting until a reasonably decent hour. What are you still doing in bed?” Selena huffs. “I know Marcus has been up since before dawn.”

“Your cousin is well known for his ridiculously early rising.” You huff, with a teasing roll of your eyes. “I tossed and turned all night. Thank god nerves don’t make me nauseous because I am very excited for food tonight.” The grin you toss at the other three is devilish. “Along with other things.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.” Selena shoves her fingers into her ears playfully.

“She acts like I haven’t been fucking her cousin practically every day since we got together,” you snort, sipping the coffee Sydney brought you.

“La la la. I can’t hear you.” She singsongs playfully before she shoots you a grin. “How does it feel to be hours away from being Mrs. Marcus Pike?”

“And how is Clark Kent stacking up to the task of being a Pike soulmate?” Sydney asks, knowing full well that the teasing is a mandatory topic this morning.

All of you giggle at the way conversations are rapid fire and merging. Everyone boisterous and playful. “He’s amazing. Especially when he takes off the glasses.” Selena teases, shooting finger guns back at Syd. “Now…Mrs. Almost Pike?”

"I'm going to become a Victorian lady and only respond to Mrs. Pike for at least the next month," you inform them with an unrepentant grin. "Just so you know."

“As you should.” Junie snorts. “You’ve waited a whole year for this day.” Making sure that she doesn’t spill her own coffee, she flops down on the bed with you. “Ready to get pretty?”

“We are all already ravishing.” Holding up your paper coffee cup, you tap it against Junie’s, Sydney’s, and Selena’s in salute. “But it will be fun to play dress up.”

“The dress is already out. Mom had the protection detail bring it in.” Junie cackles. “The Secret Service was protecting your wedding dress!”

“Our wedding dress,” you remind your sister, reaching out to gently tap her nose like you’re punctuating a point. The alterations had gone perfectly, of course, and Alex’s vest will be stunning when he marries David next year.

“Right now, it’s your wedding dress.” She counters with a grin. “And mom has ordered another box to have it preserved in for after the dry cleaning.” She wrinkles her nose. “Because I know you are going to have sex while wearing the dress. That has to be some kind of fantasy for you two.”

You really can’t help it, you just sort of snort and burst out into giggles at the genuinely disbelieving and slightly horrified expression in June’s face. “I promise I will take it off first,” you assure her when you can breathe again. “That’s the dress you and I and maybe even our kids will get married in, I promise not to have sex while I’m still wearing it.”

“I don’t believe you.” She huffs, grinning at herself and taking another sip of her coffee. “I don’t believe you at all. Not when Marcus is going to want to throw you over his shoulder immediately.”

“Oh he’s definitely going to want to.” There’s no denying that. June has a point, it’s practically a kink for Marcus to see you do anything wedding related. “But the dress is an heirloom. We’re not taking any chances with it.”

Junie snorts and Syd grins. “Hey….don’t knock it.” She warns your younger sibling. “You might change your mind about wedding dress sex when it comes time for you to dance with the incredibly sexy soulmate you’ve just pledged to spend your life with.” She grins. “Wearing a tux.” That makes Junie bite her bottom lip and bury her face behind her drink as her brain suddenly completely flips.

“I think we hit a nerve,” you giggle, on the absolute verge of delight to see Junie just as flustered as can be.

“Shut up.” She huffs and rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning when you all cackle at her. “This is your day. Not mine.”

“Sure is.” A reminder which has you bouncing up out of bed and stretching delightedly. The sun is shining, the day is young, and soon enough Marcus and the boys will be downstairs getting ready, too. “Which is why I get to tease you with this big bright smile on my face.”

“So I…made you something.” Junie admits, looking slightly embarrassed as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out some hair combs. Some of the extra beading that had come from the extra material of the wedding dress had been too good to waste and she had also made a tie clasp for Alex.

“Oh my god, June.” The gasp from your lips comes all the way up from the pit of your stomach, as your sister pulls out a piece of cloth tied up in ribbon like she’s walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel to give it to you. “Honey, you didn’t have to do anything, but thank you.” She’s always been a bit craftier than you or Alex. Good with her hands. With visualizing a project and executing it well even when things inevitably weren’t perfect somewhere in the middle. When you take the little parcel from her and unwrap it, tears spring to your eyes almost immediately. “Junie…” The two little hair combs are perfect, and of course she would know that since she sat with you during your hair and makeup trial a mere two weeks ago. “They’re beautiful honey. You made these yourself?”

“Yeah.” She smiles softly, happy you like them, even if you’ve never been the type to dismiss the thought behind any gift. “There was extra material from the dress that couldn’t be used, but the beads were too gorgeous to let go to waste.”

"I can't believe you made an heirloom." Selena sighs, barely tracing her fingertips over the delicate combs when you put them down to hug your sister fiercely. "Have you ever thought about selling the things you make? The jewelry you made me for my birthday is gorgeous."

“Not really.” She admits with a slightly self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know if anyone would want to buy them.”

"Then we'll all be the very happy recipients of your beautiful handmade gifts," you promise your sister proudly. "But if you ever wanted to try your own small business, every single one of us would do whatever we could to help."

“It’s something to think about.” Sydney offers with an encouraging smile. “I think you would do really well.”

"You never know what the future will bring." Selena adds, and she aims a wink at June before judging you toward the door. "Except for today. We have two hours until the hair and makeup artists get here, which means we need to get the bride down to breakfast."

“Breakfast!” Selena moans happily. “Breakfast at the White House!”

“Nervous yet?” Juan smooths one hand down the front of his tuxedo and nudges Marcus’s side with a teasing grin. He knows that nervous isn’t quite the word for what Marcus is feeling now that it’s time for guests to start arriving and the evening to really begin, but his friend has been contemplatively quiet for the last ten minutes or so and a check-in seems the most minor of courtesies.

“Impatient.” Marcus is normally calm and collected, patience for days. Now, now his skin feels jittery, like he had three pots of coffee instead of the small glass of bourbon in the Oval Office about fifteen minutes ago.

“Like you’re about to crawl out of your skin, or like a kid the night before Christmas?” Juan asks, one eyebrow ticking up in Interest. The difference is important, though neither one is bad.

Giving a small laugh, Marcus’s shoulders roll back. “Both. It’s both.” He admits, looking over at Juan with a grin. “I don’t know how to even describe it. Except I wish this day could last forever and I want it to be over already.”

“Yeah.” The other man lets out a small bark of a laugh and shakes his head. There are some times when Juan is devastated to remember that there was many years when he and Marcus had lost contact. Marcus wasn’t even at his wedding despite Juan now being present for both of Marcus Pike’s. For as deep a bond as the men share, it seems like Marcus always should have been there. His emotional brother for so many years. “Come on,” he says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. There is no need to make today bittersweet. “Let’s go greet your guests as they arrive. It’ll make the time go by faster and give you something to focus on.”

A task, something to do. That’s exactly what Marcus needs right now, because he really wants to go up to the residence and see you. The tradition is all that’s keeping him outside and he wants to keep from rehearsing his vows for a hundredth time. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, guys.” Juan turns to the others — to the other groomsmen in the Oval Office — and waves one hand toward the doors that lead the Rose Garden with a flourish. “Let’s get the night started.”

There is a knock on the door and it opens a bare inch. “May I come in?” Marcus almost laughs when the person the office belongs to is called in. Your mother is elegant in her mother of the bride gown and her smile is bright when she walks in. “I was hoping to speak with you a moment.” She admits and Marcus nods.

“We’ll be outside.” Juan offers, shuffling towards the Rose Garden door.

“I won’t keep you long,” she promises, smoothing the skirt of her satin gown as she slips into the room. She and the other parents had agreed on wearing formal black with accents of navy and gold to suit the wedding party and it had ended up looking quite elegant.

“Yes ma’am.” He won’t insult you by asking her if you’ve changed your mind, he knows that isn’t possible. He waits and moves over to the couch when she indicates a less formal audience than it would be if she sat behind the desk. Which every single one of the groomsmen did, including Marcus, and took pictures. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I wanted to check in on you earlier,” she admits, the pinched smile pulling at her lips having nothing to do with him. “Unfortunately the world at large does not particularly care that it is my daughter’s wedding day and I had to take a call. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Great.” Marcus laughs, wondering if she thinks he has cold feet. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering why we didn’t have a morning wedding all day.” He admits. “I love your daughter and I am humbled to be her soulmate and have her choose me.”

"I don't doubt the two of you for a moment," she assures him easily. "No one who has seen the two of you together could ever have any doubts."

Sitting down, he smiles at his future mother-in-law. “That makes me happy.” He admits. “All I want is to be a good husband and man.”

"You are a good man, Marcus." She might have voiced concern far before this if he was not, but as far as this man's relationship with her daughter goes, she has been that most rare thing: a contented and approving mother. "But you know as well as anyone does, that things won't always be perfect. Sometimes things won't even be good. You've been through a lot as a couple already, and I applaud the mature and methodical way you tackle your problems together."

“You’ve raised a remarkable woman.” Marcus hums, proud of the stamp of approval. “All of your children.” He looks around the office in admiration. “This— holding this office, having this job is amazing and something to be proud of, but I believe your greatest achievement is the caliber of children you’ve raised for the next generations.”

"I've held them to a high standard," your mother admits, unashamed of that fact even as some might have looked at it from the outside and thought her unfair or asking too much at times. And maybe she was, but it never stopped you, Alex, or June from rising to the occasion. In fact, her three children have repeatedly met an ever-rising bar of expectation for their entire lives. "So I have to say both 'thank you', and agree with you. If the only thing I ever accomplished in my life was raising the three of them, I would still consider myself a remarkably accomplished person." She smiles at Marcus, resting a hand on his arm in that same reassuring and gently proud gesture she has shown to each of her children throughout their lives. "For what it's worth? The two of you are going to be a beautiful example of love and support for your own kids. All of those tough times will only bring you closer together. And when you need your family, we'll be here for you. All of us." If there is a bit of water behind her eyes, she isn't ashamed of it. It is an emotional day, after all. "I'm very proud to count you among my children, Marcus."

It’s not surprising that her profoundly emotional words makes him tear up slightly. Today will be a day where both of you will have moments where the emotions of the day, the love, get the best of you. “Thank you.” He covers her hand with his one and squeezes the back of it. “They say that when you get married, you also marry your spouse’s family, and this is one family I am proud to be counted among.”

"I think there is something to be said for finding friends within your family." She smiles, returning the gentle squeeze from him before she rises from the sofa. "But friends who are chosen family might be ever dearer. We're always here for you. Both of you. Birdie's father and I couldn't possibly be prouder of the two of you."

