#second ever fic 🎉

[verridaiya]

—Dream Blooms

"I've seen you there, before."

This fic was born from watching Sylus's Abyssal Blossom card and watching my heart break into a million pieces. It hurt, but then I realized you know who hasn't been hurt by it? Sylus.

Based on the prevailing theory/my headcannons that the Abyssal Blossom card was just a dream, brought on by MC's yearning for a normal, quiet life after the events of Beyond Cloudfall chapter 7.

Synopsis: Sylus invites himself over to take care of you while you're sick. You tell him about a pleasant dream of yours and proceed to break his heart. (Or, you dream of something you've dreamt before, and Sylus hears about it for the first time.)

Contains: Spoilers for Sylus's Beyond Cloudfall myth and the Abyssal Blossom card, Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, angst/hurt (the comfort will come later), current timeline Sylus & MC

Word Count: 1.7k

“I had a strange dream again.”

“Another one, sweetheart?”

Sylus’s voice is a soft murmur above you. You open your blurry eyes to a darkened room and a pleasantly warm body under you, wrapped around you. Your head feels as hazy as the moonlight filtering in from the cloudy night sky through the window. Half-awake and half asleep, you can still feel the sensations of your dream like phantom memories. You hum an affirmation, shaking off the vestiges of a medicine-induced sleepiness.

You’re not quite sure how you found yourself in this position: sprawled out on your couch, nestled between a warm blanket and an even warmer Sylus, breathing in the scent of him through your admittedly stuffy nose. The last thing you remember was you laying collapsed on your bed, trying to convince yourself that you’re not sick, you’re just tired from a long week at the Hunter’s Association, and to muster up the energy to find something to eat. And then, suddenly, there was Sylus, filling your doorway as he had filled every part of your life, your thoughts, and now your dreams.

You’ve been having more of those recently, ever since you absorbed the power of another Aether Core almost a year ago. Reality intertwining with illusions, the people in your life woven intricately into a tapestry of dreams. Fragments of memories, glimpses of things that could never be, or never was. Flashing scales underneath glistening waves. Zayne, in a flowing robe you’ve never seen on him before, but looked so right on him. A silent forest, illuminated by starlight. You would wake up yearning for something just out of reach, hands outstretched to capture the essence of something that slips, incorporeal, through your fingers.

This dream was gentle, though. And this time, your hands didn’t need to reach far to grasp the heart of your dreams.

“You were in it this time, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he says, sounding intrigued. “Do tell, kitten.”

You hear him place something on the coffee table—his phone, probably—his attention shifting solely to you. He carefully moves to his side, extricating himself from under you, a large hand propping his head up so he can fully face you.

The soft moonlight illuminates on his face, throwing it into relief. Silvery hair threaded with shadow, a pale complexion half shrouded in darkness, eyes like banked hearths warming you with its glow. Through the haze of your fever, you can almost envision what you saw in your dream. You lift a hand pat his soft hair, as if searching for something that wasn’t there, before trailing your fingers down the side of his face.

“You had something on your head.” No, not exactly on his head. You can’t quite remember. The you in the dream was certain that the something was more a part of him than anything else. You frown slightly. The more you strain to remember the details of it, the more awake you became, and the more it danced out of your grasp. “Something sharp and twisting. Rough. It was beautiful, though. You were beautiful.”

Sylus stares at you with wide eyes you couldn’t decipher in your current state. There’s a spark of something foreign in his eyes.

“And?” he urges on, his deep voice uncharacteristically eager to your ears. He reaches to grab the hand that was holding his face, pressing it gently to him. His thumb rubs against the back of it in small soothing motions. “Can you tell me more about this dream of yours, kitten?”

You grasp at the cotton inside your head, stuffy from sleep and sickness. It takes so much effort, to tease apart the strands and find the wisps of fading dreams. It doesn’t help that you were also fighting off the drowsiness. You try, though, to give him what he’s asking for, as he always does for you.

“We were standing in a lovely field of flowers. They were breathtaking, Sylus. Such a vivid, dazzling red. There was a black spire in the distance, I think.” The spire had stood tucked away in the backdrop of rolling hills, but it was a small detail your mind was stuck on for some reason.

Thinking about that spire again, your mind can almost conjure a clear image of your dream. A lingering feeling of déjà vu washes over you, settling heavy on your chest. You’ve dreamt this before; you feel this with every bone in your body as an unshakeable fact. You’ve seen this obsidian spire before, this sprawling flower field. You know with startling certainty that you’ve had this exact dream before. But when you try to recall when, the feeling dissipates and leaves behind only a phantom sensation and an absence in your memory you cannot comprehend.

Sylus watches as you shake away the remnants of déjà vu. Your brow furrows. You’ve come to be accustomed to his intense stares through the months you’ve known him, but this one was… strange. It was as if he was trying to look deep into the fabric of your soul, even without the use of the Aether Core in his eye. His face remains a blank and indecipherable mask, leaving you with no indication of what he’s thinking of. You wanted to know what was going on in that unfathomable mind of his.

Longing. Trepidation. Yearning, a yearning that aches and makes you want to answer its call. You become distantly aware of emotions trickling into you that weren’t your own. You didn’t realize you were resonating with Sylus until he severed it, the hand holding yours shifting to catch your wrist instead. He leans down to brush his soft lips against it before letting your hand rest gently on your stomach.

“How about you recover from your fever first before you use your evol, sweetie.” He laughs softly, the red-gold brilliance of your evols intertwined fading from your hands.

“Oh, sorry.”

His presence in your mind and by your side was so natural that you weren’t even aware of when you began resonating with him. It seemed like your body responded to your desires even while your mind lagged behind. That brief glimpse into him enabled you to decipher that emotion in his eyes, though you struggle to make sense of it.

It was hope.

“Never apologize to me. What else do you remember?” he asks quietly, before you can puzzle over it further.

You close your eyes, willing the memories of the fleeing dream forward. The golden light of a setting sun. The crisp cold of mountainous air. The feeling of being the only two creatures in the world. And, inexplicably, the feeling of home.

“We were up in the air flying, somehow, before we landed in that blossoming. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I felt like I was in a whole other world. When I turned around to look at you, I saw you sitting there amongst the flowers. Red, like shining rubies. Red like-” you pause, the words at the tip of your tongue. A silhouette appears in your mind’s eye, before it sinks back into the void.

“Red, like rich wine,” you finish, though you know that’s not what you had wanted to say.

When he said nothing, you continued on. “I decorated you with those flowers. We were so carefree, unworried and relaxed. It was just us, no one else, in the valley that was our playground. I think I was teasing you, or maybe you were teasing me. You said something about seeing the other side of things, something taunting. We ended up play-fighting, rolling around and sending petals up in the air.”

You smile, the warmth of the dream enveloping you.

“It felt so real.” You wanted it to be real, this lovely lush field and this gorgeous, monstrous Sylus.

Monstrous?

Startled out of your reverie, you blink open your eyes. No, there is nothing monstrous about Sylus. Not anymore, not since those first few nights that you’ve met him so long ago. Shaking your head slightly to dispel the thought, you turn your head to glance at him, realizing he hasn’t spoken in a while.

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed and drawn tightly together. You’ve seen this expression on his face before, briefly, when he struggles to heal a particularly nasty wound. His body is so tense when you reach out to him, muscles taut and rigid beneath your fingers. You’re not quite sure he’s even breathing.

“Sylus?”

At your prompting, Sylus sucks in a breath through his teeth and exhales. He opens his eyes and your breath catches. Rich garnet eyes glow in the darkness, twin wine-dark seas drowning in sorrow, regret. Agony.

It is so at odds to the sweetness of your recounted dream that alarm shot through you, temporarily driving away the sleepiness. Seeing the pain in his eyes unsettled you; it didn’t belong on his face at all. Your sluggish brain tries to make sense of what you could have said to have garnered this reaction. Did you say something wrong? Your chest tightens at the thought of hurting him with your words, somehow. You begin to prop yourself up.

Sylus stops you with one gentle hand, pushing you to lay back down. He silently regards you, the silence between you stretching into something delicate.

There are so many things you want to say, to ask and to comfort. Sylus was never one to let his emotions show as openly as they are right now. You want to ask what was wrong, take back your silly little story if all it gave him was pain, even if you didn’t understand why.

But through the jumble of your fever, all that came out of your tired mouth was, “It was just a dream, Sylus.”

He quietly watches you for a few breaths longer. Slowly, he lifts a hand to gently caresses your cheek, holding you as if you were something as fragile as a memory. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against your forehead, soft as a butterfly’s wings, as the petals of a phantom flower.

“You’re right,” he says, with a grief you cannot fathom.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.” His voice is barely a whisper. “It can be nothing more than a dream.”

[sometimesanalice]

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes. 

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting. 

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode. 

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his art.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you. 

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.  

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.”  He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the paint smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[nosferatini]

🕊️ The Season of Nightingales 🕊️

🍾🎉! FIC COMPLETE !🎉🍾

IT'S DONE. 🥹

This is it. 

This is the end of the story that made me get my AO3 account. 

I've had this thing burning in my brain ever since the end of S2 came out in the summer of 2023, prompting the immediate need for resolution. 

And now I finally have it. I hope you've enjoyed it too.

Read it from the beginning here:

🕊️The Season of Nightingales🕊️

Fic Summary:

The Second Coming looms large. In this tale following the season after affection's seed is planted with a kiss, Aziraphale must keep his vow to fix Heaven before it’s too late, without asking the impossible from Crowley. As the effort is complicated by unexpected friends, an ex-Inspector Constable, a guileful Metatron, and a Heavenly floor full of the Blessed Dead—Aziraphale and Crowley find navigating their relationship is not mutually exclusive from saving the world from Armageddon. Somewhere, somehow, there is an outcome where the Nightingales sing in Berkeley Square. The angels just need each other—and maybe a little help—to find it.

Final Chapter Excerpt:

Curtains of blossoming flowers and ivy fell over the window, casting leafy shadows against the opposite wall. The trim had been completely taken over by lengthy wandering branches that erupted from the gap beneath the door. Telescoping circles of sunshine cast a dreamy glow into the room. Angelic and demonic eyes adjusted to it, absorbing the yellow-green dawn with growing awe. 

🕊️Finish the Fic from Chapter 36!🕊️

and with that... I'm done!

🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤✨🖤

🖤Time for a MASSIVE list of shoutouts!🖤

First, thanks to @addledmongoose, my first beta and one who helped me correct some of my long errant grammar stupidity and encouraged me when this fic (and my AO3 account) was just a wee baby. 

Next, r/GoodOmensAfterDark, the GOAD Writers Guild, and @whickberstreetwriters, and all the lovely mods and modlings who have made those communities thrive!

Next, I bow low at the feet of my beloved betas — u/blackjeans93, @dbacklot99, and @demonsandpieohmy. Thank you from the bottom of my black heart, for putting up with my late ass updates while providing all the TLC I needed throughout these last few months. 🖤🖤🖤

Shoutout to @wiblywoblytimeywimey754 for her linguistic skills on Agnes Nutter!

And finally, thanks to the rest of you. To you GOADers, you GO tumblrs, you readers who leave comments and kudos and encouraged me to complete this instead of leaving it at chapter one. Thanks to the ones who were cheering me on from the sidelines. 

Thanks to all of you.

I owe you all a glass of Talisker 🥃 and a mighty cheers!

To the world, lovelies!

...

Fin.

Hm....

Something feels unfinished.

But what could I be missing...?????

🤔🫣🤭

Pspspsps.... @kotias......... did I do it right? 😇

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

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

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What��s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.��� Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

 “Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

[ivystoryweaver]

🎉I made this for you b/c you deserve a party!!!! 🎉

I love Marc Spector catches you trying on lingerie. So... what might have happened w/ Steven or Jake? Another surprise? More lingerie? Less lingerie *wiggles eyebrows at you*???

Steven Catches You Trying on Lingerie

AHHHHH!!! Take all my money so all the Moon boys will give me special messages! I LOVE IT SO MUCH! Look at you linking my fic like a pro

Oooh, ok, so there's a little about Steven + lingerie in Moon Boys' Kinks <- which I sort of used as the basis of thought for what you see below...

nsfw below the cut - sensual and suggestive but no actual smut Steven Grant x gn!reader who likes lingerie (Read Marc's part above, in the ask) Word Count: 754

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You snap a few pictures of your new lingerie in the mirror, satisfied by the way the fabric hugs your curves. With a sigh, you toss your phone on the bed and pout for a second, wishing you didn't have to wait until date night to reveal your surprise.

Then a thought tickles the corner of your mind. Steven actually sends dirty texts all the time, but that's usually what they are - texts. Words.

You imagine him working hard at the museum, leading a tour or sitting in his shared office doing some research and you giggle to yourself as you try to envision his face when he sees you in this brand new sensuous outfit.

Without another moment of debate, you grab your phone and swipe to the most scandalous pose before dropping it into Steven's text thread, adding 'Got a surprise for you' underneath.

Thirty-seven minutes later, you hear the front door deadbolt turn. You haven't even bothered to change out of your lingerie yet - tying a robe around yourself instead.

Determined footsteps clomp toward your bedroom, the thought never crossing your mind that they don't belong to Marc.

Steven's hair is a mess - clearly he's pushed his fingers through it one too many times on the train ride home. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted as he draws heavy breaths, eyes dark and hooded...

and zeroed in on the curves of your body.

"Bit naughty of you to send me that picture while I'm giving a tour to primary school students," he husks, peeling off his jacket and stalking toward you.

"What are you doing home?" you gasp out with mock innocence.

Long fingers find the tie of your robe and he yanks it loose, swiping his tongue over his lips as the very lingerie you teased him with appears.

Shifting from one foot to the other, his smoldering eyes rove hungrily from your collarbone, over each curve, all the way down to the center of you. Ever mesmerized by beauty and softness, he swallows thickly, his own desire stirring to life as he forces himself to wait before devouring you with his mouth and hands.

"Surprise," you whisper, shrugging the robe all the way off your shoulders and striking a simple but effective pose meant to highlight the best features of the lingerie, and your body.

Dropping to his knees, he tosses his hair out of his eyes, peering up at you through endlessly long lashes. Squeezing his hands into fists, he fights every urge pulsing, inviting him to trace the soft, sexy fabric that has you on display like this.

But he knows to wait.

"You're so good to me, Steven," you praise, carding a hand through his curls, inching gently toward him. "Got you something soft to play with."

"Gods, love," he chokes, forehead nuzzling your stomach as he struggles to keep his hands in place by his sides.

"Do you like it?" You murmur, using the grip on his thick hair to turn his face up to yours.

"Yes," he pants, nodding, despite your grip on him. "Oh god, yes. Please, I..."

"You want to touch me, baby?" You purr, stepping a little closer until his cheek rests against your soft abdomen. "Will you make me feel good?"

"So good, darling," he promises, his voice already wrecked as he tries to wait for your lead. "Won't stop until you make me."

You hum out a satisfied moan, nodding once, indicating that he can touch. Stretching out his fingers, he brushes your bare thighs temptingly, heavy breaths falling where his head stills rests against your stomach.

Seeing this beautiful man on his knees for you already has you stirring with raw want.

One agonizing inch at a time, he seems to return the favor, making you wait for the impending bliss that's sure to follow this display of restraint.

"So pretty like this," he whispers, finding the hem fitted over your hip bone. "Wonder how long it might take me to unwrap you like a present."

Now it is you shifting in anticipation, aching for his expert caress to find the center of you.

"Think I'll leave this on you while I make you come for me." His eyes flicker up to yours as he touches right where you want. Breath rushes out of you as he starts to pleasure you. "Would you like that, darling?"

"Yes, Steven, please..."

There it is. Once he turns the tables on you, there's no stopping him. This is gonna be fun.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration

Originally from Moon Knight Asks

Steven Grant-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[cupofwyn]

⌕ — may i have this dance? ( teaser ) *now out!*

lee jeno!prince x f!reader. it was all self-inflicted pressure when the spotlight finally turned to you as the final member of the family to experience a love story—the miracle that has been passed down from your parents down to your siblings and the privilege of love in marriage that has been jealoused upon the ton of high society. though the world might have run out of love stories available for you when your family took it all to their delight, or so you thought.

genre/s. fluff. a tinge of comedy. bridgerton period. rofan.

warning/s. profanity. little to inaccurate representations of the regency era (as im not literate about it). would add more in the actual fic.

wc/s. 0.5k (oneshot - 4k or more)

a/n. hello there! this is my first fic for nct dream. the thought process on how i decided to make this fic was "doesn't jeno really suit the fanciness of the regency era?" and THEN i remembered the after-party jeno on his milan fashion week (he looked heavenly) then tada 🎉 this happened. ty and enjoy reading :>>>

Love. The most privileged thing a person could ever obtain in one's life in this vicious society.

Romance and union are never the norm when it comes to marital circles, but rather, this was quite the opposite for your family.

Your father and mother, the most known influential couple in their respective social circles and political surges, may have been arranged for a political marriage but soon grew fond of each other throughout the years being husband and wife.

A solace love that caverns in one's security and vulnerability. Sometimes truly vomiting when you'd see their very affectionate and loving gestures they shared.

Then the firstborn, your oldest sister, has come to truly be entranced to the magic of love, which I'd say, she was a wizard of turning a stern duke's son into a doting husband.

Her's was a love at first sight in her first debutante ball with the known cold-hearted son of a duke—a dashing and intense man on the outside, and yet your sister surprisingly speaks of him in a different light when she would gush of him, with cheeks the pinkest of pinks.

Next, your first older brother. A man with no virtues and is uncommitting suddenly introduces his fiancée once in our family bondings in the private drawing room, his facial expressions changed and body language softened up in the presence of the woman next to him—the baron's illegitimate daughter from the outskirts of the kingdom, who he had been secretly sending letters from each day.

No wonder he became much more behaved the past few months to save mother's swooning to this event.

Even your most aggravating second older brother has a potential love story written just for him. A childhood friend who lives across the street to which they are clearly in love with each other but remains to be oblivious to their obvious arrow-shooting gazes every time they see the other. Their push and pull plays are only but a headache to the outsiders and annoyingly intensifies their yearning for each other.

