#pack blair waldorf

[ttyeoll]

‘ㅅ’ gossip girl pack !  ♡   ㅤ ‹ credits are optional  ‹ like and/or reblog if you save

[faelayouts]

hii can you help me to make a pack related to blair waldorf/erena van der woodsen from gossip girl? thank you ♡♡

did two of each!

[dejavuedits]

LEIGHTON MEESTER AS BLAIR WALDORF LAYOUTS

゛✿ ℒıke or reblog if you save this layouts.

゛✿ 𝒞redıts on twitter ⦂ @celestialside if you use.

゛✿ 𝒮ponsored by 𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗮 🌷.

[userstuf]

★ BLAIR WALDORF USERS ★

• blairgf

• waldiorfs

• bwlogia

• blairfv

• waldfgrl

fav/reblog if u save or use ♥︎ dont repost it

[elenagjlbert]

MY it girl.

[kittyarctic]

🐇🎀 . (^_^) [𝗻.]ᦕᩚ𝚆 𝕡𝗼𝘀𝘁 ꖺ✿*) 🦦 . . . 𝗅𝗂𝗄ᴥᩚ 𝗼𝗿 ꢯ𝗲𝖻𝗅𝗈ᦋᩨ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ ♥︎ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ[🎠⁝๑🩰🍒៳ c𝗋ᦸᩚ𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗌 ꦧ𝗲 𖡎 . . .

[lexirosialt]

Leighton Meester Blondie

[goolapso]

jisoo e seu estilo waldorf

[yunhoszn]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside. 

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence. 

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life. 

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story. 

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes. 

And then your grandparents decided to retire. 

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time. 

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres. 

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later. 

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty. 

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh. 

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked. 

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable. 

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave. 

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention. 

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear. 

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops. 

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself. 

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives. 

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope. 

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again. 

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby. 

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.” 

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years? 

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good. 

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate. 

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache. 

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. 

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog. 

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought. 

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now. 

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore. 

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other. 

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency. 

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening. 

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else. 

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance. 

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet. 

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath. 

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.” 

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…” 

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague. 

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong. 

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects. 

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage. 

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine. 

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air. 

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own. 

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own. 

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. 

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric. 

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse. 

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain. 

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal. 

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen. 

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself. 

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple. 

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there. 

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide. 

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool. 

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now. 

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” 

“��You turn me on.’” 

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad. 

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?” 

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs. 

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it. 

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it. 

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him. 

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release. 

I saw the way he was looking at you. 

I saw how you were looking at him, too. 

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho. 

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it. 

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place. 

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work. 

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to. 

And then you came here. 

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same. 

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role. 

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go. 

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches. 

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?” 

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters. 

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away. 

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else. 

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different. 

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you. 

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you. 

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop. 

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry. 

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top. 

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him. 

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief. 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special. 

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there. 

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets. 

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it. 

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure. 

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now. 

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own. 

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more. 

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat. 

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second. 

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again. 

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way. 

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand. 

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble. 

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams. 

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core. 

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips. 

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force. 

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth. 

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies. 

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts. 

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.” 

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created. 

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter. 

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day. 

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

conrad thanksgiving fic please!!

This has been in my drafts for a long time...sorry. I might delete later, I don't really like it. It's not giving what I wanted it to...

Request: You’ve done Conrad dating a Haley James type of character, what about a Blair Waldorf type character? Old money, fiercely strong, rich, and outspoken. She and Belly would NOT get along, at all. He takes her to Thanksgiving dinner and Susannah is still there and she loves her

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Thanksgiving had always been a massive celebration in your family. Every year, your parents would go all out and host a dinner with their closest friends and their families. Your mother would direct the caterer team and make sure everything was perfect before the guests’ arrival. At the end the meal by having a slice of your father’s infamous pumpkin pie — which was your personal favorite part. 

This year, Thanksgiving was going to be different. Your father was in Paris for business and your mother somewhere in Europe, expanding her collection of vintage designer handbags. Had you not been in college, you would have happily joined her.

‘’Why don’t you come with me to Boston?’’ Conrad asked as you watched him pack a bag for the weekend.  ‘’My mom keeps asking me when she’ll get to meet you.’’ 

The thought of spending Thanksgiving alone had been looming over you, and Conrad's invitation was like a ray of light. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. ‘’You told your mother about me?’’

‘’Not really,’’ Conrad explained, picking another sweater and adding it into his bag. ‘’She heard your voice when she called the other day and Jeremiah told her all about you. He’s such a big mouth...’’ He shook his head, wishing his brother could hold his tongue sometimes. 

Susannah was ecstatic to have another guest for dinner. It was on very short notice and most of the preparations were already done when Conrad informed her of your addition to the table, but she would never pass up an opportunity to meet her Connie’s new girlfriend.  

When you and Conrad walked in, Susannah was all over you, complimenting your dress and how gorgeous you looked. You were quick to return her compliments, pointing out how her eyes looked exactly like Conrad's.

You met the other guests — Conrad’s father and brother, then Laurel and her kids —, and all were surprised by who Conrad had brought home. No one ever expected him to date someone born of old money. He’s dated Nicole, but she was nowhere as rich as your family. 

‘’Look at this amazing table,’’ Susannah said as she brought in the turkey, looking very proud of herself. ‘’Martha Stewart can kiss my ass!’’

Your eyes went wide for a short second, not expecting such words from her. She looked so sweet and delicate. 

Conrad shook his head at his mother, happy to see her being herself again. 

Everyone got seated, then Susannah spoke again. ‘’Before we eat, let’s go around the table and say one thing that we’re thankful for. Jere Bear, you can start.’’  

You lifted your eyes at Jeremiah across the table, who looked nothing like his brother. If you hadn’t known, you would never have guessed they were related. 

‘’I’m thankful for my mom,’’ the younger Fisher began, ‘’who reconsidered trying this new treatment for us. I don’t know what I would do without you, Mom.’’ He glanced at his mother, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

Susannah squeezed his hand over the table while everyone was trying to not get emotional. 

Conrad had told you about his mother’s breast cancer having come back in the spring. He tried to hide her sickness from you, but when you found him crying in his dorm on a Saturday afternoon, you knew something wasn’t okay. It was a tough subject for the entire family — especially since it was the second time she was going through this. For that, Susannah didn’t like to talk about cancer. She didn’t want her whole life to revolve around it just because a nasty tumor had returned in her body. She wanted to live her life the way it’s always been…and take a few more sitting breaks when needed.

In turn, the other guests said what they were thankful for. It went from Steven getting a car for his birthday to Belly becoming captain of her school’s volley-ball team and Laurel being a typical mom and being thankful for her children. 

‘’Connie, it’s your turn,’’ Susannah said, motioning to her eldest son.