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Any words of wisdom?” He asks, always willing to listen to those who have succeeded for as long as your parents have. He would be a fool not to.

"Keep talking to each other." She knows that the conversations happen. Sometimes she hears about them and sometimes she just sees the fruits of the emotional labor, but keeping up with them is sometimes the hardest part regardless of how rewarding and healthy it is. "You're going to reach a place where you feel like you should be able to read each other's minds and you might start to just assume you're thinking or feeling the same things. Instead, the second you find yourself assuming, that should be your clue to check in with each other." Her hand on his shoulder is steady, and she offers him a reassuring smile. "Especially when it comes to your kids. They're going to surprise you every single day."

“Wise words.” Marcus smiles at the happy thought. “Did Birdie tell you?” He can only assume you have, since your core group of people know, but he wants to make sure.

“This morning at breakfast.” She beams happily. News of an impending first grandchild had brought her to near tears at the table. “We’ll be proud as peacocks when you’re ready to deliver the news. Until then, there is already plenty to be proud of.”

“Good.” He grins even broader at the idea of announcing the newest edition to the family soon enough. “First, we have some vows to say though.”

“You absolutely do.” Just one glance out the window shows both of them that guests are beginning to arrive full force, and her smile softens even more. “Go and say your hellos, honey. Let yourself be excited. It’s your day together.”

“Thank you….mom.” He tried the new title out as he leans in to kiss your mother’s cheek and then stands quickly.

“Go on.” She chuckles a little, smile brightening as Marcus heads for the door. “Oh! Marcus. One more thing.” When he turns like an excitable deer in headlights, she smirks. “You did get a picture at my desk, right? It’s going to be great in the wedding album.”

His grin is guilty, and he looks over at the desk. “Absolutely.” He admits with a chuckle. “Who wouldn’t?”

Waiting has been the hardest part. Waiting just inside the confines of the White House to be signaled out by Miss Sharma. Two by two, your wedding party goes down the aisle toward the rose-covered archway where Marcus is waiting, with Malachi carrying Constance and her little basket of petals making the most fuss at the head of the line until it’s only you and your father waiting just out of view to make your approach.

“I know you’re ready, pumpkin.” With a tone that has nothing but love dripping from his words, your father tucks your hand around his arm proudly. “You look beautiful. Too beautiful to be on my arm, but I think you’ll find the man who compliments you perfectly at the end of this short walk.”

“Right now it seems like the longest walk in the world.” But you look over at your father — beam at him, really — and don’t even bother to stifle the boundless, giddy giggle that bubbles out of you. “You set a very high standard for how I expect the men in my life to treat me, Dad. I hope you know that. Marcus is the only person I’ve ever met who could surpass it.”

“He’s a good man.” He has spent time with Marcus and there is no one else he would want to be by your side. “He will be your partner in life and love, and make you stronger when you need his strength.”

“He’s more than I dreamed of.” Your fingers squeeze your father’s arm gently as the music changes, the quartet of musicians in the garden moving into a classic arrangement of Etta James’ At Last as your cue to start walking.

Marcus shuffles slightly, unable to stand completely still as the pre-determined music starts. It’s perfect for the moment and everyone in the audience turns to watch as you and your father step into view.

If anyone had thought you wouldn't be holding back tears already, they would be desperately incorrect. Thankfully, your family and friends know you well enough that when you sniffle slightly at the top of the aisle, with your eyes brimming in unshed tears of joy, it's only smiles and nods of understanding from those you walk past. Not that you notice. Not that you're looking at a single person other than Marcus. Not that you could ever tear your gaze away from the matching water that has risen in his eyes, the two of you brimming over with tangible joy that almost makes you want to break away and simply bolt right into his arms.

The second he sees you, it’s like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. The moment barrels over him and leaves him breathless as the stunning vision of you captures his full attention. He can look at nothing but you, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes filled with unshed tears that this stunning creature, beautiful and wonderful in every sense, wants to marry him. He can’t even help himself, “I love you” is mouthed as you walk slowly towards him to the romantic song.

Love. Love hardly seems like a strong enough word right now. You mouth back to him, “I love you,” beaming as tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and when you finally put your hand in his at the end of the aisle it feels like your pounding heart grows wings.

Marcus nods at your father, but his eyes are on you, unable to believe how breathtaking you are. “You’re stunning.” He coos, making a ripple of adoration for the couple run through the wedding guests.

“So are you.” His family necklace hangs at your throat and your grandmother’s altered wedding dress hugs your figure, enormous symbols of the coming together that your wedding means for your families. The very real judge standing before you in the Rose Garden as friends, family, world leaders, and everyone in between watching on fade into the background for just one more second while you look up at Marcus. “Ready?”

Both of you manage to project the biggest grins towards each other. "Absolutely." He promises. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin gently. Nervous giddiness settles into his stomach and makes his entire body shiver in anticipation. Wanting this moment to be the perfect realization of the last year of planning.

However brief the formal ceremony might be, It’s stumbling tearfully through your vows that you know you’ll remember after today. The soft giggles from you and Marcus and the laughter and sniffles that ripple through the crowd as an echo of your happiness.

Marcus doesn't hear most of what the judge is saying, although he heard every word last night at the rehearsal. It was true what Juan said, once you see your bride, everything else fades away. The beautiful speech about soulmates and love is not even registering as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

"I," saying your full name almost sounds foreign for how much you want it to end in Pike already, "take you, Marcus Pike, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as long as we both shall live." The traditional vows were good for both of you, but you had agreed to add a little personal touch of your own to them. Something that made your vows yours alone. "I promise to keep your hand in mine through the parts of life we have never navigated before just as steadily as the parts that we have. I promise to love you in the big ways as well as the little ones, whether it's planning vacations and birthdays, or fixing your coffee in the morning so you can have that extra second to breathe before work. I promise to be the best wife and partner that I can be to you. To love you as an equal and to nurture the life we have together just as much as I will nurture any children we have." Through tears, you can't help but laugh softly as you look into Marcus's eyes. "No matter how many sets of twins we have." His family, and yours too, you're sure, laugh at that inevitability and there may even be some applause. "You love me and complete me in ways that I never knew possible, and I will spend my whole life loving you the same. Your love has made me a better woman, and I will not stop choosing you. My soulmate, my husband, my true love, and my very best friend."

He has to take a moment. Choked up and threatening to break down into the tears that are surely going to be present in the video, not that he gives a damn if the entire world sees how emotional your vows make him. Swallowing harshly and clearing his throat, the family and friends gather chuckle when he has to clear his throat and he shakes his head. "How can I beat that?" He asks, grinning at you before he straightens slightly. "I, Marcus Pike, take you –" he says your name in the warmest tone, "to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and sorrow, as long as we both shall live." He vows proudly. "From the moment I met you, I was drawn to you. My heart already knew what my mind had not yet figured out. You are my match. My mate in life and love. The perfect balance that completes me." He smiles at you, pulling your hands up to lay joined over his heart. "More than my soulmate, you are a wonderful, vibrant woman. One that I choose every day. I choose to love you, to build a life with you that we will look back on years down the road with pride." Squeezing your hands, he hums. "I promise to listen when you need an ear to talk to, to hold you when you need a shoulder to cry on. I promise that I will stand beside you when times are tough and celebrate with you when they are good. To find joy in waking up beside you every day and thanking the universe for placing us together. To protect the life that we build, the children that we have and put you and our family first before anything else." He says your name again. "I am the luckiest man in the world to have your love and your marks on my body. I will always choose you, my one true love. My wife. My soulmate."

In that moment, you could care less about protocols or order of events, and instinctually close the small gap separating you and Marcus to kiss him. There is a smattering of laughter and a little more applause, but the kiss doesn’t last long enough for the judge to do more than raise an eyebrow at you as if to disapprove. “I couldn’t resist,” you admit sheepishly, taking Marcus’s hands again as another wave of laughter rises out of your guests.

"You don't ever have to resist with me." Marcus promises with a happy little giggle of his own. Both of you turn back towards the judge. He shrugs slightly, "Proceed." He tells the man, unwilling to say sorry for that candid moment.

"The rings?" The judge asks, looking to the wedding party to move the end of the ceremony along. Malachi pops up with Constance still strapped to his chest in his impeccably tailored suit. The nearly identical wedding bands are distributed to you and Marcus and the judge nods. "Repeat after me, please. This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion. With this ring, I thee wed."

"This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." You have to take a breath as you place the band on Marcus's finger and finish the promise with a shaky voice that is filled with more happy tears. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Marcus stares down at his hand as you slowly push the ring onto his finger. Humming when it is in place and feels perfect on his hand. The rings that he has already given you are stacked on your finger, the promise ring, the engagement ring and now ready for the last piece. "This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." He turns the ring to show you the engraving on the inside of the band right before he slides it onto your finger to complete the set. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Two hands, one heart says the inside of your wedding band, and as the judge is finally pronouncing you man and wife, you barely manage to tear your eyes away from the place where he has added this band to the others that he has given you. It's his eyes you're staring into again when the judge has his last words on the matter: "You may now seal your union with a kiss."

It's only fitting that the kiss that joins you together in holy matrimony include the infamous dip that had been photographed and talked about before your soulmate status was even known. His lips are curved against yours as he holds you dipped down low to the ground, the guests clapping and cheering as the clicks of the cameras go wild.

If he’s showing off just a touch, you’ll forgive him easily. After all, it is the perfect full circle moment for the two of you, a year and half after that first dance.

Pulling you upright, Marcus kisses you again, happiness making him giggle against your lips. “Mrs. Pike.”

“Finally.” You breathe, giggling right along with him, and clinging to his arms for support. “Finally.”

“Finally.” It’s almost a crime to have to break away from you so that the two of you can face your guests and walk back up the aisle. Sydney hands you your bouquet and shamelessly wipes the tears from her eyes, ready to follow after you on her own husband’s arm. The ceremony was perfect, and now everyone is ready to cut loose.

Walking you back up the aisle, Marcus is beaming, his smile lighting up his face and there isn’t anyone there who can deny that he is happy. He kisses your hand and squeezes it when you look over at him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Flowers and all else disregarded, you throw your arms around his neck once you’re back inside the White House and pull him into a kiss. The judge, Juan, and Sydney will follow in a minute to sign the marriage certificate with you but right now you’re all alone.

“I can’t believe that we made it through the ceremony.” Marcus admits with a small laugh as he goes in for another kiss.

“Barely did.” Your giggles bubble over, pouring into kiss after kiss. “I’m sure the one story that will get told over and over is that I kissed you during the ceremony.”

