#it’s just. so funny to me that he has this exact expression in pretty much all his official art

[pollyanna-nana]

Why is Kieran so :<

[kkrymiii]

"No need to be sober"

G!p Kim minjeong x Fem reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

MDNI! (Not proofread!)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

CW: smut, pet names, drunk asf, mafia, no protection :0, perv minjeongie idk seems like it

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

At the mafia bosses party, in his mansion, her daughter named minjeong or winter, was having fun drinking and chatting with her friends, The mafia bosses daughter, just arrived at the party actually. Being late due to not wanting to attend... But then Suddenly something caught minjeongs eyes... SOMEONE to be exact.

Minjeong immediately locked her eyes at. You..

Winter walks over to you, slowly walking over to her, making eye contact the whole time not breaking once

“You are really pretty.”

Winter smiled, she got quite shy for a few seconds. "eh?" I replied shocked and awkward from the sudden move of a random girl on me. Winter keeps smiling, she looked genuinely interested in you “Your eye makeup is really good you know, along with your dark red lips.” Winter leaned towards you more.

but as I was about to respond to her.

"alright jeongie stop being a creep when your drunk leave the pretty girl alone" a sharped eyed girl, wearing a black dress that hugged her curves perfectly said. It was minjeongs younger sister. Minjeong gets yanked back, she was pretty wasted but she was trying to fight the urge to take another sip of her whiskey. She looked at her sister “But she’s so pretty, she’s very gorgeous, I could kiss her right now and she’d probably fall in love with me."

"your whiskey ass smelling breath probably would not be the best for her to taste.. anyways ma'am I apologize with my sisters actions" the younger sister said sighing STILL trying to yank minjeong but she wouldn't budge. Minjeong laughs and shakes her head slightly "don’t apologize, she’s very pretty, I actually thought she’d like me back.” She gets yanked back by her younger sis but she’s not resisting at all, she looks very dazed

"minjeong let's go father's gonna scold you again.." the younger sister sighed her patience running thin. “Ugh, you’re ruining my fun, she’s so pretty, I’m gonna kiss her, and she’s gonna love me, I’m gonna be her wife.” Minjeong keeps trying to get free from her sibling so she can go over to the beautiful girl. "What?.. your disgusting... you know father's no gonna allow you to date someone you just found at the party.... And who even is this girl... " The younger looked up at you scanning your face. You had a sheepish expression clearly awkward from the situation.

But then suddenly. Minjeong darts across the room again, to try and get to her, she has absolutely no control over how much she’s drinking so she’s pretty much wasted Minjeong finally manages to get over to her, and she immediately hugs the girl, and squeezes her in to a bear hug, the girl smells so good too, like pure honey.

"Ahh-.. I'm.. sorry are you okay?" You gulped not knowing what to do with this girl..your hands floating in the air, But for Minjeong it's the opposite. Minjeong is in heaven, she’s having the best time in her life. “Yes… yes I am… I am so drunk, but right now I feel like I’m in l-luuuv.” Minjeong says really slowly and drawn out, her words slurring together and her face is extremely hazy and red.

"Ah-.. this.. this face?" You muttured as you recognized the face. "Y...you.. are the mafia's boss daughter?" Minjeong slowly nods “Yeah… he’s the most amazing father ever, I love my sisters too.” She keeps squeezing her, she’s so comfortable, so comfortable to hold, she starts burying her head onto your neck. You couldn't help but giggle a little bit finding this girls words funny "uh-.. I'm sorry but..are you okay?..you seem really drunk." You said clearing your throat trying to be responsible now.

"I’ll be honest… I’m absolutely wasted but all I can think about is you. I love you." Minjeong keeps squeezing her tightly, and she hugs her close, pulling her into a embrace. You gulped looking at her as your eyes scramble everywhere. "Whaa- but we just met tho?"

“I don’t care… you’re mine now, I don’t care we just met, I just fell in love with you.” Minjeong keeps sniffing her and pressing her face into her neck more and more, she can’t get enough of her, she wants to be with her, kiss her and marry her. "wait.. how about let's go to the bathroom and wet your face.. you seem really drunk.. and your father wouldn't want to see you like that yeah?" You suggested. Minjeong sighs and pouts, she was absolutely infatuated with you, and she hated having to leave your side “Fineeeee!” Minjeong pouts as she finally lets go of you and walks into the bathroom, she was very grumpy and looked extremely disappointed. "uh! Wait don't walk like that you might fall" you said catching up to minjeong holding her as they make they're wait to the bathroom. Minjeong doesn’t fight, and lets herself be dragged along, she holds your arm and leans into you to keep you beside her “You’re so beautiful, I wanna kiss you.” Minjeong whispers at your ear, she’s being really clingy with her.

"What the hell does her father feed her." You thought to yourself but kept a warn awkward smile at her as you lead her to the bathroom. As you guys arrived at the bathroom, you immediately helped Minjeong, making her wet her face with water as you handed her a handkerchief. And this girl leans on the sink staring at you for a whopping 5 minutes Minjeong sighs, not letting you go as she lets you wet her face, when she’s done she looks up at you “.....ughh.... your so pretty, I want to kiss you right now, right here.” Minjeong leans in to try and kiss you with her whiskey drenched lips. " i- I don't think this is allowed.." you dodged it swiftly, backing up creating distance.

Minjeongs pouting gets even more obvious the more she gets rejected, she gets really jealous at the fact that she isn’t getting what she wants, she can’t stand the rejection "You have no choice… I want to kiss you.” Minjeong leans in again and goes for a kiss for the 100th time. Minjeong uses all the strength she has left and is completely force kissing this time, your lips just feel so good to her and she just wants to stay kissing them. Minjeong keeps going, pushing her body against hers, kissing you on the lips so aggressively. Minjeong keeps kissing her, but not a simple kiss, but a aggressive and possessive kiss, as if she’s saying mine to you, that she’s hers, and she’s not allowed to get with anyone else but her. Minjeong holds you even closer, not letting her go. She just gets more and more aggressive with the kisses and she starts to go deeper, it’s getting slightly obsessive and possessive, as if she’s trying to claim her as her own. Minjeong grabs your hips tightly and forces her closer

Minjeong goes even deeper, as if she’s trying to suck the soul out of her. “Mineee, mine I tell you, you’re mine mine mine.” Minjeongs lips are already slightly swollen and have some slight bruising from the intense kissing that she has been doing with you, but to her it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t let go.

Soon you were bent over holding onto the sink for her dear life as minjeong was ramming into her pussy with her dick.

"Fu- fuck! Better than I..ah.. imagined" Minjeong panted as she grabbed your waist drilling herself into you. You were taking it like a good girl. You could hear minjeongs babbles and heavy breathes as she's clearly drunk asf. "Baby baby!.. fuck... I'm.. I I want to fuck you until you can't remember anything" minjeong moaned as she leaned over still rocking her hips into you as she aggressively placed kisses all over your back, making you moan and shiver.

"Ah.. pleas..ee please minjeong" you moaned out as you already were seeing the stars. Why the hell was this girl so good with her thrust game!? "Hell.. yeah!.. haha.. fuck fuck.. I'm gonna Impregnate you" minjeong chuckled as she fixed your guys position. Lifting your leg up to her shoulders now hitting more of your good spots making you moan out loud losing control, as tears fell out of your face.

"Wah?! Fuck! Ah.. good! Too much!!" You cried out trying to grab onto something but ended up grabbing onto the sink again as you were getting fucked hard by the mafia's bosses daughter. You felt ashamed at the same time since you were also a daughter of a 'scary family' if you know what I mean. But seeing yourself get this submissive over another girl who was apart of another family that was apart of the mafia shattered your ego Abit... But who cares she's hot asf and good ay sex :3

"Wahh- shi shit! Slut.. I'm coming! Makei.. eu.. ah- my wife! Mineeee!" Minjeong moaned drool dripping out of her mouth as her thrusts became more harder. She was pulling out and then slamming hard as she can, clearly teasing. "Wh.. ah.. fuck hurts- pl..please" you cried out, even if you couldn't see it it was clear due to the hard slamming red marks were definitely being made.

"Coming! Ta.. take it all!" Minjeong said as she thrusted one more time, as she released in you filling you up. You could feel her cock twitching adding to the pleasure as you came too, your liquids mixing as you two rode it out.

Minjeong then leaned in to you laying her head on your collar bone inhaling your scent as she gently rocked her hips getting friction riding the release of you two out. As minjeong pulled out she looked down at you, her eyes softening as she pulled you into a hug.

"My wife... No need to be sober to fall in love." She muttured peppering your neck with kisses. You didn't know how to respond so you just carressed her hair letting her do what she wanted.....

And let's just say as you to fixed yourself and dressed yourself back up and went out of the bathroom. You and minjeong went separate ways, her with her friends and family and you with your friends and family too, you couldn't help ofcourse but stare at her direction and seeing from afar that she was definitely getting scolded by her younger sibling. Which she said was named ningning, and her older sibling named karina...

You couldn't help but giggle from afar.

[leclsrc]

more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k  

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun? 

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?” 

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you. 

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.” 

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!” 

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming. 

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him. 

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips. 

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move. 

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking. 

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed. 

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?” 

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise. 

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling. 

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go. 

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—” 

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition. 

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again. 

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview. 

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week. 

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?” 

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.” 

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people. 

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace. 

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say,  “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch. 

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different. 

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?” 

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response. 

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.” 

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <cmhpleclerc@gmail.com>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <cmhpleclerc@gmail.com>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change. 

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

[talaok]

I don’t know why this request popped into my head but Spencer wanting to get BAU reader flowers for Valentine’s Day but they’re working and the team don’t know about them yet so Spencer, the sweetheart he is, he’s like ok I’ll just get all the girls flowers. And the girls are like wow that’s so sweet but Morgan’s like ‘funny, you didn’t do this last year, or the year before, why now?’ And just becomes really suspicious and starts investigating lmao

I love this. you're a genius.

Flowers

Spencer had been nervous about it for the whole week.

He knew it was stupid, but you know that voice in your head that keeps reminding you that it isn't stupid and that you should worry, probably even more than you're doing now because this is a huge fucking deal even if it's really not?

well,

that voice had had the best of him.

He had thought about it for a long time,

about all the possibilities and the related outcomes,

he had thought about surprising you later, after work, but then again, that meant seeing you at the office and having to pretend like he had forgotten, hence, hurting your feelings.

so that was a no.

He even thought about not coming into work, just make up some excuse to hotch and not show up.

but that didn't feel right,

and so it had come to the last possibility,

The best way to hide something is in plain sight, right?

__ __ __

he was sweating.

it was ridiculous how much he was actually stressing over this, but still, there he was, his forehead glistening, his tie too tight around his throat, and four diffrent bouquets in his hands,

well, not exactly diffrent,

only one of them was,

the most important one,

and he had already thought of the excuse as to why it was y/n's,

he was gonna say the truth,

or better, part of it.

