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cherry-coffees · 7 hours ago

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Playing With Fire

idol!Caitlyn x idol!reader

**songs mentioned: Unforgiven (lesserafim), Kill This Love (blackpink), Close to You (Gracie Abrams), Lilac (IU)**

cw: 19K words | idol AU, rivals to lovers, suggestive, mentions of drinking, set in Ionia but Caitlyn and Reader are from Piltover, mentioned kpop artists but no kpop knowledge needed, honorifics, canon Arcane universe, basically if Caitlyn decided to be an idol, mentions of social media

The applause is deafening.

And it’s all for you.

Well, it's for you and your members. Moonstruck: one of Ionia's most beloved girl groups of the decade. Composed of four members, you shine as the youngest, the maknae, of the group. Being the lead vocalist and lead rapper, you're a natural talent that burns bright in the galaxy of Ionian pop.

While you were once a trainee, working fourteen hours a day to chase your dreams of stardom, you're an idol now. Specifically, an idol standing with her group on the main stage of one of Piltover’s largest music festivals.

"Thank you, Moonbeams!" you call into your mic, addressing the cheering fans that surround the stage. You blink in the bright stage lights, flashing a picture-perfect smile at the hundreds of phone cameras lifted above the audience's heads to record you.

One of your members, Marin, loops her arm through yours. She nods along with what you're saying, her glittery eyeshadow catching in the light. "Thank you!" she adds on, fueling the cheers even further.

Aeri, the third member, comes up beside Marin to hug her. It's a moment that will, no doubt, be posted to thousands of social media threads online to talk about how Aeri and Marin must be in love. Such is the life of an Ionian pop idol.

That's three of the four parts that make up Moonstruck. You, for your talented maknae charm. Marin, for her dance skills and center-like stage presence. Aeri, for her stunningly powerful vocals and visuals.

And then there's Caitlyn.

Caitlyn.

The oldest of the four of you: the unnie. Main rapper, lead dancer, leader. Three positions that don't even begin to describe the sheer amount of talent that Caitlyn holds. She's the most popular idol in the group for a reason. Beyond that, the it girl of your generation – a title that's bound to stick with her for the rest of her career. "Yes," she begins, speaking into her jeweled mic as she turns to the crowd. "We love you all, and we're so thankful for the support that we've gotten on our latest comeback."

She stands at the opposite side of the stage, a small distance from you, Marin, and Aeri. She's all professional, as she believes a leader should be. All that's on her mind right now is delivering the final speech to the audience before you head offstage and rush to the airport. As good as it feels to be back home in Piltover, the four of you have schedules back in Ionia tomorrow.

But you see the phone cameras switching between where Caitlyn stands and where you reside with your two other members, and you know what's coming. An entourage of posts about how serious Caitlyn is, how bad the fans feel for her that she wasn't included in the group hug. Why won't Caitlyn stand with her members? Her members didn't include her in the group hug. Are the members fighting?

You can see the trending captions now.

You gently break from Marin's side, leaving her in Aeri's hold to dart across the stage to Caitlyn's side. Your eyes are locked on the tint of her navy hair that falls around her shoulders, the way her stage outfit accentuates her long legs. Until, finally, you're pressed up next to her, wrapping your arms around her and flashing her an innocently cute smile that only a maknae would be able to pull off.

"We'll see you soon, and– ah–" Caitlyn cuts herself off, glancing down at you. Her blue eyes are blown wide with surprise, though they soon melt into something softer as she wraps one arm around your shoulders.

The cheers reach an even higher level of volume. With you and Caitlyn being the most popular ship in the group, even one of the most popular ships in your generation, you've just switched the trending captions to something entirely different.

Caitlyn continues her speech to close out the concert, but the words go in one ear and out through the other. Your vision is blurred as you gaze at the sea of lightsticks before you, all of them waving in support of you. Your attention is all on your leader, on your Caitlyn.

Yours.

|------» ~~~ «------|

3 years ago.

You first meet Caitlyn during one of your trainee evaluations. You’re both trainees under Ionia’s famous Evxlve Entertainment. The company has plans to debut a new girl group soon, and everyone is gunning for a spot in it. As tiring as the nonstop trainee schedules can get, you can’t seem to be swayed from your dream of debut. Of being a star.

It’s a Sunday morning, and you’re at your usual 11:30 dance practice. Dressed in a simple set of black flare leggings and a cropped top, you stand facing the mirror with some other trainees, waiting for this week’s announcements. It’s a small number of girls: the hand-selected contenders for the upcoming girl group.

Your main dance instructor, Subin, claps his hands at the front of the room. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" he calls out. “This week will be focused on partner work. It’s so you can practice working together before your group evaluation at the end of the month. I’ll read off the pairs, and then you’ll choose a song to perform with your partner at the end of the week.”

As Subin reads off the pairs, somewhere in the middle, your name is called with another that you vaguely recognize. Caitlyn Kiramman. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. It can’t be her. You assume you had simply misheard.

That is, until Subin finishes and everyone’s moving around the practice room to find their partners. You glance around the room with a blank stare, unable to guess where Caitlyn could be. At least, until you notice the navy-haired girl making a beeline for you.

“Hello,” Caitlyn introduces herself when she approaches you, fixing you with a formal stare. “I’m Caitlyn. It’s nice to meet you.”

Accent. That’s the first thing your mind registers when Caitlyn speaks. A proper, posh accent that you recognize as belonging to the highest circles in Piltover. You’re from Piltover, too, and it hits you that it has to be her. Caitlyn: the daughter of Councilor Cassandra Kiramman. “Um,” you blink up at her, eyes blown wide in surprise as you restate your name to her.

Caitlyn nods, her eyes giving you a brief once-over. “Alright,” she stretches out her arms. “So, should we find our own practice room?”

You nod, immediately noting that she’s straight to business. That’s not an issue, though, you lament as you follow Caitlyn down the hall to an empty room. You’re here to work, to achieve your dreams — not to make friends that you’ll probably never see again.

Not that Caitlyn would know anything about that. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you remember the wealth and power of the Kiramman family. You’ve never met Caitlyn before today, but growing up in Piltover, she certainly had a reputation of being the prestigious heir to House Kiramman. You wouldn’t be surprised if her mother’s influence secured her spot at her trainee audition.

When you arrive in the practice room, Caitlyn tosses her bag aside and walks to the center like she owns the place. “So, any ideas for our performance?”

“Um,” you follow her into the room, considering her question. “I’ve been focusing on my vocals and rap lately, so I’d prefer a combination of them.”

Caitlyn nods, leaning down to tie the laces of her brand-new sneakers. “I’ve been focusing on rap, too. That and dance. We’ll have to split the rap parts, then.”

You nod, scratching the polished, wooden floor with the toe of your shoe. “Well, we have to choose the song first.”

“Right. Are you going to help with that? Or is it my choice?”

You blink once. Then twice. “What?”

Caitlyn stands, glancing at you with a blank expression. You can’t read her emotions nor her thoughts — it’s like she has none. “Are you going to help choose our song, or should I do that on my own?” She repeats slowly, as if you hadn’t heard her the first time.

You narrow your eyes at her. Is she trying to take control of this whole thing? “I’ll help, obviously. That’s not even a question.”

Caitlyn merely shrugs, tapping her phone to open her Spotify. She scrolls through her playlists, searching for a song that provides a good combination of vocals, rap, and dance. “Isn’t it?”

You cross your arms, fully glaring at her now. “You seem to think that I don’t want to do any work.”

“I’ve never met you. How should I know if you want to work hard?”

“Most trainees here do,” your tone grows increasingly annoyed. Caitlyn seems to think that she’s the only competent trainee around here, and you can’t stand it. “That’s how I got here. I wouldn’t have survived three years if I didn’t work to stay at the top.”

Caitlyn breaks her gaze from her phone screen to take in your frustrated expression. “You seem angry.”

“Well, I don’t like when people assume things about me,” you state the obvious.

Caitlyn shuts her phone off, ignoring your comment as she turns to face the mirror. “What about Unforgiven by Lesserafim? Rap, vocals, and dance, right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling the choice over for a moment before nodding begrudgingly. You hate to give her this victory, but it is a good choice. "Yeah, that's fine.”

“Great,” Caitlyn sits on the floor, back straightened with her perfect posture. Gods, why does everything about this girl seem so perfect? “Let’s get started then.”

By the time an hour passes, you're sweating.

This choreography is hard. You’ve performed tons of difficult choreography before — it should be no big deal. After all, the assignment is to perform only half the song since it’s for a weekly evaluation instead of the monthly evaluation.

What’s really getting to you is Caitlyn’s incessant talking, her corrections on your form when she should really be focusing on her own.

“Wait, stop,” she calls in the middle of the song, jogging over to her phone to pause the music. “That part where we jump forward. You’re putting too much weight on your right foot when you land, so it doesn’t look smooth.”

You huff out a sigh, taking the brief pause as a moment to breathe. “Are we ever going to get through this practice, or are you just going to keep focusing on me when you should be focusing on yourself?”

“I am focusing on myself.” This time, it’s Caitlyn’s turn to cross her arms. “It’s not my fault if I notice your mistakes in the mirror.”

“It’s our first time learning the choreography, Caitlyn.” In your frustration, you forget your formalities. From what you briefly remember from growing up in Piltover, Caitlyn’s a few years older than you, so you should use honorifics. Yet, you can’t find it in yourself to call her unnie like you’re supposed to. “Give me a break.”

“Do you think the people who take breaks are getting into this new group?” Caitlyn’s icy blue gaze pierces your form. “I’m only helping you. It’s better that I tell you than someone else.”

You just glare at her in response. No witty comebacks, no fiery words, just a glare. You don’t have anything to say to her.

“Fine,” Caitlyn exhales, shaking her head. She’s already headed towards her water bottle. “Let’s take five.”

You swallow back a reply, taking the opportunity to grab your own water bottle. You chug the liquid, sitting cross-legged on the floor. When you cap the bottle and set it back down, you can’t help but eye Caitlyn, who’s sitting a few paces away.

“You’re from Piltover.” The words slip out before you can stop them. It’s not a question; it’s a statement.

Caitlyn stiffens slightly as she turns to face you. “How do you know that?”

“I’m from Piltover.”

Caitlyn’s eyes slip closed, leaning her head back against the wall. Her muscles don’t lose their tension. “Oh. I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yeah,” you can’t help the slight scoff in your voice. “I wouldn’t expect you to have.”

Her eyes snap back open, narrowing at you. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” you lift one shoulder in a half shrug. “You’re a Kiramman. Didn’t you go to private schools and do sharpshooting? I’d assume you haven’t met most normal Piltovians.”

“My name means nothing,” Caitlyn’s voice is tight, as if she’s restraining herself. She’s kidding herself and she knows it, but she hates when people talk about her family. Especially her mother.

You can’t resist another roll of your eyes. “Only people like you say that. You can get anything you want in Piltover. Heir to House Kiramman, right? Why are you here if you’re going to be a Councilor like your mom?”

That seems to do it for Caitlyn.

She sets her water bottle down harder than necessary, the resounding thud bouncing off the walls of the practice rooms. “Because I’m not,” she snaps, her eyes flashing with something akin to rage. “Break’s over. If I have to be partners with you, we’re going to do a damn good job this week. I’ll make sure of it.”

Wow. So what you heard was true: she really does have pride.

|------» ~~~ «------|

Practice the next day goes by painfully slow. You’re with an instructor this time: one of the teachers watching you and Caitlyn as you run through the choreography. While your singing is saved for your vocal lessons, these two hours are intensely focused on dance.

The teacher moves around the practice room as the two of you hit each move, watching from every angle. When the music dies, you hit your final pose: a hand on your hip as Caitlyn rests her arm loosely on your shoulder. It’s supposed to seem natural and casual. Except, with the undeniable annoyance between the two of you, everything seems forced and stiff.

The teacher narrows his eyes. “Good,” he says calmly. “Both of you are technically advanced.”

He pauses, and you feel relief rush through you. Praise can be scarce as a trainee, so any little bit that’s given to you is something you tuck away in the back of your mind. The relief is short lived, however, as the teacher clears his throat.