“I was about to kiss you, so I wasn’t upset at all.” He admits with a grin.

With your arms around his neck and his own around your waist, the sparkling shine and shimmer in your eyes is endless. “We’re married.”

“Technically not yet.” He teases. “We have to sign on the dotted line and make it official.” Still, that’s just paperwork to him. Not important and those vows you just exchanged.

“Paperwork.” The derisive noise you make comes with a wave of your hand. “It will be filed in no time. The vows are the important parts.” You hum softly, warmed through with bubbling joy. “And the I do’s, of course.”

“The I do’s are the most important part.” Marcus agrees, feeling like he could move mountains and conquer the world. Anything is possible with you by his side. “And you look amazing in that dress.”

"Me?" You practically blow a raspberry at him and run your hands down the lapels of his tuxedo, careful not to muss his boutonniere or the square of gold fabric in his breast pocket. "What about you? I'm over the moon that my Dad convinced you to go to his tailor because you look drop dead gorgeous."

“You like that, huh?” There’s a slightly smug edge to his smile, preening at how your eyes light up as you stroke his chest. The workouts have been helping and he had actually found he didn’t fit into his old tux anymore. His chest and shoulders were too broad now.

"Oh yeah." And if it weren't for seeing your friends approaching through the window, you might just show him how much. Instead, you hum a promise for later. "I'm going to have fun peeling this off of you tonight."

“We don’t have to go right to the reception.” He smirks.

"There are already two Secret Service agents who have probably heard us have sex," you remind him, smirking as men of the same agency open the door from the garden to let your wedding party into the Oval Office. "We don't need to add more to the list."

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t protest, knowing that now is not the time to sneak away. Everyone will be waiting for pictures to be taken and then for your entrance into the reception.

The decision to have a live band rather than a deejay means that the band leader is the one introducing members of your wedding party as they filter into the ballroom. Juan's mother has whisked baby Constance away for the rest of the night and Malachi leads the rest of the party into entering the ballroom, but it is the announcement of Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Pike that has you nearly floating into the room with your hand in Marcus's.

“I like the sound of that, don’t you?” Marcus asks, knowing that instead of a receiving line, the first order of the night is your dance as husband and wife.

“I think it’s perfect.” You agree, hand in his as the two of you move into the center of the dance floor. You’ll have your formal dances and then dinner can be served, leaving the rest of the night to be a wonderful party for everyone to enjoy. At whatever point the head table moves to make speeches, you will grin and bear the embarrassment. For now, you get to dance with your husband.

The sweet strains of your song start to play and Marcus hums with a loving gaze directed towards you. “You’re perfect.” He corrects you gently, pulling you closer to him. “And you’re my wife.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear this new verse again since my bridal shower.” The gentle reminder of his exquisite stunt that day makes both of you smile as you start to dance together.

He chuckles and listens to the song as it plays to match up the time. “As you love me, the world turns round. The birds sing, with songs of joy. My heart and soul are always yours. And life will be, La vie en rose.” He croons to you softly.

“I love you.” Holding him close in the dance seems like such a small thing to do, but keeping each other in your arms as you move around the floor is a beautiful kind of ecstasy tonight.

“I don’t think love is enough to describe what I feel for you.” Marcus admits. “Worship is closer. But it’s still not quite there.”

“Just don’t put me on a pedestal.” It’s something you have to remember not to do with him sometimes — not let yourself get carried away as thinking of him as perfect or worshipping him as your ideal partner. You’re both human, and fallible, and while your communication has been good it has to be maintained. Now, dancing with him, you look up and find his eyes watching you. “But today has been…perfect so far. More perfect than I could ever imagine.”

“We are going to have our ups and downs.” Marcus doesn’t have any illusions of perfection. “But there is no one I’d rather weather a storm with.”

His hand presses to the small of your back, spread out over the tattoo that marks you so decidedly as belonging together. Being meant for each other. Being two halves of one complete heart. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” You murmur, and squeeze his other hand gently in the dance, swirling through the crowd of family and friends, and listen to the last lyrics as they ring out loud and clear.

Give your heart and soul to me And life will always be La vie en rose

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog@haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime@vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #PrincessPike2018 #PikeWedding2018 #WhiteHouseWedding2018

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agentstarkid · 1 year ago

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REDAMANCY ✦ DR3

“The essence of "redamancy", when loving someone, resides in finding oneself wholeheartedly committed to another person. It involves investing time, effort, and emotions to build a relationship based on trust, empathy, and understanding. Redamancy emphasizes the idea of love in its purest form, where both individuals feel valued, supported, and cherished by one another. In this context, loving someone through redamancy means having an unwavering appreciation and admiration for their unique qualities and accepting them as they are, flaws and all. It entails fostering a deep emotional bond that brings joy, warmth, and fulfillment to both individuals involved. Love, translated through redamancy, is an enriching experience that nourishes and uplifts the lives of those involved, creating a sense of security, happiness, and contentment.”

✦ pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ type: social media au

✦ fc: becky g

✦ warnings: female!reader, covid-19 & quarantine mentions, age gap, language, slight mention of mature themes.

✦ pit wall live: holi babes! WE'RE OFFICIALLY DONE WITH 2020! 🥳 Tomorrow is my birthday and I'm feeling festive so this is a gift from me to you guys! Thank you for all the love and support 💖 if you haven't already left me one, please consider leaving me a comment to let me know if this whole thing at least makes a bit of sense (I crave validation, guys lmao) and my inbox is always open! I'm super excited for you to get to know Girlie a little bit better! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter because I sure did enjoy making those edits, don't they look so fucking cuteeeeee??? 😩💕

p.s.: keep an eye out for a name that could be important in the future 👀

─── The Joker & The Queen (Masterlist)

SEPTEMBER 9, 2020

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SEPTEMBER 13, 2020

f1gossipofficial

♡ 2,345 likes

f1gossipofficial NEW WAG ALERT 🚨 After months of speculations, we can finally see them together! Daniel and Y/N arrived at the paddock for the Tuscan GP today and it's fair to say, she knows how to make an entrance 🔥 It's the first time Ricciardo introduces a WAG to the paddock 🥰

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user she's wearing heels and he's still a head taller than her 🥺 THEIR HEIGHT DIFFERENCE IS TOO FUCKING CUTE 😭❤️

user she's just a smol 🤏🏻 cinnamon roll ❤️

user2 🐍🐍🐍🐍

user3 what the fuck is she wearing? 😂 she needs to hire a stylist because she looks like a fucking clown. This reflects badly on Daniel 🤮

user she's serving Y2K style 🔥🔥🔥 also why tf would it reflect badly on him the way she dresses??? 🙄 I think she looks gorgeous!

user4 They have been together since January, but the picture of them walking next to each other is like they don't even know each other 😂

user5 can't believe Daniel hasn't dump her unfaithful ass yet 🙄 she must be really good at the things that she does on the mattress 🤮

user the only thing she's probably worth for, he might as well take advantage of it Imao

user6 The amount of hate this girl receives when all she does is just appear, no one knows her personally but ends up throwing opinions based on her looks and a couple of tabloids. Lol. Fangirls are crazy! 😂

user7 noone does it like her 😘

user8 lol he deserves so much better 🤢🐍

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OCTOBER 6, 2020

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OCTOBER 11, 2020

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yourinstagram

♡ liked by rubendias, iamcardib, danielricciardo and 8,452,325 others

yourinstagram When your birthday gift includes a podium finish you know it's gonna be an unforgettable experience! 🤩 Every year I grow I'm reminded of how precious this life is, thank you all for helping me fill it up with so much love. Your kind words and constant support means everything to me. Thank you so so so much 💕

Don't say it, don't say it, OKAY I'm saying it: I'M FEELING 22!! 😘

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salmahayek Happy birthday hermosa ❤️

danielricciardo Who needs a four-leaf clover when I've got you by my side? Just call me Danny Ricc, the luckiest bloke around! 😎

taylorswift Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we're 22! 🥳 Happy happy birthday my angel! There was happiness because of you 🥰

user stop acting all innocent we all know you are a fucking slut

userA yourinstagram we can tell by all the guys you let into your bed 👀

florencepugh Happy birthday to a special soul ❤️

fioamato Happiest 22nd year babe! Wish we could be together to celebrate. Te amo un mundo ❤️

sofiareyes Feliz vida reinotaaaa! 🥳🥰

user2 sos una gran ridícula 🐍

user3 stop shoving it in our faces every 5 minutes jesus christ, we already know the only way you can stay relevant is fucking your way through talented people

reesewhiterspoon Happy birthday to my favorite resident loud persona!

jvn Happiest birthday babe! Becoming friends with you has shown me a strength & kindness that is v rare. You're brave, smart AF, and the talent is next level & quite literally iconic. Grateful to know you & call you a frand!! Love you to pieces Queen! xx

llane Feliz cumpleaños hermanita 🎂 te deseo muchas bendiciones! ❤️

lilymhe as a wise woman once said: It seems like one of those nights, we ditched the whole scene and end up dreaming, instead of sleeping 💘✨

user4 Oh I didn't know it was international snakes day 🐍😂

lewishamilton happy birthday sis 💜 hope you had lots of fun x

instagram birthdays and F1 races make a winning combo

user5 I hope you are aware you're just a bed-warmer until he finds something better 😂

user6 Those who are throwing her hate, is everything okay at home? You must all be excellent people and role models 😂

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NOVEMBER 01, 2020

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NOVEMBER 16, 2020

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DECEMBER 18-21, 2020

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DECEMBER 25, 2020

danielricciardo

📍Los Angeles, California

♡ liked by yourinstagram, natalie_pinkham, pierregasly and 5,242 others

danielricciardo Merry christmas to all, ya filthy animals! From me and my snuggle buddy 🎄 We've been good... mostly! 😝