See the thing was that he knew her favorite flowers,

Dahlias, she loved dahlias,

pink ones to be exact,

he remembered the moment she had told him, that day at the park, the sun shining on their faces, as their bare feet brushed the fresh grass,

He remembered finding it interesting that she would choose a flower that's also the symbol of one of America's most famous unsolved murders, and he recalled her turning to him, and as if she had read his mind telling him that she liked the flower even more because of that,

"it's not fair that just because one case has been named the black dahlia then all of the sudden all of those amazingly wonderful flowers lose their beauty. That's not how it works. The dahlia is only more beautiful now because even after all that, she remains unfazed, and so does her beauty"

And he remembered having kissed her,

because if there was one person able to think that way,

it was her.

And so she obviously had bought her those, while for the rest of the women he had opted for some red roses,

witch to the untrained eye may have looked like a much more romantic option, but trust me, after all those comments about how much she hated them, Spencer had got the hint she didn't like them.

Ding

The elevator's door opened

Ok, it's fine Spencer, it's fine, you can do this.

he took a deep breath as he pushed open the glass doors, immediately noticing the team already in the conference room.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply once more before entering the room.

"oh wow" Jj immediately commented, eyeing the flowers

"pretty boy" morgan grinned "you're really showing off huh?"

He felt his cheeks warm, but smiled nonetheless, everyone else was.

He could feel your eyes on him, and as he glanced at you, just as he had expected, he took in the twitch of your lips as they turned up in that cute way they always did, and his heart skipped a beat.

"well" he cleared his throat "since it's valentine's day I wanted to do something nice for all the wonderful women of the office" he explained "and even though, as a recent study showed, chocolate is the most common gift, In fact, approximately 48% of people who celebrate valentine's day gift chocolates" he stopped a moment to noticed every amused or questioning expression staring back at him, before continuing" but, anyway, I liked the idea of flowers better, "he smiled shyly "so- yeah" he looked down at the bouquets as he turned to his left "Emily, this is for you," he said, handing the roses to her, and earning a big smile and thank you from Prentiss, "JJ, "he said walking up to her "happy valentine's day," he said as she took the flowers "thank you" she grinned at him "I hope Will isn't gonna be jealous" she joked, and spencer laughed softly before finally turning to you.

The moment your eyes met, something traveled between them, a mutual understanding, a mutual sparkle going from him, straight to you.

"And these are for you y/n," he said "happy valentine's day"

You smiled, looking down at the flowers "dahlias"

"How could I forget?" he blushed, and you couldn't help but throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, as you closed your eyes, lost in his scent.

"thank you Spence" you whispered, before remembering where you were and reluctantly leaning away, he was beaming when you did, and your heart warmed.

"are the other ones for my baby girl?" Derek asked, and spencer frowned, confused before realizing, "oh- yes, they're for Penelope" he said"I actually wanted to give them to her now if it isn't a problem" he turned to Hotch, and he nodded slightly before saying "make it quick" to witch spencer immediately answered "absolutely" before starting towards the door

"wait"

he turned around

"I'll come with you" you said before you could stop yourself

__ __ __

"so that was.." morgan chuckled

"what? it's nice" Emily came to his defense

"yeah Derek what are you talking about?" jj chirped in

"Rossi? Hotch?" he turned to them

"I think he's just jealous his baby girl is getting flowers from another man" Emily joked, making jj laugh

"what you don't find it even a bit weird?" he was facing Rossi now, who shrugged, " if there's one thing all my wives have taught me is that women love flowers"

JJ and Emily laughed softly at that

"hotch?"

"I think it's nice"

Derek sighed deeply "yes but doesn't anybody find it a little strange that he only did it this year?"

"Derek-" JJ shook her head

"What, we've been working together for 5 years, and now all of a sudden he gifts roses on valentine's day? You can't tell me that's strange"

There was a moment of silence

"maybe he just wanted to do something nice" Hotch intervened

"yes but why now?" Morgan asked "don't tell me you haven't asked yourself that"

Emily sighed "Even if you're right, even if it's strange. What are you tryna say?"

"I'm just saying there has to be a reason, that's all" he explained, sitting on his chair

"like what?" emily asked

"i dunno"

another moment of silence

"well he has been acting weird lately" JJ spoke up, and the whole room turned toward her

"Weird how?" Hotch asked, seemingly worried

"Nothing big he's just been busy a lot that's all" she shrugged " we haven't hung out in a while because he has always someplace to go to"

"yeah that's true" Emily agreed "even last night he said he had something to do didn't he?"

"yup"

"Maybe the kid just goes to a new chess tournament " Rossi joked

" I knew something was up" Derek mumbled

"but it still doesn't make sense. What does he blowing us off have to do with the flowers?" JJ asked

Derek's mind worked fast as he pieced all the clues together, all the glares, blushes, and smiles finally coming together.

"well," he got up again "who do you give gifts to on valentine's day?"

"your partner"

"Exactly" he nodded "but what if, and this is hypothetical, you couldn't give them to them directly because let's say nobody knows about you two. Then what do you do?"

Emly chuckled "you give them to everyone else too"

"Exactly" Derek grinned

"wait" Jj waved her hand in disbelief "are you saying-?" she couldn't even finish the sentence and just pointed blankly at your seat

Derek raised his eyebrow "I mean it would make sense wouldn't it?"

Emily smiled "it sure would"

"let's not get ahead of ourselves " Hotch intervened "this is all just speculation, it could all still be just a nice gesture"

"Hotch's right "Rossi agreed "we can't be sure of anything"

And just as he pronounced those words you and Spencer walked through the door, and as much as they were all trying to be professional, and respecting of whatever privacy you might have wanted,

it was very hard not to notice the pink on both your cheeks, or the way your lips looked somehow a lot more swollen than before, and spencer's collar definitely not as straight as it was just a few minutes before.

And what was even harder to not notice, was the big beautiful bouquet of red roses Spencer was still holding.

Derek grinned way too smugly as he witnessed everyone around the table come to the same conclusion he had just moments before,

and as Spencer finally spoke over the terrifying silence, asking "What's up?" He couldn't help but respond "nothing" he eyed the bouquet he was still holding "We were just talking about how much Penelope likes roses"

[layraket]

OKAY TIME FOR ME HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT THE UPDATE 'CUZ I NEED A DISTRACTION RIGHT NOW

i cant explain why this exact img is so funny to me. im not able to give any context or explanation. im physically unnable to do that.

my guy is tired :( give him a rest pls

GOTTA GO FAST!!!!! (i almost chocked with my water seeing this idk its just. that face. and pose.)

🧍‍♂️

hes PISSED. mr postman start running. faster.

i love this drawing. Jojo's sister made a good job catching sky's mood

LEGEND AND HYRULE TOGETHER!!! THE GUYS!!!! DOWNFALL DUO CRUMBS!!! YEAHHHH!!!

THEY LAUGH HAPPILY AS THEY SHOULD

wild seems so small next to these two. i know he's average height. but. idk. their cub.

i wonder why is he saying this

do u know something time??? care to share???? did u tried it????? or maybe is just a joke or smth and im overlooking

okay so. mandatory moment to contemplate of how does jojo make the backgrounds.

Theyre so pretty and dinamic, and they blend so well with the characters. I admire her for this, it is something that makes my brain go brrrr

fi.............

AGAIN THIS ATTENTION TO DETAILS

i have no words. clapping

THIS SKY'S EXPRESION HERE. THIS ONE.

that man has so many regrets. and misses a lot of moments already lived that will no come back again. He just haves what's left of these times, what's left of her presense.

OKAY IM NOT PROMISING TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THIS BUT UUHHHH IT IS TEMPTING

🏃‍♂️

DINK'S HELMET JUST THERE GIVES ME CHILLS.

I remember the first time i read the comic, i didn't know there was more and got stuck like an entire month thinking that Twilight was still dying. i hated dink for so long just for that. and the fucking massive thing that he transformed into. urgh.

i love wind so much he has the best expressions of them all

poor guy hes tired! let him have some credit goddamnit!

GLUP GLUP GLUP GLUO GLUP GLUP GLUP GLU

as a final comment. i love how does time looks in this exact pannel. just. idk.

i love jojo's art style thats all i like analyzing it with a microscope and enjoying all little details like colors and expressions and shadding an

(art credits obviously towards @linkeduniverse ! )

[whentherewerebicycles]

here are some reflections on the baby: he is closer to four months now than three and I can’t quite wrap my head around it. I feel like he’s been part of my life forever and also like no time at all has passed since we came home from the hospital together. he’s the best little kid. he’s so watchful and often a little reserved, but he smiles so much when he sees me, especially in the morning and when I’m changing him and singing to him. when I first noticed his love for trees I was like haha this is a funny little newborn detail that I am sure will pass, but instead he just has become more and more enraptured by them. in his carrier or in the stroller or when you’re holding him outside he just stares up at them with this expression of total wonder he doesn’t bestow upon anything else. when he is crying inconsolably often the only thing that comforts him is being taken out onto the deck to gaze up at the massive evergreens behind our house. crying inconsolably is pretty rare—he’s such a content little baby and he can often occupy himself for long stretches of time looking around and (a newer development!) chewing thoughtfully on his hands. he’s game to go pretty much anywhere and do pretty much anything, and he’s very often in a good mood. one of his favorite (non-tree-related) things in the world is being allowed to snuggle nap with me in the big bed. he turns onto his side facing me and scoots himself as close as he can to me and falls asleep with his face pressed against my chest. he always lets out a shuddery little sigh right before he passes out, like he was being so brave doing other stuff but now he can settle down with mom and rest. he can sleep for hours and hours like that. sometimes when he’s totally asleep he will, out of nowhere, let out a single bloodcurdling shriek without opening his eyes or waking up or seeming to notice that he just screamed. lately he loves sitting up on my knee facing outwards so he can look around at everything going on. he always has this expression on his face like he’s absorbing everything with the most intense focus even though he isn’t sure what to make of it yet. he’s still in the data-gathering phase he’s not ready to draw any conclusions. his favorite “game” at the moment is sitting facing me, propped up against my knees so he can touch my face with his feet. sometimes he kicks my face and does this little burbling laugh when I feign outrage. other times he just stares at me with that look of total focus and then very tenderly strokes the side of my face with his little foot, watching me intently to see how I’m going to respond. he is impossibly dear to me in every moment but especially in these moments when you can see him slowly starting to register me as a being separate from himself and wondering to himself how that could possibly be. in these moments he is often silent, wholly absorbed in regarding me, but then a minute later he will burst into a long, excited torrent of sounds, as if he is hailing me, separate being that I am, across the vast gulf that is our current language barrier. I love him so much I can’t stand it. he is my curious and reserved little boy. my little face-kicker. he has these huge dark eyes and only a suggestion of eyebrows and a wonderfully expressive little face and my exact dimple on the right side, which he shows you when he talks to you, and of course when he smiles.