“There’s a big issue, though. You two aren’t working well together.”

“Not working well together?” Your features contort into a thoughtful frown. “We’ve been practicing together.”

“That’s not nearly enough,” the teacher sighs as you step away from Caitlyn, breaking your final pose. “Watching you is awkward. If I was a fan of your group, I’d go online and talk about how you don’t seem to like each other at all.”

Caitlyn bristles at this. She’s a stubborn perfectionist and has been her whole life — of course that comment displeases her. “How do we fix that?”

“Simple,” the man shrugs, stepping towards the door of the practice room before he casts a glance back at you and Caitlyn. “For the next few minutes, you two are going to talk. I don’t care if you want to practice. There’s no good in practicing if you hate each other. So sit down and talk until I come back in the room.”

He leaves without a second thought, your jaw slightly dropped as you stare after his retreating form.

Caitlyn breaks the now-silent atmosphere, giving a resigned shake of her head. “Fine,” she mumbles reluctantly, dropping from her stance to kneel on the wooden floor. “Let’s talk. What’s your favorite color?”

You snort. “That’s your idea of getting to know each other better?”

“Do you have an alternative?” Caitlyn raises her eyebrows, and you concede that she may have a point.

You’re quiet for a moment before you admit yours, taking a moment before returning her question. “What’s yours?”

“Navy,” Caitlyn’s response is quick, as you’d predicted. Her hair, her clothes, even the hairbands she ties her ponytails with — all navy. “What positions are you hoping for? If you make it to debut, of course.”

You hum, considering this for a moment. “I don’t know,” you blink. “I like singing, rapping, and dancing. I want whatever position allows me to do all of them.”

Caitlyn nods at your response, a flicker of approval dancing in her eyes. She admires passion, and it’s clear you have it. “I’d like to be a main rapper, I think.” She pauses, considering it. “Maybe a dancer, too. I’m very fond of perfecting choreography.”

Oh, you can tell. You bite back the snarky reply, choosing your words carefully. “I can already see it. Main dancer, main rapper, visual of the group. Everything you ever wanted, right?”

“Visual?” Caitlyn tilts her head, expression contorting into one of confusion. “I’m not a visual. Where did you get that idea?”

Huh. You hadn’t thought about it much, but considering it now, it seems so obvious. Caitlyn’s gorgeous: shoulder-length navy hair, flawless skin, long legs, and icy blue eyes as clear as water. It had to be in the notes from her audition — some side note the executives had scribbled down as soon as they saw her: stunning visuals.

Now, you falter, unsure of how to describe to Caitlyn just how pretty she is. You had assumed she already knew. “Um, I don’t know. Just a guess.”

You don’t realize how quickly the few minutes go by, even as Caitlyn makes small talk with you. It’s not the most enjoyable interaction, but at least you’re not snapping at each other.

The teacher can tell as much, giving the two of you a shake of his head as he enters the room again. “Okay, let’s run the dance again.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

Over the next few days, practice runs a little more smoothly. It’s not amazing, but it’s better. You don’t want to be awkward with Caitlyn anymore, and it’s clear that she doesn’t either. It’s more like you’re avoiding each other than anything.

That’s the issue, though. Both of your dancing is flawless; you’ve nailed the choreography. But group dances don’t run smoothly when the two people performing them can’t work together.

Caitlyn can’t have this happen. Not when this could threaten her chances of debuting.

She finds you at dinner one night, scouting you out amongst the trainees in the cafeteria. You’re with a few trainees that you’ve become friendly with, chatting amicably, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“We need to talk,” Caitlyn stands with her arms crossed, her stance stoic. You raise your eyebrows, but she doesn’t falter. “Privately.”

“Fine,” you huff, setting your salad — you hate trainee diets — aside to stand from your chair and follow her. She leads you to a hallway near the cafeteria, only populated by occasionally passing staff members.

“We need to pull this shit together,” the words immediately leave Caitlyn’s mouth the second you’re alone. “I don’t care what you do, but this–" she gestures between the two of you "–concerns my debut. And I will debut.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What the hell is your problem? I don’t know what you expect me to do about this. You’re the one that seems to have an issue with me.”

“Yeah, I do” Caitlyn hisses. “You brought up my family. Like they’re the only reason I’m here — like they’re the only reason I have anything! Have you even considered that I have talent?”

“Why wouldn’t I bring them up?” You spread your arms as if to emphasize your point. “You insinuated that I don’t work hard two minutes after I met you! I don’t have a name or prestige to help me, yet I’m the one who’s not working hard? You’re the one that’s been handed everything your whole life!”

“I know!” Caitlyn’s eyes flash, her body tense with irritation. “And I’m sick of it! That’s why I’m here!”

Her words hang in the air as you stare at her blankly. “I— huh?”

Caitlyn sighs, pressing her back against the wall with a thump and slowly sliding down to sit on the floor. “Do you think my mother wants me to be an idol when she’s basically handing me a Councilor position? No, she doesn’t! I don’t want that life. I want to work for a life that I actually want — that I deserve. That’s why I need this performance to be perfect: I'll debut because of my talent.”

It’s silent once again as your mind spins, trying to process what you just learned about Piltover’s golden girl. A few seconds pass before you slide down the same wall to sit next to her on the floor, leaving a respectable amount of distance between you.

“You’re like me,” you mumble, staring at your fingernails. “All you can think of is debuting. You don’t want anything — or anyone — to get in the way.”

Caitlyn’s quiet, and you take that as a chance to continue. “Because it’s all a big competition. We either lose and don’t debut, or we debut and watch our friends go home. It hurts either way. It’s like: the only way we really win is if we avoid getting close to anyone.”

“Right,” Caitlyn exhales, almost as if she’s coming to a realization of her own. “But if we’re both closed off, then we can’t work together. And if we can't work together–" she cuts herself off. She doesn't need to voice the implication of potentially not debuting.

Strangely, you feel something inside yourself shift. It’s not that you’re friends — that would be a stretch — but you can’t see her as awful anymore. Not when you know that she isn’t relying on her parents, that you actually have a similarity between you.

“Yeah,” you agree, finally glancing up from your hands to look her in her in the eyes. They’re slightly softened — as if she’s lost the energy to fight with you. “So, if we both will do anything to debut, then we might as well do this week together.”

Caitlyn meets your gaze, almost as if she’s unsure of your words. She hesitates, then nods once. “Okay. We’ll do this week together.”

You find that practice becomes much more enjoyable after that.

Seeing Caitlyn allow herself to be vulnerable makes a world of difference. It de-thrones her in your mind, causes you to see her as more of a colleague rather than competition. You’re in this together — at least, for right now.

With this new development, the week flies by, and the weekly evaluation arrives in the blink of an eye. You and Caitlyn are one of the first pairs to go, and your performance is met by applause and cheers from the other trainees circled around the room.

Even Subin, carefully watching for any mistakes or minor slip-ups in your work, nods approvingly as the song finishes. You hit the final pose by jutting your hip out, placing one hand on it while your other arm sits loosely at your other side. Caitlyn, for her part, places her arm casually on your shoulder as if leaning against you. It's not forced this time; it's natural.

“Good,” Subin clears his throat. “Very nice. I’ve seen lots of improvement from both of you.”

With that, there’s another round of applause as you and Caitlyn move to sit against the wall with the other trainees. As the next pair stands to perform, you glance at the woman sitting beside you only to find that she’s already looking at you. Caitlyn’s lips twitch into a half-smile, and the message is clear. That was really good.

It’s not long before all the trainees finish and everyone crowds around one of the bulletin boards outside of the room. The higher-ups of the company insist on posting any evaluation scores on paper: posted up like the cast list of a high school play.

Caitlyn’s among the first to see when Subin approaches, posting a sheet of paper to the bulletin board with a thumbtack. With her height of 6’1,” the gods have given her a genetic advantage. She scans the list of partners until her eyes reach where her name is paired with yours — right next to a high score of an A.

A smile grows on her pretty features as she finds you in the throng of girls. “I saw it,” she explains, very pleased with how the performance had gone. “We got an A; that's the highest score they gave out this week!”

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you bounce on the balls of your feet in your excitement. “Oh my gods, Caitlyn, that’s amazing!”

Before you can even register what you’re doing, you surge forward to wrap your arms around her in a celebratory hug. You don’t pause to consider that you hated each other a few days ago — you only think about how you happy you are that the two of you earned the highest score of the week.

Caitlyn stumbles a little as you hug her, eyes widened in surprise. “Um—“ she fumbles her words: something rare for the Kiramman heir. “I—“

It takes about three seconds for you to realize what you’re doing. You freeze, then immediately step back. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just—“ You bite your tongue, cheeks slightly flushed from the awkward encounter. “I got excited.”

“No, no,” Caitlyn assures, shaking her head. She ignores the pink tinge that coats her own cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re one step closer to debut, right?”

“Ah, don’t jinx it,” you insist, smiling despite your embarrassment. “We’re not there yet.”

“No,” Caitlyn agrees as the trainees start to vacate the area, going off to their respective lessons. She moves to join them, lightly touching your shoulder as she passes by you. “Not yet.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

The month goes by in a flash.

And, as much as you hate to admit it, having Caitlyn around helps with the stress.

After your first year of training, you told yourself that you’d never get close to anyone. Girls are sent home for the smallest reasons every month, and the pain of losing your friends was almost too much to bear. It makes for a more lonely experience, but it’s not nearly as heartbreaking.

Yet, you can’t help yourself with Caitlyn.

Something about her presence is calming, like she has it all together, and you discover that she’s actually pretty funny when you get to know her. Such information was discovered when she found you practicing late one night and offered to walk you back to your dorm, making you laugh even in the early-morning hours of sleep deprivation.

The two of you have grown closer over the passing weeks, always finding each other during meals and workouts. You talk about your life back in Piltover: your family and friends that you miss, your hobbies, and the childhood bedroom you had to leave behind. Caitlyn, in turn, tells you about life at the Kiramman manor, growing up as an only child, and how she hopes to prove herself as more than her mother’s name when she debuts.

It’s nice. Too nice.

You find yourself wondering about the possibility of you and Caitlyn debuting together. It’s a slippery slope: a train of thought that you can’t focus on for fear of getting your hopes up. This industry is cruel and unkind, and you’ll be damned if your heart is lost to it.

A reminder of this comes after yet another monthly evaluation. The number of trainees has dwindled, becoming a small group of girls who are all competing for a spot in the upcoming group. You make it past the evaluation. Caitlyn makes it. But one of the trainees you’ve been practicing with the longest, Hana, does not.

You’re curled into a ball against the wall of an empty hallway, willing away the tears in your eyes. You can’t help a few from falling down your cheeks. It isn’t fair. Why does achieving your dream tear you apart from everyone else?

Well, maybe not everyone.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s voice is softer than usual. You see a flash of navy hair from the corner of your eye as she drops down to your level. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you sniff, glancing up at her with watery eyes. “Hana was such a good dancer. I can’t believe she went home.”

“She was amazing,” Caitlyn nods along with your words. When another tear falls, she hesitates before gently tapping your arm. “Hey, come here.”

You’re compliant, allowing yourself to be gently tugged into her arms. It’s slightly awkward, as you’re sitting next to her on the floor of the hallway, but it’s comforting nonetheless. Your tears soak the shoulder of her t-shirt.

Caitlyn runs a soothing hand up and down your back, murmuring comforting words like the unnie she is. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. There’s much less people now, so all this will be over soon. One way or another.”

You nod against her shoulder, taking a shaky breath before you pull away from her hold. “Do we still have to get our assignments?”

“You know we do,” Caitlyn gives you a sympathetic smile. Usually, right after the evaluation results, new assignments are announced. There’s about a fifteen minute break in between, and you’re quite sure that you’ve already used up that time.

Caitlyn sighs, standing to her feet before offering you a hand. She helps you up before lacing her fingers through yours. Her nails are perfectly manicured, as always. “Ready?” She asks, leading you back through the hallways towards the evaluation room.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you mumble. At this point, you’re just tired. Tired of losing people who worked hard for years at a time to reach their dream. Tired of worrying that it could be you one day.

Caitlyn knows — of course she knows. She squeezes your hand twice as you approach the door where Subin is waiting.