Conrad nodded at his mom, then cleared his throat. ‘’Jeremiah took the words out of my mouth, so I’ll say something else I’m equally thankful for.’’ His lips tugged up into a little half smile and he reached over the table to take your hand in his. ‘’I’m thankful for meeting my amazing girlfriend, who came into my life at the most unexpected, yet perfect moment.’’ 

You smiled back at Conrad, giving his fingers a little squeeze. 

Seated before you, Belly snickered lightly. ‘’Can we eat now? Mom didn't want us to get snacks on the way here and I’m starving.’’ 

Laurel gave her daughter a pointed glare, wishing she would behave. 

Although the pumpkin pie didn’t come close to your father’s recipe, you made sure to tell Susannah it reminded you of home. 

‘’I hope your parents are not too sad that you came to Boston instead,’’ Susannah said, incapable of imagining spending Thanksgiving without her family — especially her boys. 

‘’Not at all, Mrs. Fisher,’’ you politely replied. ‘’My parents were both out of the country this Thanksgiving. Business related travel.’’

Susannah raised an eyebrow. ‘’Oh? What is it that they do?’’ 

You didn’t mean to brag, but she had asked. ‘’My mother is a fashion designer and my father is a lawyer at my grandfather’s firm.’’ 

You caught Belly rolling her eyes and muttering something. You didn’t care what she thought of you, you were the one who got to share Conrad’s bed at the end of the day. Ignoring her childish reactions, you continued talking to Susannah about your parents. She was very interested in your mother’s designs.

When dinner was officially over, you all vacated the table. Jeremiah and Steven went to the living room to set up a game for the five of you to play — another family tradition. You had never played cards against humanity before, but you’ll give it a try. 

Before you reached the living room, Conrad pulled you in a corner near the stairs, wanting some time alone with you. 

‘’Belly despises me,’’ you pointed to him, keeping your voice down so no one would hear.

Conrad rolled his eyes as he curled an arm around you, knowing how you had the tendency to exaggerate things. ‘’She does not. She’s just…having difficulty accepting that I moved on.’’

You made a face at him. ‘’Don’t you defend her. Have you seen all the sour looks she gave me during dinner? Your eyes might be the most beautiful shade of blue, my love, but I believe they are in need of a visual acuity test. You should schedule one when we get back to Palo Alto.’’ 

Conrad chuckled, amused by your theatrics. 

‘’Belly is going to be tougher to win with your charm. Like every ex-girlfriend, she’s gonna try to paint you as a mean girl, so you just have to show her that you’re the opposite. Compliment her. Tell her you like her sweater.’’

‘’But it looks itchy. It’s probably polyester.’’ 

The corner of Conrad’s lips turned into a smile.

—

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[faelayouts]

hii could you do some blair waldorf x pedro pascal layouts pleaseeee?

[aza-writes]

The Columbia Party

college!matt murdock x reader

Summary: you're a law student at Yale and your friend takes you to a Columbia Law school party one night where you so happen to meet a really cute blind guy

Warnings: use of y/n, few curse words, alludes to future smut

Based on the quote: "Everyone knows that the only real Ivy's are the Holy Trinity; Harvard, Yale, and Princeton" because Blair Waldorf is an icon

requested: no

The music playing in the bar was so loud that you could barely hear the guy standing next to me. His smile was charming but he was trying way too hard to be Mr. Cool Guy. Bragging about how he went to an Ivy League when everyone here is doing the same. I fake smile and giggle, hoping it’s enough for him to buy me a free drink. And I was so close. One more playful touch on his arm and I would be sucking down something strong for free, getting buzzed after a minute. But no. My friend who brought me here, Bre, grabbed my hand and pulled me away into the crowd. 

“You have to meet my friends! You’ll have so much fun with them!” Even with her yelling, her voice is barely audible over the music and loud conversations. She pulls me through the crowd insisting that a quiet spot is only “a little further away.” It wasn’t until after we finished one song, listened to a full one, and started the next that we finally made it to a small corner booth with two guys and a girl sitting there. 

 

"Bre!" the long-haired guy who kinda looks like a hippy yelled toward us. He immediately stands up and hurries over to her. 

Bre grips my hand harder as she walks towards the hippy man. “Foggy! How are you?” She’s speaking louder than usual, indicating the buzz of alcohol in her system. She goes to hug him without letting go of my hand, leaving me awkwardly standing there. 

She finally pulls away after a few long seconds. “This is the girl I was telling you about!” She lets go of my hand and makes a grand gesture to me. “Isn’t she so pretty! I told you she was pretty!” I giggle at her drunk compliments. Bre was the type of girl to brag about her friends but she gets even more affectionate after she’s been drinking. The perfect hype woman. 

I was expecting him to hold out his hand for me to shake, instead, he pulls me into a big bear hug. “I’m Foggy,” he turns and points to a girl at their booth, “That’s Marci, and that one with the glasses is Matt.” 

I wave at everyone. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m y/n.” I smile as Bre again grabs my hand and pulls me to the booth to sit down. 

Bre giggles as we sit down, then immediately stands up. “I’m gonna get us drinks!” She smiles and dramatically kisses the top of my head with a “mwah” before she runs back into the crowd to the bar. 

“So,” Foggy breaks the silence, “Bre said you’re in law school too.” 

Matt perks up at this, finally allowing me to see his full face and the upper half of his shoulders. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol but he has a very pretty face and extremely broad shoulders. Nice muscles too. Before I got to respond, Matt asks another question. 

“You go to Colombia too?” He faces me, with furrowed brows. You can see the wheels in his head spinning but I have no idea what he’s thinking. 

“No, I go to Yale.” I smile softly, uncomfortable with the fact Bre left me with three strangers. I only know Marci from the one time we met. I was staying the night in Bre’s dorm when Marci hurried in and packed an overnight bag to meet up with what Bre refers to as ‘mystery whipped man’ which I now think is Foggy by the way he’s sitting so close to her. 

Marci giggles at this and looks up at Matt. “Oh, this is just perfect!” I look at her confused until she turns to Matt. “Weren’t you just saying that people that go to Yale are-” 

“Shh-” Foggy cuts her off, but that doesn’t stop her. 

“A bunch of pretentious-”

“Shhhhhh!” This time it was Matt trying to get her to stop talking. 

“Assholes.”

My eyes widen. “Oh really?” I look back at Matt. “Everyone that goes to Yale.” 

“That’s not at all what I meant.” His voice is a bit more defensive but nervous beyond everything else. “It’s just a lot of people there are a bit more high class and um,” he looks at Foggy, trying to get his help in the situation. Foggy just sits there and puts his hands up in surrender. “Snobby?” 

“Snobby?”

“Shit that isn’t the right word.” 

“Snobby? Says that guy that goes to Colombia. You probably think that you’re too cool for one of the top law schools in the country.”

Matt scoffs. “Colombia is an Ivy League school, just like Yale.” 