[lycankeyy]

Jesus Christ these doodles already feel so old . I was not lying I really am using this fixation to speedrun learning to draw humans LMAO. Anyway I made some of those silly "understand ship in 5 minutes" memes with my Favorite pairings in funkycule au not ALL of them just the ones that I brainrot hardest about. If I did one for all of them we'd be here all day I'd probably hit image limit it's called the funkycule for a reason

ANYWAY infodumping/details under the cut:

BF/GF/Pico:

I am a "BF and GF are Fucking Tall™️" truther because it's funny to me. With BF it's harder to tell because his posture is absolutely atrocious but GF is just So Fucking Tall

I'm going to be honest with the gender headcanon for BF. I guess I default to him being transmasc but I can see him as. Like. Anything. In fact I think he's just every gender. But I'm a coward so he's transmasc for the purposes of the chart. GF is a girl but identifying her as "cis" or "trans" doesn't mean much when demon genders don't really work like that. It's complicated. Pico is just a guy

Pico likes being the big spoon because he likes knowing that his partners are safe. However GF likes being the big spoon More. The result is Pico Sandwich. He will never admit it but Pico feels the safest he ever has in his entire life when he is being Pico Sandwiched

BF is very much a verbal affection type of guy. Yes he is nonverbal. His words of affection are various dubstep noises. His partners appreciate it so much

BF grew up kinda spoiled and never really learned how to cook. However after noticing that Pico is like extremely bad at feeding himself (canon six pack means nothing to me. That boy is skin and bones I won't be told otherwise /silly) he for the first time managed to convince himself to try it and he got Really into it he's actually good at it. He still loses his mind when GF makes him pb&j sammiches for dinner though it's his favorite thing in the world

Pico is Insanely overprotective mostly because he's extremely hypervigilant and sees potential danger in everything. BF is the exact opposite and even in situations where he's in immediate danger he'll be ironically more worried about Pico getting too worried about it. GF is also pretty ditzy about this due to her confidence that her boys can handle Anything but if either of them ever got hurt she would explode everyone in a 50 mile radius with her mind so like that counts for something

Random headcanon: the group's favorite date night activity is looking up an extremely bad movie and then commentating over it like old-school rage youtubers the whole time in an effort to see who can get the others to laugh the hardest. BF wins often because the flatness of the TTS voice he uses adds something to the humor of it

Pico/Darnell:

I kinda bounced around with what label to use for Darnell for a while. I definitely see him as arospec, with the stipulation that he does feel romantic attraction just like very not traditionally and after a Long Time. After going between quoiromantic and demiromantic for a bit I landed on grey bc it's open-ended enough to encompass it. The point is it took Darnell like 3 full years to realize that his feelings were less platonic than he thought and even then theyre still like. Only half-romantic lmao

Unfortunately as he cannot provide the Pico Sandwich Darnell is getting little spoon'd by a guy nearly a foot shorter than him. F

Pico and Darnell are pretty verbally coarse with each other in a way only people who've been through the amount of shit they have been together can be w/o jeopardizing their relationship. That being said they often express affection and insane amounts of trust through actions very frequently, sometimes even without either of them realizing. Them immediately making up after weekend 1 was one of those times lol

I put Pico on the "squashes the bug" end of both charts but in reality I think he just takes them outside unless it's like a gnat or something. Darnell isn't scared of bugs he just wonders what would happen if he set one on fire. Pico refuses to let him set them on fire

Even though Pico 2 is in a weird limbo state in funkycule just like it is irl, there's still some point in the timeline where Pico expressed protectiveness over Darnell, to the point where, years later, when Darnell heard Pico took down a whole army for BF and GF, he got jealous, because that was supposed to be their thing >:(. This was quickly followed by his Oh moment

Random headcanon: Pico and Darnell had been acquaintances for the whole time they were in school together, but they became friends when Pico (and Nene by proxy) were the only kids to continue hanging out with him after The Class Presentation Gone Wrong (Darnell Plays with Fire). To return the favor, Darnell stuck by Pico even after the events of PS fundamentally changed him as a person. Though their relationship can be messy, they've been virtually inseperable since.

Nene/Cassandra:

The levels of toxicity of this are mostly dependant on When in the timeline by the time these two are like 21 they've normalized a bit dw lmao

Okay so like. I've made so much Lore. For Pico's School. For no reason. Anyway penilians have nothing against child soldiers so Cas was shipped off to infiltrate Earth at the penilian equivalent of 13. Also while on a surface level she's transfem in more depth it's like "all penilians are One Sex and have One Gender so technically she is xenogender, using neopronouns, and if you want to be extra silly with it, by the time she's 19 she's functionally alienkin but for humans as a coping mechanism for being banished to earth (dw abt it)"

[Projects my trauma and its side effects onto Nene] who said that

I didn't think much on the borrowing clothes thing until I realized that I draw Nene and Cassandra wearing the same style of turtlenecks I was like. Do you know what would be really funny

I don't have many intimate cute headcanons for these two Yet because I'm so early on in developing my shit and these two are Not cute at first. However I do like to imagine that Nene calls Cas all kinds of over-the-top cutesy or stupid nicknames just to get a reaction out of her. She called her a "vixen" as a furry joke + something between a compliment and insult once and she almost died

Nene is literally the only one in this entire cast who's never gotten her license suspended also she's somewhat good at car maintence which Cas find inexplicably hot

Giggles and kicks my feet at putting both Pico and Cassandra at the far end of the overprotectiveness spectrum. Anyway

Random headcanon: in the short period of time before Cas started ghosting Nene and FNF happening, they were in contact for One Christmas when they were like 15. Nene got Cas a cute little switchblade with hearts carved into the handle. Cas keeps it in a box by her bed and refuses to let anyone touch it or to let it ever get dirty.

If you have read this far I love you. Here is your reward should you choose to accept it:

[taeraeszn]

hi! i would like to request zb1 member and their s/o is hanging out together but certain things remind s/o of their member, and see their reaction about it 🫣 thank you!

when something reminds zb1's s/o of another member

hi anon ty for requesting <3 this will be my last post before i go on a mini hiatus for personal reasons. i'm not sure when i'll be back but my schedule is pretty hard to write around and when i find time again, i'll open my requests again :)

also sorry if these don't meet your expectations anon, these were quite literally written over the span of 4 days of when i had time to write which was very small LMAO

warnings: food, drinks, one swear (in yujin's) but that's about it i think!

kim jiwoong

you and jiwoong were out on a walk, you were telling him of how much you wanted to go outside and jiwoong didn’t complain. in fact, he wanted to go out for a bit as well

the weather was great, you were in a good mood, jiwoong was happy, everything was well

then a couple was walking with their dog in front of you two. you took notice of their dog, especially because it reminded you of something or someone...

“babe! look ! doesn’t that dog remind you of gyuvin’s dog?” you exclaimed. he looked and realized that the dog was the exact same breed as eumppappa, an italian greyhound

“oh they really do!” he said then waving at the dog who seemed thrilled and began barking excitedly

as you two began walking back, jiwoong held your hand tighter, feeling comfort with you being beside him

“it’s funny that you said gyuvin’s dog rather than their actual name eumppappa.” (I’M SORRY IDK EUMPPAPPA’S ACTUAL GENDER HELP)

you hit his shoulder playfully, “it’s not my fault his dog’s name is so long.”

he giggled, “yeah eumppappa is quite a mouthful to say.”

it went silent for a while until jiwoong spoke up again, “hey, what if we get a dog?”

you looked up excitedly, “really?! would you want to?” 

“of course, any breed that you like!”

"wait aren't you allergic to dogs though?" you paused, he shrugged, "if it's for you i don't care."

rest of the members are under the cut!

zhang hao

hao wanted to go shopping with you and so you headed to the nearby mall for some new clothing

as you were about to enter the mall, hao pointed at some dancers who were filming a video with passerby’s stopping to watch

you tugged at his arm, “hao can we watch them for a bit?” you smiled.

he didn't complain and so you went to watch, totally in awe at how well the dancers executed their moves with elegance and sharpness

your eyes lit up as you realized they were tutting as well as waacking, something hanbin was familiar with

“hao! they're tutting and waacking! just like hanbin!” 

hao was actually a bit taken back that your first thought was a fellow teammate of his

“o-oh yeah they are. it’s pretty amazing isn’t it?” he smiled. you nodded eagerly, “right! i should film it and show hanbin.” you quickly pulled your phone out and pressed play on the recording button, hao though remained silent 

a while later you finally entered the mall but noticed hao’s expressions had became more sour after that encounter

“baobei? Is everything ok?” you asked, he shrugged it off as nothing but you softly grabbed his hand as a reassurance 

he quickly shook his head “it’s just something stupid…i got a bit jealous after hearing you mention hanbin…” you were puzzled but then realized he was talking about the dancers and how you brought up his member

“oh baobei, it was just because i’m familiar with hanbin doing that style of dance, it means nothing else. trust me, i bring you up literally everywhere, ten times more than i do with hanbin.”

finally a smile began to form, “well that makes me feel better.” he mumbled. You then pressed your lips on his soft cheek, “i’m glad.”

sung hanbin

you sat down with your boyfriend planning a vacation for your anniversary. hanbin already had some cities in mind while planning your trip

“so i was thinking of going to los angeles since it has lots of attractions and is generally a good city to travel to.” he suggested, showing you his notes of the good points about l.a

when you thought of los angeles, something else came to mind rather than the attractions and hanbin wasn’t expecting it

“isn’t ricky from there?” you randomly said. hanbin looked up at you with his brow raised

he then began laughing, “is that your first thought?” then rubbing your forehead

“yeah well…ricky has been telling me about how great the city is.” it is true, ricky always boasts about california and especially l.a, stating how great it is

“you hang out with him too much.” he playfully pouted

you playfully rolled your eyes, “so are we going or not?” 

"i dunno…should we? I mean it seems like a pretty great place but there are lots of other places too-”

“hey! you just said l.a was great and now you're backing out because i mentioned ricky!” you said, catching hanbin in 4k

you saw his cat whiskers form as he nervously scratched the back of his neck, “oh…did i?”

“it’s fine. los angeles sounds good, let’s head there.” you enlocked arms with him

he then closed his notebook, “then it’s official!”

"i'm excited for our vacation." you mumbled, "me too love. let's make the most of it, okay?"

seok matthew (get well soon matt &lt;;3)

with your hands intertwined with matthew's, you were out at the local park which was absolutely stunning

it was a great way to relieve your mind from all the stress you’ve recently been experiencing as well for matthew to relax after his busy schedule

in that park there was a huge pond where some ducks often roamed, it was practically their home

you pointed at them, clearly in awe with the little creatures, “look at them! they're so cute!" you exclaimed. matthew also took a glance at them while giggling

“they really are adorable, but not as much as you.” he poked your nose then gently kissing your hand

“oh stop it..” you mumbled.

as you took a closer look at the ducks, it made you realize something

“wow taerae really does resemble ducks.” you said, not even thinking before saying your thoughts out loud

matthew stopped and gave you a look, “wow and i thought i was being a great boyfriend by complimenting you only for you to mention my friend.” he pouted

your hands went to cup his cheeks, “i didn’t call him cute though didn’t i?” 

his hands naturally wrapped around your body, “yeah i guess not.” 