“Ah, good, you’re both here,” Subin checks his clipboard. “You both need to go to room 205. It’s just down the hall to the left.”

Caitlyn tilts her head in confusion. “But we usually get our assignments here.”

Subin shakes his head, ignoring the girls trickling into the room behind him. He doesn’t stop them – just you and Caitlyn. “We’re splitting up. I’ll join the two of you in a moment.”

You glance up at Caitlyn in question, but she just shrugs. There’s probably some technical reason for this. Maybe they’re splitting the group in half with two different assignments.

When you follow Caitlyn into room 205, you spot two other girls already in there: Aeri and Marin. You bow as you enter the room, offering greetings to the two older girls. You’ve trained with them for a while now, so working with them is nothing new.

Subin enters the room some minutes later, followed by a few other staff members. He closes the door behind him before stepping in front of the four of the you. You study his blank expression, even as your eyes are still puffy from crying.

He clears his throat before he speaks. “Caitlyn, Aeri, Marin,” Subin starts, stating your names in age order from oldest to youngest. Your name is said last, of course. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve taken you separately.”

You glance at the three girls around you, but you see nothing but confusion in their eyes. None of you know why you’re here.

Luckily, none of you need to wonder much longer.

“We want to test the four of you as a debut lineup.”

Silence.

You stand as if rooted to the ground, unmoving while you stare at your instructor. You can’t even look at the other girls because there’s no way you heard that right.

Subin takes the lack of response as a signal to continue. “This isn’t the confirmed lineup,” he clarifies. “We have to test how the four of you work together and fit the concept we want. But right now, you four are our choices for debut.”

…

“What?!”

Marin screeches, breaking the silence by bouncing up and down in shocked excitement. Normally, no trainee would dare to be so informal with their instructors. But in this moment, she just can’t help herself.

Marin’s outburst seems to snap Caitlyn and Aeri out of their shock as well. Aeri joins Marin in squealing incoherent words, repeatedly gushing “thank you” to the staff in between shrieks of disbelief.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, moves to hug you tightly. “We did it,” her voice trembles with emotion, almost suffocating you with how strongly she’s holding you.

All you can there is stand there, frozen in shock. You can’t even move to hug Caitlyn back. All you can do is tremble, not even speaking until Caitlyn pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“We’re—“ you gasp, your hands moving to grip Caitlyn’s forearms as if she’s the only thing that can steady you. “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn’s thumbs skate across your cheeks, and it’s only then that you realize more tears have fallen down your face. This time, though, they’re tears of joy. Your vision blurs even more when you see matching tears shining in Caitlyn’s blue eyes. “We’re doing this together.”

“It’s real,” Subin confirms. When Caitlyn’s hands fall from your face, you turn to look back at the staff.

Your instructors wear smiles that stretch across their faces, beaming at you and the three women beside you. It’s as if they’ve been waiting to announce this, and now that they finally have, they’re excited for what’s to come.

As Marin pulls you, Caitlyn, and Aeri into a group hug, you finally realize what’s happening. You’re going to debut. One look at the staff’s facial expressions tells you as much. There’s a lot of preparation to be done, but you know, deep within your gut, that this is it.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

|------» ~~~ «------|

From that day on, your life is full of light.

You go from dreading practice to looking forward to it. The instructors work with you much more closely now, guiding you with more patience than before. Since there are only four girls to focus on, the staff is able to provide much more individual help.

Though, the best part about being in the debut lineup is your relationships with Aeri, Marin, and Caitlyn. You don’t need to be closed off anymore, no longer fearing the pain of losing them.

The first night you move into your new dorm is the best night of your trainee life thus far. The dorm is much bigger than the normal ones, and it’s filled with plush furniture that looks like it came from the cover of a magazine. You get your own room, which is sandwiched between Marin’s and Aeri’s. Caitlyn’s room is at the end of the hall.

That night, you stay up until the early hours of the morning, the four of you sprawled out in the living room like relaxed cats. You talk about your hopes and dreams, and they tell you about theirs. A bond forms in no time: a closely-knit friendship fueled by the excitement of your debut.

Your bond shows, too. Practices run smoothly, the four of you moving in sync as you dance and compliment each other’s vocals. You take notice of the staff’s faces whenever you finish performing: satisfied smiles that convey more emotion than words can express.

There aren’t any bumps in your smooth road to debut.

Well, except one.

“Okay,” Subin claps his hands as he enters the practice room. It’s another day of covering songs by other groups as the producers try to figure out how the four of you work together. “We’re learning another cover today. You’ll be performing Blackpink’s Kill This Love.”

As Subin lists off who will be taking each member’s part, you’re assigned to Jennie’s while Caitlyn is assigned to Lisa’s, Marin is assigned to Jisoo’s, and Aeri is assigned to Rosé’s. You smile as you realize that you’ll get to both rap and sing in this cover: exactly what you were hoping for.

“We’re going to do the Coachella version of this performance,” Subin continues. “We want to focus on stage presence here. Not just getting the choreography right, but drawing the audience in. Remember that while you’re learning this dance.”

With that, practice begins.

The first verse and chorus run steadily as you learn the choreography with practiced ease. Your performance is nearly flawless — at least, until the second verse.

“Alright,” Subin instructs, gesturing to you and Caitlyn. “This rap verse between you two needs to sell it. I’m going to show you a video of the original performance so you guys can see how it’s supposed to look.”

You stand beside Caitlyn, watching curiously as Subin opens YouTube on his phone to play the video. You watch as the two idols perform the choreography, playfully dancing around each other as the crowd goes wild.

No big deal. You’re quite comfortable with Caitlyn now, so dancing together is a piece of cake.

That is, until one of the girls spins the other around. Both of them move in sync, doing two body rolls while pressed against the other: a move that looks a whole lot like grinding.

Oh gods.

“We have to do that?” Your jaw drops as Subin replays the footage. You can’t even look at Caitlyn, knowing that you have to perform that move with her.

“It’s quite, um—” Caitlyn pauses, her eyes locked onto the screen. “—different from what we’ve done before.”

“Yes,” Subin responds simply. His tone is casual, and you know that he’s set on this. He guides you so that Caitlyn stands facing the mirror while your body faces her. “Let's start with that, then. Both of you lift your left arms and touch your hands together.”

You do, and he nods approvingly. “Good. Now, Caitlyn, cross in front of her and press your chest against her back. And then both of you are going to do two body rolls.”

Subin counts out the beats, and Caitlyn crosses in front of you. When you feel your back hit her chest, you attempt the two body rolls. Your bodies move in sync with the little space between you, successfully pulling off the move.

You still can’t look at her.

But Subin shakes his head, frowning at where the two of you are pressed against each other. “It doesn’t look natural,” he states. “The dancing is correct, but both of you look awkward. You have to give the audience the stage presence they want.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” you admit, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them. You step forward and away from Caitlyn before you glance at Subin. “Caitlyn is my friend, and— and the move is so sexy.”

“Yes,” Subin considers, tapping his finger to his chin in thought. A few seconds later, he straightens, gently turning your shoulders so that you’re facing Caitlyn. “Look at her,” he directs. “If you can’t think of doing this move with a friend, then pretend like you’re attracted to her.”

What?

It’s even weirder to think of Caitlyn like that. With how close you’ve grown over the past few months, seeing her in a romantic light is far from what you’re used to. It’s just pretend, you assure yourself. It’s only to help us with our stage presence.

Finally, under Subin’s watchful gaze, your gaze meet Caitlyn’s.

Just for a moment, you let your eyes trail over her form like you want her. Caitlyn’s beautiful, even in her simple black sweatpants and cropped top. Her hair is thrown up into a messy ponytail, loose strands of hair falling to frame her face. You almost want to reach out and brush them out of the way. Maybe you would — if only it didn’t look so perfect on her.

You can almost feel her icy-blue stare on you, and you know that she’s doing the same thing. Pretending that she wants you.

It sends a tingle down your spine — an emotion that you can’t quite place.

“Okay,” Subin seems oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts that clouds your mind. “Let’s try it again. Pretend the mirror is the audience watching your performance.”

This time, the air between you and Caitlyn feels charged as you return to your starting positions. Both of you lift your left arms and let your hands touch before Caitlyn circles you and presses against you from behind. Your bodies roll in sync, looking a lot more like grinding this time. Your matching smiles aimed at the mirror are almost sultry as you play it up for extra stage presence.

As Subin finishes counting out the beats, he grins at the two of you. “Much better. We can move on now, and then we’ll run the dance through once we’re done.”

As practice continues, your mind is elsewhere. Thinking of Caitlyn, your unnie, in a romantic way had certainly been weird. Your stomach dips as you remember the feeling of her eyes on you, studying you in a way she hadn’t before.

But that was just because it had felt unnatural to look at each other that way.

Right?

You push the thought out of your head. Instead, you continue on with your day by finishing dance practice, going to vocals practice to sing through your lines, and your meals and exercise. You content yourself with talking and laughing with Marin and Aeri, forcing any thoughts of Caitlyn out of your head whenever you speak to her.

It’s not until later that night, when you’re lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling of your brand-new dorm, that your mind wanders back to that moment between you. When sleep calls to you, your eyes sliding shut in exhaustion, the thought never leaves your head entirely.

Caitlyn is really beautiful.

|------» ~~~ «------|

A few days later, the four of you perform the cover of Kill This Love in front of several producers and instructors. You channel all your energy, putting your all into your facial expressions and smooth dance moves.

When it comes time for the second verse of the song, you remind yourself about what Subin had told you. Pretend like you're attracted to her.

It's your line up first.

Feelin’ like a sinner

It’s so fire with him, I go boo-ooh

Caitlyn kneels in front of you, both of you facing the mirrors. You both fold your hands for the first part of the line, and Caitlyn stands back up during the second.

Next, it’s Caitlyn’s line.

He said “you look crazy”

Thank you baby, I owe it all to you

The two of you lean in opposite directions, then straighten back up and pop your chests along with the beat.

You rap again, taking the third line.

Got me all messed up

His love is my favorite

This is the moment you've practiced for.

You lift your arm so your left hand meets Caitlyn's as she moves behind you, pressing herself up against you yet again. You can feel the warmth of her breath on the back of her neck, and you hope she doesn't notice the goosebumps that rise in response.

The two of you body roll smoothly against each other, flashing the producers alluring smiles as if they're fans watching your performance. Your head falls back a little, just barely grazing Caitlyn's shoulder with your height difference. It feels natural: more natural than it should.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror-lined wall of the practice room, all is lost. Your bodies are drawn together as if they’re magnets, and Caitlyn’s blue eyes appear a shade darker than they normally are.

Heat pools in your stomach at the sight. It's just anxiety, you tell yourself. You're anxious about doing well in this performance — that's all. There isn’t any other reason for you to react in such a way.

Yet, the little voice in the back of your head wonders if Caitlyn feels the heat too.

Shaken from the idea, you push that thought to the back of your mind as Caitlyn continues to rap before Aeri and Marin take over the vocals to finish the song.

But you plus me sadly can be dangerous

"Wow!" Subin claps, leading the producers and instructors in a round of applause. You stand between Marin and Aeri while Caitlyn stands next to Marin, the four of you joining hands and bowing to the staff. "That was amazing. Especially the second rap verse,” he glances between you and Caitlyn. “You two work really well together."

Your eyes meet Caitlyn's for a brief second before you're bowing again, a chorus of thank you's spilling from your lips.

"So," Subin considers the four of you standing before him. "Will all of you line up in age order?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but you do so, moving to the end of the line so that it's Caitlyn, Aeri, Marin, and you.

There's a pause.

"This is our final debut group," Subin declares, adjusting his hat as he looks at you one by one. "And we've chosen your positions."

Caitlyn: Main Rapper, Lead Dancer, Leader

Aeri: Main Vocalist, Visual

Marin: Main Dancer, Sub Vocalist, Center

You: Lead Vocalist, Lead Rapper, Maknae

"Congratulations," Subin smiles. "The four of you are Moonstruck."

The four of you erupt in a hazy mix of excitement and tears, hugging each other and the staff in celebration. And, despite the unnamed shift in the past few days, Caitlyn's the first person you run to.