And lastly comes you, a shut-in daughter of marquis, who just debuted tonight and has yet to unfold their own love story—or not.

There is no arranged marriage prepared for you by the marquess and the marchioness, nor a love at first sight in this debutante ball with a callous man who is in fact the opposite when it came to you, a controversial love story with an illegitimate child of a noble, neither a foundation of friendship with a man to which turns into a realization of their attachment to them.

None! It seemed like the world ran out of love stories to write when it came to you since your family has snatched them all.

Until tonight.

"Why don't you say we plan to forge an alliance? I will offer you a dance on the next song—you'll be the subject of curiosity, and the next morning, you'll be flooded with marriage proposals from different suitors, possibly earning you a love match in return."

"How does an offer from you really make that situation possibly happen? Unless you're someone distinguishable, which possibly you're not since I don't recognize you, being the most handsome and attractive man I've seen at most could not possibly mean a thing. Or..." You trailed off.

"Or what?" he gulped.

"You're one of the princes."

"Pfft, what? No—but! This face is enough to attract attention. I promise. And I can't hasten more. My chaperone is possibly on the hunt for blood right now, and I've been hiding from him too long. Are you in this or not?"

"Fine... deal. This better work, Lord...?"

He grins, eyes turning into the most charming shape of crescent moon, and lips upturned in a reassuring feat.

"Lord Lee. Jeno Lee, milady." he answered.

i hope you liked this teaser! if you're interested to be updated on this fic once it's published, don't hesitate to reblog/comment to be added to the taglist. see you soon ^^

© written by CUPOFWYN . 2024

[revasserium]

Hello, Rain! Congrats on the 2k followers! 🎉💖 Hope your day is going well!! For the event, may I request Marius and butterfly lovers? ☺️

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

14. butterfly lovers

marius von hagen; 5,103 words; fluff, no "y/n", slightly canon-divergent, highschool sweethearts to lovers, marius being the simp he is, mentions of dif socioeconomic backgrounds, verbal bullying from other students

summary: marius does not have many friends at starhigh; you see fit to change that fact.

a/n: this is loosely based on both his "precious mornings" ssr and also his "world of glitz" ssr so vague spoilers for both and you'll understand this more if you kinda sorta know those but otherwise it's just a cute lil fic to feed my marius obsession (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

001. want and need

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Those are the first ever words you say to Marius von Hagen.

It is, by all accounts, a strange kind of meet-cute (if you can even call it that, years later, with his arms curled around your middle, his chin hooked over your shoulder — the pair of you reminiscing on your school days, marveling on the passage of time, how quick things flash by. But back then, time had seemed an infinite thing, ticking solidly through from morning till night, Monday to Friday and onwards), but even then, Marius had an alarming amount of charm and self-awareness, a shockingly prurient view on the world.

Rich and spoiled as he may be, no one could say that he wasn’t brilliant.

“Sorry?” he says, blinking over the stack of notes he’d been going over in the library as you slump down in the seat opposite, tossing your bag onto the table and propping your cheek on your hand.

You shrug, “Just wanted you to know that… I don’t want anything from you. So, yeah,” you repeat, pulling out your own set of notebooks. They’re a bit battered but full of multi-colored tabs that bulge out the sides and top, your textbooks, clearly secondhand. Marius blinks for a second but doesn’t comment, leaning back slightly to look you over.

“Then, senpai…” an easy, self-serving smirk twists the corner of his lips, “why’re you here?”

You pause, fingers hovering over a pink gel pen, your shoulders tensing.

“All the other tables were full.”

It’s a bold-faced lie, but Marius makes a show of turning to look at the tables around you both — sure, they’ve all got one or two people but none are full. You could’ve chosen to sit at any of the other tables, with any of the other students. And yet.

“And,” you add, rather sniffily, “how’d you know I’m not in your year?”

Marius considers his answer — because Payton had presented him with a roster of everyone in his class (with headshots) the week before his first day and asked in that smooth gentle way of his for Marius to “make sure he’s done his homework”, because since then, almost every single person in his grade has tried to come up and introduce themselves, toppling over each other to try and make an impression, to stake their claim on his friendship and by proxy, Pax Group.

Because he wouldn’t have forgotten a face like your’s.

“Cause…. I know all the pretty girls in my year already.” He winks.

Easier to play up the foppish, rich fuckboy facade than admit any of those other things which are infinitely more true, but no less harrowing for a growing teenage boy to try and admit.

Predictably, you roll your eyes and continue on your journey of emptying the entire contents of your schoolbag onto the remaining space of the table.

“Right.” Your tone is disbelieving and Marius feels a thread of intrigue twang in his chest against the initial shock of your blunt appearance. You don’t believe him, and yet you’re still here. You claim that you don’t want anything from him, and yet.

“So? Are you gonna introduce yourself? Seems kinda rude to sit down at someone else’s table and not even tell them your name.” Marius taps the heel of a pen to his cheek, the intrigue slowly festering into curiosity. It itches inside his chest and he finds himself leaning in as you slate him a long, piercing look.

“Fine.” You say, and then you tell him your name — first and last, with no title, no frills, no mention of a family dynasty or some kind of foreign conglomerate empire. In fact, Marius realizes as he runs through his quick mental list of all the who’s who of society, he has no clue who you are or who you might be related to. It’s a difficult thing to achieve at Starhigh. And then he remembers —

“I’m on scholarship,” you say, dropping your eyes back to your now open notebook, twirling your pen once before setting in to scribbling along some sort of complicated looking diagram. Your voice is flat, almost curt, cut short by the implication of those three words.

Scholarship.

Marius knows that the prestigious academy accepts a handful of scholarship students a year, mostly as marketing fodder to pander to the masses — look at us, opening our gold-gilded doors, our marble-foyered halls, peeling back our velvet curtains to accept commoners who are driven enough, who are brilliant enough to shine amongst the ready-born stars.

“Well, guess someone’s gotta keep the test scores up,” Marius says, now entirely taken with the task of watching you take notes. You pause again, glancing up. There’s a spark behind your eyes that makes his heart stutter.

“Ah… so you do know about us.”

Us. You say the word so casually but it still makes Marius flinch inwardly. An “us” precludes a “them” — one group, and the other. Somehow, Marius doesn’t like the thought of you and him being othered from each other so obviously by your respective social circles, even though he knows it’s unavoidable.

“Sure I do — I mean, none of us study hard enough to make the numbers we post every year,” he says, with a stab at casual nonchalance, putting an extra emphasis on his use of “us” just to be a tad more self-deprecating. That should be the tactic here — people like to feel superior, so debasing himself a little from time to time is necessary.

So he tells himself.

You, however, don’t seem to be buying it.

“I’ve seen you in here every afternoon for the past two months.”

Marius leans back, stretching his arms over his head and yawning hugely.

“Nowhere else to be, so…” but even he hears the strained edge to his voice, the flatness that drops at the end of his would-be cheery tone. You hike an imperious eyebrow and Marius feels heat cresting up the back of his neck.

“Nowhere else?” you echo the words back at him, but in your voice, they sound softer, more wistful.

He slumps back forward, making an exaggerated face.

“Yeah, my brother’s busy with the company and my dad’s… off somewhere in Europe doing whatever he does in Europe,” he waves a would-be careless hand and sighs dramatically, “what’s a guy to do with all that time but —” he motions around the gorgeous library reading room with it’s floor to ceiling windows and endless stacks of priceless reference books and first editions.

“But to study,” you finish for him, amusement dangling off the end of your words like a comma, hinged there, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the remainder of the story.

Marius chews on the inside of his cheek and doubles down with a light laugh and another good-natured wink. Meanwhile, he can’t help the way his mind is racing. Why would a scholarship student randomly come up to him in the library, loudly declare that she “doesn’t want anything from him” and then proceed to invade his personal space?

It reminds him, outlandishly, of the story of a man who’d struck gold, and then, terrified that someone would come steal it from him, proceeded to bury it all back with the sign “NO GOLD BURIED HERE” tacked up over the mound of freshly dug earth. The denial so egregious that it rebounds back into confirmation instead.

Were you really trying to get closer to him by telling him to his face that you had no such intentions?

His chases down the line of thought, the speculations spiraling wilder and wilder until your voice snaps him sharply back into focus.

“Oi! Are you okay?”

Marius blinks, jerking back as you click your fingers in front of his face.

“Huh? Oh yeah sorry —”

You cock your head, that strange, knowing spark still flickering behind your eyes.

“Where’d you go off to, hm?”

Marius opens his mouth before shutting it again, shaking his head.

“Just… never mind.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” you ask, cocking your head to one side, birdlike.

“Do what?”

“Keep things to yourself.”

And this time, Marius feels himself being caught off-guard — there’s a skip to his already arhythmic heartbeat, a skid in his breath, a click-shuffle-snap in his mind’s eye as he tries to refocus his attention on what you’d just said. And when he does, heat and heat and heat claws its way up his skin, bleeding into his cheeks before he can force it back down.

“I - I don’t know what you mean.” There — that quaver in his voice. He curses himself for it. The vulnerability of it all.

“I’ve seen it, y’know —” you say, sighing as you drop your eyes back onto your notes, now highlighting something in a bright, blinding chartreuse, “the way people flock to you. But I mean, everyone titters over everyone else here, don’t they?”

Marius stares, nearly open-mouthed at the casual, almost bland way you’re laying it all out, as if he weren’t the storm-center around which all of this social grandstanding spins.

“What do they ask you about first? Oh, lemme guess — is it the fact that you’re confirmed to be Pax’s next CEO or whether you like girls with short hair? I guess the short-hair thing is a bit less on the nose, right?”

You flip a page in your notebook and methodically tab it with a pink sticky note.

“What do you want?” the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Marius realizes too late that he’s staring, wide-eyed and desperate, his heart now pounding inside him like some angry, caged thing, thudding so hard against the back of his throat that he actually feels like it might leap right out of his mouth.

Placidly, you raise your eyes back to look at him, meeting his wild, bewildered gaze with the steady, solid one of your own.

“Like I said… I don’t want anything from you.” Your voice is calm, your words sure.

Disbelief roils inside him like sickness and he swallows hard as he realizes his hands had clenched into white-knuckled fists on the table between you.

“Then why —” his voice isn’t light anymore, instead it's jagged around the edges, raw and torn and bleeding.

He feels naked, exposed, stripped in a way that he hadn’t felt since the first time his father had taken him to visit the family shrine.

You purse your lips and sigh, and this time, you look just as tired as he feels as you slowly start to gather up your things.

“Because… you just looked a bit lonely and I thought you might like some company.”

You tuck your last gel-pen back into your bag before hoisting it onto your shoulder, turning and walking away.

002. oh bully you

“Senpai… you know it was super mean of you to just leave me like that yesterday.”

You jump nearly a foot in the air as Marius drops into the empty desk directly in front of you, straddling the chair back with his legs on either side, crossing his arms over top of your opened textbook and peering up at you from beneath his damnably long lashes.

He bats them at you as you blink down at him, trying to reconcile the sight of him with the space of your classroom — which is not his classroom, because — right, of course, you’re not in the same grade. So, why —

“Oh~ reading even during lunch period? You’re so studious — hey d’you think you can help me with the history homework? I suck at names and dates.”

You stare at him for two whole seconds longer before narrowing your eyes.

“What’re you doing here? This isn’t your classroom.”

Marius pouts, feigning hurt, “But senpai… it’s lunchtime! Didn’t you say you wanted to keep me company yesterday?”

“Yester — “ you break off, understanding finally settling over your confused expression as you soften in your chair. casting him a reproachful look.

“Well you didn’t seem like you wanted the company so I thought —”

“Wha — I never said that! You just caught me off guard! I was just asking what you wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon, but you stormed off. Ah… I thought you were angry with me — you’re not angry with me, are you senpai?”

You let out an exasperated sigh at his antics, but a smile still breaks across your lips.

“Did I say I was angry?”

Marius’s grin widens by degrees.

All around you, people are beginning to stare. What is Marius von Hagen, society’s most elite golden child doing with a no-name scholarship student like you? And acting all chummy when no one had ever seen you two together before? Whispers gather like a rising tide but Marius doesn’t seem to notice as he casually reaches over your textbooks to peer into your bento.

“Whoa! That looks so delicious! Did you make it all yourself? Can I have some? I’ve always wanted to try home-cooked food from someone my age!”

You smack his hand lightly and click your tongue.

“Manners! And if you wait patiently, I’ll let you have half.”

Marius smiles cheekily, looking all too pleased with himself as the whispers and murmurs gather in strength and volume. And by the end of the day, there’s not a soul in school who doesn’t know about the strange new friendship between you and Marius von Hagen.

003. rumors

“Did you hear?”

“Yeah — and with Marius —“

“Everyone says he’s nice but hard to get close to, so how the hell —“

“Maybe it’s some kind of… arrangement?”

“But why would a von Hagen need any kind of arrangement?”

“Dunno, but maybe it’s a charity project?”

“What? Adopt-a-pleb? Ha!”

“I’ve seen them around campus — he’s always following her around —“

“Ugh, so weird! Unless they’re dating? But god, he’s so out of her league it’s not even funny.”

“Hey do you know anyone who knows her?”

“Ew, no! Who would any of us know who knows her? She’s scholarship!”

“Maybe that’s why he’s so into her? Like… y’know those kids who grow up in the desert and have never seen snow?”

“What, like he’s never seen a poor person before?”

“Up close? Have you?”

“Ugh, it’s just so… weird. I bet he’ll lose interest in her by the end of the month. There’s no way they’re actually friends.”

“Yeah, that or… they’re…”

“Oh… that.”

“You don’t think…”

“Well… if she’s really that good… I guess a guy could overlook anything, right?”

004. in place

He has always been quiet when he paints, but there’s something in the thick, churning silence today that makes you pause, looking up from the book of sewing patterns in your lap. The sun’s long since set, and there’s only the two you left in the arts classroom.

Marius frowns as he leans back, a streak of dark blue paint smearing his cheek.

You glance at the canvas, pressing your lips.

“Okay. What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” he sounds distracted as he picks another brush and leans in to carve a thick slab of black through the heart of the already dark and chaotic painting.

“You’re stewing. What’s wrong?”

“How do you know I’m stewing? I’m not stewing,” Marius huffs, tossing the paintbrushes into a can, his lips pursed into a pout as he turns towards you.

You snap your book shut and sigh, “Because. I just do. And you just admitted it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Did too — now spill it.”

“I —” Marius lets out another loud sigh before knitting his arms across his chest, turning back toward the canvas and picking up his brushes. He squints at the painting as if it’s done him some grievous personal harm, and then jams his brush into the middle, his strokes going wide and harsh.

“Have you heard the rumors?”

You scoff, “What, about us?”

“Yeah…” his voice drops, and you almost laugh at how childish he sounds before you realize that you’re both still children. You wonder if things will change when you grow up — the thought of it seems so far away. Like this, in the fluorescent brightness of the empty art classroom, the night outside stretches like an uncertain future, unfurling into impenetrable darkness.

“Sure I have,” you say, watching him as he pulls back to examine the dark blob on the canvas.

“You’re not mad?” He doesn’t look at you and you don’t make to look away.

“Why would I be mad?” You open your book again to mark your page before tucking it away in your bag. Marius pauses as you start to pack.

“Because it’s horrible! The things they’re saying — I mean, I’m used to it because I’ve grown up around people like this but you’re —” he cuts himself off as you whip around, eyebrows raised.

“I’m what? Different?”

Marius gapes, scrambling for words that do not come.

You pack up the rest of your things in a terse silence, then you push out of your chair with a loud scrape.

“But y’know, the people who talk behind your back? They’re right where they should be.”

Marius frowns.

Your lips pull into a wide smirk as you shoulder your bag, “Behind you.”

You’re barely out the door before Marius lets out an incredulous laugh and topples back into his chair. He lets a second pass and then he’s launching out of the chair, grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his back.

“Senpai! Wait for me! Hey, you wanna go to that really cute restaurant that just opened last week? It’s got a Michelin Star but I’m sure I can get us seats!”

005. be-friend

“Marius! You’re so funny!”

“Wow, Marius — that’s incredible! You’re so smart!”

Marius laughs, carding a hand through his hair, his expression bright and open and unassuming, but the group of people around him all inch in closer, as sunflowers might strain towards the sun.

“Hey.”

You lean against the doorframe with an amused grin.

Marius looks up, his eyes visibly brightening as he sees you.

“Senpai! I was waiting for you!”

“Bullshit. We’re gonna be late for the show.” You tap at your wrist where a watch might be as Marius bounds out of his chair, shaking off his hoard of simpering admirers.

“W-wait! Marius! We’re all gonna head to the Ace Club later — you know, the super exclusive one? Don’t you wanna come with us?” one of the girls asks hopefully.

Marius turns, smiling as if he doesn’t hear the strained desperation in her voice, the flash of annoyance in her eyes as she looks you over.

“Sorry! Maybe next time — I’ve got a theater date I can’t miss. Bye!”

“You know if you keep calling them dates, people are going to get the wrong idea, right?” you ask breezily, sounding less concerned and more amused.

“So? Let them get the wrong idea.”

You cast him a mischievous grin, “Ah… the prince in love with the pauper. Tale as old as time.”

At this, Marius pouts, “Senpai… so mean to me… and you were the one who wanted to be my friend first.”

You wave him off with a flap of your hands, “Sure, but you’re the one who stuck around.”

“Hmph, maybe after tonight’s show, we’ll go our separate ways then,” Marius makes a show of harumphing and stomping off in front of you as you laugh and jog to catch up, swatting him in the side with your bag.

“So you’re just hanging out with me for the theater perks?”

“Yep! Well, I knew you’d find me out eventually,” Marius smiles, teasing as the pair of you make your way off campus and turn towards the community theater.

After a while, Marius bumps you with his elbow, “You really are super good at costume design… are you sure you don’t wanna —”

“I don’t want a handout, Marius.” Your voice has gone cold and clipped, and Marius bites his lip, shoulders shrugging up as you continue to walk.

“I wasn’t offering one. It’s just… there’s a Pax program for young aspiring artists to study abroad in Europe and…”

“And you’re offering to get me in? That’s literally the definition of a handout.”