“Oh please, everyone knows that the real Ivy’s are the Holy Trinity; Harvad, Yale, and Princeton.” 

Matt opens his mouth, about to rebuttal, when Bre returns with two Long Island ice teas. 

“Sooo, what did I miss?” She smiles and sits right next to me, trapping me next to Matt. “Is everyone getting along?”

“It’s going just great.” I give her an obviously fake smile before sipping my drink. I’m too sober to deal with any of this right now. 

An hour passed, as well as two Long Island ice teas, two rounds of shots for the table, and something fruity Bre brought me. I was too buzzed at that point to even ask what it was, but it was good. I was doing relatively okay, drunk enough to feel fine but I could still think logically-ish. Bre on the other hand, was wasted out of her mind. She was so drunk to the point Foggy and Marci had to get her back to her dorm. 

“I’ll drop her off then run back to grab you and Matt.” And with those three leaving, it left me and Matt alone. 

I don’t feel like talking to him and I don’t want to talk to him, but the awkward silence was enough to make me want to bang my head into a wall. I’m honestly considering it. I slowly turn my head to look at Matt who was taking a sip out of his beer. His hands look so good holding the bottle. His jaw tense as he drinks it, his lips wrapped around the opening. 

Fuck he’s hot. 

He pulls me out of my daydream by chuckling a bit as he sets his beer down. 

“What’s so funny?” I’m at that stage of drinking where I say anything that comes to my mind. I can’t tell if I like this part or hate it. 

He just shakes his head and smiles. “I-it’s nothing,” he tries to compose himself but he starts laughing again. 

“Tell me. It’s not like I’m gonna remember it in the morning.” I lie, I’ll remember it perfectly fine. I just want him to tell me. What about this whole thing is so funny he can’t help himself from laughing. 

He chuckles a bit more and turns to me. “Okay then.” He smirks then leans in close. “When I took a drink your heart rate spiked, your skin is hotter, and your breath quickened. You find me attractive, don’t you?” 

My eyes widen. How the fuck did he know that? “Excuse me?” 

He chuckles again. “It spiked again.”

“H-how do you know that? And I don’t. And how the fuck do you know about my heart rate?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” he straightens up, his smirk still lying across his face. 

I wanna smack it off of him… Or fuck it off. 

Only a few seconds after I let that thought slip in, he’s smirking and giggling like a fucking mind reader. 

[clandestone]

 //   (  andrew garfield  .  cismale  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  lachlan rose  ,  a  thirty-five  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  seven years in total.  the prodigal son    is  known  for  being  charismatic  and  manipulative  and  is  often  associated  with  the constant and compulsive need for applause, the pit of fear that has lingered inside you since childhood, gnashing teeth and heart palpitations hidden behind an effortless smile.  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a  town council member and a director at the parrish center for the arts ,  word  travels  fast  .

the basics

Name: lachlan rose Nicknames: lach, lachy, rose, bastard man Gender: cis-male, he/him Sexual Orientation: bisexual, homoromantic Age: 35 Birthday: November 4, 1990 Occupation: town council member, director at the parrish center for the arts Marital Status: single Pets: an orange cat named skimbleshanks Positive Traits: charismatic, passionate, sentimental, incredibly talented Negative Traits: manipulative, arrogant, insecure, hot-headed, demanding, condescending 

aesthetics

Inspiration: roman roy (succession), marvin (falsettos), blair waldorf (gossip girl), julien (the secret history), william shuester (glee), abby lee miller (dance moms), dennis reynolds (iasip), this video Animal: coyote Tarot Card: the moon Zodiac: scorpio no hesitation  Element: water  Mineral: pyrite Song: im your man - mitski

Backstory 

Surely it was written in the stars! How else could such a sweet soul curdle and rot? Or is hemlock still poison- even when it’s just a sprout?  Lachlan was born out of something more sinister than love. It was a wordless decision, to try for a second child- that was just what was supposed to happen, right? The first child forced their parents into marriage, but if they could just push out another one, maybe everyone would stop whispering about the rushed nuptials and loveless marriage. Maybe they could love this one without resentment, since it’s their choice now, right?  They would try once more after Lachlan, but that child was looked at with the same calculating, discerning gaze as the other two. The Rose family would live in some deranged harmony together, until their father had enough of the charade. The divorce papers were served at Lachlan’s ninth birthday party, and within a week his mother was on a plane from London, back to her hometown of Red Creek.  The children stayed in London. That was what their father wanted, so that is where they stayed. Now, the trouble with being raised by wolves is how comfortable you get with snarling and biting your way through life. To take what you needed, or starve. Lachlan took what he’d been taught, honed his personality until he was just as cutthroat as his father raised him to be. He fell from grace at age sixteen, when he was caught selling fake test answers to his fellow students. He didn’t know the material well enough to pass the exam, but he could so easily make himself look better in comparison, so he took action.  He didn’t stay to see his father’s reaction to his suspension- he just packed his essentials and got on a plane to Detroit, where his mother was waiting to drive him to Red Creek. He stayed there until he graduated, and while he was miserable in such a small town, it allowed him to realign himself into something different, something worthy of being loved. It took untold thousands of dollars in dance classes and acting lessons, but Lachlan was accepted into the University of Michigan’s musical theater program. Finally, he was somewhere he felt truly talented, truly loved. He’d been performing since he was young, and he’d always loved the stage, but he didn’t realize just how talented he was. Immediately after graduation, he booked a two-year contract on a national tour, and for the next six years he performed in multiple off-broadway productions, and was in the ensemble for two broadway shows. Any progress he'd made towards being an actual good, honest person was reversed once he got into the industry. Just like in his childhood, manipulation and sabotage were rewarded. Once again, he had to be a knife, to be cutthroat, just like his daddy taught him. He was a rising star, a true up-and-comer, constantly told he was destined for incredible things. There were rumors that he was being courted as a lead in a new broadway show, but no one ever got to find out if they were true or not- Lachlan had abandoned his apartment in New York and moved to Red Creek almost overnight.  Lachlan has been in Red Creek for five years now, but he has not abandoned his passions- he just made them a bit smaller. When he’s not at the school, he can often be found at the Parrish Center for the Arts, planning or rehearsing or performing various productions. He also frequents the Lakeside Grill every Friday night, and can be found at the Warehouse on Saturdays. 