"I'm so proud of you," Caitlyn immediately takes you in her arms, hugging you like she won't get another chance to. Her voice is soft, but you can feel the anticipation in her limbs. “We're debuting together. Officially. Just like we wanted."

She really is meant to be the leader, you lament as you linger in her embrace for slightly longer than necessary. Not only is Caitlyn the oldest, but she's been taking care of you ever since the two of you had resolved your initial conflict upon meeting. She’s your rock, your safety.

"I'm proud of you too, unnie," you whisper.

You swear you can feel Caitlyn's breath hitch in her chest, thrown off guard. You've never called her unnie before. She's always been Caitlyn to you: the same girl you grew up hearing about in Piltover.

Now, she's something more. Your friend, your leader, your unnie.

Before she can comment on it, though, Aeri grabs your hand to tug you and Caitlyn towards her and Marin. “C’mon,” she flashes you a toothy grin. “Let’s go out for ice cream. Our debut celebration!”

Marin whoops, already halfway out the door. “Last one out has to pay!” Aeri giggles, already following Marin out of the practice room as the staff packs up their bags to leave as well.

Caitlyn, trailing Marin and Aeri, pauses by the doorway to glance back at you. “You coming?” She asks, offering an outstretched hand to you.

Something about her expression is compelling. Maybe it’s because way her eyes seem to soften when she looks at you, or maybe it’s because she’s always so attuned to your needs. Constantly checking on you and guiding you — such a far cry from how your relationship had started.

A good friend.

You can’t help but smile at her in return, moving forward to take her hand as you so often do. “Yeah, I’m coming,” you sigh as you toss your bag over your shoulder. “And paying, apparently.”

“Good,” Caitlyn seems satisfied with your response, holding the door for you as you make your way out.

“Don’t worry,” she murmurs, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way out of the company building. “I’ll pay.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

Debut is a blur.

You never imagined that debuting would be this hectic. There’s so much to do: recording songs for your first EP, learning choreography, doing photoshoots, opening your group’s official social media accounts, and so on. You squeal when you see the Instagram posts that reveal the members go up. First it’s Caitlyn, then Marin, then you, then Aeri.

Your company is well established, so the debut announcement gets people talking. Moonstruck: a 4-member girl group with a coming of age concept. It opens a range of topics, from fun, lighthearted pop songs to deep songs that convey life’s challenges and pain. There’s buzz around Ionia’s pop industry – everyone speculating about the group.

Soooo excited for their debut! The teasers sound so good

ALREADY STANNING THEM!!!

We need a fandom name ASAP

In the chaos of it all, the night of your debut finally arrives. You sit on one side of a table with Caitlyn, Aeri, and Marin, a camera set up to face you on the other side. It's set to record your reactions to your first music video as soon as it drops. Fans fill the live chat, eagerly waiting for the song’s release.

When the laptop finally begins to play the video, you gasp in anticipation. Watching yourself move onscreen, singing the lyrics that you know by heart, is surreal. You watch Marin’s dancing, Caitlyn’s rapping, and Aeri’s dual vocals and visuals with a sense of pride.

That is your group. These are your members. This is your debut. How did you get so lucky?

The staff cheer when the song drops at midnight, popping champagne and even cutting a cake in celebration of you and your members. You laugh, taking a glass and clinking it against the others in a toast to Moonstruck.

“Alright, alright,” Subin laughs, waving the four of you off. The debut seems to have put him in much higher spirits than normal. “Off to bed. You all have your first Inkigayo performance tomorrow. The driver will pick you up at 8:00 AM sharp.”

That sends you off, walking alongside your three members to get in the car assigned to take you home. It’s a short drive to your dorm: only five minutes or so from the company building.

The second you get inside your dorm, Marin shrugs off her jacket with a sigh. “Well,” she declares. “I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow morning for our first live performance.”

“Wake me up if I’m not up by 7:00,” Aeri calls as she practically twirls off to her room. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” Caitlyn smiles at Aeri and Marin as they disappear into their respective bedrooms. You expect her to follow in stride — you all need your rest before you sing and dance your hearts out on live TV tomorrow morning. Instead, she nears where you’re sitting in the living room.

You’re swinging your legs back and forth as you perch on the arm of your couch, absentmindedly picking at your fingernails. You can’t even really mess with them: they’re all perfectly done for your debut. Though, right now, the intricate designs seem more annoying than beautiful.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, startled from Caitlyn’s voice interrupting your thoughts. “Nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head. “You should get some sleep.”

Caitlyn just sighs, moving closer until she’s almost standing in between your legs. Any onlooker might raise an eyebrow at the close proximity, but the two of you have been physically comfortable with each other for quite some time now. “You’re not a very good liar, you know.”

“That’s just you,” you flick at a fingernail again. “I can lie. Just not to you.”

“Just not to me,” Caitlyn agrees. She observes your facial expression quietly for a few moments before she speaks again. “You’re anxious about tomorrow.”

You hesitate before finally looking up from your hands to meet her eyes. “Yeah. So many people already know about us, and they’ll all be watching. If we mess up at all, then we’ve already failed on our first day of being idols. Then we’ll get hate and our careers won’t even start and—“

“Hey, hey,” Caitlyn steps even closer, placing her hands on your shoulders and drawing soothing circles with her thumbs. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay, I promise. We’ve worked so hard to be here, and all the training is going to pay off tomorrow. We’re ready for this. You’re ready.”

You bite your lower lip in thought and shrug, Caitlyn’s hands almost reluctantly falling from your shoulders at the movement. She pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say. So she just takes your hand, squeezing it once before pulling you off the arm of the couch. “Come with me.”

You raise your eyebrows at her request. Still, you still have enough trust in her to let her guide you over to the front door of the dorm. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” is all the explanation she offers. Caitlyn leads you through the door and into the cool, night air, heading up a few, narrow flights of stairs.

“Cait,” you protest, but there’s no real enthusiasm behind it. “We need to sleep.”

“Oh, don’t even try that with me. I know you’re not going to sleep." Caitlyn pays your words no mind as she opens another door at the top of the stairs. “We’re staying here until you feel better.”

“Wha–?“ you start, unconvinced of whatever she’s planning. But when you step through the door after her, your eyes widen.

You’re on the rooftop of your dorm building: a place with an incredible view of the biggest city in Ionia. You take in the glittering skyline in the distance, the lights from the skyscrapers contrasting against the inky black sky.

The rooftop itself isn’t much: just a few pots scattered around with some fairy lights loosely strung above your heads. Still, an understanding dawns on you as you glance around. This is why Caitlyn wanted to take you here. It offers a new perspective, reminds you of the world that exists outside of your own.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, stepping forward to the edge of the rooftop to loosely grip the railing.

“It is,” Caitlyn chimes from beside you. You turn, expecting her to also be relishing in the view of the city, but her eyes are locked on you. And, though you can’t offer an explanation as to why, your breath stills.

Caitlyn’s gaze breaks away after a few seconds, moving to fish her phone out from her pocket. She taps a few times, typing something into a search bar before she sets it on the edge of a nearby pot.

“Come on,” she encourages, tugging you to the center of the rooftop as a beat starts to play from her phone speakers. “We’re trying something new.”

You recognize the song almost immediately, your lips curving into a smile. “What, are we supposed to dance to this?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn responds simply, already swaying in time with the song’s melody. “Now shut up and listen to me.”

If you asked me to, I’d give up everything

To be close to you.

Your smile stretches into a full-blown grin, mimicking Caitlyn’s movements as the chorus of Close To You by Gracie Abrams begins. You would speak, tease her about picking a song she normally doesn’t listen to, but she’d only scold you again for not shutting up and dancing.

So you do just that.

Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met, I wanna be

Close to you

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you as you fall into a rhythm. Your movements are loose and uncoordinated: so far from what your idol training has shaped your dancing to be. It’s almost freeing.

You hear a giggle slip from Caitlyn’s lips, too, as she dances around the balcony in the same manner. She’d never admit it, but she needs this just as much as you do.

Break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight

Just let me be–

Caitlyn takes your hands in hers, swinging your arms around as the two of you dance together – even going so far as to spin you. Her smile is identical to yours: carefree and radiant. Caitlyn looks the most beautiful when she’s this happy. You wonder how you had never noticed before.

Did time always feel this slow before this moment?

Close to you, close to you, close to you

Just let me be-

It hits you like a lightning bolt.

The way the fairy lights reflect off the blue in Caitlyn’s eyes, the slight gap in her teeth when she grins, the way her navy hair is slightly messed up from its earlier styling.

The way she knew you’d be anxious, how she knew exactly what would comfort you, how she seems to be the only person you’re entirely comfortable with.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Close to you, close to you, close to you.

|------» ~~~ «------|

Over the next month or so, your debut activities skyrocket.

Between live performances, fan meetings, social media livestreams, and even more photoshoots, you barely have time to think about anything besides your work. You love it — of course you do. This is what you’ve worked so hard for, what you’ve dreamed of.

You barely have time to think about Caitlyn, much less your newfound feelings towards her. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You can’t help sneaking glances at her when you’re in the dressing room, getting your hair and makeup styled to perfection. It’s not your fault that she’s so pretty.

Moonstruck’s popularity explodes over the short time you’ve been active. Your debut song, Allure, charts high on streaming platforms, and your social medias are flooded with likes and comments and fanpages.

Aside from the group’s popularity, Caitlyn herself quickly rises as one the most talked about recent idols in Ionian pop. She has it all: quick raps, smooth dancing, a unique vocal tone, and stage presence with visuals to stun audiences. Whispers of “it girl” flood the internet throughout debut promotions, crowds around the world seeming to fall under Caitlyn’s spell.

You refuse to admit that you might be under it, too. No. That will stay hidden away in your mind to save both your career and your friendship.

That is, until one of your variety show promotions.

Moonstruck is featured on the variety show Knowingbros just a few short weeks after your debut. You sit in a circle among your members and the hosts of the show, Marin on your left while Aeri and Caitlyn are on your right.

“So, all of you seem to have bonded quickly,” one of the hosts comments, leaning back in his lawn chair.

“Ah, yes,” Marin grins, propping her chin up to rest in her palm. “We’re forced to spend a lot of time together.”

“Forced?” Aeri gasps in mock offense, acting wounded as she places her hand over her heart. The hosts laugh, and you’re sure the laugh tracks of a fake audience will be added in once the episode airs.

“Okay, so I want to know,” another one of the hosts starts, gesturing between the four of you. “The classic question. Which member of the group would you date?”

Ah.

Of course. It seems to be one of Ionia’s favorite questions for its idols. It no doubt fuels the fans’ imaginations, as they dream of their favorite groups have secret romances between each other. Now, though, it hits a little too close to home for you. You’re not even sure who to pick in this scenario.

You could choose Marin. Being the second youngest of the group, the two of you are like the sunshine duo that fans love to see together. You always have fun when you’re with her, so choosing her would make sense.

Or you could choose Aeri. She’s so sweet, and her vocals and visuals are to die for. It would be easy to pick her with the reason that she’s beautiful.

Or, well—

You don’t even realize that you’ve zoned out until your thoughts are interrupted by your name being said. “Huh?” You blink, unsure of what just happened.

This response causes another round of laughs from the hosts. The slip-up is sure to be edited later, all for fans to post the clip on social media and comment about how cute it is when you zone out.

“I would choose her,” Caitlyn states calmly, and it’s only then that you realize why your name was said. Your eyes widen as you turn to glance at your leader.

“Oh, and why is that?” A host questions, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Well,” Caitlyn tilts her head in consideration, navy ponytail swinging to the side. “She’s cute. You know, she has that maknae charm. And she’s very sweet, like, she would cook for me and ask me about my day.”

Everyone nods, satisfied by her response. “So you’re already charmed by her?” One man follows up.

Caitlyn laughs, crossing one of her legs over the other. “She has me wrapped around her finger.”

Oh, you hope to the gods above that the camera filming you doesn’t pick up on your flushed cheeks.

Thankfully, Marin diverts the attention by talking about how she would date Aeri. Aeri follows it up by explaining why she would date herself, causing more laughs from everyone around you.