“No! I’m just telling you about it. I swear I won’t say a word about your application — if you even apply, that is…” he sounds eager in a way that you haven’t heard in a long time. Not since he’d entered the school fine arts contest under a pseudonym.

You give him a sidelong look before sighing, “I’ll… think about it.”

“Okay! That’s —” he reigns himself in as he skips out in front of you, looking not unlike an over-excited puppy, “that’s… good! Wah — I’m so excited for tonight’s play! Hamlet, right?”

You laugh as you hurry to catch up to him, “Yeah. But it’s not like you haven’t seen it before — didn’t you say that you dad took you to see it in London or something?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How?”

Marius rolls his eyes, smiling cheekily down at you, but when you catch his eyes you see them go soft, the light in them somehow molten as he looks and looks and looks at you.

“Obviously, because Ophelia’s dress wouldn’t have been made by you!”

006. stay and leave

“I got in!”

Marius blinks at the flat beige of his bedroom ceiling as your voice rings out from across the phone line. The bed beneath him is perfectly made, the silken sheets freshly pressed from this morning.

“A-ah! Congrats, senpai!” he tries to sound like his usual cheery self but he’s not sure how successful it is.

A beat.

“Marius?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Another beat. Marius shifts, curling onto his side, cradling the phone to his ear as he stares at the halo of light cast by his artisan bedside lamp.

“For… telling me about the program. And… for not pulling any strings on the back end.”

Marius grins, flipping onto his back again, “How’dyou know I didn’t?”

Your laugh comes through the line, soft and sweet.

“Because. I know you.”

Something inside Marius squeezes; he fists his fingers into the soft silk of his nightshirt. Warmth spreads from the base of his spine up through the rest of his body till he’s tingling from his toes to his nose. He wrinkles it, feeling abashed as he scratches at his cheek, even though he knows you can’t see the gesture.

“R-right — so! When do you leave?”

“End of the summer — so…”

“So?”

You sound hesitant in a way that he’s not used to.

“I’ll miss you.”

He almost misses the words, they’re so soft, so quiet that he almost thinks he might’ve imagined them. But he knows your voice almost better than he knows his own, knows the color and shape, the weight and temperature. Knows how it gets pitched when you’re excited, and flat when you get mad. Knows the giddiness that fills it like sweet champagne bubbles when you know something and want to share. Knows the dull coolness of it when you’re done or tired or annoyed.

“Senpai…” Marius presses his cheek ever closer to the face of the phone, “if you keep saying that, I might ask them to rescind your acceptance letter just so you can’t go.”

He smiles, bracing for the sharp bite of your reprimand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears you sigh.

“Just promise you’ll come visit, okay?”

“Sure! I’ll come every weekend if you want! My dad’s old jet’s been sitting in the hanger anyway.”

“Mm, maybe not every weekend.”

“Aw… senpai, I thought you’d want to see me!”

“I do! Just… you know what I mean.”

Marius chuckles, throwing his free arm over his eyes, reveling in the temporary darkness. A strange, hot tightness gathers at the back of his throat as he sighs. He feels the tickle of words on his tongue — and what is it about the nighttime that makes it so much easier to say the things he might never have the courage to in daylight?

“Senpai… if I asked you to stay… what would you say?”

“Hm?”

“If I — I mean… if I told you, right now, that… that I didn’t want you to go…”

You hum as if contemplating his question. Marius squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’d tell you you were being a spoiled brat and very selfish,” you say, but there’s a lightness to your tone that makes Marius smile.

“Well… I’ll never escape allegations of either of those things,” Marius replies.

“And then, I’d tell you that you’re being stupid because — why ask me to stay, when you can just come with me?”

Marius sits up, “Ha?”

“I’ve seen your art, Marius. You’re brilliant. You’d be the first to get in, even without being the next CEO of Pax.”

Marius stares at his own hand, now lying limply in his lap. He’d never considered entering the program himself — it’d be a huge conflict of interest. But… if he didn’t apply as himself then…

“Aren’t you being a little selfish too, senpai? Asking a guy to move across the entire world with you.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Marius drags his hand down his face, feeling his heart thudding right beneath this throat, a strong, startling hoofbeat that thrums through him. It beats behind his ears, rushes blood to his fingertips. He squeezes at the bridge of his nose, a recklessness filling him like helium to a balloon and suddenly, he’s weightless as he lets himself fall back onto this too-big mattress.

Later, long after he’s hung up the phone, your voice still echoing in the recesses of his half-asleep mind. He smiles to himself, pressing a palm to his chest to feel the rhythmic, certain beating of his own heart.

That, he thinks, is the girl I’m going to marry someday.

007. want and need (redux)

Years later, long after he kisses you for the first time at the airport in Florence, when you’d come to meet him for his first year in the young artists program, Marius flies you back under the guise of an anniversary trip.

You have a feeling you know what he’s going to do, and he knows you well enough to know that you do too.

Still, when he gets down on one knee, your eyes are gleaming with unshed tears.

“Remember when you told me you didn’t want anything from me the first time we met?” he asks, grinning up at you, a velvet box in the palm of his hands.

“Well… I can’t the same because… the truth is, ever since that first meeting in the library I’ve wanted so many things from you — I wanted to hear you laugh, to watch you when you designed your clothes, to listen to your voice every night on the phone till I fell asleep…”

There are flowers everywhere, and the sunlight is magnificent on Marius’s white tux. He looks like a prince stepped right out of the pages of all your favorite fairy tales; he looks like a daydream. You briefly wonder if this is a dream, but Marius charges on, and amongst all the tittering guests that surround you in the gallery, you’re the only one who notices the slight tremor in Marius’s voice, way his breath is just a tad more shallow than it usually is.

You reach down to pull him up, and you shake your head.

“Y’know, I lied to you — that first time, when I told you I didn’t want anything.” Your voice is scratchy from the tears, but Marius grins.

“Oh? Then… you did want something from me?”

You press your hand to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thudding beneath your palm.

“Yeah. I wanted… this.”

It’s a horrible, cheesy line, but all things considered, you think it feels right.

Marius laughs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours, cupping your cheeks.

His smile is radiance itself.

“Good… because I want this too,” and he reaches down to open the lid of the tiny velvet box. You barely notice the ring for the feel of it as he slips it around your finger.

“But… I want so much more than that too — I want your everything — your body, your mind, your soul, your life — I want you to spend it with me, because even though you never wanted anything from me… all I’ve ever wanted to do was give my everything to you.”

You swallow, wiping at your eyes with an exasperated laugh.

“Dummy, you’ve always had it,” you hiccup as Marius tips your chin up with a finger, his eyes going soft as he looks over the planes and contours of your face — ever an artist, his gaze always both hungry and admiring. As if he could never get enough, but that won’t ever stop him from trying — from wanting.

“I’ve always been yours,” you say, and time itself is caught in the negative space between your lips.

Marius nods, reaching down to thumb at the solidness of the ring now circling your finger.

“Then… that’s the only thing I’ll ever want or need.”

[tweekweek2024]

Tweek Week 2024!

What is Tweek Week? ☕ Tweek Week is an annual character appreciation week dedicated to Tweek Tweak from South Park! 2024 marks our second year running and we can't wait to see what everyone brings to the table. Tag us with your art, fics, playlists, memes, headcanons & more—if it's Tweek related, we want to see it! Tweek Week runs from August 11 - August 17! ❗Tag your posts #TweekWeek2024❗If we somehow missed your post, please shoot us an ask!

📝 Fic writers! You can also add your stories to our AO3 collection under "TweekWeek2024". 📝 Links: Carrd ☕ Guidelines ☕ Twitter/X ☕ 2023 Fic Collection

🎉☕ Thank you to all who participate and enjoy, and here's to another successful Tweek Week! ☕🎉

Below the cut is a written list of prompts with examples ☕

✩ DAY 1 ✩

SUMMER: beach, summer outfits, pool party, fireworks

FIRST DATE: either with a specific partner or ever! Any pairings welcome

✩ Day 2 ✩

SLEEP: napping, pajamas, cuddling

HORROR: zombies, vampires, demons, aliens, yandere, disaster, apocalypse, ghosts, etc.

✩ Day 3 ✩

BAND AU: musician Tweek—in a group or solo!

Y2K: 90s/00s AU, fashion, turn of the century party, etc.

✩ Day 4 ✩

GENDERBEND: different genders or forms of expression!

SUPERHEROES: Wonder Tweek, Superman—Tweek as any hero, magical girl, or even guy rescued by a hero

✩ Day 5 ✩

ANIMALS: pets, familiars, animal/human hybrid AU (like Beastars), anthro

FANTASY AU: Stick of Truth, Barbarian Tweek, witch Tweek, dragon Tweek, Robin Tweek

✩ Day 6 ✩

HOBBIES: sports, art, gardening, arts and crafts, legos, origami, baking, fishing, meditation

POST COVID: old man yaoi

✩ Day 7 ✩

BIRTHDAY: parties, celebrations, anything birthday-related!

FREE DAY: anything you'd like!

Thank you everyone for submitting prompts! We hope you like what we went with!

[buzzcutlip]

congrats on 100 maggie that’s amazing!! 🎉🫶🏻

could I request carmy with a single!mom reader and they’re still kinda fresh in their relationship and with both of their busy schedules it’s hard to have any alone time and whenever they’re trying to have privacy for adult fun time it keeps being interrupted by reader’s little one bc reader’s daughter loves carmy and they’re both going crazy but also love becoming a new lil family. I just keep thinking about how carmy would be with a little kid and how he’d take over the role of a stepdad-dad 😩

Thank you! :)

I would like to say that I love kids and I worked in childcare for years. However, I'm not much into kid fics - rarely read them and never wrote one! Your prompt got me thinking so I'm sharing my head canons about stepdad!Carmy (explicit stuff behind the cut!)

You're so scared to tell Carmy you're a mom because you've started having real feelings; it's not just fooling around anymore. When you finally share that you've got a little girl, you're sick to your stomach with nerves, worried about the possibility of being rejected or ridiculed. But Carmy surprises you—pleasantly—by not freaking out at all. He nods and asks a couple of basic questions: "How old is she? Who's looking after her when you two are together? What's her favorite Disney movie?"

Carmy does freak out—once he's at home. He barely sleeps that night, thinking of all the ways the "wrong" in him or with him could rub off on the little girl once they meet. Because he's a messed-up grown-up who has no clue how to behave.

You can't keep putting off Carmen meeting your daughter after four months of dating. You can't, and you don't want to. It takes a bit of effort before Carmen opens up about his difficult childhood and messed-up family. You assure him that it's not going to affect your daughter and promise him that you absolutely believe he's a good person.

Your little one is almost four, and she's independent, sassy, and loving, so she probably understands Carmy's hesitation and worries better than you do—without Carmen ever needing to say a word. She knows he's a chef—a cook—so she takes his hand and shows him her own wooden kids' kitchen. Carmy's eyes are huge and glassy when he looks up at you, and you hold back your own tears.

The first time you witness Carmy and your daughter cooking together (not in the kids' kitchen), your heart almost stops. You know how sacred the kitchen—any kitchen—is for him, as well as the whole process of meal prepping. They're just baking cookies, from what you can see over Carmy's broad back, flour everywhere, and he uses the softest voice on her: "You make a ball from the dough, that's right. Well done, chef," and "You got it, darling," and "Good job, good girl," followed by a high-five, your daughter giggling, clearly proud of herself.

That night, you ask Carmy to stay - the first time while your daugher is at home too - and he agrees, with a soft smile and a chaste kiss to your temple. You're a bit apprehensive about having sex, anxious about your little one overhearing something or waking up in the middle of it, but at the end it's you who asks Carmen for it. You beg him with your eyes, your hands and mouth, and who's he to say 'no'? The day had been emotional and the remaints of it hang between you as he fucks you on your back, staring into your soul, reaching there with his cock too. You're kinda trying to hurry up, Carmy thrusting into you with sharp movements that make you gasp out puffs of air between the two of you. He leans in to whisper into your ear "You're taking it so well, you would take my load so well, would you want another baby, hm?" His words surprise you and make you so hot that you come with a startle the next second.

Fuck, Carmy Berzzato wants a kid with you?

[rhey-007]

The Family Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x reader x Pierre Gasly

Summary: Agreeing to do Charles a favor turns into hell when you meet his family for the first time and proceed to spend Christmas with them as his fake girlfriend.

(Based on "The Family Stone")

A/N: It's a LONG one just so y'know. I recently saw "The Family Stone" for the first time (LOVED IT, you have to watch it, I think I cried like 5 times lol) and an idea for this fic just randomly popped up in my brain shortly after. I've been writing this for past 2 weeks and finished it just yesterday. I hope you'll like it :)) I also wish everyone happy Christmas or whatever you're celebrating! 🎄🎉

Warnings/Tags: female reader, vegetarian reader, Atheist reader, toxic family, orphan reader - basically reader is op 😅, family fluff, toxic Pascale, mentions of sex

Wordcount: 9465

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You never thought you’d ever find yourself pretending to be Charles' girlfriend. Yet there you were, getting out of his car seeing his whole family curiously looking at you through the window. You’ve known the Monegasque for a few years already and befriended him almost immediately but never met his family. That’s why you were the first person who came to his mind when his mother mentioned bringing a girl over for Christmas. His family was tormenting him about a partner for too long, so to make them calm down he asked you for this favor, even offering you money which you didn’t accept.

The house Charles rented in Austria was quite big, big enough to accommodate the 9 of you. It was made out of wood, with a forest near by and a great view at the mountains. It literally took your breath away. Although you felt a little uneasy feeling six pairs of eyes as the two of you made your way to the door.

“Don’t let them walk over you... They might be a little... Possessive and overprotective of me...”

The man explained ringing the doorbell and soothing your back with a smile. You had to admit you felt a little nervous. Heck REALLY nervous. You've heard so many things about them on your way there, some positive and some negative. Well... Mostly negative, but just because Charles wanted you to get ready for the chaos.

“Charlie!”

His mother appeared in the door a few seconds after, hugging her precious baby tightly and shooting you a glare.

“Hi mom, this is Y/N. I told you she’ll join us”

Charles disclosed before you greeted his mother with a firm handshake. You walked inside, the man instantly helping you with your coat, then introduced you to the rest.

“Y/N those are my brothers Lorenzo and Arthur. This beauty is Carla, Arthur’s one and only. And last but not least - Carlos and his girlfriend Rebecca, family close friends. Guys this is Y/N”

You smiled cutely at the 5 and hugged them gently before Charles and Arthur left to get your suitcases and Carla showed you the room you would stay in.

“Is everything alright?”

The girl asked soon, noticing you playing with your fingers uneasily. You shook your head with a soft smile. You couldn’t tell her you expected to sleep in a different room than Charles, could you? You both would feel uncomfortable as you were just friends in reality, but maybe in this skit you had to commit to the role a little bit more.

In meanwhile Arthur initiated a conversation with his older brother about you, who didn’t really like it.

“Really? This is her?”

The younger one asked taking out your bag from the trunk.

“What do you mean?”

Charles huffed slowly getting angry. From his whole family Arthur always seemed the most tolerant, but what he was about to hear changed Charles’ opinion completely.

“Come on man! Can’t you see it?! She’s just a bimbo falling for you money!”

“What did you just say?”

The older growled gripping Arthur’s collar and pulling close to himself. The vain on his forehead was about to pop and his face was all red as his gaze pierced through his brother. No one could say such gross things about you, especially not in his presence.

“Don’t you dare disrespect her like that”

He hissed letting his brother go and walking back inside with your bag. After they brought them upstairs, Charles dismissed Carla and Arthur before closing the door and sighing heavily.

“Charles?...”

You said quietly, sitting on his bed and playing with the hem of your beige golf sweater. He turned around to you and sat down beside. His hand rested on your thigh soothing it gently while he looked at you with an asking expression.

“So uh... I-I was hoping for a room for my own... I-I don’t know like a guest room or something... If that’s not a problem of course...”

Bitting your lip softly you looked down and felt the man’s hand stop. Was he disappointed? Yes. Did he expect that? Also yes. He exhaled gripping your limb.

“I can sleep on the floor, it’s not a pro-”

“What! No! It’s your room. I should be the one sleeping on the floor if there’s no free one! ”

You cut him off and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I can ask mom. I’m sure we’ll find something free. Now come on, let’s go eat something”

You followed the man downstairs to the dining room where Pascale and Rebecca set the table. When you eagerly offered your help the older woman completely ignored you, she didn’t even know you well enough to draw conclusions but apparently she already drew them on the porch. You wondered why though. Were you dressed improperly? If you could even call a beige sweater and black jeans an improper outfit... Maybe it was your makeup that alienated her from you. But you only wore mascara, some soft blush and lip oil...

Maybe it was Charles. Too perfect to have and don’t have a second half. Or maybe it was just Pascale hoping he would bring home someone she knew, someone she hooked him up with. You had no idea but had to know to improve your image in the older woman’s eyes and play the role of her child’s girlfriend better.

Once the table was ready, everyone sat down and said a brief pray – even though you weren’t Chistian you respected their beliefs and joined in the little act. By the time everyone started to eat you noticed your portion was just the same as everyone else’s – meatballs in tomato sauce with delicious puree and caesar salad - although you made sure Charles informed his mother you were vegetarian. You decided not to inform her by the dinner table, instead wanting to talk about it later in the kitchen alone but the blonde initiated the conversation herself when she noticed you pushing the meat aside.

“Is something wrong?”

She asked to which you didn’t respond at first, too occupied by staring at the plate. Charles’ poke got you out of trance and made look at his mother.

“Oh! Uh... N-No, everything’s alright. Why?”

“You didn’t touch the meatballs...”

The woman furrowed her eyebrows while you shrunk in your seat.

“Well uh... I-I don’t eat meat-”

Pascale burst out laughing not letting you finish your sentence, her kids following with faint chuckles, except of Charles.

“Mom, I told you million times...”

“But I didn’t thought you were serious! That’s just ridiculous! How can you live without eating meat? No wonder you look so weak”

You looked back down at your plate, not wanting to argue with her. Her words and laugh hurt you a tad, but Charles warned you she might be critical.