“c’mon don’t be sulky, we still have lots of time for ourselves.”

"shall we continue our walk then?" you nodded and you two continued your peaceful date

kim taerae (get well soon taerae &lt;;3)

“and here’s my other essentials, you know, like perfumes and accessories.” taerae said.

he was showing you around his room as it was your first time visiting his house since you begun dating

you two had begun dating a few months ago and it’s safe to say that taerae has been an amazing partner, he always understands you and makes you feel extremely loved. visiting his home was a big step in your relationship

“wow! you really do own a lot of perfumes!” you exclaimed, examining each of them. one of the perfumes specifically stood out from the crowd, mainly because of a reason taerae didn’t expect

“didn’t you tell me that this is the one that gunwook always uses?” you said, pointing at it

taerae stood still, took back by your abrupt question, “uh, oh, yeah gunwook uses this one quite a bit. how did you remember?” it had been a while since you visited the dorms so taerae’s reaction was understandable

“oh, well.. when you showed me around the dorm that day, you kept talking about it and how it convinced you to buy one for yourself!” 

taerae being embarrassed let out a chuckle, “oh god, you really do remember.”

you giggled and wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, “you're so cute when you get flustered.”

“shut up..” he jokingly mumbled. the room fell silent for a second but it was quite comforting

“do you want to cuddle in bed?” you suggested, he nodded, “why would i ever say no to that?”

shen ricky

you were scrolling on tiktok, bored out of your mind. ricky let you know that he was arriving soon since he felt the same and wanted to see you

as you were waiting for your boyfriend, you saw a video on your tiktok homepage that showed someone playing the violin to ‘in bloom’

you stopped scrolling to view it and were in awe at how amazing it sounded. it was beautiful and powerful to say the least, you knew you had to show ricky it

your front door opened to reveal ricky. you ran towards him to hug him, “i missed you.”

his soft chuckle made your heart melt, “i missed you too, love.” you both walked to your couch to sit

“look, look, i found this cool video of someone playing in bloom on the violin.” you shoved your phone into ricky’s face to play it

ricky also felt the same about the video, expressing his appreciation and awe at how well it was done

you then blurted out, “i think zhang hao would also be good at playing in bloom on the violin.”

“hao hyung?” ricky said, staring at you

“yeah! he’s super good at playing the violin, you should ask him to do it!” 

ricky smiled, “sure. but i'd prefer hearing you talk about me more than my members.” he shyly looked down

“okay the amazing shen ricky, i’ll talk about only you today. is that better?” 

“for sure.”

kim gyuvin

both of you were in the train, sitting together while listening to music together. the train was pretty much a ghost town as barely anyone else was there

thanks to that, you and gyuvin could talk a bit louder. you both had one earphone in your ear as gyuvin decided to share his with you

you were getting tired of the current song playing and looked for a new song to listen to, you then smiled to your boyfriend, clicking on a certain song

“oh replay?” gyuvin said, you nodded, “yeah it’s really good!”

“you know my exact taste! i knew i could trust you with choosing a song.” gyuvin grinned, putting his arm around you

“well yujin has this song on repeat whenever i visit your dorms so i got addicted to it.”

gyuvin paused, taking in what you said, then abruptly paused the song

“hey!” you said, clearly not happy as it was reaching your favourite part

“i thought i was being a great partner letting you choose, but apparently it’s only because yujin likes this song?! I’m changing it.” 

“hey don’t change it!” it was too late and gyuvin had already switched it to another song

you pouted, “you're mean.” 

gyuvin playfully ruffled your hair, “your welcome babe.” 

the ride later turned peaceful as you rested your head on his shoulder, enjoying the time you shared with your boyfriend before his schedule would be packed again

park gunwook

a new canadian food place had just opened and you begged gunwook to take you there. him being the great boyfriend that he is, brought you there only a day later when his schedule was empty

you both walked in and took a seat. a menu booklet rested on the table, you both observed it and one food item popped out to you more than the others

it was poutine. a classic canadian dish that has custard cheese and fries, you could never go wrong with that. the main reason you wanted to come here was to actually try poutine!

“oo babe can we get the poutine?” you suggested, gunwook noticed that the price was reasonable, as well the picture looked scrumtious enough to drool at

“sure!” the server came to take your order of two poutines and left, leaving you two by yourself

“y’know matthew was the one who wanted me to try poutine?” for a minute, gunwook forgot that matthew was even canadian until you brought it up

“oh really..?” you nodded, “yeah so when i saw this place it reminded me of him. we should take him here too!”

“yeah we should.” however, gunwook’s uneasy look said otherwise. you noticed and held his hand

“don’t worry you two can come alone, if that’s what you want.” he immediately shook his hands in denial. “no, no! It’s fine. I just get a bit jealous seeing you mention the hyung’s and yujin.” he mumbled

shy gunwook was the best version of gunwook, “awe, it’s okay gunwook. if it makes you feel better, i never shut up about you.”

you finally heard him chuckle, “well that is nice to hear. i think matthew hyung will really like this place.”

and in the end, the poutine was absolutely delicious <3

han yujin

the cafeteria was packed so you went on a mini walk around the school to avoid the crowd until you came across a vending machine near some lockers

you found a dollar in your pocket and decided to put it to good use by purchasing a drink. just as you pressed the button for the drink you wanted, you felt someone’s presence behind you

"i was wondering where you went.” you jumped but then saw that it was yujin, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“yeah well i had to find you so i searched all over the school.” you bent down to grab your drink and yujin noticed that it was one that you hardly ever purchased

“huh? why did you get this one than your usual?” you shrugged, “i saw jiwoong drinking it so i wanted to try it.” 

he gave you a side eye, “so you never had it before?” you nodded, “yeah! It looks yummy.” 

he quickly got his money out and got his usual, “here have this one instead. i want you to have something that reminds you of me.” 

you playfully rolled your eyes and declined his offer, “it doesn’t hurt to try something new.” you got the cap off and tried a bit of your drink before almost spitting it out

“what the…” you mumbled, safe to say that it wasn’t that great. yujin suddenly began laughing like a maniac as you glared at him.

“here.” he handed you his drink to which you snatched and shot him a dead stare

“let’s head to the cafeteria.” he held his hand out to which you intertwined with yours, “i know your happy that i didn’t like it.”

“very much so.” 

[sapphorror]

Short Moderate Length List of Small(ish) Things I Appreciate About The Wettening

Dib being conspicuously absent from the opening pan of the classroom, only to cartoon-teleport into existence at Zim’s desk the second Zim starts expressing mild apprehension at the sight of unfamiliar weather. This kid spends his time just hanging around staring at Zim, waiting for him to show the slightest sign of discomfort, confusion, or unease in order to immediately taunt him about it—and the surrounding chaos, if anything, is just an opportunity to come watch even more closely. We all already knew this, but it still kills me to see it in action.

Also, he’s animated popping up from below, and like… were we meant to interpret this as him just chilling underneath Zim’s desk? No, absolutely not—but is it funny (and, to add to the hilarity, miraculously somehow not completely unbelievable within the context of the show) to imagine that he was? Yes. Yes it is.

Zim confidently walking out into a downpour he has already confirmed to be acidic just because Dib implicitly dared him to—no one’s looking, Dib hasn’t even said anything or made a claim against his humanity, Zim just can’t stand to give Dib the satisfaction of seeing him vulnerable or afraid of something (which backfires pretty spectacularly, since I’m pretty sure ‘writhing on the ground shrieking in indescribable agony’ is a significantly worse look in terms of appearing vulnerable, but all’s well that ends in Victory For Zim, I guess).

Also Zim's little baffled gesture right beforehand like he's silently asking Dib to confirm he's not hallucinating the rain dance (he does not receive an answer)

Gaz presumably seeing Zim sneaking up behind her brother, saying nothing and making no reaction that’ll tip Dib off… only to immediately be made to regret her choices when she gets caught in another splash. Shows her for trusting Zim to be at least a little bit cool about tormenting Dib (honestly, we see her exact fitting justice on Dib at the end of the episode, but I cannot imagine she wasn't still planning to do something equally petty to Zim).

The faucet drip scene and the underlying awareness that this is just what Zim and Dib do to each other during class. Every day. It is, in fact, probably one of the least disruptive forms their constant warfare takes on a routine basis. Suddenly I understand a little bit of why their entire class hates them.

Also Dib’s happy face while he's terrorizing Zim into a shell-shocked stupor is absurdly cute and heartwarming. If I cropped that picture no one would ever guess what he's smiling about. This kid? A sadist? Impossible.

“I don’t even feel good about winning this one,” and it's said with his hands clasped together, practically vibrating with glee, his expression vaguely reminiscent of a teenager in the throes of hormonal infatuation (the hypothetical object in this case not so much being Zim himself as a personified abstraction of Zim’s suffering). If someone hit him with the Return of Keef happy goo in this exact moment, I am completely certain it would kill him. His statement is only true insofar that a more accurate term for his current state of being would probably be euphoric.  I take back everything I’ve ever said about Zim being unreasonable in this episode—he was merciful.

Also this face the moment Zim gets up and starts threatening him. Zim still isn't even all that intimidating at the moment, but Dib knows he just fucked up. Maybe he's getting flashbacks to Dark Harvest.

Dib’s ridiculous water balloon device. Seriously. I feel like it gets (reasonably) overshadowed by the sheer absurdity of Zim’s entire operation, but it really is so amazingly stupid and pointless in a way that is… not dissimilar to the ultimate Irken water balloon. Not only is it really not necessary for the task it's meant to accomplish, it's actively detrimental in that it slows Dib down, blatantly telegraphs his attacks, and reduces accuracy by a significant degree. The only actual benefits I can think of would be the exponential increase in force and range and the instant accessibility of a water supply—the former of which is totally unnecessary in this scenario and the latter being possible to accomplish with a much simpler device (or even just… a water tank). To summarize, it is an incredibly impressive feat of both skill and creativity in design that is also completely and utterly useless! Which is just the perfect demonstration of what I mean when I say Dib really does share nearly all of Zim’s flaws, just to a less obviously ridiculous degree—he comes off just calm and clever enough to pass as moderately reasonable  at a glance, and in some ways, that makes him more of a potential flight risk than Zim. At least that's a lunatic you see coming. 