“And who would you date?” One of the hosts asks you as everyone’s eyes turn in your direction — including Caitlyn’s. It’s quiet for a moment as you consider this. What are you supposed to even say—?

“I choose Caitlyn unnie.”

Well, fuck.

"Ah,” the host nods as you nervously adjust your mic. “Why Caitlyn?”

“Well,” you stall a little, appearing to be lost in thought even though you’re really just nervous. “She always takes care of me. We spend a lot of time together, so I think we’d be compatible. And we have really good chemistry,” you cut yourself off, realizing you’re starting a tangent of reasons. You really need to end this. “And she’s, um, sexy?”

Both your members and the hosts gasp, letting out enhanced reactions of surprise for the camera. Luckily, Aeri joins in on your antics, nodding along. “Yes, Caitlyn unnie is our fearless leader,” she jokes, and the hosts take it as a cue to move on to other activities.

The episode airs later that night to audiences around the world. International fans quickly translate the interview into various languages that everyone can understand, and before you know it, the clip of each member talking about dating has been re-uploaded countless times.

And, of course, most of the comments are geared towards your answer matching with Caitlyn’s.

They’re sooo cute together~

THE WAY CAITLYN LOOKS AT HER AHHHHH!!!

She said Caitlyn is sexy!!! They’re definitely dating

In general, the amount of posts shipping you with Caitlyn explodes. The two of you quickly become the most popular ship within the group on every poll on the internet, and fan accounts are made just to share their analysis of the little moments between you.

You scroll through your phone at night, biting your lower lip as you read through the comments. It’s fine, right? Fans ship idols all the time, and none of it means anything. You’re sure that Caitlyn doesn’t think anything of it, anyways.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you lay in your bed, the comforter drawn over your form. Though, when you close your eyes, all you see is the way she had glanced over at you when you were talking during the variety show. A look that the cameras had caught, but that you hadn’t at the time.

Does she always look at you like that?

|------» ~~~ «------|

A year goes by faster than you can blink.

Between your debut and all the chaos of Moonstruck’s first comeback, Eclipse, you feel pulled in a million different directions. It’s exhilarating, but it’s also exhausting. Before you know it, you’re sitting next to your members to crowd into Caitlyn’s phone camera — all for your first anniversary livestream.

Between it all, you lean on Caitlyn more and more. Given your feelings for her, you know that you should be distancing yourself from her. After all, the worst thing would be people finding out about it — worse, if Caitlyn finds out about it.

Still, you can’t help but be drawn to her. Caitlyn is a warm, steady presence: always offering her shoulder when you need to take a nap during car rides, and she always holds her arms out for you to crawl into when you’re both waiting to record a song in the studio.

Fans notice, too. Compilations of cute moments between the two of you and videos hyper-analyzing your relationship only increase whenever the cameras catch you together. Even in the “behind the scenes” video of your first comeback music video, you’re seen sitting comfortably in Caitlyn’s lap as both of you watch Marin and Aeri film their scenes.

Sue you if her lap is comfortable.

It’s bittersweet. Being around Caitlyn makes you happy, especially when she’s soft on you: combing her fingers through your hair and murmuring comforting words into your ear. However, you can’t help but feel a pang in your heart whenever she does so.

It’s close, so close to what you long for. But, in the end, it’s just not. When you lay awake at night, picturing Caitlyn opening your bedroom door and declaring her undying love for you, maybe even pinning you underneath her and kissing you until you’re breathless. Or letting her kisses trail, well, elsewhere.

Lovesick. That’s the word for it. So you just push those thoughts away.

Then comes the Mnet Music Awards.

It’s an ultra-popular award show that heavily focuses on Ionian pop, and this year is Moonstruck’s first year attending. There’s the red carpet, then the awards show: an extravagant celebration of Ionia’s music industry. This year, Moonstruck is nominated for two awards: rookie of the year and best choreography.

Paparazzi lines the red carpet, each person craning their necks to catch a glimpse of approaching idols. The lights from the camera flashes are shockingly bright, and you’d feel a little overwhelmed if you weren’t sandwiched between your members.

Aeri walks first, standing all the way to the left side of the main entrance to the red carpet. Caitlyn follows, then you, then Marin. As you all stand as a group, photographers yell your name among others, attempting to draw your attention for their shot.

“Marin, over here!”

“Aeri, what do you have to say to your fans?!”

“Caitlyn! Caitlyn, just a few questions!”

You stand in line with the rest of your group, smiling and occasionally shifting poses for the paparazzi to capture. At least, for a few minutes. The next thing you know, Caitlyn gently tugs at your arm, leading you to walk behind Aeri and Marin.

As you fall into step beside her, you try to keep your thoughts preoccupied by anything other than how stupidly good Caitlyn looks tonight. A long, black dress adorns her figure, hugging her in all the right places. Complete with a halter neckline that allows her dark hair to be held in an elegant updo, her appearance is flawless.

You’re dressed to match with your own long, black dress. Yours includes a sweetheart neckline so the top can be more form fitting, while the bottom flares out in a tulle skirt. Your hair is styled and down, makeup applied to perfection.

You’re pretty sure that everyone and their mothers have noticed Caitlyn. She’ll undoubtedly make headlines that compliment her fashion sense, questioning how Caitlyn could possibly not be considered a visual of the group when she looks like that. You can’t blame the news outlets for that one.

“You okay?” Caitlyn whispers, her breath fanning against your ear as you continue to walk beside her.

You nod, glancing sideways at her. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Her long fingers wrap around your forearm, gently squeezing it as a subtle show of support. “Good.”

It’s not long before all the artists make their way into the main theatre where the awards show is held. Awards come and go in no time: best male group, best female soloist, song of the year, and so on.

The best choreography award passes, and you don’t win. You don’t mind much, though, politely applauding the winning group as they make their way to the stage to receive the award. It’s an honor just to be here, anyways. Part of you can’t believe it, can’t believe that this is your life now.

“And here are your nominees for best rookie,” one of the presenters announces from the stage, drawing everyone’s gazes as clips of the nominees begin to play — including a clip from your debut music video.

“And the award goes to—“ the presenter pauses as he opens the envelope and glances at the name written on it. “Moonstruck!”

You gasp, hands flying up to cover your mouth in shock. As comical as it is, you were not expecting to win this award. After all, there are so many talented groups out there. You stand almost robotically as you follow your members to the stage, watching as Caitlyn takes the golden award in her hands and steps up the microphone.

“Thank you so much,” Caitlyn starts. To everyone, she looks picture-perfect with no hair out of place. It’s just you who can detect the slight tremble in her voice: emotion she carefully conceals from the public.

“We’re so honored to receive this award. We’d like to thank our producers, songwriters, choreographers, and our company for this opportunity. And, most of all, thank you to our moonbeams," Caitlyn beams at the crowd and cameras alike. "You guys mean so much to us, and we hope to continue making music that you love. It’s just the start of our career, and we have so much more to show you. Thank you!”

You smile brightly at the sea of idols before you, bowing alongside your group before heading to the stairs leading offstage. You can’t help but dart up to slip your arm through Caitlyn’s, pressing your side into hers. “Are you okay?” you whisper, repeating her question from earlier.

“Of course,” Caitlyn nods, but you notice the way her eyes gloss over with a shine that definitely wasn’t there before. After you descend the stairs, she hesitates, glancing between the path back to your seats and you. “Um, do you mind accompanying me to the bathroom?”

You almost snort at how posh she sounds, her accent as prominent as ever. Still, you agree. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay,” Caitlyn smooths her dress, glancing over at Marin and Aeri. “We’re going to go to the bathroom. We’ll meet you back at the seats.”

Marin and Aeri nod, making their way back over to their seats. You follow Caitlyn down a side hallway, your heels sinking into the soft carpet of the floor. It isn’t long before you reach a single stall bathroom. Neither you nor Caitlyn gives a second thought about going in together, as both of you have lived together too long to give a single fuck about being in one bathroom.

Caitlyn locks the door as it swings shut behind you, making her way over to the mirror to adjust her hair updo. “I can’t believe we won,” she notes after a minute’s silence.

You lean back against the counter next to her. “Me too. I thought Flurry would win for sure — their debut was amazing.”

“True,” Caitlyn concedes, finally tearing her gaze from her appearance to glance at you. “I guess I never expected to come this far. I hoped for all of this when we were still trainees, but it never felt possible to actually have it.”

You tilt your head, giving her a half-smile. “Me too. But I always knew you’d make it. You were the whole package, even when we were trainees.”

You can see Caitlyn’s blue eyes go all soft, and she reaches out to trace a hand down your arm. “Thank you,” she murmurs, stepping closer to where your back is pressed against the bathroom counter. “We’ve been in this together for so long, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Suddenly, Caitlyn swoops forward, her arms encircling you and almost crushing you against her. "I don't know what I would have done without you," her words are muffled into the crook over your neck as she squeezes you tightly. "You're the only thing that's kept me sane this past year."

“Oh—“ Your eyes widen, caught off guard by her sudden movement. You wrap your arms around her shoulders in a much more gentle embrace as your eyes flutter closed. “I’m glad,” you mumble, and you really are. You like being her person.

Caitlyn moves to pull away a few moments later, but as your eyes blink open again, you realize that she hasn’t stepped back. Instead, you’re standing so close to each other that you can almost feel your breaths mingling. With a start, your stomach jolts as you realize that your palms are still resting on her shoulders.

The alarm bells sound in your head. Too close, too close, too close.

“Um,“ you breathe, so soft it’s almost a whisper. You want to move, but it’s like you’re physically unable to take your eyes off hers. “We should probably—“

“Yeah,” Caitlyn blinks as if she hadn’t thought of that. As if she had forgotten the awards show completely. And yet, she still doesn’t move. You wonder if her feet feel as rooted to the ground as yours do. “We should.”

You should go. You should find your way back to your members to watch the rest of the show. You shouldn’t be doing whatever this is.

Yet, you don’t do any of that. Caitlyn doesn’t either.

And then, Caitlyn’s lips are on yours.

You still at first: completely in shock. Had you initiated this? Had she initiated this? It’s all fuzzy now. Somehow, you had forgotten it all in favor of being wrapped up in her.

Her mouth is impossibly soft, moving against your own in a soft, sweet kiss. Your lips slot together perfectly — as if the universe had made the two of you to be together like this. Your eyes slip closed once again, despite every cell in your body screaming that this is a bad idea. It feels too good to stop.

Her tongue slips past your lips, teasing yours as Caitlyn brings her hands up to cradle your jaw. You let yourself be swept away in the feel of her for a few moments: lost in the way she angles her head to kiss you better and the scent of her expensive perfume. It's as if your leader had casted a spell, and all you can do is follow her in a lovestruck daze as you kiss her in return.

That is, before Caitlyn pulls away with a strangled gasp. Her pupils are dilated as she looks at you, black eclipsing blue. "I–" she gasps. She's never been so at a loss for words in her entire life. "What–? What did we just do?"

Your stomach drops a little at the slight panic in her voice. "Cait," you start, your voice slightly shaking as you hold out your hand in an attempt to reach out to her.

Caitlyn can't seem to hear you over her loud thoughts, nor can she see your attempt at comfort as she paces around the tiled floor of the bathroom. "Oh gods, how stupid could we be? We're in the same group; we'd get destroyed if anyone found out."

She suddenly approaches you again, placing both hands on your shoulders as her gaze cuts through you like a knife. "Listen to me. We can't tell anyone about this. Both of our careers will be over if this gets out, so let's just forget this ever happened. It was a mistake."

You stare at her, words failing you as you try to come up with any response to Caitlyn's demands. Your sweet unnie, normally so attentive to you and your needs, is overcome by worry. "Okay," you manage to whisper. You're afraid your voice will crack with emotion if you speak any louder than that. "Yeah. A mistake."

"Good," Caitlyn exhales, visible relief overtaking her features. She glances between you and the bathroom door. “We have to get back. Just—“ her eyes catch on the tiny smudge of her lipstick on your bottom lip. “Fix your makeup, and I’ll meet you back at the seats.”