“Look at me when I talk to you-”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you miss but that’s who I am and you’re not gonna change that. I’m sure the meat is tasty, just as the rest, but I won’t eat it nonetheless”

You snaped not being able to hold yourself back anymore. No woman should disrespect another woman. Your words brought a smile to Charles’ lips, he was proud of you for stepping up for yourself as you never really did that, always being a shy mouse.

“I'm also not Christian but respect your beliefs and joined in your pray. So it would only be fair if you respected my eating habits- Or what I should rather call eating disorder because I am in fact deathly allergic to meat”

Pascale scoffed as if she was offended by your statement.

“That's an absurd-“

“Mom can we talk? “

Charles cut in, pointing his head towards the kitchen as he stood up. The woman rolled her eyes and followed after her son.

“Who the hell did you brought!? A vegetarian. Not a Christian. Tell me she's also a man! Or maybe she is a widow, huh? Oh Charlie, Charlie... You could do way better... “

Pascale grabbed Charles’ arms and was about to shook him when he shrugged her hands off and took a step back.

“Don't. Don't touch me. I told you she's a vegetarian. I told you so many times but of course you didn't listen. Why do you have such a problem!? You don't even know her yet! You always told me you'll respect whoever I bring home, even a man, yet you deny your words now!”

“I just want the best for my little boy... “

“I'm not your little boy anymore! I'm a grown ass man and I'll date whoever I want. Either you like them or not. So deal with it! “

Charles hissed before leaving the kitchen and joining you back in the dining room. He huffed angrily, flopping down beside you and continuing to eat without a word. An uncomfortable silence fell since he left that lasted until the end of the meal.

You felt responsible for ruining the moods of Leclerc's, especially their mother, but what else were you supposed to do? You couldn’t let anyone disrespect you like that and laugh into your face for your beliefs. After the dinner you locked yourself up in Charles' room.

“Well... That went great... “

You sighed flopping down onto his bed and whining loudly.

“Yeah... Amazing... “

The Monegasque nodded sitting down beside you.

“I'm sorry... I should have said I'm just not hungry. Maybe she would’ve let it go earlier then”

You said turning to your side and looking up at him. Smiling down at you, he brushed your hair away from your face and gazed a little too long before responding.

“It's okay... She would have to find out sooner or later... I'm sorry too. Didn’t expect she would be so possessive already... “

Charles layed down and turned his head to you, his hand grabbing yours and squeezing it gently. If he knew his mother would be THAT critical he wouldn’t have taken you with him. He cared for you too much to want to see you hurt, but his mom was too impossible to foresee even for him to predict that. He just wished that after that week you would still like to be friends with him... Maybe even more if the situation settles down and everyone calms down.

“Go take a shower and relax a little... I'll go find some mattress and set everything up... It'll be better for you to stay here. We don’t want another fight do we? “

You chuckled a little shaking your head and got up. Although you still preffered to sleep in another room, you didn’t want another quarrel with Pascale.

“This is gonna be an interesting week... “

You said before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. How was he going to convince his family and friends to like you, when the head of his family already hated you? He had no idea but had to come up with something soon, or else the Christmas would be ruined.

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Next day an excited and loud array of voices woke you up. You grumbled turning your back to the door and looking down at the floor where Charles previously slept. The mattress he layed on now cold with sheets neatly displayed on top, which meant he must have left quite a long time ago. You got up hearing the man in question call you and rubbed your eyes softly while leaving the room. Stumbling down the stairs your eyes felt heavy and with one too long blink you found yourself falling down, someone catching you quickly before you hit the floor.

“Are you okay?”

A male voice said, hot breath fanning your face and a smell of fresh mint, cedarwood and cinnamon hit your nostrils. When you opened your eyes you noticed it wasn’t Charles who caught you, the Monegasque standing beside you and the stranger holding your arm firmly.

“I-I’m okay... I just woke up and uh... I-I'm sorry...”

You mumbled pulling away from the handsome man that held you, now able to take a better look at him. He was almost as tall as Charles, had blue hipnotizing eyes, full pink lips and a gorgeous smile.

“Y/N this is Pierre, another friend of the family”

Charles introduced you to one another as you shook your hands. You had to admit the man was really handsome, even more than your ‘boyfriend’, making your eyes unable to tear away from him. Pierre smirked noticing you stare at which you blushed softly and looked away sheepishly. If he had to be honest, if not Charles he would’ve try to pick you up right there and then. You were a really beautiful gal, your ginger hair looked so smooth the only thing he wanted was to play with them the whole day, your green eyes shined like if you had stars in them and the soft freckles across your face complimented them so well.

“Look who woke up... Our sleeping beauty...”

Pascale scoffed seeing the three of you walk into the kitchen.

“Welcome Pierre”

She cooed giving the man a tight hug and a kiss to his cheek. You figured he was like a son to her, actually her favourite child as you later found out.

“Long time no see ma. How have you been? You happy with Charlie’s new girlfriend?”

He teased looking at you at which you just rolled your eyes pouring yourself a cup of warm coffee and ignoring the older woman’s response.

“Oh her? Please... He could’ve done waaay better!”

“What, why? Y/N’s a really beautiful girl and I bet she’s smart too”

The French tried to defend you but it was useless.

“She’s vegetarian. Says she’s deathly allergic to meat but I feel like that’s just a lie... And she’s not Christian. Sooner or later she’ll make my little boy convert!”

She whispered to Pierre, loud enough for you to hear.

“That’s it? Oh good thing she’s not a man!”

He joked with a loud laugh before stepping away and joining everyone by the table. You enjoyed your dark liquid sitting by Charles, his arm wrapped around your waist squeezing it from time to time as he conversed with his siblings, Carlos and Pierre. You observed the group carefully, sometimes looking at Pascale.

From what you’ve caught Carlos and Rebecca seemed the most unproblematic, which didn’t mean they didn’t talk about you behind your back, Lorenzo was the quiet one, not really joining in the conversation prefering to read his book and eat in peace, while Pierre, Charles and Arthur were the triplets of chaos with Carla and Pascale being their tamers.

You didn’t fit in with that family at all, always feeling their judging stares on yourself especially with Charles glued to your side. But there was one gaze except of his that felt different. Pierre didn’t judge your every step, his eyes were full of either admiration or sympathy whenever you looked at him, always ready to help if you needed it.

Leclerc also noticed his best friend’s weird interest in you but as much as you didn’t care he did. He felt jealous seeing him watch you with heartful eyes, touch you whenever he had a chance, constantly talk to you, and you only knew each other for a day! Charles’ gut wrenched at those moments, wanting to tear the man apart.

But why did he care so much? You were just friends after all. But he didn’t consider you just a friend. You were more, his whole world, a person he couldn’t live without. He knew that since you’ve met, trying to find a perfect moment to confess his feelings, wanting to do this on Christmas Eve.

That was also another reason why he asked you to pretend his girlfriend in front of his family. But with Pierre on his way... It would be hard. Especially if you felt too comfortable with the French man and told him the truth, then he wouldn’t hold back anymore and wrap you around his finger immediately and Charles couldn’t let that happen.

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After yet another unpleasant dinner you left to pick a Christmas tree and finish up buying presents. It was a little tradition of Leclerc’s to pick the tree all together and you felt glad they wanted you to join them, at least Charles and Pierre did. You strode through the main square holding Charles’ hand and admiring the Christmas market.

Pierre walked by your other side, getting envious every time the Monegasque pressed a kiss to either part of your body or pulled you slightly away from him. He wished he could be the one to bring you to that beautiful place on a date, to have you all for himself, for you to be his... But you weren’t and instead Pierre had to pretend he was happy for you and his best friend and it was really hard at times.

“Come on kids! Faster! The queue is already forming!”

Pascale shouted from a few meters away as she turned around and saw your group getting distracted by the various stalls.

“Queue for what?”

You’ve asked the boys, confusion clearly painted on your face.

“Santa”

They responded in unison rushing you over to the rest.

“Santa? Aren’t you too old?”

“Naaah. We’re gonna get a family picture with him. It’s another of our traditions”

Pierre cleared out with a huge smile. As you waited the two men told you about and showed you every picture from previous years, making fun of little Arthur always crying sitting on Santa’s lap.

Tears slowly started to fill your eyes at the cute stories, but you’ve managed to blink them away quickly so neither men noticed them. You wished you could’ve had such a childhood, full of fun, family and love but you guessed it wasn’t meant to be. At least now you could have some fun, even though the majority of the family hated you.

When your turn came you positioned yourself freely, you stood on the right in front of the boys almost right next to Santa, but Pascale felt like something was wrong and started to rearrange everyone. Eventually Carlos, Rebecca and Lorenzo landed on the left, Arthur and Carla sat on the old man’s laps – just as always, she took your place in front of her two favourites and you stood next to Charles almost getting cut out of the picture.

Nonetheless the photo came out great and you were happy you received one of the copies. After meeting Santa you went to pick the tree and then everyone scattered to buy presents. Charles left with Pierre, the Spaniard with his girlfriend, Pascale with the youngest and you were left with Lorenzo.

“So uh... I-I guess we’re the only ones left...”

You muttered and the man nodded. You stood in the middle of the square in complete silence until he spoke up.

“Listen uh... I asked Charlie to leave us cause I wanted to talk with you. I hope you’re not mad...”

Lorenzo looked down and started to play with his finger nervously. You started to think of all the things he could want to talk with you about but what you were about to hear shocked you.

“Oh um... As long as you won’t offend me like the rest of your family does I won’t”

“I won’t. I promise. But- Can we go to a café?”

You agreed with a quiet sigh then followed the man. He brough you to a simple but full of Christmas atmosphere café and after you ordered some mulled wine and cookies he started.

“I wanted to talk about Charles...”

“What about him?”

The man hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling it.

“I’ve talked with him about you... I wanted to know what plans he has for the future and if he sees you there with him. He said he loves you so much that he would try his best to persuade mom to give him our grandma’s engagement ring after the holidays... I shouldn’t tell you this but I just need to know... Do you want to have a future with Charles or are you, what Arthur calls you, just a bimbo falling for his money?...”

Your face went pale at the information. You hoped Charles said it just for your skit to be more convincing but the way Lorenzo said it, all serious and without any emotions on his face, started to worry you. Trying to gather your thoughts your eyes closed and palms turned into tight fists, something you always did when thinking hard.

“Hey relax... I-It's just a question... I didn’t mean to stress you out...”

The oldest Leclerc grabbed your hands and rubbed his thumbs along them. It actually helped you relax and think of a suitable answer.

“I don’t get me wrong... I love your brother with my whole hear. I really do. But I can’t tell you if I’d say yes to his proposal. I usually don’t think about the future, just living in the moment y’know?”

Lorenzo nodded understandingly. It seemed like you’ve managed to convince him it was true, but started to feel bad for constantly lying to them, especially since Lori seemed like a really nice guy. You’ve chatted for some time when eventually he apologized for his actions.

“I also wanted to apologise for my behavior... I usually don’t act like that but as you might have noticed out mother's influence is too heavy. Nonetheless I know I did wrong offending you like the others and I'm sorry once again. Seeing my brother so happy while with you made me understand that he actually loves you and that you aren’t as bad as mom is painting you... I hope you'll be able to forgive me one day... “

You smiled softly at the man and his genuine apology. You were really glad that at least one of them apologized to you and couldn’t be mad at him.

“It's okay I forgive you”

While you conversed, Pierre and Charles run around the square looking for a perfect gift for you.

“Oh man... Couldn’t you buy something in Monaco?!”

The Frenchman sighed as they entered yet another store. This time it was a jeweler full of gorgeous sets and classy watches.

“You know well I had no time. Besides, I don’t even know what she likes. I specifically insisted on entering the market from this alley so I could see if her eyes would shine after she notices something-”

“But they didn’t. How can you not know what she likes!? She’s your girlfriend!”

“I’m not sure, okay? I want it to be something unique”

Pierre nodded and soon they started to look for something that would match your vibe. Finally the Frenchman chose a gentle, soft pink butterfly set he noticed you look at as you passed the store, later surprised Charles didn’t notice it too, while the Monegasque opted for something more bold – a silver necklace with an emerald and matching earrings. Now they just had to choose which one Charles was going to buy.

“The green matches her eyes and hair”

“But it’s too heavy for her. The butterflies perfectly match her gentle aura”

“But they’re so small and light you wouldn’t see them on her fair skin...”

Eventually Charles bought what he choose himself. Little did he know that the next day Pierre came back to buy you the set he picked. He was a 100% sure you would like his present way more than Charles’.

Was it weird he bought such an expensive gift for his best friend’s girlfriend? Maybe, but he couldn’t care less. It was the only way for him to please you. He also bought a bottle of vanilla latte perfumes as the smell reminded him of you.

If he could, he would’ve showered you in presents, luxurious gowns from the most expensive boutiques of the world, crown jewels, multiple cars... But you weren’t his, not yet.

The man felt the weird dynamic between you and Charles, it seemed like he was the only one who noticed it. Maybe you two were acting like the sweetest couple ever, madly in love with each other, but you weren’t going to fool him.

He noticed how awkward you could be whenever Charles kissed you and you never kissed on the lips, he was also the only one giving kisses, your lips never touched any part of his skin. Neither did you remember some of the most important things about the Monegasque even though he had no problem remembering yours. Pierre knew there was something going on and he was about to find out soon.

When the boys found you and Lorenzo the four of you met up with the rest in one of the main square's restaurant. You expected something expensive and exclusive as Charles usually insisted on eating out in such restaurants but walking into the premise, a warm, family atmosphere hit you.

You actually enjoyed this little change and the comfortable place itself. You took a place by a long table, Pascale and Charles on either end like the heads of the family, even though it was Lorenzo who was the oldest brother. Through time you've noticed that the quietest Leclerc was often ignored or left out, so you weren’t surprised when Charles took what should’ve been Lori's place.

While you awaited your meals, a little boy around 4 years old run up to your table with a basket of cutlery and a piece of paper with a pen on top. He handed the basket to Charles then pointed at the paper and pen. The man chuckled and signed the paper then gave it to the boy after ruffling his hair. You smiled brightly at their little encounter. When the boy was about to run away a waitress, probably his mother, stopped him and turned him around.

“Honey what do we say? “

They made their way back to your table and the little boy quickly thanked Charles before running off.

“I'm sorry, he's a little shy”

The woman explained bringing your group the food you ordered. She was tall and beautiful, had long blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, seemed around your age and clearly caught Charles' eye. It wasn’t like he immediately fell in lover with her, but he did find her attractive. She was a perfect match for him in Pascale’s eyes and she couldn’t care less that she had a kid already.

Throughout the whole dinner Pascale talked the young woman and her son up, inviting them to eat with you which the blonde had to deny due to her being at work but let her little boy join you. Soon Leo opened up and turned out to be a bubble of joy. He sat on Charles' lap eventually moving to yours when Leclerc had to use the bathroom. That’s when Pascale asked.

“So Y/N. Are you thinking of having kids with Charles? “

You choked on your drink hearing the question. Putting the glass away you coughed a little before responding.

“Well uh... I-I don't want to have kids... I'm not really a fan of them... And I'm sure pregnancy is a beautiful thing but it just scares me too much... “

The blonde laughed. She always laughed into your face when you talked about your beliefs and you slowly couldn’t stand it.

“Oh you're funny. Charles wants to have a lot of kids so it's not like you have a choice. You'll change your mind when he gets you pregnant “

“I'm sure you would love that”

You mumbled under your nose sarcastically knowing well she'd rather die than let her son have kids with you.

“It's her body and her choice mom. If she doesn’t want to have kids I'm not gonna maker her”

Charles said as he overheard a bit of your conversation. His hand squeezed your arm reassuringly. He would never make you do something you didn’t want to.

“Then you should change her for a new model! I want to have grandkids! Leo's mom is a really nice woman. Perfect for you and already has a kid so it wouldn’t be a problem for her to have more “

“Mom”

Charles sighed heavily rubbing his forehead, his hand moving to your lap and soothing it. He felt how tense and angry you were even though you didn’t show it.

“What? I'm just saying the truth-“

“You're just ruining the atmosphere. Y/N is a perfect girl for our Charlie and you should not care if she's a vegetarian, an atheist, a red head, doesn’t want to have kids, etc. etc. What matters is that she loves him and he feels happy with her”

Lorenzo stepped in getting annoyed by his mother. He had enough of her critical opinions about you as you really weren’t that bad.

“And you, Brutus, against me? “

Pascale gasped at her oldest talking back for the first time.

“Yes. I have enough of you talking bad about Y/N. We all have, as it is the only topic you seem to care about. It’s Christmas we should act like a normal, happy family we are and be glad that Charles joined us at all and not criticize his girlfriend”

“Lori's right... You went too far... “

Pierre added quietly. The rest of the dinner Pascale was quiet. She felt sad after her kids words but didn’t feel bad after hers.

Back at home the boys apologized for being so harsh and made up with their mother, but it wasn’t like she was going to be nicer to you.

“I'm sorry for today... “

Charles mumbled handing you a cup of hot cocoa with some vodka and joining you on the couch. You snuggled next to him and thanked for the liquid, then said after taking a sip.

“It's okay I understand it... She would never like me... Good think it's going to end soon... “

You whispered the last sentence loud enough for only Charles to hear, even though you were the only ones awake. Or so you thought. Leclerc wasn’t the only one that heard you. A few seconds earlier Pierre made his way down stairs to have some water and he overheard your short conversation. At first his heart ached as he noticed you two on the couch, getting jealous it wasn’t him instead of Charles, but then the knot loosened after what you've said.

“It's going to end soon”

He started to slowly connect the dots which were a good omen for him. On the other hand, Charles felt sad. He didn’t want this to end, never. The man hoped that he'd manage to make you fall in love with him in those 2 days, although you didn’t seem to change your thoughts about him yet. He had to try harder. That night you fell asleep in his arms, he took you to your shared room and layed with you on the bed. He was shocked but at the same time glad that you didn’t wake up and make him sleep on the floor.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🎄˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Waking up to finding yourself on top of Charles wasn’t the best experience. You didn’t remember much from the previous night and started to worry that something happened between you two.