Tagged: yourinstagram, corey_wilson, lukerockhold

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yourinstagram Merry Christmas from our reindeer crew! ❤️🎄

danielricciardo Santa's got it easy this year, because I've already found the perfect gift 😘

natalie_pinkham Cuties ❤️ Merry christmas guys! Sending you all the love ❤️🎄

user THEY LOOK SO FUCKING GOOD UGHH 😍

user1 she's gonna be his downfall 🤢

f1 Merry Christmas to our favorite honey badger 🦨🍯❤️

user2 please Daniel check your eyesight 😭 I mean what did you even see in Y/N

kristenanniebell Merry christmas, guys! Sending lots of love from ours to yours ❤️

user3 La pareja más bonita 😍😍 Merry christmas to us with that first photo

scottyjames31 this got me cheesing hard... I'm a bit worried for Santa if those are his reindeers though 😳

user4 Daniel!! RUN!! Don't get too close to her... she's fucking poison!! Everything she touches rots away 🐍🐍🐍

user5 MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS!! Santa should be delivering my adoption papers to you any moment now ❤️🙈

fabioquartararo20 Merry christmas brother! 🥂❤️

user6 who else lives through celebrities holiday posts? Buon Natale, Daniel and Y/N 💚

user7 dude, based on the recent news lately popping up on my feed (that I did not even care to know about), I hope you get yourself to an std clinic to get tested. I see you are in your russian roulet phase- no judgement. sincerely, I wish you the best

user8 this comment section reeks of jealousy it does not pass the vibe check at. all. 😤😤😤 it's fucking christmas guys, what the fuck is wrong with y'all leave them the fuck alone!

user9 they are so many wonderful and interesting people in the world, but you chose Y/N... disappointing. You could sincerely do so much better

user10 Love it or hate it, they are living their best life. Haters can keep commenting, but they're just a bunch of jealous basic bitches lmao ANYWAYS, MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS! Keep being fucking iconic! ❤️

user11 To all the haters out there, keep commenting. Love knows no bounds and Daniel deserves exactly who he's chosen 😘

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DECEMBER 31, 2020

yourinstagram

♡ liked by lilymhe, rubendias, greeicy and 10,652,485 others

yourinstagram Moving towards 2021 with a better mindset. Keep practicing kindness every day, guys! 💖🤗🤭

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itsvittoriasousa Queen of positivity 💁🏻‍♀️💗😘

user lmao omg love this video 🤭 such good vibes

blakelively ❤️❤️❤️

zendaya the vibes are immaculate 💅🏻

lali Y QUE SE CALLE EL DECORADO 😝 Te adoro nena ❤️

user1 No me canso de verlo 😂

iamdannaschwarz A lot of palo santo to cleanse, purify and remove all negativity 🪔🧿😌🤍

user2 Por qué tan hermosaaaaaa 😍😍😍

user3 It's the palo santo and the big echeveria for me lol

user4 Love your attitude

karolg Positively divinaaa! Toda una BICHOTA 💁🏻‍♀️💗

user5 Keep it up, Queen!! Let your light blind all those negative nellies 😌 You're shinning brighter than the sun ☀✨

user6 you can't tell me her and Dan are not meant to be 😂 I bet they are so much fun to be around 🤭

─── Please don't forget to reblog and comment! ♡

#the joker and the queen fic #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo instagram au #daniel ricciardo social media au #f1 social media au #latina!reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #daniel ricciardo x female reader #( agentstarkid's works )

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leclerc-s · 11 months ago

Text

a paddock family christmas

series masterlist

nataliaruiz, penelopetrevino, isabellaperez, maejonesverstappen, maxjonesverstappen posted new stories

baby's first christmas, tears were shed shoutout seb for getting reindeer this christmas and hosting us! churro is not loving the snow taking my auntie duties very seriously this christmas seb's banned her from helping with tree decorating. it's very unfair. who can say no to her?

danieljonesricciardo, freyavettel, mickschumacher, charles_leclerc, and zoyatorres posted new stories

next up: christmas tree farm by my wife! 'tis the season 💞 mon coeur (my heart) according to logan, i'm officially a disney princess

rhysjones, baileywinters, isabellaperez, and dulceperez

one thing i will ever do is let this picture die. happy holidays! i have been entrusted with baking. hope i don't let seb down. moments after he threatened to yet again steal max's cats and to force daphne to adopt him so he can terrorize daniel 24/7 looks like someone is coming for charles' ferrari seat.

liked by sukiwaterhouse, sebastianvettel, zoyatorres, and others

nataliaruiz the easiest yes of my life

tagged: charles_leclerc

user restricted comments

sukiwaterhouse congrats! wishing you two so much love and happiness.

↳ nataliaruiz thanks babes, you're still my #1 don't worry!

↳ sukiwaterhouse i better be. that french fuck has nothing on me

↳ charles_leclerc I'M MONEGASQUE! YOU KNOW THIS!

↳ sukiwaterhouse i couldn't care less

zoyatorres still can't believe i got to witness this with my own eyes. however, no one cried more than arthur.

↳ arthur_leclerc STOP TELLING EVERYONE MY BUSINESS!

danieljonesricciardo welcome to the club! i call best man!

↳ pierregasly i think the fuck not! you already got to be best man at mae and max's wedding.

lorenzotl officially welcome to the family, although you've been an unofficial leclerc since 2019. love you, merry christmas to you and little star

↳ nataliaruiz love you enzo!

freyavettel MOM AND DAD ARE GETTING MARRIED! I AM A CHILD OF ENGAGED PARENTS!

↳ mickschumacher reminder, your actual parents are married.

↳ freyavettel shh mickey!

isabellaperez AND FOR ONCE LANDO DIDN'T SPOIL IT!

↳ landonorris THAT WAS ONE TIME ISA! LET IT GO!

mrsamclaflin i see he finally got the hint. goodbye mrs.dunne, you were the best fake wife.

↳ nataliaruiz he did! and goodbye to you mr.dunne, you were an amazing fake husband!

rileykeough i can't believe i lost my wife to a french?

↳ charles_leclerc I'M MONEGASQUE!

↳ rileykeough i don't care? you speak french = you are french. end of story.

sebastianvettel always knew you two were in love, even before you did.

↳ nataliaruiz no, you didn't! how could you know when even we didn't?

↳ sebastianvettel easy, he looked at you the same way i look at my wife. he was as the children say 'down bad'

liked by scuderiaferrari, maejonesverstappen, carlossainz55, and others

charles_leclerc pour toujours

translation: forever

tagged: nataliaruiz

user restricted comments

carlossainz55 felicidades cabrón!

↳ charles_leclerc thanks mate!

alexalbon he finally got the hint!

maxjonesverstappen1 it only took you 6 months to get the hint

↳ charles_leclerc i'm not as clueless as you all think! i was waiting for christmas!

↳ landonorris um, why christmas?

↳ charles_leclerc when we were 10 she said she wanted to get engaged on christmas with the people most important to her present. her dad and brother couldn't make it so i settled for all of you.

↳ georgerussell63 wow really feeling the love sharl.

↳ charles_leclerc i'm kidding, thank you for clearing you plans and making it out for her.

scuderiaferrari congrats to the happy couple!

↳ nataliaruiz build him a better car next season or things will get ugly

↳ scuderiaferrari ma’am you are scary.

zoyatorres PARENTS ARE GETTING MARRIED!

mrsamclaflin well congrats to the happy couple! it's about time!

↳ nataliaruiz why thank you mr. dunne!

↳ mrsamclaflin anytime future mrs.leclerc!

↳ charles_leclerc we were going to have problems if you called her mrs.dunne 🤺

rileykeough she's married to me leclerc?

↳ charles_leclerc you wish

↳ rileykeough oh you know she is.

rhysjones lightning mcqueen finally got his sally to say yes to marriage!

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @applopie @lorarri @mypage-myfandoms @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @cowboylikemets1989 @justtprachisblog @rmeddar123 @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @Mimolovescookies @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @prongsvault @kaa212 @anxxiousaries @julesbabey1 @julesbabey @georgeparisole @Smnthnclj

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! merry christmas to those of you who celebrate! and to those of you who don't i wish you a very wonderful day. now, someone had to engaged or married on christmas! they are all my babies and i have to make them happy for christmas.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #the honest series #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female oc #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic

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papermint-airplane · 4 months ago

Text

I'm really not doing well guys. Tl;dr my life sucks a lot. That's all you need to know.

My job is still jerking us around on the layoffs. They started in October of last year with "we're selling the department and laying everyone off in February" then when March rolled around and nothing had happened yet, told everyone "lol just kidding the buyer dropped out". So a lot of people quit because this clown company just told everyone it was willing to sell their jobs out from under them and didn't give a shit who was affected or how.

My job is not a job that can function when short staffed. It was already short staffed before they pulled this fakeout layoff shit and now we're lucky to have two people scheduled at any given time. They're paying thousands in overtime, begging people to come in even for a couple of hours on their days off because we don't have enough people to cover one shift, let alone the three they need because the department is 24/7. Customers are rude and entitled. I've been threatened, I've been called horrible names, I've been told I'm a shit human being and don't deserve to live. I'm not allowed to hang up on them. I'm expected to sit there and just take it and not say anything. Most days, we're so busy that I can't take my daily fifteen minute break or even get up to go to the bathroom. And that's only scratching the surface of what goes on at my job.

I have had a history of overworking myself in that job and everyone knows it. I've had literally hundreds of public panic attacks, three full-on mental breakdowns where I was screaming and literally tearing handfuls of my hair out in front of my coworkers from stress, ended up in the hospital twice because I thought I was having a heart attack, and took off three months in 2020 to check myself into an inpatient mental healthcare facility all the way across the country. I have had countless meetings with my supervisors and their supervisors and HR about the toxic work environment and shitty management. I had to beg them to take me off my 8 day rotation (four days of ten hour shifts, four days of eight hour shifts, all in succession with no days off in between) because I started shaking and laughing uncontrollably around day 6 because I was having a literal fucking breakdown. I have literally had to be taken away from work in an ambulance before.

On top of my anxiety being the worst it's ever been (and that includes when I lived with my abusive father), my depression has gotten so bad that all I can do nowadays is work and sleep. Sometimes I don't even get fully in the house before I pass out because I'm so exhausted. I have woken up on my living room floor after work more than once. I told them that I could no longer work shifts like that nor could I take overtime for my own mental health. And they still act like I'm lazy because I don't work 14 hour shifts daily. Bitch, I'm barely holding it together with my weekly 40 hours, and I'm expected to work every Thanksgiving and Christmas but that's just not enough. Nothing I do is enough. And now I don't even have enough energy for the few things I have that I still enjoy. Want to know why my Sims story is on hiatus? Because I have to force myself to do literally anything other than sleep. My house looks like a disgusting hoarder's nest because I can barely move on my days off. I cry all the time. I can't stand to be touched. I shower excessively because I feel filthy when I come home from work in a way I can't adequately articulate. My eczema is so bad that my neck and face are literally covered in bloody red rashes. I look horrible. I feel worse. I have gained over 150 lbs since starting that job in 2006. My thyroid is busted. Some days, I truly believe that I died long ago and this is my own personal Hell.