You just nod, not trusting yourself with words this time. By the time Caitlyn disappears out the door, casting one long glance at you before it shuts, you’re pressed back against it. Your head leans back against the smooth wood, blinking rapidly. Your eyes sting, shiny with tears that desperately want to fall.

Why does it have to be like this? Maybe you ruined everything by kissing her. Caitlyn’s right: it was so stupid.

You swallow back your tears and that nasty lump in your throat, taking a deep breath. You have to go back out there. You have to smile for the cameras and get through the rest of the awards, and you can’t risk any tears messing up your makeup.

So, instead, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection seems so much more hollow than before — an expression akin to heartbreak. You bring a thumb up to wipe away the marks of Caitlyn’s lipstick and desperately try to not replay the memory in your head.

Yet, even when you finally make it back to your members, it’s all you can think about. You can’t focus on the awards, nor can you focus on the show ending and idols filing out of the theatre. Aeri has to call your name three times before you finally stand up and walk out to the car assigned to drive the four of you back to your dorm.

The entire ride home is filled with dead silence. Even Caitlyn, who would normally be giving some proud speech while showing off the rookie of the year award, has nothing to say. You just stare ahead, your eyes locked on the front windshield. It’s the only way to avoid looking at Caitlyn.

Marin and Aeri exchange a questioning look over your head. As if, somehow, you can’t see it. It doesn’t take a genius to know how confused they are by the mutual silence of their leader and maknae, as well as the tension between the two of you ever since you had returned from the bathroom.

When you finally arrive back at the dorms, Caitlyn heads straight for her room and shuts the door. No “goodnight,” no reminder of the schedule for tomorrow. Nothing.

You keep your gaze trained on the hardwood floor of the hallway, headed for your room as well when Marin catches you by the arm. “Hey—“ she starts, but she falters when she sees the despondent look in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Again, you swallow back the truth of the situation. “Nothing,” you mumble instead, but your expression doesn’t change.

“I know you.” Marin’s eyebrows furrow. “Something happened; it’s obvious.”

“I said I’m fine,” your voice shakes just the tiniest bit as you yank your arm out of her grasp and dart into your room before she can stop you. Marin’s left staring after you in concerned bewilderment, unmoving for a few moments before she returns to the kitchen to find Aeri.

Meanwhile, in your room, everything looks just as you had left it this morning: desk slightly messy, closet door ajar, and blinds shut. It’s a cruel reminder that everything isn’t the same. This morning, you and Caitlyn had been attached at the hip. Tonight, everything feels so broken.

And it’s only then, when you flop on your bed with your face buried in your pillow, that you finally allow yourself to curl up in a ball of heartache.

|------» ~~~ «------|

The next few weeks are some of the loneliest of your life.

Before, you always had Caitlyn. Whenever something bad happened to you, she was always waiting with open arms, cradling you against her and whispering sweet words of comfort. You’re not accustomed to dealing with sadness alone.

Still, you keep your interactions with Caitlyn to a bare minimum. You speak a little more formally to her, if anything, only asking necessary questions or giving your input on something Moonstruck related. You opt to sit next to Aeri or Marin in the car, too. While you once constantly craved Caitlyn’s touch, you avoid it as much as possible now. It’s a harsh reality-check, a memory of what could have been.

Fans notice, too. Being part of a beloved idol group, cameras are constantly shoved in your face: whether that’s during interviews, variety shows, or social media promotions. You put on an act of the happy maknae that your fans love, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Concern for you swells, and theories of your unhappiness are widespread online.

The worst part, though, is when you film another variety show. You and Caitlyn are always seated apart from each other, with at least one member in between you. You don’t talk to each other, opting to engage with the hosts and the other two girls instead. When the two of you stand near each other for one of the activities and don’t even look at each other, that’s what does it.

“Cold War” allegations spread like wildfire on all social media platforms. Speculations about you and Caitlyn being in a fight, what it’s about, when it had started, and who had started it surface on every Moonstruck thread. Seeing the comments pop up is like your personal hell. Not only are you miserable, but now the whole world knows about it.

NOOOO MY SHIP!!!

They didn’t even make eye contact omg, why are they ignoring each other???

I hope the Cold War ends soon, I miss them sm :(

Caitlyn doesn't mention the comments. She doesn't utter a word about what happened that night.

So neither do you.

It's just quiet. Aeri and Marin try to fill in the gaps by talking more, asking questions that force you to engage with each other. But the issue is beyond what they can solve, and somehow, they seem to understand that.

Unfortunately, though, it’s still awards season.

The MAMA awards is one of the biggest award shows in Ionia. You’ve been looking forward to it for a while — not only because of the ceremony, but for the exclusive after parties. It’s a chance for you to meet and hang out with other idols in the midst of your busy schedules.

Yet, when your company informs you that Moonstruck will be performing, you feel a pit form in your stomach. You love performing, but lately, it’s grown more and more tiring to plaster a smile on your face in an effort to hide your real emotions.

The day comes faster than you’d like it to, and before you know it, you’re being ushered onto the stage for your performance. Hair, makeup, and outfit done to perfection, you feel like a doll dressed up to please.

“Okay, we got this,” Caitlyn whispers as the four of you form a circle backstage. She glances up, her eyes darting past you to glance at Marin and Aeri. It’s like you’re not even there. “We’ve practiced, so just trust your instincts.”

You almost say something. You almost open your mouth to scold Caitlyn, to force her to talk about what happened and what your relationship has become. You can’t stand the tension anymore.

But you don’t. Instead, you step on stage and wait for the music to start, moving through the choreography and singing into your mic.

Once again, being an idol trumps all else.

The after-party comes as a relief hours later. Your arm is linked with Aeri’s as Marin and Caitlyn follow behind you, meeting the bodyguards at the door. You slide your phone into the awaiting basket, this event having banned phones for the sake of idols’ privacy.

Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, some idols already dancing in the center of the room. Other idols are grabbing drinks from the bar or mingling with other artists, and Aeri squeezes your hand. “I’m going to go dance. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you speak loudly to be heard over the music. When Aeri darts off and you lose sight of Marin and Caitlyn, you sigh, bringing a hand up to rub at your temples. You need a drink.

The bar is busy with people laughing and talking, glasses clinking together as they interact. “What can I get for you?” The bartender smiles, peering at you from where he’s mixing a cocktail.

“A few shots of vodka, please,” you request. You toss your hair as you sit at one of the empty bar seats, offering polite greetings to the artists beside you. You need something strong that will hopefully alleviate your suffering.

The bartender just laughs, pouring two shots and pushing them across the counter. “Start with two and see how you feel. Unless you want a hangover tomorrow.”

“I’ll take it,” you mumble into the glass, tilting your head back to take the shot. The alcohol burns, but it’s a nice distraction from everything else you’re feeling.

The idol next to you smiles, her gaze catching yours. You recognize her from some of her popular songs, and she clearly recognizes you. “Rough night?”

“Ah,” you smile, grasping for any attempt to mask your desperation for relief. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s okay,” the idol shrugs, tapping her long nails against the marble of the counter. “We all need it sometimes. I won’t judge you.”

“Guess it’s one of those times, then.” You catch the third shot as the bartender slides it over to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, face contorting at the strong taste and smell of the vodka. “No. I’ll get over it.”

“Well, then,” the idol fixes her stare on you once more. “I can just keep you company.”

A smile tugs at your lips, betraying the throb in your chest. “I’d like that.”

So that’s what you do. An hour later, you’re several shots in, enjoying the feeling of an empty head. Your thoughts and worries seem to have disappeared, and you quite like how blissful and relaxed you feel. Talking to the artists around you seems a lot easier now that you have Caitlyn off your mind.

You’re laughing at some stupid joke the bartender made when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. Still grinning, you don’t hesitate to glance over your shoulder, stumbling slightly as you spin around. You almost don’t catch the locks of navy hair in the dim lighting.

“Are you drunk?” Caitlyn hisses, grabbing your forearm a little harder than necessary.

Well, that didn’t last long.

“‘M fine,” you sigh, almost as if you’re content where you are. Though, if being drunks keeps you blissful even when talking to Caitlyn, you consider it a win.

The slight slur in your words doesn’t escape Caitlyn, and she huffs out a sigh, shaking her head in disappointment. “How did you get this drunk already? What—? Why—?“ she sighs again. “I can’t believe you.”

You squint your eyes at her. “I said ‘m fine. Go away.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow, the blue turning icy. She’s the group leader for a reason — she has a responsibility to make sure that everyone’s okay. “No. I’m not going away when you clearly can’t even handle yourself.”

You scoff, balancing on your heels as you turn away from her and start towards the bathroom. Or, well, where you think the bathroom is. You don’t know anymore. All you know is that anywhere is better than talking to Caitlyn right now.

You make it to the hallway before she catches you again. “Stop, Caitlyn,” you roll your eyes, your filter significantly lowered in your inebriated state. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” her hand catches your wrist this time, tugging you into a more secluded part of the hallway and forcing you to lock eyes with her once more. “But I’m your leader, your unnie. I have to make sure you’re okay.”

“Bullshit.”

This causes Caitlyn’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You ask if I’m okay now?” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. You could, but your mind is hazy, and you can’t think of a reason to avoid it anymore. “Nice, Caitlyn. Great job. Leader of the year award.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Caitlyn snaps. She has a temper; you’ve known this for years. It’s just — it’s never been turned on you before. She’s always been incredibly soft with you, holding you in her arms as if you’re something precious to her. Like she's scared you’ll shatter if she isn't gentle enough. “You’re my friend: I can’t just let you wander off, drunk.”

Different times call for different measures, you suppose.

“Oh, I’m your friend?” It’s your turn to snap, your glossy eyes holding a spark of anger. “Your friend. Got it. So you kiss all your friends and then act they don’t exist after? Good to know.”

Caitlyn’s eyes go wide, her cheeks flushing pink. She hastily glances around the hallway to check for any passing idols or staff, but there aren’t any, and the music is too loud to hear you from the main room. “Can you shut up? It’s like you want someone to hear!”

At that moment, something inside you breaks. You’re entirely fed up with her shit. As much as you love being an idol, you’re so over it destroying your personal life. And, with your head swimming with the effects of the alcohol, you can’t stand her indifference anymore.

“I’m so sick of you!” You burst out. You point a finger at Caitlyn, as if accusing her of something. Though, the unwanted tears brimming in your eyes make you look less intimidating and more heartbroken. “I can’t do this anymore! You say I’m your friend, but then you kiss me and practically abandon me! It’s like I made a mistake, and now I don’t get to exist in your world!”

“I did not abandon you!” Caitlyn argues, fury flashing in her eyes. “And we did make a mistake, we—“

“It wasn’t a mistake!” You cut her off, crossing your arms over your chest as if you’re shielding yourself. You can feel your cheeks get hotter as tears splash onto them. “It’s not fair! Why does being an idol mean I have to be sad all the time? I just want to be happy! I’ve been so miserable, and you didn’t even notice! All you care about is this, this job, and I’m so sick of giving up everything so that people still like us.”

Caitlyn staggers slightly, staring blankly at you. “What? What do you mean ‘everything?’”

“I mean you! I can’t even be with who I love because then people would be mad and there’s drama and—“ You pause, faltering as your foggy mind manages to register the word coming out of your mouth. Oh, shit.

It’s too late.

“Love?” Caitlyn breathes, so quietly you almost miss it. She’s motionless, as if your drunken confession had sucked all the breath out of her lungs.

You stumble back, your heels clicking on the hallway tile. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you repeat. Your voice trembles, almost breaking at the last word. “Maybe for you, but not for me. You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

Caitlyn’s left standing there, frozen. She can’t move her limbs to go after you, unable to even call out to stop you as you move down the hallway to the bathrooms. They’re public bathrooms: she can’t chase you even if she wanted to.

The sight of your tears is like a shot in the heart. It hurts her, it always has. But she’s worked tirelessly for years to get the idol career she’s always dreamed of, and now that she has it, it would be inconceivably stupid to give it up.

And yet…

Caitlyn can’t rid her mind of the image, the feel of your kiss that night. How you had held onto her like she was your only lifeline, and maybe, though she hadn’t considered it before, she was. Most of all, she remembers how she had wanted you. And oh, how she wants you still.