Wanted Connections

an actually close friend- he has 1 (one) person who actually knows him and has seen him be vulnerable. probably is the only one to know how tough his childhood was. one of the only people in his life that he loves unconditionally. maybe they've been through something together, or maybe they're just platonic soulmates. either way, this is the only healthy-ish relationship he has- and even then, he probably manipulates them too. it's just his nature! - taken by pandora gore

casual friends- lachlan is one of those people that shines such a warm, bright light on the ones in his favor, but leaves others out in the cold. he is very blair waldorf, in that he expects everyone to have some kind of use for him, otherwise why keep them around?

high school friends- people he was close with for the two years that he was in high school. they would have known him when he was actively trying to be a good and honest person, and they either don't recognize who he is now, or constantly make excuses for the way he treats people as disposable.

exes/flings- keep things interesting!

people he has abandoned- the natural evolution of some of his friends. people who he felt didn't offer him anything, or raise his standing. people who were once in his spotlight but have now been tossed under the bed (like jessie in toy story 2 during that sad song)

his siblings- his older and younger sibling, who would have endured the same childhood. they hate each other but are also co-dependent. - (1/2) taken by penelope beaufort-rose

[s4mudra]

𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨  …  𝑭𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨  𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑰.

i'll  borrow  of  imagination  what  reality  will  not  give  me.

yuki  kato,  twenty  nine,  she/they     ⟡     —     is  that  FRAYA  ANGGRAINI  i  just  saw  walking  around  kilmer’s  cove?  i  heard  they’re  a  RESIDENT  who’s  been  here  for  THEIR  WHOLE  LIFE.  it  slipped  my  mind,  since  they  just  tend  to  hang  out  at  THE  PLAYHOUSE.  at  face  value,  they’re  said  to  be  INVENTIVE  and  ARDENT,  but  i  don’t  know…  some  people  have  said  they  can  be  quite  ERRATIC  and  ALOOF.  just  don’t  get  on  their  bad  side,  i  guess!  don’t  tell  them  i  told  you  this,  but  i’ve  heard  they  DO  NOT  believe  in  all  the  ghost  stories  around  town.  who  knows  what  the  future  holds  for  them!

mise  en  scene.

character  parallels.  arlo  black  ,  candela  obscura  /  blair  waldorf  ,  gossip  girl  /  furina  de  fontaine  ,  genshin  impact.

aesthetics.  the  ornate  and  gilded  edge  of  a  dust-covered  frame  /  strands  of  wet,  dark  hair  clinging  against  skin  /  the  long  gasp  of  breath  breaking  the  surface  of  water  /  a  face  waiting  in  the  wings  before  the  hushed,  “enter,  stage  left.”  /  the  pages  of  a  storybook  fluttering  in  the  wind.

pinterest.

act  i. if  they’ve  lived  here  their  whole  life,  what  has  made  them  stay ?

tl;dr:  it  claimed  you  and  you  claimed  it  back,  because  what  is  home  if  not  the  haunting  song  of  the  sea?

they  named  you  fraya  anggraini,  the  eldest  and  only  child  of  putra  santoso  and  akari  sato,  with  gloom  and  raindrops  sticking  to  the  hospital  room  window  as  they  bore  witness  on  the  day  you  were  born.  your  father  always  said  that  the  tide  was  high  when  kilmer’s  cove  welcomed  you  into  the  world.  “it  means  it  wants  you  here  in  its  tight  embrace,  sweetheart,”  he  would  say,  carding  his  fingers  through  your  hair  as  you  looked  out  at  sea,  and  is  that  not  both  a  blessing  and  a  curse?

still,  you  wear  them  close  to  your  heart—in  a  locket  filled  with  sand  to  remind  you  of  your  home  no  matter  how  far  you  strayed.  and  stray  you  did,  after  your  mother  presented  you  with  a  bouquet  and  a  kiss  on  the  forehead  and  said,  “i’m  so  proud  of  you.”  the  end  of  high  school  marked  your  readiness  to  see  the  world.  you’d  finally  know  the  life  your  parents  came  from  before  they  settled  in  this  quaint  little  seaside  town.  you  packed  your  bags,  and  for  four  years  you  made  your  college  dorm  in  boston  a  makeshift  home  in  pursuit  of  a  bachelor’s  degree  in  arts  and  theatre.

it  was  beautiful.  the  tall  buildings  glittered  under  the  night  sky  and  the  crowds  were  louder  than  even  the  loudest  nights  in  kilmer’s  cove  and  yet,  you  understood  why  your  parents  chose  the  two-storey  house  with  the  sea  out  the  window  to  build  a  life  in.  it  was  in  kilmer’s  cove,  with  the  water  lapping  at  the  shore  and  the  water  pouring  from  the  skies,  that  you  sunk  your  feet  into  the  sand  once  more. 

home,  the  sea  called  to  you,  as  you  made  the  trek  to  the  playhouse  with  your  life’s  experiences  held  between  your  hands.  “i  have  a  degree  in  theatre.  i  want  to  apply  for  a  job,”  you  said  at  twenty-three,  paper  slid  across  the  table  and  fingers  curled  with  a  sureness.  the  world  out  there  was  beautiful,  but  no  true  practitioner  of  the  art  could  drink  themselves  sated  on  beauty  alone.  everything  you  sought  for  was  already  here  for  the  taking.  art,  you  think,  in  its  purest  form,  must  be  harsh  and  haunting  and  horrific—heavenly.

picture  this:  a  wraith  in  a  white  dress  standing  at  the  shoreline  just  before  the  sun  rises.  close  your  eyes.  listen  to  the  howl  of  the  wind  and  the  song  of  the  sea.  welcome  home,  fraya.

act  ii. does  your  muse  have  a  job  in  kilmer’s  cove ?

presently,  fraya  works  as  an  assistant  director  at  the  playhouse.  they  started  off  as  a  stagehand  who  worked  closely  with  the  director,  something  akin  to  being  the  director’s  assistant.  anything  from  fetching  the  director  coffee  to  checking  scripts  for  typos  to  overseeing  mise  en  scene,  they  had  done  over  the  years.  it’s  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  this—theatre,  the  bright  stage  lights,  the  creak  of  the  wooden  beams  above,  all  of  it—is  her  life’s  passion,  which  was  how  she  landed  the  role  of  assistant  director  herself. 

although  not  often,  fraya  has  also  previously  (  and  likely  will  still  do  so  in  the  future  )  served  as  an  extra  on  the  stage  themselves.  it’s  something  that  leaves  her  feeling  giddy  still  to  this  day  whenever  she  has  the  opportunity.

act  iii. quick  facts.

gender  is  a  concept  that  they  try  to  put  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind.  that  being  said,  fraya  does  identify  as  broadly  nonbinary  and  knows  that  they  are  very  sensitive  to  gendered  nouns.  there  are  very  few  that  don’t  make  their  skin  crawl,  with  these  exceptions  being  the  word  daughter  and  the  prefix  miss. 

fraya  is  bisexual.

although  their  legal  name  is  just  fraya  anggraini,  they  often  tack  on  sato  at  the  back  when  introducing  themselves  to  honor  their  mother’s  name.  regards,  fraya  anggraini  sato,  is  the  signature  you  may  receive  in  an  email  from  them.

she  collects  little  figurines.  they  can  be  of  anything,  from  tiny  boats  to  carved  wooden  animals  to  chibi  little  people.

despite  never  having  one,  fraya  is  extremely  fond  of  cats.