For the rest of the day you tried to ignore him as best as you could, which made Pascale happy. She hoped that after your previous day's conversation, you had a talk or maybe even a quarrel with her son that slowly led to your breakup. It was difficult though. It was the Christmas Eve after all and everyone had some chores to do, sometimes landing you with him to do something or just constantly passing him by.

You didn’t intend on blowing up by the Christmas table but this time Pascale started to offend your family. A family that died in a car accident when you were little, the view of firefighters putting out the burning crashed car as you sat int the ambulance and watched everything engraved in your brain, hunting you almost each night. That was another reason why you agreed to Charles’ request. You wanted to finally spend Christmas with a family in a pleasant atmosphere. But it wasn’t given to you...

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! “

You shot up from your place and shouted on top of your lungs at the blonde.

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU'RE SUCH AN ALIEN! “

“I'M AN ALIEN?! LOOK AT YOURSELF! I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING TO YOU BUT YOU KEEP ACTING LIKE A BITCH! ALL OF YOU DO! I REGRET AGREEING TO EVEN COME HERE! NOT MENTIONING SPENDING ALMOST THE WHOLE WEEK WITH YOU! FUCK IT I'M GOING HOME TOMORROW. I PREFER TO SPEND THE CHRISTMAS ALONE THAN WITH YOU! “

“GREAT! LEAVE AND NEVER EVER COME BACK YOU SLUT! “

You left the dining room in tears, quickly put on your coat and run out of the house. Pierre rushed after you while Charles and Lorenzo started to fight with their mother.

Pierre hopped into his car and quickly drove up to you. He softly honked at you a few times while calling your name.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

You shouted after stopping, mascara mixed with tears falling down your cheeks, hair disheveled and body trembling as you wore only your thigh length, red, sequin dress under the coat.

“Come in, please... You're freezing... “

After a few minutes of convincing, you got into the car and Pierre drove away.

“Where are you taking me?... “

You asked quietly, from time to time sniffling.

“Somewhere we can chill out in”

He explained squeezing your covered thigh. After you entered the vehicle he immediately took off his jacket and put it on your legs then planted his palm on your limb to assure you everything was going to be alright. Pierre parked his car in front of a bar then helped you out and inside. You ordered some drinks and filled one of the booths before chugging one after another. That's what you needed, to get drunk and forget about everything.

“Your family is hell... How do you even stand them!? “

You mumbled out with a hiccup. Your head was propped on your hand with the elbow on the table, you looked terrible, a wreck of a woman, but to Pierre you've looked more beautiful than ever. He was more than happy to have this little moment with you, even if it was supposed to end soon with you passing out. A thing he didn’t knew was that you had a really strong head and you were just a little tipsy after 3 drinks and 2 beers.

“I don’t know either... They're usually not that bad... I don’t know what happened this time”

“I happened. You can’t deny it... They just hate me for nothing and I can’t stand it anymore! “

Your free hand hit the table almost spilling your 3rd beer.

“Yeah I've noticed”

The man chuckled while you huffed unamused, your brows furrowing.

“It's funny to you? “

You hissed at which he shook his head.

“Maybe a little... “

Pierre admitted making you hit his head with a beer cap. He laughed once again this time getting one out of you too. Soon you got really comfortable with him and did what Charles feared the most.

“You know... There's something I want to tell you... “

“I'm listening”

“I'm... I'm not actually Charles’ girlfriend... We're just best friends and he asked me to come with him so you would stop asking him about a second half... Guess that didn’t turn out as he wished it would... “

You sighed melting into the couch. The man was silent for a while before he stood up and sat next to you.

“Then... You won’t be mad if I do this?... “

Looking up at him confused you felt his palm capture your chin and his finger brush along your bottom lip while gazing lovingly and deeply into your eyes. Before you could say something he connected your lips in a soft kiss, giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead straddling his lap and deepening the kiss. It might have been because of the alcohol, or just because of your mutual attraction that you soon found yourself naked in the back of his car, getting marked and taken great care of. It felt bad but oh so good... By midnight you came back home and continued your sinful ministrations in his bedroom.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🎄˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Waking up on the first day of Christmas by his side you finally felt like you belonged there, belonged to the family, belonged to him. You weren’t scared, weirded out nor uncomfortable, not like with Charles. You felt as if Pierre was the one thing that was missing in your life.

“Morning... “

Soon you could hear him mumble. You looked up with a soft smile and placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Will you drive me back home?... I'm not sure I'll be able to look Charles in the eyes after yesterday... “

You sighed resting your chin on top of his chest and played with it's hair. Pierre raised his eyebrow at you, a slightly sad expression forming on his face.

“You didn’t... Enjoy it?”

He whispered at which you shook your head.

“No, no. I enjoyed it, I really did but... I don’t know... It felt a bit wrong... “

You looked away with a sigh thinking of Charles’ reaction if he found out what you two were up to the previous night. He would've been furious with both of you most probably starting a fight and setting the house on fire and neither of you would like that.

“Stay... Just for the breakfast... And I'll drive you home in the afternoon. You still have presents to give us don’t you? “

Pierre started to rub your back and draw patterns on it, trying to calm you down and make relaxed once again.

“I'm sure you wouldn’t like them... Besides Charles can give them to you-”

“But I want to receive it from you. Not from Charles. Not from Lorenzo. From you. Please... Stay... For me... “

Looking into his eyes you saw the sparkles and hearts once again, your heart melting at the sight. You exhaled and agreed reluctantly. That family was going to be the end of you... You were about to get up and start getting dressed when Lorenzo knocked on the door and walked in right after.

“Pierre where's Y/N-“

You hid your bare chest from his view and pulled away from Pierre but was unable to say anything when Lorenzo quickly left and shut the door.

“Fuck. We're fucked. Oh my god that was a bad idea”

You rumbled while getting dressed in the speed of light. When you shot out of Gasly's room you bumped into Leclerc, patiently waiting for you to leave.

“Lori I-“

“Shhh... It's not your fault. You let him fool yourself, but it’s no wonder considering the situation you’re in. I don’t blame you and won’t tell anyone. Now, go make yourself presentable. We don’t want mom to see you like this do we? “

The man placed a kiss on top of your head before rushing you away. You were really confused with his reaction but glad as fuck that he didn’t immediately run to Charles to tell him. After you walked away, Lorenzo stormed into Pierre's room.

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN?! “

Lorenzo tried to throw a punch straight to Gasly's face but due to being way weaker, the Frenchman easily stopped him pinning him down on the bed.

“Calm down and shut up”

He hissed before releasing Leclerc.

“Are you crazy?! She's Charlie’s girlfriend! He's your bestfriend! Your family! “

Pierre rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He knew well that what you did was wrong but he didn’t feel bad. Quite the contrary. He felt like on cloud 9 after spending the night with you. Not only because you had sex but because you could finally be alone. Just the two of you. No Pascale. No Charles. Just Y/N and Pierre.

In meanwhile you passed Pascale on the corridor. Of course she wasn’t happy to see you in the morning, but thankfully didn’t pay attention to your tired and disheveled state. Neither did the woman notice you leave Pierre’s room earlier.

“What are you still doing here? “

Turning around on your heel you took a deep breath and started.

“I decided to stay until tomorrow morning. Just for Charles. And I sincerely apologize for my yesterdays manners. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that but your own actions aren’t the best either. I’m sorry once again “

The woman looked you up and down in complete silence before walking away without a word. The only thing she could admit she liked about you was that you were able to apologize and admit your mistakes, not like herself.

“Where were you?”

Charles asked as you quietly entered your shared room, hoping you wouldn’t wake him up but he was up all night.

“I’ve tried to reach you and Pierre the whole night. Where. Were. You. “

The man got up from the bed and slowly walked up to you, caging you between the door and himself.

“Pierre took me to a bar... We’ve spent there the whole night and came back like 2 hours ago... “

You gulped looking up at the man. Good thing you went to the bathroom and corrected your appearance before going in there or you would've been in way more trouble. Charles sighed, his hands capturing yours and squeezing them gently.

“I was looking for you everywhere... You don’t even know how worried I was... I know you were angry but you could’ve at least let me know you’re alright... Or make Pierre call me... “

One of his hands brushed your cheek as his eyes averted between yours and your pink lips. Charles wanted to kiss you so bad but figured you could be still mad and decided otherwise. Plus he was still furious at Pierre taking you somewhere without his knowledge, and if you blew up he would blow up too. Then knowing your both’s tempers the whole house would be on fire with Pascale and Arthur constantly adding gasoline.

“I know... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to worry you, it’s just that... I couldn’t stand it anymore... I want to go home...”

A single tear fell down your cheek which Charles quickly kissed away. He hated to see you in that state, but what he hated even more was that he was the one who caused it. If he hadn’t asked you for that favor, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. He was a shitty bestfriend.

“I love her okay? I just... I just can’t help it... “

Pierre blurted out making Lorenzo shut up and look at him in disbelief. He couldn’t believe in the Frenchman.

“You- WHAT?! “

The Monegasque threw himself at Pierre, a fight unraveling between the two, destroying almost the whole room before they flew out of it through the door, landing on the floor with a loud thump. The noise caught everyone’s attention, saving you from the too uncomfortable conversation with Charles.

“Oh my god boys!”

Pascale tried to push them away from each other before getting shooed over by Carlos and Arthur, so she wouldn’t accidentally get hurt, who stopped the fight. Lorenzo wriggled in his younger brother’s arms angrily, blood running down his nose while Pierre already calmed down a little and touched his black eye gently.

“What have you done!?”

Pascale shouted at you with anger in her eyes. Sure the fight was about you but it’s not like you caused it... Maybe not entirely but still.

“Why do you already accuse me?! I wasn’t even there! I was with Charles!”

The middle Leclerc nodded confirmingly while his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you close in a protective manner. Pierre wanted to vomit at the sight, blood boiled in his vains and he was ready to start another fight this time with Charles but knew better than that. The man just wanted the Christmas to be over so he could finally take you out somewhere and spend some time with you in a normal, nice atmosphere. Without Charles, without Lorenzo, without his family. Just you and him. Together.

“But I’m sure it’s your fault! My boys aren’t my boys anymore since you’ve showed up here! You’ve ruined them! “

You were ready to throw a punch at her and you would’ve done that if not her whole family watching you. Instead you just kept rushing Lorenzo to the bathroom to help him with his nose and talk about the fight.

“I did not expect this from you...”

You huffed angrily, sitting him down on a stool in front of you.

“This is a house of fucking madmen...”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry... But when Pierre disrespected my little brother like that I just couldn’t hold it in anymore...”

The man sighed looking up at you with those big, brown puppy eyes of his. You softly shook your head before proceeding to wipe the blood away from underneath his nose.

“I think... I need to tell you something. You just... Need to stay calm okay?”

“I don’t like where this is going...”

“I know you love your brother with your whole heart and think I’m the best lady he could have but... This is all a lie... We’re not together... We’re just best friends... He asked me to join you because he had enough of constant questions about the other half and hoped bringing me with himself would solve it... But it didn’t. Instead making even more chaos...”

You said on one breath then watched Lori’s face for any signs of his reaction. The man was quiet for a longer time before finally speaking.

“Oh... That's... That’s a pity... And... And I started to get so happy you would be my sister in law... I’m sorry that’s- that’s just stupid”

The Monegasque stood up and was about to leave when you grabbed his shoulders and sat him back down. You embraced him in a warm hug and gave a gentle kiss to his head.

“I may not be your sister in law but you can always count on me. No matter what. You’re like a brother I’ve never had, Lori”

“Stop it or I’m gonna cry...”

He hid his face in the crook of your neck while hugging you back. He felt sad that you and Charles weren’t actually together and was sorry for his brother due to his apparent attraction to you and your obliviousness.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🎄˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

“This morning started just incredibly...”

Pascale sighed as she sat down in her armchair in the living room. The whole group already after breakfast now waiting for Lorenzo, who was still with you, to join them so they could unpack their presents. The atmosphere was dense, you could cut it with a knife, yet you still decided to give them your presents first to have it over already. You walked down the stairs with Lorenzo, both holding a few bags, then entered the quiet living room. Taking a deep breath you started your monologue while the Monegasque handed out your gifts.

“I know you have enough of me already, so you can do whatever you want with those. Sell them. Throw them away. Heck even burn them! I don’t care. I just wanted to say sorry that I ruined your Christmas and hopefully next year everything would be way better. Without me of course. Coming here I was hoping for an enjoyable, family Christmas – one that I haven’t had since I was five, when my parents died. But it turned out how it turned out and honestly... In contrast to what I’ve said yesterday – I don’t regret joining you. I am just crazy and this was fun. You can open those now”

With that said you let them open the gifts. Each one of them received a different, knitted by you, Christmas sweater. You once saw a really old family photo at Charles’, one where his father was still alive and Arthur was just a little baby. Everyone was dressed in sweaters like those, with huge smiles on their faces and you hoped to recreate that moment before you came there.

You’ve tried your best to freshen out their designs while keeping the overall vibe of each piece, spending a lot of time on making them without Charles’ knowledge. Now you couldn’t care less.

But seeing their reactions, especially Pascale’s, made your heart break in half. The older woman started to cry, the rest following after. Some just sniffling like Pierre or Charles, too manly to show any emotions. Some cried their eyes out like Arthur and the older woman, which shocked you a lot. You looked confused between them before Carlos spoke up.

“Herve used to make such sweaters for us every Christmas... Then took million photos of us wearing them, proud of his opus... We haven’t worn such sweaters for Christmas every since his death... Thank you Y/N... It’s the best gif we could’ve ever receive”

The man got up hugging you tightly, Rebecca and Lorenzo following shortly after.

“It even looks like my first one...”

Arthur blurted out, almost choking on his tears as he looked down at the piece then back at you.

“Thank you...”

“I... I had no idea...”

You mumbled out. Your heart melted at the view and you were more than pleased that they loved them.

“I’m sorry...”

Soon you heard Pascale whisper through tears. You smiled softly and crouched down in front of her embracing her in a warm hug. The woman didn’t say anything instead hiding her face in your shoulder. You held her like that for a longer time, not saying a word not wanting to startle her, as the whole family watched with huge smiles. When she pulled away you wiped her tears away and helped her put on the sweater.

“It’s beautiful... Thank you...”

The older woman said quietly, while looking down. She was too ashamed to look into your eyes. After receiving your gift she finally understood that you tried your best to fit into their family, not trying to impose your views on them which she accused you of.

She understood her behaviour towards you was horrible and undeserved as you didn’t do anything bad to her nor her son. Quite the contrary. You seemed to make Charles even more happier than he was.

The death of her husband and constant thought of loosing her children too changed her so much she didn’t even realise she started to be toxic. And it wasn’t only to you. Earlier she was critical of every previous girlfriend that any of her sons brought home, but she was just terrible to you and nothing could justify her doings. But your heart was too big to not forgive her after her apology. You felt it was sincere and even shed a tear before hugging her once again.

After you had your little moment with Pascale, Charles got up and announced.

“Well... I guess I should say sorry too. To all of you. For lying straight into your faces... We’re actually not together with Y/N. I just wanted you to fuck off from my love life, that’s why I brought her... I’m sorry once again... “

The whole family forgave him immediately, actually being a little sad it all was a lie as they saw the fire in Charles’ eyes whenever he looked at you.

“Tell her...”

Lorenzo tried to persuade his younger brother quietly, earning a confused look from you and Pascale.

“Tell me what?”

You asked soon, too impatient to wait. You watched the man make his way over to you and sit down beside you on the floor. He captured your hands in his and gave each a sweet kiss before confessing his love.

“I love you Y/N L/N. I always did... Since we’ve met I knew you were the one for me... I can’t live without you. Without your smile. Without your laugh. Those beautiful green eyes... I just- Will you be my girlfirend? This time for real?...”

Feeling uneasy with what you’ve just heard and all the eyes watching you, you looked at Pierre hoping he’d help you. He was hurt and scared you would say yes, making your eyes water.

“No you can’t- You can’t be in love with me... That’s a joke right? Please tell me it’s a joke”

Shaking your head you felt tears spill down your cheeks and an awkward chuckle escaped your lips. It was all too much for one day.

“It’s not like I haven’t been humiliated enough...”

You stood up from your place and was about to leave when Charles caught your hand and stopped you.

“Y/N I’m serious”

“Serious!? Nothing in this house- this family, is serious! You all hate me for stupidest things ever and you dare to say you’re serious!?”

You hissed, emotions steering inside of you, slowly spilling out.

“We don’t hate you...”

Arthur said but you knew better.

“OH REALLY?! And you of all people say that. Y/N this... Y/N that... A bimbo. A heathen. A leafhead! That’s what you all think of me... You think I’m not good enough for your Lord Perceval... And I don’t want to be! I’m an alien who ruined your Christmas and then slept with Pierre!”

You shouted out without realising what you’ve just said.

“What?”

Charles confused question made you comprehend your words and cover your mouth with your hands in shock. The room felt silent, only the faint sound of clock ticking could be heard until the middle Leclerc launched himself at Gasly.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Not again!”

Pierre shouted as they dropped out the door, this time the front ones, onto the cold and wet snow. The other men tried to get them away from one another, each failing getting hurt in proces.

“You motherfucker how could you! You’re my best friend and you fucked the girl you knew well I love!”

Soon Leclerc straddled Pierre, palms tightly wrapped around his neck trying to choke him. You’ve never seen Charles so mad, which only confirmed his words that he indeed loved you. Otherwise he wouldn’t try to kill his bestie. Finally, after the 7 of you managed to pull them away you wanted to sink into the ground and die.

“You hate me now, don’t you?”

You asked quietly, entering the room you previously shared with Charles. The Monegasque sat on the bed and gazed at something way before you came there, not moving an inch even after you sat down next to him.

“I'm sorry-“

“I should’ve told you a long time ago... “

“But it my answer would've been no different... I love you Charles, but as a brother and nothing will change that. I'm sorry... “

The man layed down and placed his head on your legs as you started to play with his hair. You've talked for a long time eventually understanding each other's feelings and that nothing would come out of it.