Irkens are collapsible, apparently

[malaierba]

God (may have been the devil) just blessed me with Benadryl that hits so I need to get out this thought about Maizuru and Toshiro quick:

Toshiro's conflicting and even hypocritical way of relating to Maizuru, the way he's pulled away emotionally and seems to be annoyed by her helicoptering, yet runs to her the moment he needed help with something (first time he ever asked for help with anything, too. Explicitly said by her, and isn't that something to hear from a mother figure? That her cared for someone who, unless given things directly, would just go without them), is difficult to grasp in fiction for many fsr but it's really not that odd a dynamic irl, right? Lots of people are disillusioned in their parents and still instinctively rely on them. Ryoko Kui makes sure this is one of the first things, and one of the main themes, that the readers internalise of Toshiro, as it's one of the main aspects that establish him as a foil to Laios (and a distorted mirror to Kabru, although less explicitly, but I digress)

But it's Toshiro's perspective, and since Toshiro is one of Laios' character foils his POV (as detached from it as Toshiro seems to be. Like, we'll see memories from his perspective, and his true feelings may be mentioned, but with the exception of the times when he's a child, he rarely acts in accordance with them He usually behaves as we assume is expected from him) his POV will always be a bit more visible. Obvious, even default.

It's always caught my attention how, despite Maizuru's POV being one of the main if not the dominant voice helping us catch a glimpse of Toshiro's childhood and upbringing, her own feelings for the situation are always subordinated to her role as a teacher and caretaker of Toshiro, with all the obvious affection she's poured into those.

(Like mother like son? Interesting how the roles they're meant to play structure the way they retell parts of their backstory)

And the question that's been on my mind is: WHY. Why did she come to love Toshiro so much? Was it motivation alone? I doubt it was vocation or anything, I think we can all agree after taking a look at how she raised/handled Toshiro, Izutsumi, even Tade, that she's not like. A natural at it, let alone trained in it.

So why, why, why. Was it empathy alone? Even though Maizuru's empathetic skills are OBJECTIVELY so bizarre they're funny? Did she see something of herself in him, from the very start? Did she pitty him? Was it THAT obvious, from the moment she met him, that (and bear with my dramatic wording) he was doomed to loneliness, neglect from the adults in his life, and that she was one of the few grown-ups who could change that for him a little bit? Did she just see a gentle kid, thrust upon a teen because it was convenient to the master of the household, and feared that he'd turn out like that exact master?

It feels very reductionist to ask 'why does this person love this other person' but these are characters, so it's not insane to try to seek a motivation. At the same time, I wonder if Maizuru's is obscured on purpose. It could be that Ryoko Kui didn't think it necessary in order to tell the story that she wanted to -- The household dynamic being dramatic enough without the extra details, probably.

Or maybe it's a way to hint at how much Maizuru sacrificed by staying with the Nakamoto (unclear how much agency she had in this decision, ofc, this is a theme with pretty much everyone that isn't Toshiro's dad. The Nakamoto web is difficult to escape, and Toshiro is disruptive in that he allows Izutsumi to leave, and is implied that he wishes Tade would realise that his dad aint shit so maybe she leaves too), where any feelings that aren't useful for the role she plays are... where are they? She has moments where she expresses frustration at how some things are handled by Toshitsugu, but she never says how SHE PERSONALLY feels about it. If she's not talking about the Nakamoto household in general, she's talking about the kids in her care in particular, and all the things she's done for them, but not, you know, how she feels about being saddled with those responsabilities.

It's not obvious but if this ^^^ is what's going on, then that's yet another thing that Toshiro picked up from her. Unexpectedly so, too. They have such different personalities after all. Whether the situation is that Maizuru is obscuring her less-compliant thoughts on purpose, or that she's repressing them in order to cope with the lack of control in her life, she's without a doubt waaaaay more succesful than Toshiro at making people think that she's fine with the hand she was dealt in life.

I wonder if Toshiro's wondered this, too, what the logic behind Maizuru's love is. How can she enable his dumbass dad, maybe even make him believe that she loves him, despite being so critical of him? When she seems to think that she did a great job with Toshiro because he's nothing like his dad, with so much conviction she can't see all the other ways in which Toshiro is messed up? Why would she love him? What inspired her to decide to get emotionally involved when they first met? Why wasn't he just another job to her?

[mcdonaldsplayground]

| actually the worst | part 3

ao’nung x f!reader

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | bonus part

summary: your relationship with ao’nung has become complicated, to say the least. every second you spend near him makes you hate him even more, but it’s hard to hate someone when they can’t stop touching you. however, things only seem to get worse when a fight breaks out and you get hurt.

includes: enemies to lovers, swearing, teasing, fighting, ao’nung being rude😤

word count: 3k

a/n: i’m sorry i did not think this was going to have so many parts, but i think i gotta just keep writing until it feels finished🫡 also pls lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series:) i hope i already added everyone who asked in part 2

“[Y/N], hurry up!” Tuk whined, dancing around the entrance of the marui as she waited for you. You sighed, cracking one eye open.

“So much for napping, I guess.” You began to get up, stretching out your limbs, taking as long as possible.

“You said you would walk me to the beach for lessons! We’re going to be late!” Your sister frowned, crossing her arms as you continued to drag your feet. The truth was, you were putting off going to lessons. You hadn’t seen Ao’nung since the ilu riding incident and frankly, it had been relaxing. He had apparently been too busy with his warrior training for the past week, but Tsireya said he would be joining you all again today. Tragic.

“Tuk, maybe you should just tell them I’m not feeling well.” You tried, giving her a hopeful look. Of course, she wasn’t having it.

“I overheard you and Kiri talking this morning about the reason why you don’t want to go…” She started, the beginnings of an evil grin showing on her lips. “It would really be a shame if I had to tell Ao’nung that you’re scared of him.”

“I am not!” You exclaimed, mentally kicking yourself. “He’s just an annoying pest is all.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Now, let’s go!” Sometimes you wondered if she was really your younger sister with the way she manipulated you and your siblings. Most of the time it was funny, but today you were irritated.

“You have no sympathy, woman.” You shook your head, watching as Tuk grinned triumphantly and began skipping outside.

The short walk to the beach consisted entirely of Tuk skipping and humming a little tune while you ignored her and went over the best plan for avoiding Ao’nung. You decided that avoiding eye contact was crucial to ignoring him. At least then you wouldn’t get that stupid feeling in your stomach and you could maintain some sanity.

“Look who decided to join us, how kind of you!” Kiri chirped teasingly when you and Tuk finally approached where they were waiting on the beach. You felt a little bit bad considering they had probably been waiting a while, but didn’t dwell on it long when you noticed Ao’nung and his signature cocky smirk staring right at you. You made a point of looking away, focusing on Tsireya instead.

“Sorry, Reya. I wasn’t feeling well earlier, but I think I’m okay now.” You apologized, though you knew what you had said was pretty much the exact opposite to how you currently felt, especially when Tuk decided to pipe up.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure [Y/N] felt sick because Ao’nung is-” She didn’t get to finish as you cut in hurriedly.

“Um, what are we doing today?” You didn’t miss the surprised expressions everyone wore, you just silently prayed they would gloss over it. Unfortunately, the last person you wanted to hear from spoke up.

“No, what was she going to say? That you felt sick because of me?” You continued to avoid looking at the boy, but you could practically hear the smugness on his face. You realized that the only way out now was through.

“Yeah, I was telling everyone that I think looking at your face triggers my gag reflex.” You watched the others’ reactions instead of Ao’nung, hoping your refusal to meet his eyes was annoying him.

“Funny. I was just thinking about how much your freaky forest face-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, bro.” Lo’ak cut him off in annoyance, though he was grinning at the bickering. You felt relieved, but still pretty tense. You had come to believe that was just a side effect of being near Ao’nung. Oh, how you longed for last week when he wasn’t around.

As the tension lifted and everyone started getting in the water, Lo’ak nudged you, grinning.

“Can’t you just get along with him?” He asked and you cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s rich coming from you. You hate him just as much as me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a crush on him.” Lo’ak cackled as your jaw dropped, nearly going into cardiac arrest.

“What! I- You- I do not have a crush on him, Lo’ak!” You hissed, glancing around to see if anybody could hear you. Luckily they were preoccupied underwater.

“Whatever you say, [Y/N].” Lo’ak shook his head, still chuckling as he dove underwater, leaving you seething.

While everyone practiced diving and swimming around the reef, you couldn’t stop thinking about your conversation with Lo’ak.

He was wrong. How could you have a crush on someone whose lights you wanted to punch out? His entire being made your nerves jump and your heart race because you hated him. Yes, Lo’ak was wrong, and you were going to prove it.

Well, you were going to prove it later when you weren’t so out of breath. You surfaced for the millionth time that day, breathing hard from trying to push yourself to stay down longer. Beside you, Neteyam and Lo’ak were in a similar state. Only Kiri seemed to be adapting well, but even she couldn’t stay down half as long as the Metkayina. You were about to try your hand again when Tsireya popped up, followed by Rotxo and Ao’nung. You silently groaned.

“This isn’t working. You have learned nothing.” Ao’nung jibed.

“Yeah, no offence, but you guys kind of suck at this.” Rotxo laughed, sharing a grin with his best friend. You huffed.

“I think we should go back to the basics. We can do some breathing lessons outside of the water to build up your endurance.” Tsireya explained, smiling encouragingly.

“Breathing lessons?” Ao’nung snorted. “That is how babies train.”

“Perfect for you, then.” You muttered, turning to follow Tsireya back to shore.

When everyone had been rounded up on shore, you all sat in a circle amongst the greenery. It would have been relaxing, except for Ao’nung, who chose to sit directly beside you. The close proximity reminded you of how his touch had felt on your skin, how he radiated body heat despite being in the water most of the time. The thoughts made you want to reach over and strangle him. The only good thing was that being beside you made it easier to avoid his gaze as you kept your eyes straight ahead on Tsireya.

She began to teach you about some breathing techniques, like how it was best to breath deeply from the abdomen rather than your chest. When she mentioned the importance of relaxing and slowing your heartbeat , you had to force yourself to forget about the infuriating presence beside you, which was proving difficult. Your heart beat was decently slow, but you were tense and very aware of your surroundings, like how Ao’nung’s knee was mere inches away from your own. The space between you felt charged with energy and it seemed to transfer onto your skin.

“Here, breathe from here.” You heard Tsireya say gently, and you cracked your eyes open. She had placed her hand across Lo’ak’s abdomen in an attempt to get him to breathe correctly. After a moment she said, “Lo’ak, your heartbeat is fast.”

You immediately shared knowing looks with your siblings, chuckling to yourself at how hard Lo’ak was trying to remain calm and nonchalant. Tsireya’s small smile convinced you that she knew what she was doing, making you silently laugh even more.

“What are you laughing at, skxawng?” You heard from beside you, and it took some effort not to turn your head toward him and make some snide remark.

“Nothing.” You replied blankly, trying to focus again on breathing.

“Nothing?” He breathed, quiet enough that only you could hear. Then, without warning, his warm hand was pressed firmly but gently on your abdomen, nearly sending you to Eywa. You froze, afraid that if you moved it would bring attention to the two of you. Your whole body shivered at the sensation of his touch, quickly warming as if a fire had blossomed right where his hand sat, calm and steady.