they  believe  in  the  haunting  and  the  haunted  because  they  are,  after  all,  a  practitioner  of  the  arts.  that  doesn’t  mean  they  believe  in  ghost  stories.  fraya  is  a  big  believer  that  the  things  that  haunt  you  don’t  have  to  be  ghosts  and  demons  lurking  in  the  shadows.  the  haunting  is  a  feeling,  not  a  phenomenon.

tangentially,  maybe  she  doesn’t  believe  in  ghost  stories  because  she  is  the  wraith  haunting  the  playhouse.  who  knows!

it  is  very  rare  to  see  fraya  not  wearing  their  glasses.  it’s  partly  out  of  habit,  but  also  partly  because  of  the  somewhat  high  prescriptions.

they  have  a  flair  for  dramatics  and  can  be  haughty  and  aloof,  as  any  self-respecting  pretentious  theatre  kid  should  be.  fraya  likes  to  think  that  they  make  that  up  in  their  fiery  passion  and  commitment  to  the  arts.

when  creating  her,  i  once  described  her  as,  “blair  waldorf  if  she  was  a  brooklynite  theatre  kid.”  she  is,  however,  mostly  inspired  by  furina  de  fontaine  from  genshin  impact—if  furina  lived  in  a  haunted  small  town.

[youdontjustgiveup]

August: Chapter 20

( ao3 | ff )

Previous Chapters: [link]

Summary: Chuck Bass, a crash course in hallucinative self-therapy.

Pairing: Chuck x Blair

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: None

----------------------------

You’ve reached Blair Waldorf’s voicemail. Leave a message, and I’ll see if you’re worth my time. 

Fuck.

Well, he certainly brought it on himself. What did he expect? That she would be glued to the phone, waiting for him to save her? That after countless ignored calls and texts, she would pick up? Welcome him with open arms?

He put the phone back in his pocket and rubbed his hand over his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  

When he had returned to the Hamptons, he had found the house empty. No sign of the girls, no sign of Nate. Desperation had driven him to ask his stepsister where they were. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But when he had finally tracked them down, the sight of Blair running to the bathroom, her eyes glassy and on the verge of tears, had shattered him. He had wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms, but fear had paralyzed him. Before he could act, Serena had beaten him to it, causing him to turn away and hide. 

“Rough night?” said a black-haired, impeccably dressed guy smoking at the exit of the club. 

“You have no idea.”

The guy offered him a pack of cigarettes. “You look like you could use one of these. Women trouble?”

Chuck accepted and flicked his lighter, the flame casting a brief, warm glow on his troubled face. “Something like that.”

“They’re all the same, man. Impossible to please and not worth the headache. Don’t waste your time trying to figure them out. They’re only good for one thing, and even that’s questionable.”

He took a long drag. “You’re wrong.”

The guy shrugged, clearly not interested in his opinion. “Suit yourself. But take it from me, they’re not worth the pain.”

“She is worth it.” His voice was firm, a quiet intensity burning in his eyes. “She is worth everything.” 

Chuck exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the night air. 

“You’re fucked,” the guy laughed. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “I guess I am.”

“Good luck with that. Love only sets you up to get torn apart.”

“Maybe. But some things are worth the risk.”

A week ago

Chuck stirred from a restless sleep, head throbbing in protest as consciousness clawed its way back to him. Another night, more bottles drained. Another pitiful display. Blinking against the harsh moonlight filtering through the curtains, he found himself tangled in sheets, with Blair’s form curled up beside him in peaceful repose. 

His stomach churned, a grim reminder of the night’s excesses. As he sat up far too quickly for his liking, the room began to spin around him, like a merry-go-round of regret. Dehydration set in, his mouth parched. The horrible taste of hangover coated his tongue, undeniable proof of what a fucking idiot he had been. 

If only he hadn’t acted like a total jerk in what was supposed to be a harmless game between friends. If only he hadn’t let jealousy get the best of him. If only he hadn’t won Best Friend of the Year. If only he hadn’t picked up the phone and dialed Georgina’s number. If only he hadn’t tried to numb the pain, maybe he could have faced it head-on and saved the people he loved from the wreckage he was now buried under. 

But what was done was done, and it could not be undone. It was just another screw-up to add to his long list of mistakes, a list that felt endless. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop? The wheel of self-condemnation kept on spinning. A total disappointment to everyone around him. 

Pain, pain, and more pain.

Then, Blair shifted in her sleep, a subtle furrow forming on her forehead as if in disagreement. Her hand sought his, and a soft, irresistible pout graced her lips, adding to her already captivating beauty. The room stopped spinning. Her chest rose and fell in time with his heartbeat, each breath pulling him out of the hole he had dug for himself, inch by inch. And in that fleeting time, a warmth unlike any he had ever felt suffused his tired muscles. 

Was he truly capable of becoming the man she deserved? Could he love her the way she needed him to?

If tonight was proof of anything, the answer would be a resounding no.

With trembling fingers, Chuck carefully brushed back a stray curl that had fallen across her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her jaw before caressing her lips. In the hush of the night, he wished that time would stand still. As he marveled at the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, he felt his heart swell with an overwhelming intensity, as if nothing else could fit inside him.

To open himself to love was to invite weakness, a lesson his father had instilled in him since childhood, yet here he was, grappling with emotions so potent they defied his understanding and left him utterly defenseless.

As if burned by an invisible flame, Chuck recoiled, pulling his fingers away and instinctively pressing a hand to his chest. His heart hammered against his rib cage like a desperate, trapped bird, his lungs gasping for air against the oppressive burden of his own limitations.

How could he, so broken and flawed, dare to dream of deserving something so pure and good? The very idea seemed absurd. Totally out of reach. With a mother lost to death and a father’s scorn as his only companion, how could he possibly comprehend giving and receiving love?

Bart knew he couldn’t. Even his best friend understood that.

What happened to all those speeches about wanting her happiness? Do you really think she’ll find it with you? That you’re the better choice? Nate’s words echoed in his head. Do you really think he’s gonna treat you right? He’s Chuck Bass. He can’t love anyone, Blair. He’s going to hurt you.

Are you really counting on Chuck Bass to be your knight in shining armor? Georgina’s taunts lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth. Do you honestly think he loves you? We both know he can’t.

Sad, pathetic, little boy. His father’s harsh judgment cut through him like a knife. I’ve seen nothing in you that suggests you have what it takes. If anything, you’ve been nothing but a disappointment.

It all pressed upon him like a heavy yoke, threatening to crush him. How long would it take Blair to realize that they had been right all along? That he was born on a dead-end road. 

How could he ever hope to bring her happiness if he was destined to fall short? 

Leaving felt like the only way out, a last-ditch attempt to protect her from the inevitable heartbreak that trailed behind him like a shadow. But in truth, he wasn’t just running from her; he was running from himself, from the merciless reality of his own shortcomings that would surely consume them both.