Now they're telling us that "we definitely have a buyer for the department and all the contracts have been signed". They said there'd be a transition period, after which we'd be laid off but we'd be told when the transition period begins. Now, we got an email telling us we're halfway through the transition period and are probably getting laid off in August "but we don't know when in August, so stay tuned." At this rate, I'm likely to show up one day and be told to go home. I have no idea when that will be and I have no way to know how to prepare.

The only reason I'm still putting up with this bullshit is because...well, to be honest, I've put in a lot of applications and got absolutely no replies. I'm an unemployable useless sack of shit. My company is at least giving us a really good severance package. I'm getting 17 weeks of pay (one week for every year I've worked there) plus another four weeks of pay, plus a $1000 bonus for staying through the transition period. I think I will also qualify for unemployment. I'm trying not to freak out but I don't know what I'm going to do when my severance runs out. I have only had two jobs in my entire life: a grocery store job when I was a teenager for 3 years and this job that I've had for nearly 18 years. My resumé is one page. I have no skills outside of this job. I'm never going to get hired anywhere that's going to pay me anywhere near what this hellhole of a job paid me.

I truly wish I were brave enough to kill myself but I'm not. I keep living and it keeps getting worse and I'm bombarded with hundreds of news articles and Tumblr posts every day telling me how the world is falling apart around me, so even if by some miracle I manage to find a job that pays me enough to fucking live, I don't have a future anyway. I'm almost 40 and I keep waiting for my life to begin but it never does. And it never will. I will never be happy. I will never be safe. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve safety. My own fucking parents hated me from the moment my mom read the lines on her pregnancy test. If my own parents can't love me, nobody can. I'm on medication and in therapy but sometimes, I wonder if it's doing anything at all. You can't fix what's wrong with me. I was just born wrong. And no matter where I go or what kind of job I end up in, the same shit will just keep repeating over and over and over because that's all I deserve. I'll just keep on hurting until global warming or war takes me out and I end up in real Hell.

In an hour, I'm going to regret writing any of this and probably delete this post. Because I'm supposed to take it and not say anything.

My Sims are the only thing that gives me any comfort anymore. Even then, I don't have the energy or attention span to do the things I want. I'm just as irrelevant on Simblr as I am in real life. If I disappeared tomorrow, nobody would notice.

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spywhitney · 21 days ago

Text

Thoughts on ships in The Bear

Sydcarmy (Sydney x Carmy)

I filtered out the tag weeks ago and I haven't undone it yet 💀.

98% of posts on my page in the last 6 months or so is to do with this ship- I've had a lot of thoughts about it.

S3 soured my opinion on it, and I've seen some eyebrow raising opinions emerge after s3 that are kind of wild, but sobering I guess?

But unfortunately I've hyperfixated on this ship now so I won't let go until it's over. So yikes for me I guess.

Like I've invested so much attention to it and the odds are looking terrible, but I hope it works out anyway?!?!

Sydrichie (Sydney x Richie)

It's the older man/younger woman trope. That's all it takes for me lol.

I read these fics when I'm tired of the above ship lowkey.

Their dynamic is so interesting to me.

If there weren't so many ****** **** ball sucking/suit licking on Richie while simultaneously trashing on Syd I'd like it a lot more (probably).

I was going to say how Richie treated Syd in s1 is what turns me off too, but I ship Syd with Carmen so, welp.

If they got together it would piss so many people off. Like the hater in me is cry-laughing thinking about how upset certain people would be lmao.

Wish we saw more of them in s3, it would've made so much sense too.

Sydmarcus (Sydney x Marcus)

Um, are the sydmarcus shippers even alive?

Y'all were done dirty. Y'all didn't deserve that man.

I never got the impression Syd liked Marcus however, but still.

If she did, they would've been so cute, like omg.

Marcus has had Syd's back the most and is arguably the only friend she has.

He treats her like a friend/overtly asked her out as more than a friend too etc etc.

The fact Syd didn't even acknowledge the fact Marcus made a dessert and named it after her is wild though.

Their dynamic has a healthy balance of reciprocation, exercised respect and care.

Obviously there are some that insist they should('ve) got together because they don't want sydcarmy which is ridiculous.

Then there's the "Syd deserves better" crowd which while I understand and somewhat agree, I also believe people choose what they deserve, so that's her business lowkey.

Saying all that I'd be all over Marcus. He's passionate, fine as hell and he's super chill?! Already climbing that man personally.

Claircarmy (Claire x Carmy)

I don't care about Claire, so it's hard to care about the relationship.

As much as the Claire hate is entertaining to me (and very valid points have been made about her), I'm pretty neutral on her for the most part.

I will say, the fact that their relationship has been shown to be perfect up until the s2 finale and Carmy calling her a waste of time was all it took for her to walk away is hilarious.

Like, if you can't deal with Carmy saying one mean thing about you, you're not ready to be with him girl lol (especially when compared with--)

The show pushes this a lot so if they're endgame fine, I just want that plot point to be done my goodness.

Carmrich (Carmy x Richie)

I've read a couple of fics and woah?

I like this quite a bit.

Their dynamic is so engaging in the fics I've read.

I almost feel like I don't appreciate their relationship enough in the show.

Sydluca (Sydney x Luca)

Kind of yummy if it was endgame, eh if otherwise.

I'm being dramatic, see my post here for more context.

The actor is british so maybe my bias is showing with this ship ngl.

He's one of the few actors I recognised also.

They look kind of cute, or whatever.

Fak x Richie

They have moments for sure.

I get it.

Marcus x Luca

I never saw this honestly.

To me, it was feel-good to just see a black man eagerly learning in a healthy environment.

I want Marcus for me though, like I said so lol.

Nat x Pete

They're canon.

They go well together, though I will say I don't have a strong opinion on them.

I guess since we don't see any significant conflict with them/they're very stable there's not a lot of emotional weight?

Nat x Richie

I felt some vibes here and there, you know?

They're sweet.

Richie x Jess

It would make sense as a part of Richie's arc.

Funny how some people that ship them based on a couple of looks hate sydcarmy with 3 seasons worth of interactions though.

Michael x Richie

I feel like I'd like this like camrich, but also it might break my heart, so idk if I want to see what's up.

Marcus x Chester

Chester was chill, shame he only got two seconds in s3.

Knowing Marcus had someone outside the restaurant who's supportive was comforting.

Tina x David

They were adorable in "napkins".

Makes sense they're married irl.

Tina x Michael

Felt a vibe for a split second when she talked about him in s1 ngl.

If she didn't have a husband atp--

Sydney x Claire

I think I saw a fic with this on ao3. Don't care about Claire, so you know.

Richie x Tiff

Clearly there's still love there, shame with what happened to them.

Carmy x Luca

I don't see why not.

Carmy x Chef David

😳 I mean, I get the appeal but in the context of the show, yikes. (Not that I haven't shipping something "worse").

#me blowing dust off this post I've had in my drafts for weeks #sydcarmy #sydrichie #sydmarcus #clairecarmy #the bear #the bear ships #if you actually read the whole thing #here's a cookie 🍪#let me know if I missed any I'll add them

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gauloiseblue · 6 months ago

Note

Ok so, you don't have to do this if you're not accepting requests. But I am way too insane about IOFAB and idk why. It has been in my head since the beginning of May. I couldn't focus for weeks, that's how good it is (it didn't really help that the Kendrick v Drizzy beatdown happened).

Can we have more stuff in the IOFAB verse? Maybe something from König's POV (this guy has to be aware that he's just making her hate him even more)? Maybe life after the last escape/shooting incident can't believe the guy actually did multiple rounds with a bullet in his shoulder that's gotta hurt, pregnancy, or kids? Or maybe domestic horror fluff (if that's actually a thing)? Or something about how he managed to keep reader as his lawfully kidnapped wife (this guy definitely put trackers in her ring)? I just realized that I keep referring to reader/darling as his wife even though they ain't married yet Or maybe even an alternate timeline in which deals with what would happen if they did meet but those guys had to actually disclose that they found those survivors which would mean König would not be able to have her?

IOFAB König is so different from the other yandere Königs because he actually shows his hand right in the beginning. Like he's not just some oWo shy guy that is a yandere that goes “maybe I should keep you here with me so that you wouldn't leave me, schatz haha jk... unless 🙂”. He just straight up “You're with me now. Sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you”. He wouldn't hurt reader but he definitely wouldn't hesitate to drop kick a kitten or even his children if they would somehow aid her in her escape.

Something something he would put the world at her feet but wouldn't ever let her see her family ever again. Something something you could put the world through eternal winter and starvation but he won't ever let his goddess go, not even for 6 months. Something something he would hunt her down in their next life. Something something God never blessed him so he's taking one of His blessed angels for himself. Something something he's worshipping the ground her chained feet walk on. Ok now this is getting too long. In short, this guy warrants the “Why are you like this” microscope and “You're not a human nor a dog but a secret third thing” and you don't have to but if you want to, please please please please please can we have more IOFAB?

Zero, you're now officially the number one fans of IOFAB XD idk if I should be glad or concerned about it.

I mean, if you wanna theorize about their future and stuff, I'll gladly answer it. But for me, the story already ended here. I don't really plan to write a continuation of it. Maybe I'll write a lil bit of it in other people's POVs but that's it.

As for König's POV, I think we've covered a lot about his psychology. Like, of course he knew she hated him, but it wouldn't last. If he keeps on giving her what she needs (tolerance, space, care, etc), she'll eventually come to love him, or at least tolerate his presence. It's like a 'trust the process' situation.

I won't really write about pregnancy and kids, because it's more fun when I let the reader decide what's best for her. My actual HC is she'll only have 1 kid, and it's a boy. That's it.

There are 3 endings that I've thought about, it's either; (1) she manages to escape with the help of the maid (The Handmaiden storyline, wlw), (2) she's staying with him until the end (Göth's dream), (3) she's rescued by the third party, there's a possibility that he or the reader dies in this scenario (the realistic ending). But I won't make either of them canon, bc where's the fun in that?

As for the AUs, I haven't got the right idea for it. I think yours is good, but I honestly don't know where to start 😅

Personally, in my humblest opinion, I think shy yandere shouldn't exist in fiction. I fucking hate it, because it's very manipulative in the cheapest way. Like, they'd appear "harmless" like a weirdo, but would go 180° at any given chance. And what makes me hate them the most is that they'd go back to their shy shell when they're being cornered. They can't and won't take any responsibility for their actions. Oh, he kissed you without your consent? Well, that's your fault bc you seduced him (even if you didn't). Every time I read about a shy yandere man, I just wanna bash his head with a bat. Like, you're not fooling anyone with that attitude. Just take what you want and admit it, even if it means you have to be ruthless.