“If you don’t breathe sometime you’re going to pass out, forest girl.” His voice dripped with amusement. You seriously contemplated just passing out instead of giving in, but eventually let your breath out, making sure to remain quiet. “Your heartbeat is fast.” He mimicked his sister’s words and you could see the shit-eating grin he wore in the corner of your eye. You heartbeat was, in fact, fast. Fast enough that you briefly worried the others might be able to hear it.

“Do I still make you sick?” He breath fanned across your neck, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood suddenly, nearly knocking the boy out. Everyone’s heads snapped toward you, looking concerned.

“I’m actually not feeling well.” Your words rushed out quickly, not even bothering to wait for any response before you turned and walked as quickly as possible away from the group. It took everything you had not to break into a sprint.

“What the fuck?” You muttered to yourself, rapidly trying to process what had just happened.

Kiri found you sitting on one of the giant mangrove roots that was tucked out of sight from the village. It had only been a few minutes since you had rushed away, and part of you wanted to tell her to leave you alone for a while longer. However, when she sat down next to you, it was a welcome comfort.

“What happened?” She questioned, searching your eyes as if they could tell her the answer. You just shook your head, attempting to clear it before you spoke.

“Something is wrong with me, Ki.”

“What do you mean?” She had a way about her that made you feel entirely safe to say anything you wanted without fear of judgement. Kiri was not usually so empathetic, but the two of you had a deeper understanding of one another. So, you explained everything to her. How you despised Ao’nung and his arrogant remarks. How much it frustrated you that you didn’t have a good reason for hating him. And of course how odd he made you feel when he looked at you or touched you.

“So what I’m hearing is that he’s touching you without your consent?” Kiri finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had set in after your explanation. You snorted at her fake serious face, already feeling a little better.

“If he was, he wouldn’t have arms anymore, probably courtesy of you, Lo’ak, and Neteyam.” You chuckled, imagining how that would play out. “No, I mean, I think what bugs me about when he does that is that I actually don’t… hate it?” The last words felt sour on your tongue, making you regret them almost instantly. Thankfully, Kiri had the courtesy not to laugh at you.

“So you like him, then?” She asked and you whipped your head back to stare at her.

“No, of course not! I’m just not used to male attention like that. He’s using it against me because he thinks it’s funny. He’s arrogant, and stupid, and I would honestly rather eat sand than talk to him longer than five seconds.” You finished, hoping you got your point across well enough. You couldn’t tell if Kiri was buying it, but everything you said was true. That boy was a pain in the ass.

A few weeks later, you and Kiri were using your free time to mess around on the beach. Things between you and Ao’nung changed since that day during breathing lessons. You had decided to stop acknowledging him and his goading remarks, to his chagrin. When he would make a snide comment you would either ignore it or respond civilly, clearly frustrating the boy. In response, he had become crueler and crueler. At this point, he was a terror, someone to avoid at all costs.

This sentiment ran through your head as you looked up and saw Ao’nung and his terrible friends approaching your twin, who was blissfully unaware as she stared down at the sand under the water. Feeling protective, you quickly made your way over, trying to hear what they were saying.

“She’s just looking at the sand.” One of them remarked, followed by a few barking laughs. Before you could make it all the way over, Kiri seemed to notice them standing above her and started to stand too.

“Hm? What’d you say?”

“Are you some kind of… freak?” Ao’nung questioned, deliberately flicking his gaze up to lock with yours as you came to stand beside Kiri. There was a pause before Kiri sighed and began to walk away, you in tow.

“No.” She said, looking at the ground. Your fists clenched.

“Are you sure?” He taunted, clearly not content to let the two of you off so easily.

“She said no, dipshit.” You couldn’t hold back, replying in your usual manner for the first time in weeks. Something flickered in Ao’nung’s eyes and his smirk widened. He suddenly reached forward, trying to grab your hand.

“You’re not even real Na’vi. Look at these hands.” He managed to grasp onto your wrist, pulling it towards him in a surprisingly gentle manner. His tone didn’t match. “I mean, look at them!”

“Hey!” Lo’ak appeared from the trees behind you, looking pissed. “Back off, fish lips.” Ao’nung grinned, releasing his grip on you. A ring of fire blazed along your wrist and you tried to shake it off, annoyed that he still had that affect on you.

“Oh, another four-fingered freak!” Ao’nung exclaimed, laughing as he and his friends continued to mess with Lo’ak.

“Leave us alone!” Kiri said forcefully, eyes darting nervously between Lo’ak and the other boys. Thankfully, Neteyam came stalking over, shoving Ao’nung away from the three of you.

“You heard what she said. Leave them alone.” His voice was calm, demanding. Pride swelled in your chest at your older brother, always the protector and mediator. One of Ao’nung’s friends tried to step in, but Ao’nung pushed him back, clearly trying his best to look like he wasn’t afraid of Neteyam. “Back off, now.”

There was a stretch of tense silence before Ao’nung finally took a step back, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Smart choice,” Neteyam said. “And from now on, I need you to respect my sisters.” A few of them hissed at his words, but allowed you all to turn and start walking away. Before you followed, you stuck your tongue out at Ao’nung, earning a scoff and a glare from him. You knew it was childish, but you couldn’t help it. After all, you had been civil for over a week, which was torture.

As you walked off, you could hear the boys giggling and continuing to talk shit. Beside you, Lo’ak paused, deciding to turn back around.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam hissed, but it was too late.

“I got this, bro.” Lo’ak held his hand up, slowly making his way back to face Ao’nung. “I know this hand is funny,” He wiggled his pinky. “Look, I’m a freak. Alien.” The boys snickered. “But, it can do something really cool.” Lo’ak continued talking, but you mentally groaned, knowing where this was going. Before you could say anything, Lo’ak had punched Ao’nung, hard. “It’s called a punch, bitch! Don’t ever touch my sister again!”

Next thing you knew, Ao’nung was tackling Lo’ak to the ground, his friends joining in on what you were starting to think was going to be the beat down of the century. You and Kiri shared a look as Neteyam scratched his head, resigning himself to joining the fight.

“Stop it, stop!” Kiri called, exasperated.

“This is so stupid,” You muttered, growing a little worried as you watched your brothers in the outnumbered fight. Gathering your courage, you decided to step in when Lo’ak started getting hit a little too hard in your opinion. “Can you guys just stop before someone gets seriously-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before you got an elbow to the cheek from one of the guys punching Lo’ak. It was obviously not on purpose, but everyone stopped, silent for a moment as you hissed in pain, frowning.

“Okay that’s it-” Lo’ak was about to go in for another punch before you aggressively tugged him away.

“No! No more fighting!” You barked, marching Lo’ak steadily away. “Stupid boys acting like stupid mongrels. I can’t believe I just watched you all be so stupid, and for what?” You muttered angrily, mostly to yourself.

As you and your siblings walked away for good this time, you glanced back at the Metkayina boys. You thought maybe they would be laughing, but to your surprise, Ao’nung appeared to be scolding the boy who had accidentally hit you. You stared for a little too long because Ao’nung seemed to feel your gaze and looked up, meeting your eyes. It was unsettling to see his usual smirk replaced with worry.

taglist:

@luvlykrispy @foreverfolkloregirly @findingourtreasure @tiddybiddy @nao-cchi @goodiesinthecloset21 @elegantkidfansoul @azaleaniath @cloakedvengeance

[misc-obeyme]

Lesson 35 spoilers with all the pieces (hard lesson and locked lesson) you know how it is...

Okay I didn't forget about the new lesson, but I played it last night so my memory's already fading lol.

There are a couple main things that I remember, though, so here they are.

First, I love Simeon.

Not you, too. First Solomon, then Diavolo, now Simeon is laughing about Lucifer being his usual self. Honestly.

However, I really loved this whole part. Simeon telling you to close your eyes and listen to your inner voice... and giving you advice about Lucifer, a being he's known for years upon years.

What a guy. He's pretty, he's smart, he's sweet, he's emotionally intelligent... what's not to love? I swear this fandom sleeps on this man.

Meanwhile, Lucifer's brothers are busy calling him out.

LOL. I just thought this was so funny.

Okay, let's talk Luci real quick.

He's so annoying to me, I'm really remembering why I went through my hating Lucifer phase. BUT to be clear, I don't hate him, I love him, but he's also annoying.

It's like he's playing a game of chess with MC. He wants to win, but he wants to outmaneuver everybody so that it looks like MC is the one who is winning. I didn't need Simeon to tell me that Lucifer is essentially using our own feelings against us, in an attempt to get what he wants, which is for us to stay with him.

It's like what Belphie did, but instead of trying to lock us up, he's playing mind games. It's because he has way too much pride to straight up say out loud to anyone that he doesn't want us to leave. So he has to go about it in a way that doesn't hurt his pride.

Because in the end, that's what his sin is, isn't it?

I'm not concerned. This is what we just went through with the other six, but Lucifer-flavored this time. And really, there's no way to fully depict the sin of pride without making it all about mind games, being in control, trying to get what you want without seeming like you need or want anyone else. Seems pretty clear to me.

So MC is just gonna set that guy straight and then he'll make a pact with us and then we'll see what happens after that.

HOWEVER I did find this part extremely interesting:

YES. I WANNA BE A PROFESSOR LEMME TEACH ALL THE DEMONS ABOUT THE HUMAN WORLD.

Oh uh sorry for the caps lock lol. But seriously, like I actually want this to happen. I don't care about the salary (like these guys aren't keeping MC in style already), but I think I would lose my mind if I had to be a student again.

I also liked the explanation about Mammon's luck. I love that he isn't lucky at all, but the humans he's in a pact with are. I'm a superstitious motherfucker, so I'm constantly doing things in the name of luck. I just looove the idea that being in a pact with Mams would make me lucky lol.

Poor buddy. Just let me do the things that need luck and then I'll give you the profits. I'd do it just to make him happy lol.

Okay, that's it! The rest of these are just moments that had me cackling.

C'mon, Satan! Where's your sense of adventure??

Levi, my baby. We really gotta work on this. I can think of several reasons you'd be good to travel with~

I love him so much it hurts. Don't even bother, Luke.

Didn't this exact thing happen last hard lesson? Barb calls Dia out and he gets that little frown and says something like oh uh...

Also is Diavolo more concerned about Lucifer or MC, do you think?

All I know is I love Barbatos's expression lol.

[weministertomonsters]

Taming Siberius

"Ahahaha!" Your best friend Elan is nearly falling on the ground as he laughs, clutching his stomach.

"Will you stop?" You huff. "This isn't funny."

"Are you seriously thinking about buying that?" He wheezes. "He looks like he wants to kill you."

"If you were stuck in a cage, I'm sure you'd be pissed off too," you reason, and peer at the demon.

He looks like a model fixed up for a fantasy photo shoot. But no cameras are flashing in this display window. The horns, the silvery skin, and the platinum hair are very real. The part of the eyes that would typically be white is gold instead, and he has no irises, only pupils that are huge and cat-like as he stares, unblinkingly at you.