Blair would despise him, but that was a price he was willing to pay. 

Hate, in its bitter familiarity, appeared almost comforting. He had weathered its storms before, grown accustomed to its presence. It was a strange relief in the midst of the chaos. 

As soon as Chuck’s motorcycle roared to life beneath him, regret clawed at his insides like an implacable beast. Was he doing what was best? Every mile he traveled, each curve of the road, only increased the pain in his chest. How could he stay away from her? Was his need to protect her from himself stronger than his desire to hold her close? With each passing moment, the urge to turn back grew stronger. It tore at him. 

But as much as he wanted to retreat into the safety of her arms, Chuck knew he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t do that to her. 

The throbbing pain in his brain had subsided to a tolerable level when he awoke in his suite at the Palace without Blair at his side. With a grunt, Chuck forced himself to sit up, his movements lethargic and heavy, as if he had been run over by a truck. He dragged himself upright and shuffled to the kitchenette. Glass after glass of water went down his throat, the cool liquid a soothing balm against his sandpaper mouth. 

Feeling the fatigue weighing down on him like a leaden blanket, Chuck returned to his bed. He reached for the small bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand. Swallowing them with a painful grimace, he succumbed once more to the alluring embrace of sleep, anxious to escape the void of his waking hours.

In his dream, Chuck was transported back to a time when he and Nate were sixteen years old. The scene unfolded before him with startling clarity: the hideous beige pants, the yellow shirt, and the blazer that identified them as students of St. Jude’s. But what etched itself most deeply into his subconscious was the pain on his face as he held an ice pack to his already swollen eye. His best friend sat next to him in the headmaster’s office. 

Headmaster Smith’s stern voice broke the tense silence. “I’m afraid I must inform your father of this, Mr. Bass,” he said, his disapproval evident. It was not the first time he had waited in that very chair to be punished, and he knew all too well that it would not be the last. “What you have done warrants disciplinary action. Here, in our esteemed institution, such behavior will not be tolerated. Resorting to violence of any kind against a fellow student is simply unacceptable.”

“Go ahead, call him,” Chuck challenged.

Perhaps his father would have paid more attention that way, but to no one’s surprise, Bart Bass simply did not care, just as Chuck no longer cared about the consequences. His father, or rather his lawyer, would likely settle the matter with monetary compensation, as if wealth could solve all problems. How egregious was the insolence of a son who wasted his father’s precious time on trifles unworthy of a man.

The sting of rejection felt just as raw as it had all those years ago. No amount of money or material success could force fatherly love after all. 

“As for you, Mr. Archibald, I expect better judgment from a young man of your caliber. While I recognize your athletic potential and commendable character, I must caution you about the company you keep.”

As they left the office, Nate reached into his pockets and looked down at the floor. 

“Why did you take the blame for me? It was all my fault,” he said. “I punched him. I should be the one getting punished.”

“And see Anne Archibald freak out about her golden boy getting a suspension? Not a chance,” Chuck replied, a small grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in. Look at your face. Pete got a really good hit.”

“Ah, come on, Nathaniel. It’s just a black eye. Besides, if this was your face, Waldorf would have our heads on a pike for letting some guy mess it up.”

“And nobody wants to be the target of Blair’s fury.”

“Indeed.”

“Thanks. I owe you one, big time.”

“There’s no need for a scoreboard between friends. We’ve always had each other’s backs, and that’s not about to change.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, man.”

“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to find out.”

“Neither will you.” 

He didn’t hold many people in high regard, but Nate Archibald was a rare exception.

As their conversation faded, St. Jude’s corridors shifted into the interior of his friend’s yacht. Nate’s face, which had previously been warm with camaraderie and gratitude, now changed into an accusatory scowl. They were still clothed in their school uniforms, creating a bizarre juxtaposition.  

“Did you also have my back when you were lusting after my girl all those years, huh?” Nate said. “What a good friend you were.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Come on, Chuck, don’t play dumb. You’ve always had a thing for her. Always lurking around, waiting for your chance to make a move.”

“That’s not how it went down, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Not once did I act on it while she was with you.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

More than anything else in the world. But he hadn’t. Even though every fiber of his being had screamed for him to do so, he’d held back, sticking to some imaginary bro code. 

“Admit it,” Nate urged.

What did he have to lose now? Nate wasn’t even there. It wasn’t real.

“I did. So what? It’s not my fault you were too blind to see what was right in front of you,” Chuck spat out the words. “Blair was right there, and you couldn’t see how incredible she was. You never appreciated her, not like she deserved, and it cost you everything.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

It landed like a slap in the face. “Shut up,” he growled.

“Did you get a kick out of it? Seeing me mess up, time after time? Hoping I’d slip up so you could snatch your best friend’s girl?”

Chuck’s fists clenched. “Blair is not your girl.”

“Then whose is she? Yours? Please. As if you could ever hold onto anything without screwing it up.”

“Just shut up,” he muttered, his hands shaking at his sides. His shoulders slumped forward as if bracing for the impact of the painful truth. With a hint of desperation, he pleaded, “Please.”

But Nate continued, relentlessly. “Why put her through your misery? Hasn’t she had enough?”

“I care about her, okay? I really do. More than you’ll ever understand.”

“Don’t make me laugh. You never think beyond your own desires. You betrayed our friendship for your own selfish gain. Was it worth it?”

“It wasn’t like that. You were not together. You didn’t love each other, and I… I…”

“And what? You do?”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, desperate to break free.

“You’re nothing but a spineless coward, Chuck. Hollow at your core. Blair deserves way more than you can ever give her.”

He wanted to scream. But he was powerless, trapped in the twisted labyrinth of his own mind.

“Pathetic.” But that voice wasn’t Nate’s. It hadn’t been for a while. It was his father’s. “You’re just a pitiful, broken boy. Weak. Soft as silk, and twice as useless.”

It was a new day when he opened his eyes again. He was drenched in sweat, his stomach churning and his body weak. He threw off the clinging sheets and welcomed the fresh air on his clammy skin.

Chuck was torn between two opposing forces, each vying for his attention like contestants in a tug-of-war match. There was Blair, and there was the overbearing presence of his father. He was paralyzed by the fear of losing his balance, terrified that leaning too far to one side would result in everything crashing down around him. 

How could he bare his soul, let others see the depths of who he really was, and still maintain the strong front his father demanded?

A wave of nausea washed over him. He doubled over slightly, feeling the emptiness clawing at him from the inside. When had he last eaten? It took Chuck a moment to recall—had it been yesterday? No, surely it had been the day before. 

“Must we add ‘wasting away’ to your repertoire of bad habits?” It was as if Blair herself was standing there, hands on hips, giving him an earful. Beautiful as always. “I mean, you’re starting to resemble one of those tragic characters from a Dickens novel, and we both know you prefer Fitzgerald.” 