I must admit, IOFAB König does hold a "secret third thing" vibe, because I don't think he exists irl in terms of personality. He's like, if patience is taken too far, and if patience is the source of horror. He doesn't really worship her, but he views her as the rarest and the most exotic thing. If you ever read about the exotic animal keeper, or the curator of the rarest arts, then you'll understand why he behaves that way. They're very patient, and they're very possessive of their treasure. If the tiger that they keep bites their arm, they won't put it down. They'll find a way to tame it—they'll try to win its affection instead. If one particular art requires so much maintenance, and so much cost to keep it in good condition, the curator would pay for it. They won't abandon the art piece, because they know how much it's worth. That's how König views his wife.

I know it sounds like he's objectifying his wife, but sometimes humans love their things more than other humans. I'm just using that feeling as the base for IOFAB König.

Maybe I'll write about the domestic horror stuff, but I still don't know how, so no promise 🤔

#little-shit-with-zero-control ask #cod #call of duty #konig x reader #IOFAB #personal rant

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jpmarvel90 · 1 year ago

Text

Don't let me down - Part 9

Y/n's POV:

Masterlist Scarlett Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Relationship: MamaScarlett x 16 yr old Reader

Summary: Whilst Y/n tries to distract herself from the impending court case with Mr Woodstock. She ends up having to face another hurdle she wasn't expecting.

Word count: 6993

Trying to focus on my schoolwork and soccer has been really hard since Danny came around and dropped the bomb that I'm likely going to have to testify against Mr Woodstock. Scarlett and Colin have been great and are supporting me more than I could ask. They're not pushing me, but they are there when I have my moments. I'm glad that I have them to go through this with.

When I told Laura, I've never seen her more angry. She started ranting about how unfair it is to make, not just me, but the other kids have to relive what we went through. She's spent a lot of time with me after school and I'm sure that her and Scarlett have been texting about me. Part of me is a little annoyed as I feel like I'm being watched, but then I'm grateful they care about me enough to check in with each other.

We had a meeting with the DA who is leading the case and he has confirmed that I will be asked a number of questions by himself and then the defence lawyer will have a chance to also question me. The thought of that terrifies me as I know that they are just going to try and prove me wrong or discredit my testimony. I've seen enough Law & Order SUV to know how it goes.

However, both Danny and the DA have assured me that they'll coach me in responding to the questions. I'll already know what they plan to ask me, so I'll be prepared from that point of view. However, we'll have no idea what the defence may say. So, we're going to do some sessions together where they'll prepare me as best they can.

Scarlett has tried to suggest that I do it via video link to give me an extra layer of protection, but I know that I want to be there. I can't bring my parents to justice for the years I spent being abused by them, but I can to Mr Woodstock. It's not just me he hurt and if I had the balls to do this earlier, I could have stopped the other kids getting hurt too.

When we left the DA's office, I felt dread over the upcoming court case. We have a month to prepare before I'll need to testify. Thankfully, I don't need to be there for anything else. It's one day and then hopefully they'll find him guilty, and I'll be able to move on and put my past firmly behind me. Allow me to focus on how my life is going to be better moving forward.

The sessions with Danny have been ok. He's predicted what he believes the defence may ask and then poses the question to me. We then work on how I can approach different elements. He also helps me to control my emotions and focus on breathing. Taking a breather is not a bad thing and will only reflect badly on the defence lawyer if he tries to move me on.

I think the sessions are helping, but I feel drained after every one. I cry in each one and I hate it. Reliving what happened is bad enough, but having to prepare to defend that I'm telling the truth is horrible. I just hope that this is all worth it.

Thankfully, we have our next soccer games this week and it's providing me with something to focus on. It's still hard to give me full attention, but I owe it to the team to still be the best player and captain that I can be. This week, Lizzie is joining Scarlett and Rose to watch. Unfortunately, Colin is working today so can't make it. Scarlett decided to leave Cosmo with Melanie so the three of them can enjoy the afternoon before coming to school to watch the game.

We're so far unbeaten this season. We had two preseason games that gave us a good platform to work from. But we've only play 5 league games. We're playing well and hopefully we'll be able to make it into the playoffs at the end of the year. But today's game will be the biggest test that we've had yet. Rochford High are a tough team and they are aggressive.

I use the warmup to get my mind completely on the game and make sure that I don't let it drift off to everything that is happening in my personal life. Laura is great at keeping me smiling as she jokes around, and we make sure our pre-game warm up doesn't change even though we're playing a tough team.

As we're taking on water, my eyes scan the bleachers, which are bursting tonight. It's like the whole local town has turned up. My eyes quickly land on my little sister who is jumping up and down and waving at me when she sees me looking. I wave back and pull a face at her whilst Lizzie and Scarlett wave to me also.

It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to see them in the stands. I never thought I would have people here to support me. Scarlett has been to every one of my home games. She even rearranged work to come to the one of them. It makes me feel wanted and loved and it's a strange feeling for me. But I like it and I couldn't be more grateful to see them in the crowd.

Coach Saunders calls us into a huddle and gives us an inspiring team talk. I gulp when I have to follow him up, but I make sure to be confident and re-enforce our teamwork and we win together and lose together. With our huddle over, I make my way over to the referee for the coin toss. I shake their captain's hand and internally fist pump when we win the coin toss. I decide to kick off first and we take our places on the pitch waiting for the whistle to blow.

The game is frantic from the first whistle. As expected, they play hard and are hitting us off the ball a lot. We change our tactic to have quick and accurate passing, which works and starts to frustrate them. They end up fouling us a lot more and the ref warns them about their actions.

We take advantage of this when Laura is on the receiving end of a beautiful freekick from Bella. Even though she's tasselling with the defender, she's able to get up higher than her and her head meets the ball. I watch as it flies past the keeper and into the back of the net.

The crowd go wild as we rush around Laura and Bella, cheering the perfect set piece. "I'm proud of you babe." I tell her as we walk back to our side of the pitch for the restart, my arm draped over her shoulder. "I need to keep impressing you." She smirks, nudging me. "Consider me impressed." I return, moving to take my spot.

We manage to dominate the first half but don't get any more goals. We've been able to adapt our play to make their efforts ineffective. We can see that it's just frustrating them more and that carries on into the second half. We're getting so many shots on goal but we're just not getting it in the net.

They manage to catch us on the counterattack, and I rush back to provide support in defence, with a well time sliding tackle I dispossess their striker as she's about to take her shot on goal. I quickly jump to my feet and sprint down the pitch to get myself into an open position.

Seeing I'm in open space, I call for the ball and trap it with my foot. Looking up I see it's just me against two defenders, my team still getting back into position from the counterattack. Not wasting anytime, I take on the first defender, getting around her with ease.

I look up hoping to see someone in the box, but I'm still the furthest up the field. With a swift nudge to the ball, I megs the final defender and run around her, despite her efforts to stop me getting to the ball. Just as she tugs my t-shirt, I manage to get a good connection with the ball and watch as it sails into the top corner. Though I'm now on the floor as a result of the shirt tug.

This doesn't stop the team celebrating with me, bundling on me on the floor. With our celebration over, Laura holds her hand out to me to help me back to my feet. "You just had to one up me didn't you." She teases. "Maybe I want to impress you too." I wink at her as she shakes her head at my antics. As I'm moving back for the restart, I look to the crown and wave to Rose who's still cheering. She really is my biggest fan, and she looks adorable in our team jersey.

With our energy up, we just seem to get better. With our third goal, the pressure seems to disappear and we're playing more freely. When we win a freekick near the corner flag, I'm on the hunt for a second goal. I'm stood on the edge of the box and hold my hands in the air to indicate the play we should go for.

As the ball is crossed into the box, I run in and go to jump to try and get my head on the ball. Their defender goes up with me, but I see her elbow wind back as she jumps. She's not looking at the ball and I'm helpless as I watch her elbow move towards my face. For a split second I feel pain as she makes a connection, but it soon disappears as I fade into darkness.

Scarlett's POV:

This is the best that I've seen the team play. They're working as a cohesive group and seem to be able to counter anything the other team throw at them. I'm so proud when Y/n scores and the three of us cheer along with the rest of the crowd as the team celebrate.

Y/n had talked about how difficult this game was going to be. The opposition are probably one of the only teams that can match their ability, but they just don't seem to be able to break the team down. Instead of regrouping they're just getting more frustrated.

It's great seeing the smile on Y/n's face. I've not seen her smile like that in a while since we learnt about the court case. Soccer has always brought her happiness and I'm glad it's giving her an outlet today.

The team get ready for another freekick, and it seems certain that it's only a matter of time before they score again. My eyes are on my daughter as the anticipation builds. However, when I see an elbow collide with her face, I'm instantly out of my seat shouting for a foul.

However, I instantly freeze when I see Y/n on the floor not moving, her leg bent in an awkward angle. "Lizzie, watch Rose." I call out as I rush down the stairs of the bleachers and jump over the railing. Coach Saunders sees me and waves me over as he's knelt down next to my unconscious daughter.

As I reach her, I can hear the team arguing with the ref and a couple of them scuffling with the other team, mainly the defender that hit her. "Is she ok?" I ask, panic filling my voice as I kneel down next to her. Laura on one side holding her hand tightly. My eyes look over her and I see blood on her face from her nose. My eyes then move down to her leg, and I have to fight back tears. "She fell awkwardly and landed on her leg as she didn't have control over her body." Coach Saunders explains, moving so I can get in closer.

Fear overrides me as I'm desperate for my daughter to wake up. "We've called 911 and they should be here shortly." One of the assistant coaches calls out. "Y/n baby, wake up for me please." I beg her, my hands gently cupping her face. "Come on sweetheart." I encourage her, hoping that she might start to stir. My eyes flick to Laura who's watching on with teary eyes.

I move my hand and place it over hers that is already holding Y/n's. "She's going to be ok right?" Laura asks, looking up to me hopefully. "Of course she is. She's strong." I reassure her, though I'm scared myself. Thankfully, we don't have to wait for long for the ambulance to arrive and almost simultaneously, Y/n starts to stir awake. "Y/n, sweetie. It's Scarlett are you ok?" I ask her as her eyes fill with fear. "Mom?" She whispers, making my heart clench at the name. I don't let it get to me and focus on her. "I'm here baby. You're ok. The paramedics are here." I tell her and she nods.

She obviously starts to feel the pain and she starts to cry out. "It's ok babe. You're going to be fine. They'll get you some good stuff soon." Laura tries to joke through her own tears. The paramedics soon join us, and we reluctantly have to move out of the way as they treat her.