With time and your help, Charles has managed to move on from you. Exactly a year later, you met at the same house once again, this time in a slightly changed composition.

Charles burst in with Leo in his arms and Kate following shortly after. They greeted everyone before finally walking up to you and Pierre.

“We have a little surprise... “

You bit your lip out of excitement while Pierre lifted up his last year's sweater from tour belly revealing a baby bump.

“We think of naming him Perceval”

The Frenchman teased as Leclerc gazed at you in disbelief and excitement.

“Oh you have to call him Charles or Charlie. You owe me that! “

He joked with a loud chuckled, secretly hoping you actually would do that.

"I thought you didn't want to have kids"

Kate asked. You gazed up at Pierre with a loving look them averted your eyes back to Charles and his new girlfriend.

"I think I'm ready"

You never thought that agreeing to help your best friend would change your life 360 degrees. Yet there you were, just a year later, finally accepted in the family, carrying it's another member. You couldn’t have wished for better holidays...

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

@balladofareader

AHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY MIRAAA 🎉😘🥳🎂🎁🎈 I HOPE YOU HAVE THE BESTTTT DAY EVERRRR AND GET EVERYTHING YOU WANTTT YOU DESERVE ITTT GIRL !! 💘💘💘

glen powell is still not hot even on your birthday. he’s still not hot.

I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCHHH 🥰💕😘💓💖💘🥰😍❤️💕😘💓 WITH MY WHOLLLE ENTIREEE HEARTT EVEN WHEN YOU TORTURE ME WITH THAT ONE GIF 😒😒

SO HERE IS MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO YOUUUU… I HOPE YOU ENJOY

(I know you wanted a holiday fic rather than a birthday one so that’s what I wrote 🤭🤭)

title: mira’s birthday

pairing: grayson hawthorne x miranda

Fairy lights, wound around the bookshelves, twinkled brightly against the dark of the night. Mira had put them up herself whilst Grayson was out and was quite proud of how she’d managed. She didn’t exactly have a track record for being good at things like this. One time she’d attempted to put up a shelf and ended up in A&E with a sprained wrist and a concussion.

Not a fun day.

She stood back to admire her work one last time before picking up the red ribbon she’d set down on the table earlier. She’d meant to tie them in her hair this morning but had forgotten on about six different occasions. Miranda sat down and slowly weaved one through the section of hair she wanted it to. Tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, she felt her fingers twist and turn sections of hair a ribbon so everything would sit in perfectly before she finally tied the bow. One side was done, that was the easy part, now she had to do the other side in perfect symmetry.

After three separate attempts she heard footsteps and immediately locked her eyes to the doorway. Grayson Hawthorne leant in the doorframe, gorgeous as ever, a small smile on his lips. Mira immediately bounded towards him grinning, the remaining ribbon softly falling to the floor, forgotten once again.

“I missed you,” she laughed, leaping into his arms.

Swiftly as ever Grayson caught her, spinning her around in his arms, “I was gone for two hours,” he said, setting her down.

“Two hours too long,” she replied with a soft shrug.

“Well I do apologise,” he said sincerely, before kissing her cheek gently.

Mira flushed, “you can apologise again if you like.”

Her eyes practically sparkled and Grayson obliged to her request, kissing her a second time.

“You put up fairy lights,” he commented, cocking his head towards the decorated bookshelves.

“I know,” she winked, “impressive right.”

“Extremely,” Grayson nodded.

“I didn’t even need the instruction booklet,” she told him proudly, “I just worked it out all by myself.”

“Does that mean they’re going to fall down in an hour?” he asked dryly.

“Hey!” she groaned, slapping his upper arm, though it probably hurt her more than it did him, his arm was like a rock, “that’s mean! I think I deserve another apology!”

Grayson chuckled, taking her face into his hands and kissing her lips slowly.

She meant the world to him and more. Mira had been his light in the darkest of times, the sunshine in his hurricane, the emotion through the numbness. She’d taught him how to feel again, how to love, how to be happy, how to feel free, how to let go of the demons that were driving him insane internally.

“I suppose that will have to make up for it,” she mumbled into his lips.

He grinned and continued kissing her gently. They both got lost in the moment, their chests moving up and down in a syncopated rhythm. Mira stumbled, falling into the sofa. He wasn’t fast enough to catch her this time, too distracted by her sweet taste. Slowly she pulled him down with her, continuing the kiss, but this time she made it a little slower, the movement more drawn out, lips lingering on one another’s before going into the next kiss.

He pulled away, eyeing her book, “you’re reading once upon a broken heart again?”

“Are you really surprised?” Mira laughed, brushing a loose stand of blonde back into his perfectly styled hair.

“No,” he smiled softly, his eyes mellowing as they met hers, before he went in for another soft kiss.

“It���s a good book,” she said against him.

“I’m sure it is,” he replied stiffly before pausing, “but-“

Mira quickly put her finger on his lips, stopping his from taking it any further, “No but,” she warned him sternly.

“There is a but,” Grayson said simply.

“No there’s not,” she shook her head, denying it.

“But there is!” he groaned.

“Come on Gray,” she pouted, trying to plead him with her large brown puppy dog eyes.

He turned away from them, fearing he might not be able to resist.

“But,” he sighed, “I do wish you weren’t so obsessed with that,” he paused to do air quotes with his fingers, “‘Jacks’ person.”

She folded her arms giving him a pointed stare, “I’m not!”

He quirked a questioning brow, calling out her blatant lie.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “but if you read this you’d get it.”

He made a face, so Mira stuck her tongue out at him before she picked up the ribbon for her hair that she’d left before Grayson has returned. She began to try again.

“Allow me princess,” Grayson murmured softly into her ear, gently taking the ribbon from her, so the soft material rippled over the palm of her hand before transferring to his.

The bold red stood out against his pale hands, like fresh blood would in snow. Carefully he adjusted her position so her back was facing him, allowing him access to her hair. Gently, he ran tentative fingers through her curls watching as they coiled down her back. He smoothly glided the red ribbon through the strands of ebony, contorting the ribbon with loops and twists until it formed a perfect bow. Slowly, he took out the one she’d done earlier and repeated the process on the other side so they both looked equal.

“Let me look at you, princess,” he murmured, once he was finished.

Mira’s cheeks tinted a rosy pink as she turned to face him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, mesmerised.

Her cheeks glowed an even darker shade of red, now almost matching the ribbons in her hair. Shyly, she stood up and walked over to the full length mirror in the corner.

“Thank you,” she said, admiring her hair in the mirror.

He stood up and walked towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind and resting his chin just over her collar bone. Grayson smiled lopsidedly as he watched her beaming. Her energy was infectious, a bubbling, shining, bursting ball of pure joy.

He silently took her hand and raised it above her head. Mira looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before Grayson spun her around. Caught off guard, laughing, she stumbled mid spin. She spiralled forwards, losing all of her balance, luckily Grayson acted swiftly, slipping his arm around her waist and catching her. He kissed the tip of her nose before helping her back up.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

Her eyes practically sparkled, “oooo I love surprises.”

“And,” he paused for a moment, leaving her nearly bursting with anticipation, “it involves cookies.”

“I’m sold,” she said almost immediately.

Grayson found the corners of his mouth turning upwards once again. A year ago he wouldn’t have ever imagined he’d smile as much this. Mira had found his smile again, he’d lost it at sometime he didn’t know exactly when. All he did know was the Mira had brought it back. He offered his hand to her and she gladly took it, interlocking her fingers with his.

“Follow me,” he whispered.

As they were about to leave the room, Mira’s phone buzzed and a notification banner popped up on her screen. Grayson couldn’t read the name but watched curiously as Mira picked it up to reply.

“Hang on,” she said quickly, “I have to get this.”

“Who are you talking to?” he mused.

“Nosy much,” she teased with a sweet giggle.

Grayson only shrugged in reply, “just wondering.”

“If you must know,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m talking to my friend Bella about someone very important to me.”

“And who might that be,” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Mira’s lips stretched into a wide smile, radiating her sunshine energy to the rest of the room, “a certain lovable cowboy.”

His expression quickly morphed into something between panic and confusion. She had to bite back a laugh at the sight, usually her boyfriend was the master of masking his emotions but they were perfectly displayed on his face on this occasion. She could imagine what he was worried about. ‘A certain lovable cowboy’ could’ve been a lot of people, including his brother.

“Glen Powell of course!” she laughed.

He tried to hide a shaky sigh of relief, before his expression pinched back into some sort of disgust, “Glen Powell?”

“Yes, Glen Powell,” she nodded brightly.

He wrinkled his nose and adjusted the sleeves of his suit.

“You’re jealous!” Mira exclaimed.

“No I’m not,” he replied sharply, heat rising in his face.

She smirked failing to hide her amusement, “oh you so are!”

“I am not,” he gritted through his teeth refusing to meet her eyes.

“I can tell you’re lying,” Mira sang, folding her arms across her chest.

“No you can’t,” he said.

“So…” she replied, a glint of mischief flickering across her expression, “you won’t mind if I replay ‘The Edit’ then.”

“Put the phone down, princess,” Grayson said flatly, his face now not betraying his true feelings.

“I thought you weren’t jealous,” she challenged, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I’m not,” he deadpanned.

“So why can’t I play ‘The Edit’ then?” she responded.

“Don’t give it such an important title,” he scoffed, delicately changing the subject, “it’s an edit, not ‘The Edit’, you make it sound so important.”

Mira gasped loudly, clamping a hand over her heart, “it is important! It is ‘The Edit’! Look!”

She flicked her phone towards him, clips of Glen Powell playing and he swiftly shut the screen off.

“Fine, fine I’ll admit it,” he put his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes, reluctant to reveal the truth, “I am in fact bothered by this celebrity crush.”

Mira smiled.

“Go on,” he sighed, “say it, I know you want to.”

“I told you so,” she said softly.

“You did,” he replied.

“Don’t worry Gray,” Mira murmured, cupping his face in her palms, “I don’t think I could ever love anyone like I love you.” She brushed her lips over his slowly before finishing the sentence, “except Glenn Powell.”

His jaw hung slack as she doubled over in laughter.

“Just kidding,” she winked over her shoulder, “now you said something about cookies?”

Grayson, jaw readjusted to its normal position, softly took back her hand into his and guided her to the kitchen. He watched as her face lit up, glistening like a pearl in the centre of a clam shell. It was something he would’ve seen as so small, of such little consequence, but to her it was everything. After realising that, Grayson decided that it meant it was also everything to him too.

The table was laid with a menagerie of different piping bags, all filled with icings of every colour you could imagine. Beside them was a plate of freshly baked cookies, ready to be decorated.

Mira looked at Grayson, her eyes twinkling, “you did all of this?” she asked in a small, awestruck voice.

“Of course, princess,” he replied smoothly, pulling her back into his chest for a small hug.

She squealed in excitement, bouncing up and down, “it’s so pretty!”

“I’m glad you like it,” he beamed, removing his suit jacket in a smooth motion.

“When can we get started?” she asked him, itching to get going.

“Right now,” he winked, rolling up his sleeves, “grab a piping bag Mira.”

Eagerly, she went straight for the pink icing the cutest idea already in her mind.

Before starting his own design, Grayson took a moment to just sit back and silently observe. She would never know he was staring at her in this moment, she was far too concentrated on what she was doing. She would never know he was taking in every little detail of her movement. She would never know how much he adored how her eyebrows were pinched together, how her eyes were narrowed and focussed and how the baby hair falling into her eyes was ignored. She would never know how much he loved her, how full his heart felt in this moment, how she’d saved him in so many ways.

Reluctantly averting his eyes, he turned to his own cookie and began to work.

Mira wasn’t exactly a professional cookie decorator, but she had a steady hand with the piping bag and her design was actually replicating the idea she’d formed in her head. As she was piping she only formed more ideas for her other cookies, each getting more and more ambitious the longer she spent thinking about them. Her eyes flicked up to Grayson for a moment, she watched as he methodically manipulated the icing to give the effect he wanted. Only he could make cookie decorating serious art. She bit her lip, trying to stop her smile. She loved watching him work, so in his zone, his element. When he painted he was lost in his own world, a world where he felt liberated from all that weighed on his chest. It was nice to see him like that. Free.

She finished off the details and sprinkled on some edible glitter. She grinned proudly, leaning back to take a better look, “Mine is a masterpiece,” she announced.

Grayson looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. She had powdered icing sugar brushed over her cheek, her apron was stained with half of the rainbow and a few loose strands of hair had fallen from the ribbons down to frame heels face. She was stunning. An overwhelming feeling hit his mid chest all of a sudden, almost knocking him flat.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, gray eyes roaming over her hungrily, sucking in every last detail of beauty that she didn’t even know she had.

“Let’s see yours then,” Mira replied folding her arms across her chest in challenge, completely oblivious to the lovelorn expression on Grayson’s face.

He willed himself to look away, reluctantly analysing his decorated cookie, “I messed up the toning,” he scrunched up his nose.

She peered over his shoulder, her jaw dropping. It was like a piece of world class artwork.

“How could you correlate that with messing up,” she scoffed.

“What?”

“Like okay Picasso,” she rolled her eyes playfully, “don’t show off or anything.”

“Sorry I can’t help that I’m naturally talented,” he teased.

“Yeah and naturally modest,” she countered with a smirk.

He laughed, a real belly laugh.

“Besides didn’t you just say you messed up the toning?” Mira raised a challenging eyebrow.

Something flickered over his expression, “don’t look at that bit,” he muttered quickly.

“Honestly I have no idea what the toning is so we’re good,” she smiled, then her voice softened, “it’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” he said tenderly, wrapping an arm around her waist.

She grinned down at him, then turned back to the table, “okay, how do we make mine still look good…” she tapped her bottom lip in thought, “…ooo I know! Just don’t put yours next to mine and mine will look fine.”

“Good idea,” he winked, still teasing her.

“I mean it’s not my fault your grandfather had you have private art lessons with a fancy french artist,” Mira defended, eyeing the cookies again.

“Are you jealous, princess?” Grayson asked her, his mouth twisting into a knowing smirk as he stood up.

“Hah you wish!” she retorted, then paused, “yeah I totally am, I mean would you look at that! It’s breathtaking.”

“Like someone else I know,” he replied quietly, eyes flitting to her lips, as he placed his hands gently on her waist.

“You know,” she said slowly, almost cautiously, “I think you flirt more than Jameson.”

“Woah,” he replied quickly, “take that back.”

“Or what,” she dared to ask, in a low hum.

“Or…” he pondered, their faces inches away from each others, “I’ll hide your phone so you can’t watch that stupid edit of Glen Powell.”

Grayson expected her face to fall flat, but she barely moved a muscle. In fact, she looked slightly angry.

“One,” she said sharply, raising one finger up, “it is not stupid, it is a masterpiece. Do not insult my cowboy.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And two,” she continued, a second finger going up, “bold of you to assume I don’t have copies of ‘The Edit’ that don’t require my phone to play them.”

“Fine,” he snapped, a rare glimmer of mischief in his eyes, “I’ll take all of your copies of once upon a broken heart.”

“Even the special editions?” she rushed.

“Especially the special editions,” he grinned wickedly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and scowled, “I’m dating an evil man.”

“It’s not my fault you’re attracted to villains,” he shrugged.

“Fine,” she grumbled, “I take it back, happy?”

“Extremely, princess,” Grayson said, pressing a sweet kiss on her temple.

Mira analysed the cookies slowly, “you know what this needs?”

“No?”

She chewed on her bottom lip in a pathetic attempt to contain her excited smile, “hot chocolate.”

Grayson would be lying if he said he was surprised. He folded his arms and leant on the counter behind him, raising a sharp blonde eyebrow, “oh yeah?”

“I think so,” she nodded enthusiastically.

“You’re not making it this time,” he deadpanned, getting the pan out.

“Okay so I burnt it once,” she scoffed, “and I’m banned completely?”

“Yes,” he replied bluntly.

“It was your fault I burnt it anyway,” Mira said, glaring at him, though her glare didn’t nearly threaten Grayson so much as it made him laugh. She was adorable.

“How was it my fault?” he asked, almost sounding offended.

“You were stood in the kitchen shirtless,” she countered, “obviously distracting me, causing me to burn it.”

“Sorry,” he replied smoothly, “I suppose I won’t take my shirt off anymore then.”

Mira’s eyes widened in panic, “that is not what I said!”

He laughed, a full laugh, kissing the top of her head, “I love you.”

“You’re lucky I still love you after that,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “not funny by the way.”

“I’m amused,” Grayson responded, with a smug sort of grin on his face that he seemed to have stolen from his brother.

“You’re the only one Blondie,” she scowled.

“Blondie?” he sighed, “we’ve really gone back there!”

“You pushed me over the edge today,” she responded, looking away from him.

Blondie had been a nickname she’d given to Grayson when they’d first met, initially it was used to annoy him completely, but it had melted into something of an affectionate tease.

“What toppings would you like on your hot chocolate?” he asked.

“The usual please,” she replied.

“I still think you’re mental for this by the way,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing the whipped cream, marshmallows and peppermints.

“That’s because you’re being all boring and broody with your plain semisweet hot chocolate,” she tusked, making a face as she listed his preference.

“It’s good!” he defended opting for a whiny tone.

“Oh we all know that is absolute lie!” Mira said, immediately calling his bluff.

In her eyes, anyone who liked boring flavours was a psychopath.

“Sorry I don’t want tooth decay,” he scoffed, “I mean all yours needs is a gingerbread house on top of it and voila it’ll break a record.”

“Maybe next time I will put a gingerbread house on top,” she countered, her eyes practically glittering, “at least my drink has personality!”

“It’s a drink,” he replied exasperated, “drinks don’t have personality.”

She gasped, “meanie, you are a meanie. I’m going to divorce you, take all of your money and run off to marry Glen Powell!”

“We’re not married, princess,” he reminded her in a deadpan.

“I know people who can forge me the legal documents,” she shrugged.

Grayson sighed, pouring the freshly made hot chocolate into a mug, “Gigi wouldn’t go against her own brother.”

“If I bargained with a kitten she so would,” Mira replied, “besides you forget how close we are.”