She’s almost angry at you for assuming she didn’t want it. She’s the one who had kissed you; the one who had cradled your face to angle your head better and selfishly indulge in you. The deeper part of her knows, though, as she stares down the hallway even after you’re long gone, that she can’t blame you. She is the reason for your pain — even after she had sworn to protect you when you became friends as trainees all those years ago.

How does she possibly reconcile something so broken?

Caitlyn doesn’t realize that her cheeks are soaked until she tastes the salt of her tears.

|------» ~~~ «------|

Nothing changes for a while.

Promotions come and go, photoshoots happen, and your popularity continues to escalate. It’s an almost mindless cycle, a routine that you feel resigned to. You don’t know where to go from here — you said all that you had to say. Everything is in Caitlyn’s hands now.

You try not to let that scare you.

It’s why, when your birthday comes around, you don’t realize until a few days before. You wake up to a call from your manager, informing you that the company has scheduled an Inkigayo performance to be recorded the night before. It’s a cover of a song in celebration of your birthday.

The news results in horrified gasps from Marin and Aeri when you tell them about it. They go on and on about how it’s your birthday, thus, you should be able to spend it however you like. But you all know that your company doesn’t have that same vision.

“At least I have my actual birthday free,” you shrug. You’re sprawled out on the couch like a cat lounging in the sun, your legs hanging off the armrest.

“Still,” Aeri argues from the kitchen as she drizzles oil over a hot pan. “You won’t get home until late, and then you’ll sleep the next day. I don’t understand why they couldn’t just have you record it earlier.”

“They should have checked with you before,” Marin nods in agreement, setting the table with four glasses. Caitlyn’s locked in her room, as she has been lately, but you assume she’ll join the three of you for dinner.

You just sigh, rolling off the couch to help Aeri with the food. “It’s fine unnies, really. I’ll just power through.”

To your surprise, the whole ordeal turns out to be fun. The song chosen is Lilac by IU, and you love the shades of light purple that adorn your stage outfit. The hosts wish you a happy birthday and bring out flowers after your performance, the audience cheering wildly as they celebrate along with you. It’s a lighthearted atmosphere, so different from the usual pressure of performing, and you can't help but bask in it.

It’s already midnight by the time you arrive back at the dorm. You turn the door handle, slipping off your shoes before you enter the dorm to find it dark. You quietly set your bag down, not wanting to wake your members.

However, when the lights flicker on, Aeri and Marin jump out from behind the couch. “Surprise!” They exclaim, beaming at you as they rush to hug you. “Happy Birthday!”

Marin leads you over to the counter as Aeri lights the candles of the cake you hadn't noticed in the dark. “Make a wish!” Marin squeezes your arm as you close your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you blow out the candles.

“You didn’t have to do this,” your eyes soften as you glance at the decorated cake that they had clearly baked themselves. “Thank you.”

“Anything for our maknae,” Aeri pulls out her phone to snap a photo of you and Marin as you look at the cake. “You deserve it.”

“Still, this is too sweet,” your gaze traces the designs of the frosting before they dart to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Caitlyn’s door is closed at the end of the hallway. It’s silent, as if she’s already asleep.

Marin follows your stare, tensing slightly. “She said she’d talk to you tomorrow,” she tries, though she doesn’t sound too convinced of her own reassurance.

You hate the way your heart sinks to your stomach. You should be used to this by now; why did you hope that things would be different today? “It’s fine,” your voice is tight, as if your words are carefully restrained. “I’m actually pretty tired from Inkigayo, so I think I’ll just go to bed too.”

“Are you sure,” Aeri prompts, her expression contorting into one of worry. “I can see if she’s awake—“

“No, it's fine,” you offer a weak smile. “Thank you for all of this. I’ll eat some cake tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” Marin grips the counter, as if she’s resisting going into Caitlyn’s room just to yell at her. It’s your birthday, how can she ignore it?

You bid your members a final goodnight as you step into your room, closing the door just a little too loudly. Sue you if you’re petty towards Caitlyn. If anything, you hope you woke her up.

You grab a makeup wipe from your desk, lazily wiping off the remnants of your stage makeup. You are, in truth, exhausted. Sleep is calling to you, and your bed seems like a personal heaven. You turn, about to flop on it and close your eyes, when you notice a tiny, black box on your pillow.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Instead of sprawling out, you sit on the edge of the bed and take the box in your hands. But when you remove the lid to glance at the contents, your eyes go wide.

Inside the box, a gold chain is carefully arranged so it doesn’t tangle. A small charm of a golden, crescent moon sits in the center of the chain. Small diamonds are embedded into the charm, glinting in the light. You trace a finger over the ridges of the diamonds, feeling the small weight. They’re real, clearly from some expensive, luxury brand.

You awe at the necklace for a few moments, examining every inch of the beautiful charm. Who gave this to you? The question runs through your mind. It has to be some kind of reference to Moonstruck, but Marin and Aeri would have given this to you when they surprised you, so who—?

Your thoughts are interrupted when you notice a folded piece of paper tucked into the box. When you unfold the note to read what’s written in it, you recognize the handwriting. It’s Caitlyn’s.

Your hands tremble, the paper shaking as you read her words.

My darling,

I want to preface by saying I’m sorry. You were right to call me out. I avoided the problem because I hoped that things would be okay on their own, but instead, I hurt you in ways I never wanted to. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. This isn’t an excuse, but it’s my attempt at explaining things.

I freaked out when we kissed, not because I didn’t want it, but because I wanted it too much. What I felt for you was too strong, and it scared me. I wasn’t scared that someone would find out if we talked about it; I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from kissing you again.

Ever since we were trainees, you’ve been my baby. Even though we argued at first, all I wanted to do was be near you. I’ve always been able to explain everything, but I couldn’t explain the way I was drawn to you. I’ve never felt anything like that before. I just wanted to protect you and care for you in ways that no one else could. So, when we kissed, I didn’t want to risk your career. I was a coward, and again, I’m sorry.

I can’t ask you to forgive me. But I miss you. You’re the closest person to me, and over time, I fell in love with you for the kind, talented, and beautiful woman you are. You’re the person who lights up my life, and I’ll be damned if I lose you to my stupidity. So, I’ll admit my faults and my pride if it means you’ll ever speak to me again.

By the time you read this, I’ll be on the rooftop. Please come, if you’ll find it in your heart to talk.

Happy Birthday, darling.

All my love, Caitlyn

Oh, shit.

Caitlyn loves you.

You had vowed to not forgive her easily, to make her work for your trust again. She had hurt you so much, and that’s not easy to forget. You’ve been so unhappy the past few months, and she had been the cause of it.

But.

Caitlyn is stubborn. She can admit when she’s wrong, but she has undeniable pride. Her career has been her first priority her entire life, even when you were trainees and she told you about her fights with her mother as a teenager. Even in the stories she recounted, she was rebellious, determined to make her own way in the world.

Her ambition takes over all her other desires. You know this. Yet, by admitting that she’s in love with you, she risks all of that.

You can’t forget about what happened. But maybe the two of you don’t have to fix what’s been broken; rather, maybe your relationship can be something entirely new. You almost curse yourself for still having hope, for still holding on to any thread of your wishes to be with Caitlyn.

...

You don’t pause to grab your coat.

You haven’t been on the rooftop since Caitlyn had brought you up here the night before your debut. It looks exactly as you remember it, unchanged in the past two years or so: pots scattered around and fairy lights strung above your head. It’s nice to know that something has stayed the same over time.

Caitlyn sits near the edge, gazing out at the lights of Ionia’s biggest city. The skyline is just as beautiful as the first time you came up here. Why don’t you come up here more often?

Maybe it’s a place you can only go to with Caitlyn.

She hears your footsteps, turning to acknowledge you. “Hey,” she speaks softly, blue eyes less icy than they have been in the past months. They seem more like water now: gentle and almost hesitant.

You sit beside her on the cold concrete, a small distance between you. A precaution. Your tone is just as soft. “Hi.”

Caitlyn clears her throat, shifting a little. “You should have your coat. You’ll catch a cold.”

Ah, of course. She’s still a leader at heart.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?��

“No, no,” Caitlyn hastily assures, turning her body so it faces yours instead of the skyline. “Look, I know I said it in the letter, but I’m really sorry. For everything. And I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but I can’t let you think that I don’t love you just as much.”

You swallow down the emotion that bubbles up inside your throat. “You love me?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn emphasizes. She starts to reach for one of your hands but hesitates, letting her arm fall back to her side. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

“Why—?” You start, faltering before asking your burning question. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Caitlyn shrinks back, almost as if she’s ashamed of herself. “I didn’t know what to do,” she mumbles, glancing down at her nails before her eyes lock with yours again. “I wanted to make things right, and I thought I messed up too badly. But, in the end: I still want you, and I can’t pretend I don’t.”

“Caitlyn—“

“No,” she interrupts, fixing you with a firm gaze. “I want to be with you. You were right, okay? It’s awful not being able to love who I want because we’re idols. We can work around it. I’ll take care of everything. If—If you don’t want this, that’s fine, but—“

It’s your turn to cut her off. This time, with your lips on hers.

You never thought you’d get to kiss her again. And, this time, it’s worlds apart from the first time.

As soon as your lips meet Caitlyn’s, she deflates against you. Her hands come up to cradle your jaw as she had done before, but her mouth moves desperately against yours. Like you could disappear at any moment, like she might wake up to discover this was all a dream.

Her lips are as soft as you remember, and despite her desperation, she’s still just as caring. Her mouth slants against yours for better access as your eyes slip shut, and Caitlyn gently tugs you forward to be closer to you. When a cool breeze passes, her hands move to soothe over the goosebumps on your arms.

“You’re shivering,” she mumbles against her lips, pulling away for a brief moment. You stifle a whine of protest at the loss of contact, and you have to remind yourself that you can be as needy as you want now.

Caitlyn laughs softly as she notices your displeasure. “I told you. You should have worn a coat.”

You open your eyes just to glare at her. “Well someone told me to meet them here after dropping, like, three bombs on me in a letter.”

“Fair enough,” Caitlyn tugs you all the way forward this time until you’re fully in her arms, snuggled against her chest. “I missed my baby,” she mumbles, and an entirely different kind of shiver runs through your body.

“I missed you too,” you exhale, clinging to the warmth of her body. “So, are we, um, together?”

“Do you want to be?” Caitlyn runs a hand through your hair, manicured nails gently scratching at your scalp. “I mean, we’d have to keep it secret, of course, and only Marin and Aeri could know, but—“

“Unnie.” The honorific causes Caitlyn to stop in her tracks as you speak. “Yes, I want to be with you.”

“Oh,” Caitlyn flushes. She’s not an awkward person — always a perfectly, composed leader ready to face any camera. Yet, somehow, when she’s around you, all her composure seems to slip from her grasp. “Um, good. Okay. That’s, uh, that’s good.”

You just laugh, your shoulders shaking from where you’re curled up against her. “You’re so awkward.”

Caitlyn just huffs, unamused. “And you’re a tease,” she grumbles, though the way she rubs soothing circles into your back betrays her true feelings.

“Oh, I’m a tease, huh?”

“Yes.”

You are. In more ways than one, perhaps. But that’s for you to know, and her to find out later in the privacy of her bedroom.

Still, Caitlyn’s gaze turns soft once more as she glances back down at you. She'd always thought of you as her baby, but now you really are. You're hers. “Happy Birthday, darling.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

Present day.

“C’mon!” You slip your hand into Caitlyn’s, tugging her through the backstage area the second she’s done changing. As much as you enjoyed the concert in Piltover, as well as being back home with your girlfriend, you have schedules in Ionia tomorrow. Thus, a flight to catch right after your concert.

“The plane’s not going to leave without us,” Caitlyn complains as you practically drag her to the waiting car where Marin and Aeri are waiting. She sounds so petulant that anyone would think she is the maknae and you are the leader.

“Yeah, but if we don’t hurry up, your mother will find us."

That seems to do it. Caitlyn narrows her eyes at you, annoyed at the possibility of her mother forcing her to stay in Piltover. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

Both of you rush out to the car in your sweatpants, climbing into the empty backseat to sit beside each other. Marin and Aeri pay you no mind as they chatter up ahead, used to the girlfriend antics by now. Normally, the four of you would dress up for the paparazzi airport photos; but after your concert, you’re exhausted.