“Leave me alone, Waldorf.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” she said. “Eat something.”

He was losing his goddamn mind. 

Chuck reached for the hotel phone and dialed room service without even checking the time. Despite his lack of appetite, he ordered a full American breakfast. They’d be fools to deny the owner’s son a damn thing.

But the eggs seemed to have soured overnight, the bacon was burnt to a crisp, and the coffee tasted more like dishwater than anything resembling a morning pick-me-up. The food proved unpalatable, his stomach rejecting every bite. He pushed the contents of his plate around, scoffed at his own pitiful condition, and finally pushed the tray away, collapsing on the sofa in defeat. 

Seeking a mundane distraction, he picked up the New York Post, which had been sitting untouched on the side table for a month. There, he was greeted by the imposing image of his father, the pinnacle of success.

“Bass Empire Expansion: Iconic Business Titan, Renowned for Reshaping the Manhattan Skyline, Set to Revamp Brooklyn Shelter into Trendy Living Quarters.”

Fantastic.

The headline mocked him. Was this the legacy he was destined to inherit? One built on ruthless ambition, where power reigned supreme, regardless of the collateral damage left in its wake? A world devoid of affection and human connection. Where the pursuit of more, more, more eclipsed all else. The successful, the powerful, the great Bart Bass. Alone. Unreachable. Unloving. But a titan nonetheless. Indestructible. Where did the line end? What good were wealth and power if your soul felt hollow to the core?

With bitterness staining his tongue, Chuck tossed the newspaper, unable to face the reflection of his future looking back at him. Turning to whiskey for solace, he drowned his sorrows and dulled the pain in a futile attempt to forget it was even there.

The next day, a terrible pain gripped his chest. He felt sure he was having a heart attack, but instead of calling for help, he curled up into a ball and buried his face in his pillow. Perhaps that was for the best.

Days blurred into one another, haunted by vivid dreams of his childhood, Nate, and Blair. 

In some, Blair’s soft lips captured his in sweet, intoxicating kisses that left him wanting for more. They inhabited a world of their own, where time stood still and the Upper East Side was theirs to conquer. They laughed. They lived. They thrived. Other times, angry screams pierced the air. Blair hurled every conceivable insult at him until her voice ran dry. What a complete fool he’d been to let his insecurities win. But it was the dreams in which she simply looked at him with nothing but disappointment and hurt, the word ‘coward’ a damning indictment of his actions, that tormented him the most. 

He knew, even in his subconscious, that she was right, that he deserved every ounce of her hatred and reproach. What he didn’t know was whether he could handle it. He had once believed himself capable, but as time passed, he wasn’t sure anymore. Hadn’t that been the point? For her to despise him now, to save herself more pain in the future?

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. He was causing her pain anyway. Worse yet, he was taking away her right to choose. 

He was so stupid. 

A sharp, loud knock on the door woke Chuck from his slumber. Ignoring the annoying interruption, he rolled over, hoping to return to the peaceful state of the unfinished dream he had left behind.

In his mind, he could still feel Blair, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath his head as they lay together in their favorite spot on the beach, his form perpendicular to hers. While she immersed herself in the pages of a fashion magazine, he was lost in his own book.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

He turned his head slightly to look at her, a rare smile playing on his lips. 

Blair sighed, closing her magazine. “As tempting as that sounds, Bass, I think the world might miss us too much. And let’s face it, we’d miss the city lights, too. The Upper East Side is too ingrained in our souls to leave behind.” 

“True. But it’s nice to dream, isn’t it?”

“Dreaming is one thing, but living our lives on our own terms is another. We’re not very good at it.”

“Maybe we haven’t been, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change.” 

“We thrive in chaos. It’s what makes us, us.”

“We are so much more than that.”

Blair looked at him, her eyes softening. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

It was so calm, so peaceful, and he just wanted to go back. 

But the knocking persisted, demanding attention. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of the pillow as he resisted the urge to lash out. Whoever dared disturb him at this moment would have no job to come back to tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck rose from the bed, made his way to the door, and swung it open, fully prepared to unleash his wrath upon the unsuspecting intruder. 

“What do you want?” he growled.

To his surprise, he was met not only with a hapless hotel staff member but also with a phone extended towards him. His brow furrowed in confusion as he accepted the device.

“Mister Bass asks for you,” the receptionist said, his professional demeanor unwavering. 

Chuck’s grip on the phone tightened as he retreated into the confines of his suite, shutting the door behind him. He raised the device to his ear, his father’s voice crackling through the line with an edge of impatience. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” 

“Good to hear your voice too, Dad.” 

“What did you do?”

“Oh, you know me,” he replied, “just walking the fine line, as usual.”

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“I’m as innocent as they come. Feel free to sue whoever led you to think otherwise.” 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

“What do you want me to say?” Chuck shot back defensively. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“Explain to me why Lily is losing sleep over you because Serena is blowing up her phone day and night. Or better yet, why aren’t you picking up your damn phone? What’s the point of me footing the bill if you’re just going to ignore your responsibilities and waste it on parties, women, and booze?”

“I…”

Where was his phone? Had he left it in his room in the Hamptons? Had it fallen out of his pocket on the way here? He rummaged through the bed, the sofa, his pockets, every surface. His movements became more urgent as he lifted and rearranged the decor of the hotel suite in his search. 

“Are you drunk?” his father’s voice resonated through the other end of the line when he received no response.

“I am not,” Chuck replied tersely.

“High?”

“No.”

“It’s about time you started acting like a man, Chuck. Your persistent immaturity is both disappointing and harmful to your future. When will you start taking things seriously?”

“I’ve told you, I didn’t do anything,” Chuck insisted. “If Serena is acting like a crackhead, that’s not my problem.”

“It is if you make it my problem. Your actions have consequences, and I’m too busy to play hide-and-seek with you. Get it through your head that my time is far too valuable to waste on adolescent theatrics. So, learn to clean up your own mess, and don’t run away like a coward. You’re a Bass.”

Chuck gritted his teeth, the sting of his father’s words cutting deep. 

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And don’t think I haven’t found out about that little spectacle you put on last week on your friend’s yacht,” Bart continued, his tone cold and unforgiving. “It cost me a great deal to get rid of those pitiful photos of ‘Bart Bass’ son and heir passed out at scandalous party’ that were almost printed in every tabloid.”

“It was a mistake.”

“When is it not with you?” 

“I’m—”

“What? You’re what?” Bart interrupted. “Don’t apologize like a pathetic, weak little girl. Own it.” 

The line fell silent for a moment, before his father scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re my son.”

And then, he hung up. 

Where the fuck was his phone?

He paced the room a second time. His black Belstaff riding jacket lay discarded on the floor, and as he bent down to retrieve it, his fingers brushed the smooth surface of his breast pocket. There it was, nestled snugly inside.

He pulled it out, only to find it completely dead. 

Of course. 