“You two spend too much time together,” he said adding the whipped cream and marshmallows, “it’s dangerous.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” she rolled her eyes.

“Me? A drama queen!” he gaped, sprinkling the crushed peppermint on top of the whipped cream.

“Please,” she scoffed, “everyone says it!”

He paused, “everyone?” he asked in a small voice, smaller than he’d intended.

“Don’t worry,” she smiled softly, “it’s a Grayson perk.”

“A Grayson perk?” he questioned, wondering if he even wanted to know.

“Mhmmm,” she nodded, humming in reply, “I made a list of things that are Grayson perks and it’s on the list.”

“Can I see said list?” he said.

“Absolutely not,” Mira snapped, shaking her head vigorously, “it’s top secret!”

“So Gigi’s seen it,” Grayson deadpanned.

“Well duh,” she rolled her eyes.

He sighed wracking his brain for what he could do to get to see this list.

“What if I buy you each a cat,” he persuaded, “will you show me then?”

Mira paused and considered the option for a second, she imagined her and Gigi getting cats from the same litter and giving them rhyming names. She smiled at the thought of another cat edition to the family but she wanted to see how far the bargain could go. She wasn’t going to give up the list that easily.

“Two cats?” she proposed, shyly flashing him a smile.

“Mira,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “we already have two cats.”

“They need friends!” she protested, batting her eyelashes in attempts to win him over as she followed him to the living room again.

“No more,” he said softly, passing her the hot chocolate.

“You’re boring,” she chastised, slumping down on the sofa.

He shrugged slightly, “and you’re crazy.”

“For Glenn Powell,” she winked.

Grayson’s expression went flat and the disgust was evident the gray iris of his eyes, “must you keep bringing him up?”

“Last time I promise,” Mira replied with a giggle.

Grayson turned to look at her, his gaze lingered for a moment before the words left his lips in barely a breath, “I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you,” she replied, cupping his face in her tender hands.

The grandfather clock in the corner suddenly cried out, alerting everyone that midnight had finally arrived.

“Merry Christmas Mira,” he whispered, kissing the top of her nose.

“Merry Christmas Gray,” she murmured back.

THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCHHH MIRA FOR BEING SUCH A LOVELY, AMAZING, KIND FRIEND!! I HOPE YOU FIND YOURSELF A COWBOY ONE DAY WHO TREATS YOU LIKE HIS WHOLE WORLD AND MORE 😘😘

love from bella xx

[littlespacereader]

It’s my Birthday!!🥳🎂🎉🎈🎁

It’s official I’m 3 years old today😂😂 Big year for me!😂😂 I’m really 24 and let me tell you, I’m still tired😂😂😂

Thank you to everyone who voted on the Birthday poll! I really really hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did writing it! The idea came to me while I was working and I couldn’t stop writing it after it won the poll! (Also I know the gif is the 14th Doctor but I like his smile in it😄)

Please enjoy and have a great weekend!!🥳🎂🎈🎁

A Birthday Wish💫🎂

Caregiver! 10th Doctor & GN Little! Reader (SFW!)

Tags - cupcakes, stuffies, surprises, happy tears, hugs, forehead kisses, the birthday you deserve!, presents, party games, the Doctor being the best cg ever, bops on the nose.

I closed the door and locked it on my way out of my apartment. Even as I walked up the stairs of my building I could hear my loud roommates and their friends yelling and shouting about some stupid ball game.

I shook my head and continued up. If there’s one thing I was going to have on my birthday, it was peace.

Once I reached the top of the building, I pushed the door open and walked onto the rooftop. Here, I got the best view of London and all the stars above.

I would come up here often, after a long day at work or to escape my loud roommates. It was nice, my own little hideaway. Just me, the stars and all of London.

I walked over to the little plastic table I had set up for night like these. I put my backpack into one chair and took a seat in the other.

Then I carefully pullout out the cupcake from my backpack and put it on the table. The icing was a bit messed up from its journey up to the roof, but it didn’t matter to me, a cupcake was a cupcake. I grabbed the candles and put the numbers onto the cake.

Then I just sat there, and stared at the number for a second. I hate getting older, the little side of me hates seeing the age I was actually turning when I felt much younger than I actually was…

I felt like screaming out loud, “I’m not older! I’m just a kid!” But who would listen? Who would care?

The sad answer is no one. My regression was kept hidden from everyone. It was just between me and my stuffies. Speaking of…

I grabbed my stuffed animal elephant out of my bag and and held her in my arms. She’s, of course, is invited to the party! Wouldn’t be one without her.

Then I grabbed my sippy cup and placed it on the table along with some plastic silverware for the cupcake. Once settled I looked back at the stupid numbers.

I mean, who needed a reminder of how old they’re turning? I picked the candles off the cupcake and threw them off to the side. I dug through my bag and found only one last candle left, one regular candle for my birthday wish.

I placed the candle into my cupcake and lit a match, lighting the candle up. A small glow from the fire illuminated me.

Truth was…I didn’t really know what to wish for at first. I didn’t really know, or believe anything would actually come true.

Looking up at the stars again, I took a deep breath and sighed. I guess it didn’t hurt to just wish for anything right? Even the impossible.

So with my eyes casted to the stars above me, I made my wish, “I wish I wasn’t alone, that someone knew and understood my regression and accepted me for it. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

With big breath in, I blew out the candle.

And nothing happened. As I expected. Just same old me, another year older.

I began peeling the small paper from around the cupcake, and began digging into the sweetness. That cupcake tasted amazing! But something caught my eyes from above.

I looked back up to the stars, back up to the one I had my eyes on when I wish. And it…moved?

I stood up, stuffie in my hand as I walked closer to get a better look at the star. It looked as though…it was spinning. Is that possible?!

For a moment I looked away, thinking maybe I was just seeing things, but then I looked back and sure enough that star was spinning. How is that happening?

Then I realized something else…that star was getting closer and closer. I couldn’t help but watch in wonder as the star spun and moved closer and closer earth, then to London, then…

That Star was coming straight for me! I snapped out of my wonder and ran! Dodging off to the side as the star slid onto the rooftop, coming to a stop on the other side.

I cautiously walked out of my hiding spot and looked over at the star…which I realize now isn’t a star…it’s a…box?!

A blue police box flew onto the roof and slid across it? How’s that-.

I slowly approach the box, looking at it with wonder. But just when I was about 2 feet away from it, the door flung open.

A man stepped out. Big smile on his face and a party hat on his head. All at once I realized something…

I’ve seen this man before.

~~~

**Flashback to this morning**

I stood and stared at the tall shelves of stuffed animals infront of me. The toy store wasn’t that busy in the morning hours which made it a nice peaceful visit as I chose my first ever birthday stuffie.

Of course I have plenty of stuffies at home, but this one would be special, it would be a birthday stuffie!

Problem was…there’s a lot of options. Every animal you could think of sat on the shelves infront of me. The choices were endless.

“Hard to pick huh?”

I turned around and saw a stranger walk up to me. He wore a long brown coat and a blue suit, and on his feet converse. He had a friendly smile as the walked over and admired the shelf with me.

“Yeah definitely hard to pick.” I replied, looking back to the shelves.

“Grabbing a gift for someone?” He asked.

“No, for myself actually.” I thought about it then added, “it’s umm, my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?!! Happy birthday!!” The man lit up hearing me say.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s enthusiasm.

“Then this is going to have to be a very important plush after all.” He focused back on the shelf. “Which one are you thinking?”

“I think I’ll get….this one!” I grabbed the elephant off the shelf and held her in my arms. She was perfect! Soft and a little weighted in her feet.

“Now that is a great choice!” He smiled back at me, the praise making my little side scream on the inside.

“What are you going to name it?” He asked.

I looked down at her and thought long and hard about it, “Lucky! Since elephants are lucky.”

“Lucky is a great name! Good thinking.” He praised again.

“Any other one you thinking of getting?” He liked back to the shelf.

I looked back too, my eyes settling on a particular lion stuffie. But then I realized I didn’t have enough money. I looked away and back at the man. “Not today, just her for now.” I smiled sadly.

“Well she will do fine! A nice strong elephant to keep you company.” He smiled back, shaking the elephants hand in my arms.

He looked at his watch before saying, “Oh, I’ve gotta run. I hope you have a great birthday!” He smiled before walking towards the front of the store.

“Wait,” I called back to him, stopping him in his tracks. “Thank you for the help picking a stuffed animal Mr…”

“Oh no Mr. It’s just The Doctor.” He replied with a smile. “And it was no problem at all. I rather enjoyed helping. You and Lucky have a great day and a happy birthday again to you kiddo.” And with that he turns and walk towards the cashier.

I stared back at him for a moment before turning back to the shelf. Did he call me kiddo?

He did…didn’t he….why? Maybe cause I’m younger than him? Or maybe…no. No. There was no way he could’ve known….

As I continued walking around the toy store I heard him talk briefly to the cashier before the bell at the door ding meaning he left. I looked around for a moment more, before I went to the cashier to pay for my elephant.

“Just this please.” I said, putting my elephant up on the counter and grabbing my wallet.

“No need, that gentleman in the long coat bought it for you.”

I stared at the cashier in shock. “What?”

“The man that was in here before. He paid for your elephant already. You’re good to go.”

The cashier turns to go do something else while I stand there frozen with shock. I took the elephant off the counter and walked out of the store.

I looked around for the kind man but didn’t see him anywhere. That was so nice of him to pay for my gift. I hadn’t even realized he went to go do that. What a Lucky Elephant my stuffie is!

I smile and give her a hug before I walk away, off to the next stop.

The next stop happens to be a bakery. I browse through the cake window at all the different cupcake selections they had on display. All of them looks sooooooo good.

“Order for Y/N.” The bakery woman called.

I stopped and lifted my head. That’s strange….maybe someone has the same name as me?

“Order for Y/N.” The woman calls again. “Birthday cupcake.”

I froze again in utterly shock. I raise my hand awkwardly. “I…I think that’s for me.”

I walked over to the counter and the baker read the description. “It says, Order for Y/N’s birthday. They should be wearing a red cardigan.”

I looked at myself as if I forgot I was wearing a red cardigan…because I did forget. “Oh…that’s me.”

She wraps the cupcake up and hands it to me. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, just one thing.” I stop the baker. “I didn’t order this.” I say honestly.

“A man came in here just a minute or two before you and he ordered it for you.” She explained.

“Did he have a brown coat and spiky kind of hair?” I ask again.

“Yeah, yeah he did. And he wore converse. Crazy looking dude.” The woman joked, “Enjoy your cupcake dear.” And with that she walked away.

I walked out of the bakery and took a deep breath. First the stuffie and now the cupcake. Who was this mystery man? And why was he being so extra kind to me? Most people just wished me a happy birthday but him? He went above and beyond.

The cupcake came with a note that read simply,

Make a good wish tonight!

- The Doctor

The Doctor? Was that seriously his name? I thought he was joking.

There was also something different about him. As I walked back to my apartment the man played on my mind. He felt like how a Caregiver should feel. Compassionate, gentle, patient and kind, amount other things, He called me kiddo and bought me a stuffie and a cupcake.

But now it was over…there was no way I was ever going to see him again after this…

~~~

Until now.

I stared back at the man in utter shock of the today’s events. But more so because a giant flying box almost hit me as it landed on the roof.

He leaned against the box and smiled back at me. “Y/N!! Happy Birthday!!”

“It’s you!” Was all I was able to say at the moment.

“It’s me!” He smiled back.

“You-You’re from the toy store…and the bakery…” My mind keeps racing through the thoughts. “And now…the sky?”

I could help but smile at everything. It was so impossibly crazy! There was no was any of this was real, yet here he stood in front of me. “How did you come from the sky? How doesn’t your box fly? How is any of this possible?!”

The Doctor smiled, slowly walking over to me. “Well when I realized a certain someone was celebrating their birthday alone. I couldn’t stand to see it. So I thought I’d come and visit.”

“I guess you could say I’m someone’s birthday wish.” He added with a smirk and a wink.

Birthday wish? I thought back to it: “I wish I wasn’t alone, that someone knew and understood my regression and accepted me for it.” The realization hit me.

“You’re a Caregiver too?”

“Yup.” He said popping the P at the end. “Isn’t that what you wish for? Not to be alone and for someone to take care of a certain little one?”

“Yeah… I just…I never believed it would actually happen.” I say back to him honestly.

“Well now, if you like it to happened, it can.” He starts to say. He takes his hands in mine and looks into my eyes, “I know we are still learning about each other but, I’d be happy to take care of you. Especially on a day like today.”

I stare back at him at first in complete disbelief, “You want to me my Caregiver?”

“I’d be honored to.” He smiles back.

I squeeze his hands in mine and nod, “I love that too.”

I let go of his hands for a moment and give him a hug. He immediately reciprocates, hugging me back with a tight protective hug. And all at once it feels as though all my issues and problems start to melt away as my regression takes the wheels.

The Doctor immediately sees the slight shift, his careful Caregiver eye catches it. “There you are sweet one. It’s time for you to relax and have the best birthday ever.”

He grabs a party hat from his pocket and leans forward putting it on my head. “There we are! Perfect for the party!”

“Party?” I ask confused. What party?

“I have everything set up already. All I need to do is bring Lucky of course and the most important person of all you!”

I stared up at him in disbelief, “You’re throwing me a birthday party?”

He took my hand in mine again, bring it up to place a kiss onto. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to celebrate any one of your birthday’s alone, but never again. Never while I’m here.”

“From now, you get the birthday you deserve.” He looked into my eyes and lead me by the hand to the blue box.

I followed along, holding onto his hand tightly as he lead the way to the flying blue box. “The party is in there?” There’s no way we’re fitting in there.

“You’ll see.” He winked before unlocking the door and pushing it open. He guided me to go first.

The moment I stepped inside my breath was taken away. “It’s-….I mean how is it? It’s smaller on the outside than inside!” I smiled, looking around the place on pure wonder.

“That’s…” The Doctor started to say, “I haven’t heard that one yet.” He chuckled.

Inside the main Tardis area had balloons and streamers all about. I turned and looked at The Doctor. “This is all for me?”

“This all for you!”. He smiled seeing my enjoyment.

I looked at the center console with wonder. “Does that fly the box?”

“Well it’s not actually a box. Think of that as a disguise. This is actually a space ship and Time Machine.” He explains on.

I looked at him baffled. “No it isn’t. Really?! That’s insane!!” I scream look back at the Tardis interior with wonder.

“It is a lot to take in isn’t it?” He jokes, walking back over.

A small wrapped box catches his eyes, “Oh I almost forgot!” He runs over and grabs the box.

“This, is for you darling.” He hands the blue wrapped box over to me.

“You got me a gift?”

“Of course I got you a gift! Why wouldn’t I?”

“But you bought me my elephant and the cupcake and this, this is enough of a gift in itself.” I gesture to the Tardis. “You didn’t have to...”

He caressed my face, holding my face in his hands, “Y/N, I wanted to. You deserve the universe and more.” He makes a point of saying before placing a kiss on my forehead.

“Now what are you waiting for?! Open it up!” He smiles.

I look back at him with tears in my eyes, before I go to unwrapping this gift, and its…..

“It’s the lion from the toy store.” I hop the stuffie up and look at the Doctor in disbelief.

“We couldn’t have Lucky go on without his friend now could we?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and looks down at the lion. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!! Thank you!” I turn and give him another big hug, tears falling from my eyes.

“Awwww! You’re so welcome Y/N.” He hugs back, gently rubbing my back.

But the tears don’t stop coming, the day full of surprises starting to catch up with me. Immediately he looks worries and silently ask to pick me up, which I give a nod yes in reply.

He picked me up and holds me on his hip as if I weight nothing. “It’s a lot all at once isn’t it?”

I immediately rest my head on his shoulder, nodding and wiping my tears away.

“A lot of big things and a lot of new things. So why don’t we take a moment to just take a breath before we go on with the rest of the party?” He offers and I immediately nod to. That sounds nice.

The Doctor starts to walk around the Tardis console room holding me in his arms, lightly bouncing and rubbing my back. The gentle movements start to relax me more and more. It’s been a long day and now? I think I just had too many shocks at once.

But it was amazing that he right away recognized that and went to help me. He’s a great Caregiver. And he’s also my Caregiver. But I had to ask…

“Why me?” I asked softly.

“What’s that sweetheart?”

“Why me?” I lift my head and look into his eyes. “You said this is a spaceship right?”

“That’s right.”

“So in all of the Galaxy and all of earth and all of London you chose me. To not just be my friend but my Caregiver? Why me?”

“Why not you?” He smiled back. But he could tell I wanted more of an explanation.

“Alright, you want the truth? The truth is, I was back in London after traveling a while by myself and that’s when I stumbled upon you in the toy store. Seeing you so happy just picking out a stuffie made me forget for a moment all the loneliness I had. And hearing it was your birthday was just icing on the cake.” He ends with a wink, happy with his cleaver pun.

“The truth is, I’ve also never had anyone to celebrate my birthday with. I’ve always been a lone too. And I didn’t want you to have to go through that feeling, that pain.”

“So as I started to run around making a happy birthday for you, I realized something. This wasn’t just my normal self taking over, I could feel a side of myself that I haven’t felt in a while come out, my Caregiver side.”

“I haven’t seeing a little rascal like you in a long time.” He boops my nose, “So I knew I had to make it extra special. And by the end of it, I couldn’t think of my life without having you in it, to take care of, to joke with, to do anything with!”

“So that’s why, out of all the people in the galaxy, I chose Y.O.U.” We both smile.

“Now, the party has just begun! Are you ready?” He looks me in the eyes and I nod my head excitedly.

“Good! Let’s gooo!” He runs down the hallways with me in his arms. I giggle the whole way.

There’s a room in this Tardis that’s decorated to the T with party supplies and decorations. There we spend the rest of the night together. First we play party games, then we eat more cake, then we play even more games, all while I start to learn more about him and he learns about me.

He’s an alien….but he doesn’t look it. And he’s from another planet. He’s always known about age regression because on their planet it was something people did without judgement…unlike earth.

He’s always been a Caregiver and he’s used to have Littles who were his companions but they sadly left. And now he has me!