I take a moment to breathe and notice the referee brandish a red card to the defender that hit her. I have to fight from going over to the kid and giving her a piece of my mind. But I have to remember she is just that. A kid. "Mommy! Is Y/n, ok?" Rose calls out to me. I glance to Y/n and see she's being looked after and right now I need to comfort my other daughter.

I walk over to her and pick her up instantly. "She's hurt, but she's being looked after. She's going to have to go the hospital, but she'll be ok." I reassure her as she nods in my neck. "I can take Rose home whilst you're with Y/n." Lizzie offers but Rose instantly argues with that idea. "I don't want to leave Y/n. Please!" She begs. "I can bring her to the hospital?" Lizzie offers and I think for a moment. "You have to understand that it's going to be boring." I explain to Rose, and she nods. "I want to be there to protect Y/n." She responds, making my heart warm at her cuteness.

"How about we go home and grab some things for you both and then we'll come to the hospital." Lizzie suggests. "If you wouldn't mind that would be great." I agree, looking back towards Y/n. "Go, text me where you are, and we'll see you later." Lizzie says when she sees my concern. "Thank you, Lizzie. I love you Rose, and we'll see you later." I say before rushing back to be with Y/n.

They're currently giving her some gas and air when I return, and the paramedic looks to me. "Are you mom?" She asks and I nod. "We're just stabilising her leg and then we'll get her to the hospital. They'll assess her there and give her some additional pain relief." She explains and I nod along, my eyes fixated on Y/n.

Seeing where my eyes are the paramedic continues to reassure me. "This may look scary at the moment, but we need to also to stabilise her head just in case there are any injuries to her neck. We're making sure we take every precaution to prevent further injury." I continue to nod along. Understanding why they're doing what they're doing. It just doesn't make it any easier to watch.

I take my place next to Y/n and provide her any comfort I can whilst she is being seen too. "Can I come with you?" Laura asks, looking from Y/n to me. "No." Y/n jumps in taking Laura by surprise, her eyes showing the hurt. "You need to finish the game." Y/n clarifies. "But..." Laura goes to defend but Y/n cuts her off. "I'll still be broken when the game is over. I'm ok and not going anywhere. Quite literally." She jokes, making us both chuckle. "Please, you need to make sure we win this game and then you can come and see me." She requests. Laura reluctantly agrees but doesn't leave her side until she's guided on to the gurney and moved toward the ambulance. "I'll keep you updated." I promise Laura who nods, reluctant to let go. "I'll see you shortly babe." She smiles, placing a gentle kiss on Y/n's lips, who gives a giddy smile.

I climb in the back of the ambulance and take a seat next to Y/n, reaching out to hold her hand. The paramedics get in and we start on our journey to the hospital. "It hurts mom." Y/n looks to me, tears in her eyes. My heart skips a beat again when she calls me mom. "I know. I'm sorry you're hurt. But I'm here for you." I try to comfort her. "The doctors will be able to get you some morphine when you're in the ER." The paramedic tells Y/n, which seems to appease her for now.

Thankfully, it's not long until we're at the hospital and we're being taking through to the ER where a doctor and some nurses are waiting for us. The potential injury to her neck is their biggest concern right now and they want to confirm there isn't any further injury before properly addressing her leg.

I stand to the side feeling completely helpless as I watch the doctors and nurses move around Y/n, calling out stats and information as they go. The whimpers from Y/n make my heart break. I wish I could take the pain away from here. "Let's get a canula set up and we'll get some pain relief." One of the doctors orders.

Thankfully, the morphine seems to start working quite quickly and Y/n's whimpers start to peter out as the medicine does its job. "Mrs Johansson?" The call of my name tears my eyes away from my daughter and to the doctor who is stood next to me with a kind smile on his face. "Hi, I'm Dr Greenwood. I'm the primary physician for your daughter." He greets me. "On initial examination, it's clear that Y/n has a broken leg and potentially a facial fracture too. We're confident there is no damage to her neck, but we want to be sure before removing the brace. So, we'll be sending her down for some x-rays and scans so we can get a full assessment of her injuries." He explains and I nod along.

"We've given her pain relief and that seems to be working and she's much more comfortable now. I know it's hard to see your kid in pain, but I can assure you we're doing everything that we can to make sure she is comfortable." He assures me, making smile. "Thank you. I appreciate everything you're doing." I respond. "I can get one of the nurses to show you to a private waiting room whilst Y/n is taken for imagery, and we'll come and get you as soon as she's settled in a room." He offers. "Can I see her first?" I request. "Of course. We're just waiting for the porters now." He responds and moves out of the way for me to see Y/n.

The madness around her has died down now and she's just got a couple of nurses monitoring different things. "Hi sweetheart. How are you feeling?" I ask Y/n as I take her hand and gently run my hands through her hair. "Tired and sore." She responds with a croaky voice. Her eye is already starting to swell and bruise, a reminder of the harsh act that led to her being in the hospital. "They're going to take you to get some scans of your leg and neck in a minute. I'll be waiting for you to come back." I explain. "Does that mean I can get this thing off?" She asks, tugging a little at the neck brace. "As long as the scans come back clear you'll be free of the prison." I respond with a smirk, happy that there is a smile on her face.

"We're ready to take her now." One of the nurses tells us. "I'll be right here waiting. I love you ok." I tell her firmly. "I love you too." She responds, taking me by surprise. I don't think she's ever said that to me before. It causes a tear to fall down my cheek as I smile at her lovingly. "Mom, you've got to let me go." She chuckles, just adding to my happiness. I try not to think to much of it, before she was in pain and now, she's on drugs. When she's more with it, we may be going back to Scarlett, but I'll take it for now!

I watch as they roll Y/n away down the corridor, taking a deep breath. I'm then guided to a private waiting room, which I'm very grateful for. I'd rather this not be how news of Y/n gets out. I want it to be on our terms and when she's comfortable. I quickly text Lizzie an update and she confirms they're packing a bag for Y/n as it's likely she'll be in overnight.

Now I just need to call my husband. He's at work today preparing for filming tonight. I hesitate in calling him, but I know that he'd want to be told that she was in the hospital. I hit his contact name and wait for him to answer.

Colin: Hi babe. How was the game? Did they win?

He asks instantly, excitement in his voice. I love how invested he is in Y/n's soccer games.

Scarlett: Uh I'm not actually sure. Y/n got hurt during the game and we're currently at the hospital.

Colin: WHAT?! Is she ok? What happened? How badly is she hurt?

He rambles down the phone, panic lacing his voice.

Scarlett: She was elbowed in the face by a defender when she jumped to head a ball. It knocked her out and as she fell, she landed on her leg awkwardly.

Colin: Oh my God. Was it deliberate? Actually, never mind. I'm leaving work now and I'm coming to the hospital. What did the doctor say?

Scarlett: Col, you don't need to do that. Y/n understands you're working and she's doing ok? She's currently having scans to see how badly her leg is broken and to rule out a neck injury.

Colin: Of course, I'm coming. She's my daughter. Family always comes first, you know that.

I smile down the phone when he refers to Y/n as his daughter. He did it so easily. I really need to bring up the whole adoption thing again. I don't think I can go much longer without having her legal be my daughter. I want her to know that she has a loving mom and dad who will be there for her no matter what.

As he's on the phone I can hear him explaining the situation to someone, I'm assuming the director, who easily agrees for him to leave. He then starts to rush around to get to the car.

Colin: "Ok. I'm about to drive. I'll see you in about 30 minutes. I love you.

Scarlett: I love you too. Drive safely.

And with that he hangs up. I wait nervously to hear that Y/n is back. I'm still worried she's going to have further damage to her neck. I know they said they don't think there is anything to untoward about it, but I can't get the worrying sick feeling out of my stomach.

"Mrs Johansson?" I look up and see Laura waiting hesitantly in the doorway. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Scarlett." I smile at her, opening my arms to her. She instantly moves forward and melts into my hug. "How is she?" She questions as we move to sit. I fill her in on everything the doctor said, and she listens intently.

"Do you know how hard it was not to go and punch that bitch in the face." She fumes after I explain the extent of her injuries. "I probably shouldn't admit this as the adult in this situation, but I feel the same." I admit to chuckles. "Did you win?" I ask and a smile grows on her face. "We scored two more goals. It was 4-0 in the end." She responds proudly. "Y/n will be happy." I say and Laura nods. "Turns out playing for a teammate helped us to play even better. We wanted to do our best for our captain." She explains.

Not too long later, Colin comes bursting through the door, giving both Laura and I a heart attack. "Jeeze Colin!" I scold, my hand clutching my chest as my racing heart starts to calm. "S-sorry. I was just worried." He apologises. "How is she?" He asks. "We've not heard anything more since I called you. They said it could be a little while whilst she has the different scans and x-rays." I reply.

"Where's Rose?" Colin asks when he notices it's just me and Laura in the waiting room. "With Lizzie. They're getting a bag together, so Y/n has some things with her. Rose is adamant about being here for her big sister." I explain, earning an aw from Laura. "I can ask your mom to come and collect her later and keep the kids over night until we know more." Colin suggests. "I think that'll be wise. Rose can see how Y/n is doing and head to mom's before bedtime." I agree.

Colin places a kiss to my head and moves to the other side of the room to call my mom and explain what has happened. She already has Cosmo today, so she's happy to take Rose too. Though she's concerned for her granddaughter too. I think Y/n is going to be spoilt when she's home.

When Colin joins us again, he takes the seat next to me and wraps a supportive arm around me. I move to rest my head on his shoulder, taking in his comfort. "She called me mom." I say quietly. "What was that?" Colin asks. "She called me mom. When she was on the field, she called me mom and then again in the ambulance and here in the hospital." I explain in more detail. "I'm sure it's just because she's in pain and on drugs but hearing her call me that, it made my heart almost burst." I share, my emotions building once again.

"She means it." Laura speaks up from beside me. Both Colin and I turn to look at her. "Yes, she's in pain and high right now. But she means it. This has just given her the outlet to be able to say it. You've given her a safe and loving environment. Yes, it's taken her a while to be able get to this point. But you never pushed her. I don't think you realise how much that means to her." She explains with a soft smile on her face.

"All I have wanted is to be the mother she deserves. I never thought that she would forgive me, let alone get to a point she could call me mom." I admit, tears welling up in my eyes. "Family of Miss Y/l/n?" A nurse enters the room and calls for us. The sound of Y/n's surname bringing me down for a moment. "You need to work on changing her name." Laura smirks at me as we stand and follow the nurse.