As soon as Chuck plugged his phone into the charger, it lit up with a ton of missed calls and text messages.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath, the harsh expletive slipping past his lips as the screen continued to glow. “What more do you want from me?”

Face it. Let people in. Don’t slink away because you’re too scared to feel, said a voice in his head.

But his fingers trembled and his stomach plummeted as he scrolled through Blair’s messages, each one a blow to his already bruised heart. They were all from the day he had left, starting with desperate pleas and worry, escalating to righteous anger. Eventually, her texts stopped altogether, leaving behind a cold silence that matched the emptiness inside him. 

This wasn’t right. It simply wasn’t. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

But what was it supposed to be like?

His own fears had led him to this steep precipice with no clear way out. How was he going to fix it? The uncertainty of what lay ahead, the threat of rejection and disappointment if he dared to open up to others, drove him straight to a strong drink. 

Until now, he had hid like a cornered animal, letting time eat away at him, with only his thoughts as companions. Hoping in vain that numbness would replace feeling. Yet, it hadn’t. The pain persisted, refusing to subside. Not only had his feelings not gone away, they had consumed him even more, and his phone was just reality smacking him in the face. Forcing him to face it. To really look at the consequences of his actions. 

For if Bart had been right about anything, it was this, and he could no longer keep pretending it wasn’t. He couldn’t run away, or unravel at the seams every time life went sideways. Every time he felt vulnerable. 

What was the point of shutting everyone out? What kind of life was that?

He didn’t have to look very far for the answer. Bart Bass was the perfect example.

Pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, Chuck tried to calm his nerves. He had to stop hiding behind his own weaknesses, stop letting fear call the shots. With newfound determination, he turned back to his phone.

Serena’s messages, on the other hand, were predictably dramatic, filled with frantic demands and threats. 

> Chuck, u need 2 come back RN

> Tell me where u r. If u don’t answer me ASAP, I’ll call Bart & Lily

> I’m gonna kill u

> Nate’s a mess. Blair 2 

As he scrolled through the missed calls, Chuck’s chest tightened. His stepsister’s name dominated the screen, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she was such a pain in the ass. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture doing little to ease the discomfort. 

Her over-the-top theatrics were exhausting, but deep down, he knew they came from genuine concern. That knowledge did nothing to alleviate the unease that settled in his stomach. 

Why was it so hard for him to accept that people actually cared about him? Was it really such a rare thought?

The phone beeped again, this time with a new message. Unsurprisingly, it was Serena’s.

> I know u love her. Stop being a coward.

Chuck stared at the screen, her words hitting harder than he expected. His stepsister’s bluntness was jarring, but necessary. For so long, he had allowed indifference to prevail, pushing everyone away to avoid the risk of hurting and getting hurt. 

But the truth presented itself with tremendous clarity—he was not indifferent. He never had been. He felt like the rest of them. Thoughts of her consumed him incessantly, almost absurdly. Like a moth to a flame. 

As for why he was putting himself, and them, through this, he could only place the blame on his own stupidity. 

Perhaps the solution, the only answer, was as simple as returning to her side. To learn from his mistakes instead of trying to blame them on cosmic fate or some nonexistent predestined path, instead of trying to sweep them under the rug. To try to rebuild what he had lost.

Could he find the strength? He didn’t know, but he had to. 

He had to give her agency. He had to let her choose. 

For in the end, Chuck realized, the only thing that truly mattered was her. Not his father, not money, not power, but her. He could no longer deny the pull of his heart, nor did he want to.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed, then deleted it. He typed again, then deleted that too. He tried a third time, but quickly erased it. Nothing was good enough. It all seemed inadequate, a pale shadow of what he really wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.  

Instead, he typed out a quick reply to Serena.

Serena’s response came fast.

> No, she’s not, u fool. Come back already

The next day, as he continued to send messages to his stepsister, Chuck began to get back on his feet. He stopped drinking, started showering, and started eating properly. 

Present day

“I’m sure you could have any girl you want.”

He took another drag, the nicotine doing little to calm his nerves. “She’s not just any girl,” he said, almost to himself. “She’s Blair Waldorf.”

The guy looked at him, clearly not understanding the meaning of those words. But Chuck didn’t care. 

Crushing the cigarette under his heel, Chuck made a silent promise to himself. He swore he would protect her happiness with everything that he had. If that made him weak, so be it. If that meant risking it all, so be it. Blair was worth every bit of effort, every sacrifice. 

He turned to the guy one last time. “Thanks for the smoke.” 

And with that, he walked away.

After hours of aimless riding, Chuck parked his flashy red motorcycle in the Hamptons driveway, the engine’s rumble settling into silence. He didn’t dare put it in the garage, wanting to keep the noise to a minimum and avoid any unnecessary attention. The fewer people who knew of his return, the better. 

He had to talk to Blair first. 

With each step, his heart pounded faster. Memories of their moments together flooded his mind—her laughter, her sharp wit, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy. As he stood on the doorstep, motorcycle helmet cradled in the crook of his arm, the front door loomed large before him. His feet might as well have been set in cement, heavy and immovable. Petrified, with only the sound of his own heart echoing in his ears, Chuck was unsure of his next move. Now that he was so close, facing her felt like the stupidest idea in the world. What could he even say? “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m sorry for being afraid.” Those words might be a start, but were they enough? Would she even be willing to listen? He fumbled with the keys in his pocket. 

The courage to take that crucial first step remained frustratingly out of reach. Unable to face her just yet, he turned away from the imposing entrance and headed down the familiar path to her favorite spot on the beach.

The soft sand greeted him as he kicked off his shoes, the grains cool beneath his feet. The rhythmic lapping of the waves provided a soothing backdrop. 

As he approached the shoreline, he realized he wasn’t alone. Blair was there, her silhouette bathed in the moonlight, a vision that made his heart leap into his throat and his palms sweat. He wiped them on his pants, taking a deep, steadying breath as he tried to compose himself.

This was it. It was now or never. 

He could have stayed in that room, slowly withering away, becoming Bart Bass. And he would have hated himself for it. But he hadn’t. He was here, standing just a few steps away from her, the girl who had captured his heart in ways he could never fully articulate.

Leaving the darkness that had always protected him, he sat down beside her.

[gossip-girl-22]

Spotted: Lonely Boy tangled up in more than just his novel, this time with none other than Miss Rachel Carr. That’s right, D and R have been crossing lines that even the Upper East Side would call scandalous. And Miss Carr? Well, looks like the teacher’s pet is breaking more than just school rules.

But here’s the kicker: this isn’t just some innocent after-school tutoring session. Rumor has it their little “affair” was caught red-handed by none other than Queen B herself. Miss Carr might want to start packing her bags—because when Blair Waldorf’s involved, no one escapes unscathed.

Will Miss Carr lose more than just her job? Something tells me this lesson is just getting started. XOXO, Gossip Girl.