The night slowly starts to settle down. His long coat and jacket are off as he sit on the couch with me in his arms. I cuddle up close to him, half asleep with both stuffies in my arms.

“I don’t want it to end.” I whine, trying to fight off sleeping.

“Well this is a Time Machine…tomorrow we can go to your next birthday.” He suggest chuckling.

I smile to the idea but shake my head, “Maybe tomorrow we celebrate your birthday!”

“My birthday?”

“Yeah! That way you’re not alone.”

The thought brings a sad yet happy smile to the Doctor’s face. “I would absolutely love that Y/N. Thank you.” I swear I could see a tear or two in his eyes.

Together we stayed like that. Me relaxing in his lap, head pressed against his chest, stuffies in hand. While he held onto me tightly in his arms, as if he was going to lose me. But I was going nowhere, and nether was he.

The Caregiver and the Little. Or maybe a better name for us, the birthday Little and soon Birthday Caregiver. Together at least and for as long as time itself.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Could I have a second request please? 13 and 37 with Wrecker? Thanks so much for writing! 🎉

Hello @merkitty49, thank you for the awesome request.

I love Wrecker, all I want is to be hugged by him. So this is a somewhat indulgent fic. Tiny bit. Anyway, enjoy. It's smaller than the other fic, but I hope you enjoy it either way.

Love oo

Never Abandon You

Warnings: Breaking someone else's stuff, repairs, discussing dream, anxiety of abandonment, tears, comfort, kisses, caresses, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

All you could hear from inside the ship was Wrecker’s frantic voice, “Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay—” 

“Wrecker?” You slowly step on to the ship, and as soon as you see him, you have to fight back a laugh. “Wrecker, what … ahem, what’s going on?”

As soon as his eyes locked on yours, you could see fear in his eyes, “Mesh’la, I screwed up!”

“What happened?” You walk closer and you see Tech’s spare goggles in Wrecker’s hands, the lens is cracked, and it looks like he tried to tape it back together. “Oh sweetheart, what happened?”

“Well I was too wired to fall asleep right away, so I came here to work out, and while I was distracted, I … I accidentally stepped on his spare ones.”

“Thank goodness it wasn’t his main set. Okay, I think I can help you with this, pass me his goggles, and if you can grab my toolbox from up top that will help.”

“On it!” He didn’t even think twice as he handed you Tech’s goggles, you slowly and methodically removed the tape Wrecker used, trying to keep the adhesive residue on the tape and not on the goggles themselves. Shortly, you had all the pieces of Tech’s goggles laid out on Gonk’s surface. 

Wrecker watched you work in awe of your talent, passing your tools without a second to spare as you asked for each of them. You were almost done, when he noticed the look on your face, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you, “Mesh’la, why are you up?” It finally hit him that you were even up, “Can’t sleep?”

You cleared your throat as you glanced up at him, for a brief second before focusing back on the goggles, “I had that dream again.” You kept your head down, not wanting to see the worry in Wrecker’s eyes.

“Mesh’la, you know we’d never abandon you.”

That dream, that horrendous dream of someone walking away from you, and no matter how hard you scream, no matter the tears streaming down your face or how outstretched your hand is, they refuse to turn back. You try to run after them, only for you to realize you’re standing in quicksand and the harder you struggle the more it swallows you whole. That’s when it hits you, you’re alone, they didn’t come back for you. They didn’t bother to fight for you, and no matter how much you shower them with love, no matter how much you plead and beg, they leave you alone, to be swallowed by the darkness. 

Wrecker gently touches your shoulder, softly puts the weight of his hand on you letting you know he was there. He was always there. “Mesh’la, please look at me” he tilted his head down to catch your eyes; and as much as you wanted to avoid him, you couldn’t. Not when he speaks in that soft tone, when he does everything he can to get you to look at him. And especially, since you finished putting back Tech’s goggles.

Despite your inner voice, your eyes slowly shift and focus on him. 

“Mesh’la, we would never leave you. You know that. We all love you. You’re family and our friend.” He took a deep breath as he shifted closer, his hand cupping your cheek, “I’ll never leave you. Even if I lose my mind and it tries to tell me to leave you behind, I couldn’t. My …” he cleared his throat, “my heart won’t let me leave you.”

Tears slide down your cheeks as you look at Wrecker, “You mean it?”

“Mesh’la, I love you; you know that. Why would I ever leave you? You are my soul, my heart, and my breath. You’re my life. How could I leave the very person that makes my heart beat?”

“I don’t know” you wipe away a tear, “I know it doesn’t make sense. I know you’d never leave, I know you love me, but every time I have that dream - - everything I know … it just…”

“It just gets drowned out by the nightmare.” You nod in agreement, wiping another tear, as Wrecker guides you to his lap, he holds you close, his arms caging you in keeping you safe. He presses a kiss to your forehead as one of his hands gently strokes your head. “Mesh’la, regardless of how much that dream drowns out your reality, I’ll be there to pull you out. My arms are strong enough to lift a shuttle, I can lift you out of your nightmare.”

You bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, “Thank you, love. I love you, more than I can say.”

“I love you, too. Nothing you say or do, no outside force, or even inside force could make me abandon you. Even death won’t make me leave you.” He places a gentle kiss on your temple, holding you as close as possible, “Okay? I promise. I will never leave you.”

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[ithilien-writes]

2024 ao3 wrapped

tagged by @coldbam

works published: 18

comment threads: 516

word count: 125,555

top 3 kudos’d fics:

there's a word for it, i'm sure (buddie fwb/idiots to lovers)

not a demon, there's a reason (chris pov post-s7)

home is not a place (eddie pov post-8.08)

top word count:

merry and bright (eddie comes out to his parents at xmas) [13.7k]

not a demon, there's a reason [11.6k]

to save you from your old ways (chris can see everyone's inner child.. 🤷‍♀️) [11.6k]

top ships:

buck/eddie

buck/taylor (in second place with 1 whole fic.. that was also buddie)

.... 😭

top 3 tags

getting together [8]

parent-child relationship [7]

feelings realization [5]

..i think i am honestly just really bad at ao3 tagging tho actually. gonna make a new year's resolution to fix that in 2k25

also: this was the most i've ever written in one year (and it was really all in the second half, even!!) 🎉 and just want to say that i appreciate all y'all welcoming me into this fandom 😘😘 it's been a fun ride so far!!

tagging: @playinginthunderstorms @wildehacked @thatbuddie /or any other writer friends reading this who haven't done it yet 💜

[hsvh-hp]

2024 Wrapped!

I've seen these posts floating around the site, and they look so fun!

2024 was a big year for me, for fandom. I made so many new incredible friends on here and Discord, got more involved in events, and participated in a few fests. I also finished the longfic I'd started in September 2023, which I honestly still can't believe is finally going live in less than 48 hours.

My best estimate of how many words I wrote this year (I cut a long in editing, so this number will actually be higher) is somewhere around 370,000.

This post got extremely long, so I've put the majority of it under the cut. I don't write very often (on Tumblr, anyway) about my process, or consistently promote my work. So, hopefully y'all can forgive me for indulging this one time at the end of the year.

In order that I wrote them:

🎉 Spiral Dynamics (Draco/Harry; 21.1k words)

This one was for the Fellytone game on the Drarry Discord server! Based on this stunning art by @appleslightning, there's basically some Friends to Lovers hijinks with Draco and Harry, as Draco's probation officer retires 7 years into Draco's 10 year term, and Harry volunteers to take the spot 'as a favour' without having consulted Draco first. Drama Draco's dramatics ensue. The fic also inspired this by @maesterchill, and I am grinning and kicking my feet all over again looking at it. THESE TWO, I love them, your honour.

✨ The 'Two for the Triwizard' Trilogy (Draco/Harry; 3 fics totalling 9.3k words)

A Triwizard Tournament AU, but make it Drarry. This small series was also born on the Drarry Discord in a fun game of 'haha what if'.

In Fraternizing With the Enemy, Harry sees that Draco has come to the Yule Ball with a boy from Durmstrang (Volkov? Vikhrov?) and totally only chases his date off because said date is from a rival school. Harry and Draco end up dancing and chatting, and Harry ends his night feeling like a complete goner ensnared by Draco.

The Fourth Hostage skips to the Second Task, where Draco has replaced Ron as Harry's hostage at the bottom of the lake. Under weight afterward of Harry trying to figure out What's Going On between himself and Draco, Draco takes some initiative of his own to remind/inform Harry that he couldn't have been chosen as a hostage for the Task if he didn't agree to it. They get together. 🥹

Little Hangleton and Beyond is another skip. I wanted a happy ending not just for Draco and Harry, but Sirius and the Malfoys as well. I'll expand on this later when I reflect on my favourite themes and character propaganda, but the premise for this one is Lucius Malfoy changes the course of the graveyard scene following the Third Task. Draco's been writing home about his new boyfriend, and Lucius just...can't let anything happen to Harry, lol. So, Voldemort is immediately cast back into Undeath, Wormtail is so shocked that he's easily apprehended, Sirius' name is cleared, Harry goes to live with him, blah blah, Happily Ever After.

🎉 Full Indulgence (Tonks/Fleur/Bill; 14.7k words)

This was written for @hptransfest! The prompt was basically exploring Tonks' Metamorphmagus abilities during sex, and I'd had an idea rattling around for some Tonks/Fleur that I was very excited to finally have a chance to write. The premise was that in Half-Blood Prince, Tonks wasn't coming to the Burrow in the summer to get sympathy from Molly about her feelings for Remus. She was there to ogle Fleur, and then it turns out Fleur wants her, and Bill's cool with it, and Bill gets involved, etc. It was a great excuse to write 15k of very indulgent smut.

The thing I was most proud about in this fic was that (despite me using she/her pronouns in the paragraph above) I wrote 15k of 3rd person POV smut and didn't use one single personal pronoun for Tonks. It was a challenge, but so fun and validating for a character who identified as having no gender at all.

✨ Something About Malfoy (Draco/Harry; 3.2k words)

This fic spawned as a short and sweet AU from Draco Malfoy and the Descent of the Feathered Serpent (TL;DR, the longfic I'm just about to start posting, which is Order of the Phoenix from Draco's POV).

Some backstory: when I was rereading Spinners of Fate to start preparing for the sequel fic, I was hit with the realization about Draco that, my god, this kid is such an egg waiting to crack lmao. Folks who follow the Canon in Draconis Major series will see the Trans Draco Malfoy tag on 5th year's fic. I've read multiple metas here on tumblr about how Draco (among others) are 'fem-coded' in HP, and so it makes sense to me that Draco be some shade of genderqueer along with being gay lol. He's a mean girl, and a Mean Girl™. But also still a boy.

He ended up bigender in my head, keeping his name and pronouns while just sometimes Switching Things Up externally as he pleases. This ended up a big deal in Feathered Serpent, since Umbridge takes cue from Dumbledore's insistence that BCJ snuck into Hogwarts using Polyjuice Potion that magically changing a person's appearance ought to be banned (but of course, as it truly goes with her, the control is the real point).

ANYWAY, in this fic, I pretended for 3200 words that Voldemort never came back, therefore Umbridge never taught at Hogwarts, therefore Draco could come out as trans/bigender/genderqueer exactly when he felt like it, which coincided with the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Poor Harry, he was not prepared for that.

🎉 Twilight Eternal (Draco/Harry; 23.9k words)

This was written for @hd-tarot, and was another fic that I had an idea rattling around for, looking for an excuse to write lol. Those who've been following me for a long time and have the sharpest of memories might remember this post from a year ago. There was an ask game regarding names of WIPs, and @omgkatsudonplease asked me about this one. I finally got to write it!!!

It's also very interesting to me to reread that ask and see how differently the fic wound up. I hadn't conceived yet that Hermione was involved, or that she and Draco were Unspeakables. I also thought it would be a Getting Together fic with Draco and Harry, but ended up with them already established in a relationship. I'm very happy with it, even if it (comparatively) didn't get much love.

🎉 WARNING: May Contain Pollen (Draco/Harry; 2.9k words)

Honestly, this is basically a crackfic lol. It started as a joke: what if there was sex pollen, but either Draco or Harry turns out to be allergic to it? And uh, yeah! That's the plot!

🚧 Beyond the Scuttling Void (Harry & Sirius, eventual Draco/Harry; 54.6k words and ongoing)

A crossover fic, using the Veil in the Department of Mysteries as means for Sirius, Harry, and Draco to isekai into another world! Surely this has never been done before! (heavy /s lmao)

2024 has been a year of getting back to fandom roots for me. One of the things I wanted to unlearn was the 'I must complete my fics before I begin posting them' mentality. This fic, since the crossover material (Skyrim) is an open world RPG, basically translates to Harry, Draco, and Sirius being able to do whatever they want. Well, Sirius ended up the prophesied Hero from the game lol. But since Harry follows Sirius through the Veil after a ten year long timejump (canon-based space/time shenanigans in Elder Scrolls/Skryim lore) the Main Quest™ is already dealt with, and Sirius is just a happily-married hero with a house he built himself, tons of friends, and two sons who he took in as orphans. Harry has to reckon a lot with feeling like a bag of dicks for asking Sirius to help him get home once they're reunited.

It's been really fun writing this fic as Harry learns how to navigate a world where magic is different, and which is basically medieval Scandinavia with dragons, elves, vampires, a pantheon of trickster gods, and spiders the size of horses lol. The lore runs deep, and Harry keenly investigates it for means to reverse his having been dumped here through the Veil. As far as I've posted, Draco hasn't shown up yet. Harry doesn't even know he's there, and likewise: Draco has no idea Harry and Sirius are there. I know where Draco is, and look forward to the three of them rolling up together like the pointing Spiderman meme. What I can say about Draco at the current point of posting is that at least now....he is safe, haha. He had to grow up very quickly all of a sudden to have made that happen for himself. He's Seen Some Shit.

So what were the most common themes in my work this year?

Established Draco/Harry. As seen in: Little Hangleton and Beyond, Twilight Eternal, and WARNING: May Contain Pollen.

I feel that for me, shifting from more Getting Together fics to Established Draco/Harry fics is a natural progression as I write more Drarry fics. Mutual pining, Draco and Harry pursuing each other, and proving themselves to each other are fun, but so is skipping all of that and letting them focus on whatever's threatening their happiness in the fic lol. Or, like Little Hangleton and Beyond, just letting them have their happiness while the rest of the plot ties up.

2. Sirius & Harry, and Harry living with Sirius. As seen in: Little Hangleton and Beyond, Something About Malfoy, and Beyond the Scuttling Void.

I really, really wish that Sirius and Harry had gotten the godfather-godson happy ending they deserved in canon. This is one of the greatest tragedies of the Harry Potter series to me (does that mean I would've trusted JKR to write it any other way? Ummm no lol). So, where possible, I set them up in a post-Goblet of Fire AU to have a happy future to look forward to.

As for Beyond the Scuttling Void, let's just say it's my post-Order of the Phoenix coping mechanism. Sirius isn't dead! He's just gone to be a hero and kill the big bad dragon. He's married and everything! He's fine, guys. Don't worry about it.

3. Lucius being a good dad for Draco. As seen in: Spiral Dynamics, the Two for the Triwizard trilogy, Something About Malfoy, and Twilight Eternal.

OKAY, this is my self-confessed delusion, my fight against the tide, and my drowned out truth lol. I love Lucius Malfoy. I hate when he's abusive to Draco, and I've just gotten numb to the prospect of him being killed off, in Azkaban, or...whatever...in post-war Drarry fic. I love when Lucius remains a hurdle to Harry because Draco, uh, kind of really loves and admires his dad.

There was a tumblr post about power fantasies that really spoke to me. Essentially, for some people killing/beating up the bad guy is the power fantasy. For some, love changing them. For some, the bad guy getting to run wild to their full potential. For me, Lucius is #2. I love writing him as a good dad, or at least trying his best through the war years, and having to reckon/own up with his failures in the end if he wants to restore full trust from Draco. I love when he learns something about Draco and will rewrite his entire worldview to suit his beloved only child (Draco & Narcissa based morality, rather than pureblood supremacy morality - although these certainly overlap a lot of the time). And, honestly? I think I love it (and him) so much because he's so underappreciated in Drarry fandom and fic. I have to feed myself on this one, guys.

So...this was 2024 for me! And I didn't even wax lyrically about the 291,000 word behemoth that is Descent of the Feathered Serpent lol. It was a very busy year for me, and fandom (especially all the new friends/acquaintances I made) helped me through some trying RL stuff. If you've read this far, THANK YOU FOR MAKING 2024 GOOD AND FUN!! I will maybe see you in a few days when I start regularly posting again. ❤️

[catpocalyptic-world]

Yay! 🎉 In a few days I will publish the final chapter of my first FrostIron fic. 😊 Which also happens to be the first multi-chaptered one, the first which includes explicit sexual content and my second published story ever. 😁😏😊

And as a person who:

was scared sh*tless of posting even a tiniest comment online for more than 20 years (apparently, becoming a plaything of an organised haters group while being a teenager can do that to some people 🤕), 

has always considered most of her stories and ideas to be too idiotic to ever write them down, not to mention publishing them 

I am really. Proud. Of myself! 😊😁💪

Have I stopped caring about what people might say, write or think about me? Nope. Still do. 🤷 But I’ve decided I'm getting too old for that sh*t and I need to have some fun instead of living in fear all the damn time. 🔥 And maybe I've finally understood that the fact that someone hates your content does! not! mean! that something is wrong either with you or the things you write. 💪

It also doesn't matter whether you write better or worse, have more or less original ideas, consider yourself too kinky, too sappy, too whatever… There are always some people who will have fun reading it and whose day will be nicer because of your work. ❤️ And even if it’s just one freaking person - it's still worth it! 🔥 The same applies of course to all other types of art, visual, etc. 🙌

So please do! 🙏 Do create, do have fun while doing it, do publish it whenever you feel like it! There will always be someone who appreciates it! ❤️🥹😍

(Ummm… Yeah… I just wanted to brag about my work a bit. 🤷 But apparently, I needed to get some things off my chest. 😉 It's not like anyone will read it anyway, so it's fine, lol. 😂)