She takes us to a private ward where Y/n is laid in bed, her neck brace off. I breath a sigh of relief knowing there is no injury there. Laura rushes in first and carefully hugs Y/n, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I'm so glad you're ok. It was horrible seeing you out cold." She tells her, cupping her cheeks and gently rubbing her thumb over her cheek. "Did you win?" Y/n asks, making us laugh. "I see you have your priorities right." Laura chuckles. "And yes, we won 4-0." She adds on. "See you don't need me on the team." Y/n responds with a sad smile.

We all get comfortable and wait for the doctor to come in and tell us the severity of Y/n's injury. Laura sits on one side, holding Y/n's hand tightly, whilst Colin and I flank her on the other side. "Aren't you filming tonight?" Y/n asks Colin. "Not anymore, I have to been here for my daughter." He responds, his words causing a wide smile to appear on Y/n's face. "Thanks dad." Y/n responds, her eyes glossed over. "D-did you. Did you just..." Colin stutters in shock. Y/n nods, smiling nervously. "I hope you both don't mind me calling your mom and dad. My experience of parents hasn't a good one. I don't really know what a good mom and dad looks like. But I'm pretty sure it's the both of you. I've not been easy yet you've both been there for me, supporting me and loving me. Especially these last couple of weeks with the court case. To me you are my mom and dad." Y/n shares, making both Colin and I cry.

"Oh, my sweet girl. I have been waiting, hoping, you may one day see me as your mother. Hearing you call me mom, it's everything I could ask for." I reassure her as I hug her gently, placing a kiss to her head. Y/n then looks to Colin who's a blubbering mess, making us all laugh. "Like I said, I've seen you as my daughter from the beginning. Being your dad is an honour I'm glad you've allowed me to have." He expresses, getting up and hugging her also.

A clearing of a voice gets all of our attention, and our heads snap to see the doctor in the doorway a file in his hand. "Sorry to interrupt this moment, but I have Y/n's results." He explains. "Please come on in." Colin composes himself and moves back to his seat as the doctor enters the room.

"Ok, Y/n, having examined your scans, I'm happy to say there is no injury to your neck. Though you probably know that as we removed your brace." He starts off. "However, you do have a fractured eye socket, so that is going to look pretty nasty for a few weeks. There's not much we can do other than provide you pain relief and wait for it to heal." He explains and Y/n nods in understanding.

"Now, on to your leg." I feel Y/n's hand tense in my own as we wait to hear the damage. "You have a displaced transverse fracture to your tibia. This means that it's a complete break of the bone and the two parts are not aligned. In this instance, we will need to surgically realign your leg and put in some pins to secure the fracture, allowing it to heal effectively." The doctor explains, showing us the x-rays of Y/n's clearly broken leg.

Y/n's breath hitches at the news, tears filling her eyes. "Will I be able to play soccer again?" She asks, fear lacing her voice. At the vocalisation of her worries, Laura sits forward and holds her other hand tightly. "I have every confidence that with a successful surgery and physio, you'll be playing again." He responds with a smile. Y/n's whole body relaxes at the confirmation, but I know there is still one question on her mind. "How long until I can play again?" She asks him.

"You'll be in a cast for about 6 weeks and from there you'll start physio. I would guess that you could be back into light training within 8 weeks and playing within 10." He replies. "Wow, that's a long time." Y/n whispers, her head dropping. "You'd be back in time for playoffs." Laura tries to comfort her. "And we'll still need our captain. You're more than the player on the pitch Y/n." Laura reassures her, placing a kiss to her hand. She nods unsurely before the doctor goes into more detail about surgery and recovery.

She'll be going in for surgery in the morning as it's already late this evening. She has a temporary brace on her leg which will stop any more damage happening before they're able to surgically fix her leg. We thank the doctor who leaves us to it. "How are you feeling kiddo?" Colin asks, placing a hand on her uninjured leg. "10 weeks is a long time." She replies emotionlessly.

Soccer has been her saving grace these last two years. It's been an outlet whilst she's been going through so much, and it's suddenly taken away from her. I just hope that now she has a stable home, a loving girlfriend and family, that she won't lose herself.

A knock on the door gains our attention as we all giggle as we see Rose on her tiptoes trying to look through the window. I wave them in and Rose rushes to her sister's side. "Sissy! Are you ok?" Rose asks worriedly, trying to climb up onto the bed. Y/n leans forward to pick her up, but I tap her hand away and do it for her.

Rose is really careful as she sits next to Y/n staring at her now closed up eye. "I'm much better now my sister is here." She responds happily, a smile plastered on her face to hide her pain. "Auntie Lizzie told me that we can't bring your flowers, so I brought you chocolate instead. It's you're favourite." Rose shares, turning to Lizzie holding her hand out expectantly.

Lizzie chuckles and pulls out the chocolate bar from her bag and hands it's to Rose. "Yummy. Thank you, Rosie." Y/n responds, placing a kiss to her head. "That girl was mean. I hope she got told off and grounded for hurting you." Rose huffs snuggling into her sister. "Well, she was sent off and I can't imagine she'll get away without the ban being extended." Laura explains with an angry look on her face. I notice that Y/n reaches out and squeezes her hand in comfort, instantly calming down her fuming girlfriend.

"When can you come home?" Rose now asks as Lizzie makes herself comfortable. "We're not sure yet sweetie. Y/n has to have surgery tomorrow so probably a couple of nights." I explain, making Rose pout. "But I have school tomorrow." She complains. "That's ok Rosie. When I'm home we can have a movie day. Mom, dad, and Cosmo could join us too. What do you think?" Y/n suggests to help placate the 7 year old. "Can Laura come too?" Rose asks shyly. "Of course!" Y/n replies happily.

Lizzie's eyes go wide when she hears what Y/n called us as both Colin and I smile. Lizzie looks to me and I nod to confirm she heard correctly. "I'm happy for you." She mouths to me, not wanting to disturb the kids who are rambling about what movies to watch.

We spend the evening together, chatting and laughing. It's really nice, considering we're sat in a hospital room with my injured daughter laid up in bed. But as it hits 8pm, the nurse comes in and tells us that visiting hours are over. "Are you sure you're going to be ok on your own?" I ask Y/n, worried to leave her. "I can always talk to them about letting me stay." I offer but she shakes her head. "I'll be ok mom. I'm pretty tired so I'll probably get some sleep." She reassures me. "Ok, I'll have my phone on loud so if you need anything, just call or text ok. I can be here in 20 minutes." I tell her and she nods.

I bid her goodnight, leaving a soft kiss to her head, reminding her how much I love her. Colin does the same before picking up a sleepy Rose. We leave Y/n and Laura to have a moment before we all leave together. "Do you want me to drop Rose at your moms?" Lizzie offers, but I shake my head. "Thanks, but we'll go. I'd like to see Cosmo." I respond and she nods. "How about I drive you home. That way this lot can get back." Lizzie suggests turning to Laura.

She blushes at the attention making me smirk. She's totally fangirling right now! "Oh, you don't need to do that Ms Olsen." She declines. "Don't me stupid, come on. Besides it gives me a chance to get to know my niece's girlfriend." Lizzie insists, making Laura gulp a little. "Oh, and don't call me Ms Olsen. I'm not old. Please just call me Lizzie." She adds on, earning a slow nod from the teenager. We all walk out to the car park together and say our goodbyes before heading home.

__________

The next morning, Colin and I are at the hospital as soon as we're allowed so we can be with Y/n before she heads into surgery. She's in a lot of pain this morning and had a bad night sleep, which is horrible to see. I think she's grateful that she's going to be unconscious for a few hours whilst they fix her leg.

The surgeon comes in and talks through the procedure, though most of it goes over my head. I'm just grateful that it seems to be helping Y/n. The nurses are then in to prepare her before we walk with them as they wheel her to the operating floor. "We'll be right here when you wake. Rose and Laura will be here after school too, so you've got that to look forward to." I tell Y/n, hoping to comfort her when I see worry in her eyes. "We both love you very much. Everything is going to be just fine." Colin says, pressing a kiss to Y/n's head. "I love you both too. See you in a few hours." She smiles. I hold her close one last time and watch as they take her away. Colin wraps his arm around me to comfort me as we begin waiting for her to return.

Instead of waiting around in a cold room, we head to the cafeteria and have some breakfast. We both skipped it this morning, worried about Y/n. We talk about what we can do to make things easier for Y/n when she gets home. She's going to be reliant on us for a while and I want everything to be as easy as possible for her.

"Shit, we need to call Danny?" I suddenly say. "Why? You're not planning on suing the kid are you?" Colin jokes, making me roll my eyes. "No. But it's the court case in 9 days." I point out and he lets out a quiet "oh." I know she'll still be able to testify, but she's not exactly going to be very mobile and it's just something else to add on to a stressful period for her. "Danny will know what to do. He's always got Y/n's interests at heart. I'll call him when Y/n is out of surgery, and we'll leave him to deal with anything that needs doing." Colin reassures me.

After about three hours, we move back to Y/n's room to wait. They said surgery will be around 4 hours, and I we don't want to miss her coming back. We settle in and I makes sure her pyjamas are out as I know she'll want to change as soon as she can.

Half an our later a nurse comes by to say that surgery went well and she's just in post op now before they bring her back. I let out a sigh of relief knowing that everything is ok. We can focus on recovery.

Colin and I both crowd around Y/n when they bring her back in. She's still unconscious but the doctor said she should wake shortly. We take our seats either side of our daughter, holding her hands and taking comfort that she's back with us. When she starts to stir, I move to gently run my hands through her hair. "M-mom." She stutters at a whisper. "I'm here sweetheart. Colin is too." I greet her as her eyes flutter open.

I give her the biggest smile I can which she tries to return. Her head then flops to the side to see Colin. "Hey kiddo. Glad you're awake." Colin smiles to her. "Hi dad." She returns. I don't think either Colin or I are going to get used to that, but I will love hearing it every time. I will never take for granted any of my kids calling me mom.

The doctor comes in when Y/n is more with it, confirming that surgery went really well and that he's confident of a full and complete recovery. This relaxes Y/n and I notice that she's become determined to get fit so she can be ready for playoffs when they come around.

That afternoon Laura and Rose come to visit. Laura kindly picked Rose up from school for us. Mom is going to bring Cosmo around dinner time so we can have some family time together. But thankfully, the doctor confirmed that Y/n can come home with us tomorrow. I'm grateful that she won't be in this hospital for longer. I want my daughter home with us so we can all look after her. She's got a stressful few weeks ahead and we want to be by her side, supporting her, through all of it.

Part 10

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