And you look back at him long enough to realize he's not looking at you. He's staring at nothing. It's the sort of faraway gaze you can expect from someone who is in a place they don't belong. Your heart sinks a little but you're brought back to the present when Elan says,

"Resting bitch face," and tosses a handful of popcorn at the window.

You catch the exact moment the demon snaps out of it because you see his pupils shrink and sharpen as he looks at your friend. Damn, you'd hate to be on the receiving end of that look.

"How much did you drink?" You scowl. "I knew having a night out today was a bad idea."

"So what, my boyfriend ditched me. Big deal," Elan says, wobbling. "Who gives a shit about him?"

"Can you move?" An irritated voice calls out. "The last thing I want is a drunk teenager throwing up all over my display window."

"I will have you know I'm twenty-two!" Elan calls out. "I'm a responsible adult now."

"Uh-huh, sure," the shop owner says, entirely unconvinced of the latter. "Go and be responsible somewhere else."

"Actually, I was looking to make a purchase," you pipe up.

The shop owner brightens up. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Come on in. Leave your friend outside, they should get some fresh air."

"I'll be fine!" Elan says in a sing-song voice. "Go and get yourself a little pet."

You roll your eyes and step into the shop. You wince as the heavy scent of incense hits you.

"It's for the smell," the shop owner says. "Demons have a smell you know."

"Did I need to know that?" You muse.

"You want one, don't you? It's best to be aware of all the small details. Demons aren't like dogs, you can't just send them to the pound when you get tired of 'em."

The shop owner thunks a heavy catalog onto the table and says, "Before you ask, you can order them for a fee and get them delivered as well."

"I already know which one I want to get. The demon in the display window is on sale?"

"Lord yes, please take him!" The shopkeeper says quickly.

Of course, that immediately makes you suspicious. "Why?"

The shopkeeper clears their throat and says sheepishly, "He bites."

Your confused expression probably tells them all they need to know because they sigh.

"Hold on a minute, I'll fetch him so you can have a look."

You watch as they approach the brooding demon. You can tell the shopkeeper is afraid by the way they snatch the trailing leash off the floor. You're beginning to doubt your choice as he stands up, towering head and shoulders above the shopkeeper. This demon might be the figurative mastiff of the demon world. He follows the shopkeeper, but only because he wants to.

It looks like he's a little curious about you as well.

"Open your mouth," the shopkeeper orders.

The only two things keeping the shopkeeper alive at this point are the muzzle the demon is wearing and the taser the shopkeeper holds. You know for a fact that there's enough electricity in there to kill a horse. The demon glances down at the shopkeeper, seeming to bask in the way it makes them squirm. And then those golden eyes fall on you and the demon leans down until his face is level with yours. You have a pretty good view through the bars of the muzzle as he parts his lips in a sarcastic smile. The sheer amount of needle teeth bracketed by large canines weakens your knees.

"He's bitten people with those?" You gawk. "Are those people dead or missing limbs?"

"Not that I know," the shopkeeper says. "He only bites when you're rough with him."

"Promise I'll be nice," the demon says in a cavernous rasp that startles the shopkeeper as well as you.

"Since when could you speak English?" The shopkeeper says scathingly.

The demon clamps his teeth together and says nothing else, looking vaguely amused.

"Um, he might be a little too much for me," you tell the shopkeeper. "I want a bodyguard of sorts, not a murder machine."

"This is his last chance," the shopkeeper says. "Sure you don't want him? If not, he's going to the pits."

You wince at that. As scary as he looks, this demon is almost too beautiful to get messed up in the fighting pits. You hesitate and then ask,

"Can I have a trial run with him?"

"Up to a week," the shopkeeper says.

"Okay," you say. "I'll try him out."

─────────────── · · · · ✦

I keep trying to nail down this idea I have that monsters are treated as pets, toys, or "guard dogs" at best and slaves and gladiators and scum of the earth at worst. I can't get it exactly how I want and it's making me mad.

[whensomethingelsecries]

umineko: how often they cry

some data on the number of crying sprites each character has in umineko, obtained from looking through the game files. obviously has nothing to do with how frequently the sprites appear in-game, i just thought that would be a funny title

i'm including results for both question arcs and answer arcs this time, because the variation between them (and the upsets) felt much more notable than for the akuwaria data

a "crying" sprite is defined here as any sprite with clearly visible tears coming from one or both eyes. this includes teary-eyed sprites and excludes sprites where a character is visibly wailing but producing no tears. "unique" expressions are changes to the facial expression itself - two sprites where a character is making the exact same face but they're holding up a gun in one of them is considered one unique expression under "unique crying", but two sprites under the "all crying" and "total sprites" categories

mercifully, i will readmore this one.

so, top 5 (including 5th-place ties) highest number of unique crying sprites:

standard beato, for reasons that are probably obvious, gains a handful of crying sprites in the answer arcs that no other outfit/variation of hers receives, landing her with a clear lead in the answer arcs.

i was surprised to see ange rank so high since she has relatively few sprites overall. also surprising to me was how few crying sprites battler actually has! you'd expect it to be more proportionate to how often any given character cries, but battler manages to cover all the necessary nuances with just 4 (and 4 that are the same expression but pointing)

i do also think it's funny that the youngest 3 stakes all have extra crying sprites compared to the eldest 4 - it is interesting to note that while the sisters do share pretty much all their sprites with at least a few of the others, they don't all have the same complete "set" like i would have expected to see

top 5 most crying sprites, including posing/prop variations:

beato clears pretty comfortably due to her pipe/no pipe variations really stacking her deck. eva and question arcs natsuhi also get a huge bump in their totals from having three sprites per expression: one standard, one holding the gun, and one aiming the gun.

top 5 highest percentages of crying sprites:

the only category to see no real upset between question and answer arcs! the only change is eva gaining one (1) additional sprite somewhere along the line, impacting her final percentage very slightly. the top 3 here all pretty clearly won out due to their very small number of sprites, relatively speaking, meaning even just 2 or 3 gives them a pretty significant edge here. congratulations to sakutarou for being umineko's biggest crybaby by volume

also, here's the bottom 5s for question and answer arcs, respectively (highest number of total sprites with 0 crying sprites):

rudolf exits the bottom 5 in the answer arcs by gaining 3 unique/5 total crying sprites, shooting him all the way up to #17 out of the 70 included characters! congratulations on learning to express your emotions, bud. EVA beatrice slipping into the bottom 5 is just the expected result of this - she was one spot above krauss in the question arcs.

i was kind of surprised to realize that rosa never cries? from how many sprites she has and the type of character she is, you might expect it. it's interesting to see that, despite her tendency for outbursts, we never see her cry, of all things. maybe that's the one way she is good at keeping it together.

i remain surprised in general by battler's poor performance, especially compared to characters with a lot less screentime than him. i was pretty convinced he'd be a clear winner in both of the quantity-based categories, but he's fighting pretty hard just for his spot in the top handful, it would seem. honestly very interesting data

[streetlight1117]

Our Firsts // I.N

Jeongin x Reader

(2k words)

Tags: afab!reader, gn!reader, dominant!reader, phone sex(facetime), mutual masturbation, slight voyeurism, use of pet names(on jeongin), Virgin jeongin, kind of long distance relationship but not really

WARNINGS: This work is for 18+ readers only. If you are not 18+, please close this post.

Being a dancer meant many things, as did having a boyfriend that shied away from anything having to do with being sexy. You were confident in your ability to seduce your way through a dance routine, and had no problems showing yourself off. So when you decided to do a more sexy, sultry dance cover, you just knew you had to send it over to Jeongin. He was going to be shocked, to say the least. Once you had sent it over to him, he was at a loss for words. He complimented you over and over again, telling you how amazing you looked. Jeongin especially liked the outfit you wore, which consisted of one of his white button down shirts, a lacey bra, black shorts, knee high socks, and boots. Sexy was an understatement.

After a brief conversation, Jeongin asked if you wanted to spend some time playing video games together. Playing games online was one of your favorite pastimes, especially when you were a city apart. The drive wasn’t a long one, but sometimes your schedules didn’t permit you to see each other all of the time. That being said, you had an idea, but that required you to shut down the video game idea. Quickly, before Jeongin had the chance to call you, you put the exact outfit back on from your dance cover. You propped your phone up on your light’s little phone stand, and set the color to red. Once you felt like you were presentable enough (like a big enough whore), you called Jeongin. The moment he answers, his expression changes from a grin to jaw dropping shock. Well. That’s not what he expected. He stammers, not knowing what to do with himself as he looks at me through his phone. Jeongin was already at his computer with Overwatch running, the screen illuminating his face, reflecting off of his glasses. Meanwhile, you’re sitting in your desk chair with one foot propped up, your knee against you chest. Jeongin’s shirt has fallen off of your shoulders, exposing more of your skin. He quickly realizes that he should probably turn his game off and does so before finally speaking.

Jeongin: H-Hey. Hi. Um. Wow? Wow. You look… wow

Y/N: Uh huh

Jeongin: Yes

Y/N: There’s no way you saw that video of me and thought “man, I’ve gotta ask to play videogames with them immediately.” 

Jeongin: My mind went to so many places honestly… I just thought…

Y/N: I’m not mad, baby, I just think it’s funny 

Jeongin: Okay.. okay, haha. 

Jeongin: You look incredible right now

Jeongin: Not that you don’t always.. Just… you’re so pretty

Y/N:Yeah? Thank you~

Jeongin: You’re welcome, um. Wow.

Y/N: Did I really leave you that speechless, baby?

Jeongin: Yes

Y/N: Want me to make you even more speechless?

Jeongin: …. I’m afraid, but yes

Y/N: I had an idea, and you can say no if you’re not down for it 

Jeongin: Okay, what is it?

Y/N: I take these off [*you gesture to the bra and shorts*] and keep your shirt on

Y/N: Maybe you take your shirt and shorts off

Y/N: And we can have a little fun together

Jeongin: …Yes, I like that idea a lot, actually 

Y/N: Good, wanna watch me? I’ll go first

Jeongin: Okay

You gave Jeongin a smile before standing up from your chair. Carefully,  you take his shirt off and place it on the chair. You run your hands up and down your body slowly before pulling your bralette off, then shimmy out of your shorts. Being fully naked in front of Jeongin is a little daunting since you two haven’t done much with each other, but it’s also pretty exciting. Seeing his expression turn from slightly terrified to turned on is making you feel a lot better about the situation. You place your hands on your chest, holding yourself a bit so that Jeongin can see your tattoos. He immediately moves closer to the screen with a surprised look, trying to get a better look at them. You move closer to your phone, allowing him to see better. Jeongin grins, then leans back in his chair, his legs spread a bit. Now that you have literally nothing on, you put his shirt back on and sit down. He looks at you for a second before removing his shirt slowly, then discarding his shorts. Jeongin sat down, trying to find a way to not be embarrassed at the moment. He removed his glasses, then finally found a braincell.

Jeongin: Okay… what now?

Y/N: Is it okay if I have you follow my directions for tonight?

Jeongin: Follow directions as in…

Y/N: If I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?

Jeongin: I’ll do anything you ask

Y/N: Yeah? So if I ask you to touch yourself a specific way, you’ll do it for me?

Jeongin: Mhm…

Y/N: You can’t get distracted if I touch myself too, okay?

Jeongin: Okay.

Y/N: Can you spread your legs for me, baby?

Jeongin: Uh huh..

Y/N: Good… now I want you to touch your thighs

Jeongin: Okay

As Jeongin started to caress himself, hands moving along his skin slowly, he let out a pleased sigh. You made sure to sit with one leg propped up in the chair again, just so that you were exposed to him. You noticed his eyes rapidly scanning the screen, not knowing where to look. You decide to play with your nipples, twisting and tweaking them a bit as you watched Jeongin touch his thighs. 

“Touch your cock through your boxers, baby,” You say, guiding him with your voice. He obeys readily, moving one hand over to his cock, palming over it slowly. His eyes closed for a brief moment before opening again, not wanting to miss a second of the show you were about to put on for him. As his cock grows harder and harder by the moment, you start to speak again, but are cut off by a very, very familiar sound. Jeongin stops for a moment, but moves his hand a little faster all of a sudden. You tell him to slow down before actually speaking again. “That’s… that’s my roommate’s voice. Oh my god.” You laugh, but then realize that Jeongin sped up the exact moment you both heard her moans. Figures your roommate would have a hookup over the second you try to do something with your boyfriend. You lick your lips, moving your hand toward your middle as you spread yourself open. 

“Did you like that, baby? You like hearing other people?” Jeongin’s face turned red almost immediately as he continued to touch himself, nodding as he let out a blissful sigh.

 “Me too, baby, but focus on my voice, okay?” He agrees, licking his lips as he looks to you for more directions. “Take your cock out for me, baby. I wanna see how big you are.” He’s hesitant at first, but he focuses on nothing but the sound of your voice (and your roommate’s growing whines and moans from the next room) as he pulls himself out from his underwear. You’re practically salivating at the size of it, immediately picturing how he would feel inside of you. Jeongin holds himself at the base, looking at you desperately. You finally start to rub yourself in slow circles, keeping your eyes locked on Jeongins before speaking.

 “Stroke yourself for me, baby.” Jeongin hums, moving his hand slowly as a low moan finally leaves his throat. Hearing him moan for you like that is turning you on even more as you slip a finger into yourself, moving your finger a little quicker than before. You ask him to go a little faster and he obliges, finally letting his eyes close as he enjoys the feeling of his hand. You continuously moan over and over again, his name leaving your lips like a mantra. Jeongin moans yours as well as his head falls back onto the headrest of the chair. 

“I can’t wait to finally feel you inside of me. Are you gonna be this good for me when I have you all to myself, baby?” Jeongin opens his eyes again, drinking in the image of you as his hand moves even faster. “Yes, yes, I’ll be so good for you. I wanna know how you feel so badly.”  That was new. The sound of him growing a little confident intrigued you.

“Are you finally gonna let me suck you off, baby? I wanna know how your cum tastes, how it feels on my face. Do you want that?” You ask as you slip another finger inside of yourself, moving your hand faster. Jeongin squeezes his cock in his hand, stopping for a moment, then starting again as he moaned the loudest he’s moaned the entire time. His roommate definitely heard all of that. You smirk to yourself, getting louder and louder. He says, “Please, I want that. I really want that.” Suddenly, you pull your fingers out of yourself and rub at your clit quickly, all while trying to get yourself together so you can say what you really want to say.

 “You know what I really want from you right now, baby?” Jeongin looks at you, nothing but lust in his eyes. His voice is a little deeper than usual as he responds. “What’s that?” 

“Would you let me fuck you the next time I see you?” It’s a risk, and you know it, but you were ready as long as he was. Jeongin’s eyes suddenly widen as his hand stops, his chest rising and falling as he attempts to catch his breath. He nods quickly, licking his lips as his hand starts again. “Yes… fuck, yes.” Jeongin might have said that a little too loud as he moaned, it was so, so hot. 

“Yes, so good, you’re doing so well, baby. Are you gonna cum soon? Will you tell me?” You feel like you’re going to finish soon, but you don’t want to finish before Jeongin, so you slow your hand down a bit. He nods quickly, pulling his hand away to spit in his palm and continue stroking himself. “Yes, I’m gonna cum soon. I can’t hold it in.” That’s your cue to go faster again, keeping your eyes trained on Jeongin’s cock. 

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your chest.” He nodded, letting all restraint go as he stroked himself as fast as he could. Within seconds, he was finishing all over himself, cumming loud and hard as his body tensed up.  You came soon after, all over your fingers as your body closed in on itself. You probably almost blew Jeongin’s eardrums with how loud you were moaning. You both then sat in silence, the only noise being your heavy breathing. Eventually, you look at the screen and ask Jeongin to look at you as I lick your fingers clean. Jeongin groans at the sight before finding a tissue to clean himself up. 

Y/N: You did so good

Jeongin: I can’t believe we just did that 

Y/N: I can’t either

Y/N: Also, you’re so nasty, you got turned on from hearing my roommate!

Jeongin: IM SORRY

Y/N: NO IT’S A JOKE

Y/N: I think hearing other people fuck without them knowing is kind of hot 

Jeongin: That’s.. Interesting. I… don’t want to have sex with her just so you know

Y/N: Baby, it’s fine

Jeongin: Okay, okay. Just… putting that out there

Jeongin: … Do you still wanna play games–

Y/N: Can I get my life together first, please?

Y/N: I mean yeah, though

Jeongin: Heheh, okay

Thankfully, the next time you see Jeongin, you won’t have to imagine how he felt, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with loud roommates… unless you used that to your advantage.

[jamespotterthefirst]

My Best Friend's Wedding

I. RUMOR HAS IT

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)

Words: 850

Rating: T

Summary: A childhood friend realizes he's the love of her life. The problem is he's about to marry someone else.

Note: This is my re-write of one of my favorite rom coms ever: My Best Friend's Wedding. Part 1 of two is the Karaoke scene where Julia Roberts tries to sabotage Cameron Diaz and it backfires. This is for @choicesprompts and their Rewrite Challenge! Thank you @jerzwriter for encouraging me to participate!

The crowded bar felt stifling as legions of medical staff packed tightly into its confines. No one seemed to mind, however, since everywhere Morgan looked she was greeted by drunk, laughing faces. All except for one, of course. 

Ethan Ramsey would not be his curmudgeon self if he didn't look like a man about to be waterboarded. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, the vivid blue imploring someone—anyone—to put him out of his misery. She stifled laughter, the familiarity of that characteristic disdain of his bringing her the smallest bit of comfort. 

“How much longer do we have to endure this?” he asked as a drunk intern belted a sloppy but admittedly hilarious rendition of I Say a Little Prayer. 

She rolled her eyes, ready to admonish him for being such a spoilsport— just like old times. Someone else beat her to it. 

From beside him, the beautiful brunette laughed—the sound just as perfect as everything else about her. She leaned in close to him, the light catching on a stunning, vintage engagement ring as her hand fell atop his. 

“You're so dramatic, babe,” his fiancée taunted with a smile that exuded pure sunshine. Green eyes fell on Morgan, slightly apologetic. “You'll have to forgive him. He hates upbeat music, fun, and references to organized religion.”

And she was funny, too. Morgan internally had to give her that too. 

Ethan agreed because he indulged Lilac (of course her name had to be beautiful as well) with a lopsided smile that made him appear even more handsome. That shocked Morgan into silence for a moment. In all her time knowing Ethan Ramsey, she could count his genuine smiles on one hand. Then again, the crushing realization fell over her like a torrent. Perhaps she didn't know Ethan anymore. The Ethan she had known never believed in love or marriage, after all. 

Their playful banter escalated and tapered into a modest but sweet kiss. When they pulled apart, Lilac burst at the seams with giddy joy—the type Morgan was a stranger to. It made her stomach churn. 

“Alright,” someone said from the stage. “Who's drunk enough to go next?” 

Drunken cheers and shouts erupted from the bar, each group nominating someone. 

“You should go,” Lilac teased Ethan. 

“God, no.”

She laughed, expecting that exact reaction. Her ring-clad hold tightened on Ethan's arm and something in Morgan came to a boiling point. 

“I have someone better in mind,” she told the couple. Without another word, she marched to the stage and took the microphone from the MC. The crowd whistled and cheered. “Alright everyone, tonight we have a special treat for you. Give it up for the dazzling vocal styling of Doctor Lilac Allende!” 

The cheers in the tiny bar were almost deafening. The pretty brunette was stunned for a moment, glancing at Ethan for reassurance. Expression tight, he shook his head, no doubt advising her not to go if she didn't want to. The crowd, however, was having none of it. A fellow doctor at their hospital all but carried Lilac onto the stage. 

“Rumour Has It by Adele,” Morgan informed the DJ. Then, she pushed the microphone into Lilac's hands as the beat started. Color flushed her freckled face and she looked as though she still hadn't fully recovered from the surprise. 

“Ooh-ooh,” Lilac started into the microphone. “She, she ain't real…”

Morgan returned to her seat, ignoring the glare Ethan threw her way. 

“She ain't gon' be able to love you like I will,” Lilac continued. The more words she sang, the more evident it became that the poor girl could not sing to save her life. Morgan felt a tiny pang of satisfaction at the discovery that the brunette wasn't so perfect after all. 

“Wow,” Morgan laughed. 

Ethan didn't react. 

“Maybe putting her up there wasn't such a good idea. But then again, it's Adele. No one is going to sing that well.”

Blue eyes assessed her like x-rays. 

“Isn't that the point of this circus? To sing badly?” his voice was deathly calm but she could tell there was something more brewing underneath the surface.

At that very moment, the bar erupted into loud cheers and applause as Lilac added a little dance mid-song. She laughed into the microphone, barely able to get the words out. When her eyes fell on Ethan, she winked at him, her spine straightening with confidence. 

“Just 'cause I said it, don't mean that I meant it,” she sang, adding with confidence— “I DID!” 

“But rumor has it, he's the one I'm leaving you for.”

The encouragement from the bar patrons could probably be heard from the hospital across the street. Lilac hopped off stage, still singing, even making her voice playfully seductive. She sauntered to where Ethan sat, trailing one finger along his shoulder as she sang. The man was perfectly still but he tracked her every movement, blue eyes glittering with something heavy and meaningful. The way he looked at her made Morgan feel like an intruder.

The pang in her chest was unbearable.

And with that, Lilac plopped onto his lap, pressing a kiss to his lips as the applause echoed around them. There was no one in the world but them. The way he held her, there was no one in his world but Lilac. 

Morgan looked away.

Notes: I was so in love with Dermot Mulroney in this

Hope you liked it!

The next part is "Speak Now" and should be up soon ❤️

And yes, I am still writing the masquerade mini series lol. I just got swept up in this idea. The heart wants what it wa-a-a-a-ants lol