Fans had been overjoyed to see you and Caitlyn reunite several months ago. Their favorite ship had returned, and the “Cold War," as they had called it, was officially over. You and Caitlyn fell right back into being attached at the hip as if nothing had ever happened.

THEY'RE BACK!!! WE WON!!!

Thank gods the Cold War is over

Aww they love each other sm <3

Hiding in plain sight works really well, as you had discovered.

It’s no different this time. You walk through the airport right next to Caitlyn, your fingers interlaced. You wave to fans, accepting a few gifts with a smile and polite bow before falling into step next to Caitlyn again. It’s as if the two of you are magnets: always coming back together in the end.

“You okay?” Caitlyn murmurs, soothing her thumb across the back of your hand as you walk. She knows that airports can be overwhelming with all the fans and paparazzi gathered to catch a glimpse of their favorite idols, so it’s become a routine for her to check in.

“Yeah,” you glance up at her, a beaming smile adorning your features. “I’m okay.”

By the time you board the plane with Aeri and Marin behind you, you get comfortable in your usual seat next to Caitlyn. Also by routine, you lift the armrest between your seats, nestling against her side.

Caitlyn brushes a few strands of hair away from your eyes. “Ready to go back?”

“As long as you’re with me,” you mumble into her shoulder, hugging her arm to your chest.

“Oh, my darling,” Caitlyn adjusts herself to hold you more comfortably, pulling one of the blankets over the both of you. “It’s you and me until the end.”

And, you reflect as the plane moves to take off, you suppose she's right. No matter what happens, you hope to be at Caitlyn's side for the rest of time.

Always and forever.

Ahhhh it's finally up! I spent many hours writing this fic; it's like my baby.

Thank you to my friend and beta reader @honeywobbling, as well as creators like yameoto and valalice for their AMAZING idol!Caitlyn AUs. I love them sm and wanted to add my own take on idol!Caitlyn :)

Anddd thank you to all my lovelies!! You guys have given me so much love and support, and I'm very thankful for all of you. Please lmk your thoughts (my comments and inbox are open), and look forward to more upcoming Caitlyn fics ♡

~Cherry🍒

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number-fifty-five · 2 days ago

Text

the apartment we won't share | CS55

a carlos sainz x fem!doctor! reader oneshot

summary : inspired by niki's the apartment we won't share, carlos and his partner navigate through their emotions as they part ways — their minds lingering on the things they've done and could have done.

warnings : slightest bit of angst and a sprinkle of hurt

word count : 927

a/n : i actually shed a tear writing this one it hurts so bad...i have a love-hate relationship with it and i wouldn't wish this experience upon my worst enemy. it's a oneshot so, i'll leave you with that ;)

all the best, ellie.

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

the last box sat untouched in the hallway, flaps open like a gaping mouth that still had room to swallow the final pieces of what used to be them.

carlos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her kneel in front of the kitchen cabinet — the cabinet where they used to argue about where mugs should go. she was pulling out the last few plates she claimed were hers, her movements mechanical, almost too quiet, as though sound might make it real. the sound of the plates clinking as she stacked them reverberated throughout the kitchen.

he hated the silence more. it was sharp and deafening. none of them knew which would break first — them, or the plates in her hand.

“you’re taking the white ones?” he asked, voice rough as if he’d been choking it down his throat.

she paused, blinking up at him. her hazel eyes looked tired — not the tired you fix with sleep, but the kind that buries itself in your bones. “yeah,” she answered. “they were mine when we first moved.”

“right,” he nodded. “right.”

the clock ticked like it had been waiting for them to notice the seconds they were wasting. the apartment that once was filled with late-night takeout and her humming while she studied on the couch, with his racing gear tossed in corners and promises whispered between flights — felt cold now. like it had already let go of them before they had let go of each other.

it hadn’t always been this way. there was a time they used to sit cross-legged on the floor, her in his sweater, him still in socks from a flight, planning a life that now would never happen.

they had plans.

“we’ll always have dinner together. no matter what. even if it's just ramen at midnight,” she’d once insisted, and he had pinky-promised it over chinese takeout.

they had a list of countries to visit on the off-season : greece, argentina, new zealand.

they talked about a dog. about moving somewhere quieter after his career. about maybe starting a family someday, when hospital shifts didn’t break her and jet lag didn’t swallow him whole.

none of it came.

instead, there were missed calls. cold food. messages left on read at the worst times. she slept through his races. he didn’t make it back before her night shifts. they became two ghosts in the same apartment.

until the night it cracked wide open.

“you’re never here,” she said, standing in the doorway of their bedroom, arms wrapped around herself. “and when you are, you’re… not with me.”

she never begged. he always promised that it wouldn’t be necessary because he would never give her a reason for it. and yet here she was, her voice breaking in desperation.

carlos exhaled. “i’m trying, joder. you think i don’t miss you too?”

“you missed my birthday, carlos.”

he flinched. “i was stuck in japan. i told you—”

“that’s the point. there’s always something. a race, an appearance, media, flights, engineers — there’s always a reason i'm not worth showing up for. come on, carlos? not even a text? or an attempt to call?”

“that’s not fair.”

she laughed bitterly. “isn’t it? we said we’d make it work.”

“and we did,” he snapped. “for as long as we could.”

silence.

she stared at him then, really looked at him — the man she’d memorized and loved and lost, all in the same body.

“we can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. “this slow dying of something that was once beautiful.”

and the worst part?

he didn’t disagree.

so they packed.

box by box.

memory by memory.

now she taped the final one and stood, brushing her hands on her jeans.

carlos stepped forward, hesitating.

“so… this is it.”

she nodded. “yeah.”

“i don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“then don’t say anything,” she said. “not this time.”

but still, she lingered in the kitchen, her hand on the countertop they once sat at, legs tangled as they talked about cities and calendars and dreams. she looked at him, really looked.

“i hope one day we stop hurting when we think of each other,” she said.

he swallowed hard. “do you think we will?”

she didn’t answer right away.

“i don’t know. i hope so,” she finally said. “but hope is… tricky.”

then she picked up the box, carried it toward the door, and opened it slowly.

she paused, her back to him.

“i don’t hate you, carlos” she said. saying his name felt like a lump in her throat. “i never did.”

his voice came out broken. “i know.”

and with that, she stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

carlos didn’t move. the apartment buzzed with silence. empty shelves. a faint outline of where their photo frame used to hang. a wine stain on the carpet from a clumsy night full of laughter.

gone.

he walked over to check the remaining things they left. his eye caught a beige envelope lying on the shelf. he assumed it was hers — it was too neatly folded to be someone else’s. it seemed as though it was okay for the letter to either be found or not.

with a sigh, he tucked the paper in his back pocket and walked over to the light switch by the door, hand trembling.

he looked around one last time.

then he turned off the lights.

and in the darkness, all that remained were the echoes of everything they didn’t become.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #formula one fanfic #formula one oneshot #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr

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midnight-mourning · 1 day ago

Text

Follow the Leader

i wrote this for fake currency on a discord server, please enjoy

(house fans this is meant to be crack please dont take it seriously thank u love u)

Pairing: House X Wilson

Words: 1598

The door opens with a click, slamming shut behind House as he walks inside. He throws his keys somewhere to the side, maybe landing on the table by the door, maybe the ground. He doesn't care at the moment.

His hair is damp against his forehead, as is the rest of him, clothes clinging to his skin. The sudden downpour ultimately caught him off guard, and already halfway home on his bike, wasn't going to just turn around and go back to the hospital. The last place he needed to be right now was there, even if his team would say otherwise.

He could have pulled over somewhere and waited it out but... okay maybe he didn't have a reason for that one but he was home now.

There's no point in hanging up his jacket, it'll just get water all over the floor, so he dumps it on the ground on his way to the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge he finds—it's empty.

Completely and utterly empty.

He opens a drawer, closes it, opens the freezer, same deal. He has enough cognitive function to know that there was something in here this morning, plus he grabbed Wilson's leftovers for lunch. Meaning, the culprit behind the wasteland of a fridge had to be—the front door clicks open and shuts with a slam—Wilson.

While he would be proud if it was a different day, that's not today, and he'd like to scrap together a sandwich so he can think about this case on a full stomach. But based on how his current roommate stomps through the living room toward him, he might not be so lucky.

He speaks first, turning around with a lean on his cane. "Ready for dinner? We're having ice and,"—he cracks open the freezer again—"The grape popsicle you left behind when you cleaned the fridge."

"I'm not hungry." Wilson states, passing him by to go to the sink.

House pauses. Just for a moment though. Again, he turns. Wilson is washing his hands, unfocused, irritated. He's going to add to that to make it even.

"Bummer. I am." A couple steps closer. "Where'd you put everything? Under the bed, stuffed in the closet, hope you put it on ice because otherwise you wasted your own money—"

Wilson slams his hands on the sink edge. "Dammit House not now!" He shouts, breathing heavy, sink still running.

House's brows shoot up, just for a tick.

"Well, I can see you're not in the mood to share so I guess it's take out."

"God you can't even take a break for one second." Wilson scoffs. "Bad enough with the quips, had to take it a step further and stab holes into my umbrella."

House moves over to the wall phone by the doorway. "Thought we were only going to have a light sprinkle."

"And, and stapling my tie to the desk." Growing agitation.

House tsks. "Shouldn't have been sleeping on the job."

"And eating my leftovers!"

He makes it to the phone, spinning around. House opens his mouth, then shuts it. "Eh, they weren't that good anyway. I did you a favor." He picks up the phone, starting to dial the chinese restaurant. "What kind of dumplings you want?"

The receiver is ripped from his hands and slammed back into the base. He flinches, though only slightly.

Wilson stands in front of him, hand still on the wall.

"I thought we weren't doing this now." House questions, staring the other man right in the eye. If Wilson's trying to intimidate him, it's not working. If he's trying to piss him off, he might be onto something.

Wilson sighs, House can feel it on his skin. His housemate folds, looking down, dejected.

"I... saw them. Together. Just... out in the open. Happy, not a care in the entire world." Wilson chuckles. "Eating lunch and chatting without a single worry on either of their faces. It was like I-like I meant absolutely nothing to her. Nothing at all."

House bites his cheek. There's something he wants to say, something he should say if was a good friend.

But he's not feeling like being a good friend right now.

"Well, yeah, she had the affair for a reason." It's harsh, he knows. More than harsh it's just downright cruel. He regrets it the moment the words slip off his tongue, and Wilson solidifies that regret with a shove.

Caught off guard, House stumbles and falls back onto the ground.

Immediately the other man is remorseful of his actions. "House, I-I'm sorry I didn't—"

House rebuttals by taking his cane and jabbing it against Wilson's ankle. He yelps, grabbing at it while House pulls himself back up into a stand. Before Wilson can do anything, House lunges at him, pushing him back into the countertop.

From there it's back and forth, struggling and shoving and cursing each other while trying to get the upper hand. Win the battle of a lost war, so to say. They bang up against the kitchen island, causing the two of them to separate finally.

Both gasp for air as they stand partly hunched, leaning on the island for support. Wilson wipes his mouth, lip busted. House can feel a tingling on his ear. Reaching a hand up it comes back bloody.

He looks back up to Wilson, who's wheezing slightly now. He goes back at him again.

Wilson startles, and attempts to defend himself, arms up. He's able to shove him off and reaches for his long abandoned cane. House tries again and Wilson takes the cane, and cracks it down onto its owner's head, breaking the already damaged stick—once again—into two pieces.

If it hurts him, House doesn't show it. Instead, he stops his pursuit, just staring at his roommate now. Wilson drops the cane, it clatters to the ground. Twisting slightly, he spits blood into the sink.

Glancing back, he sees House staring up at the ceiling, dazed, hands planted on the island on either side of him. Finally shut up, finally quiet, for once.

"Tough crowd tonight."

That's enough to set Wilson off again. He takes the step to close the gap between them, grabs House's face with one hand, and slams his lips into his own. He can feel the surprise, the tension, in his body, but Wilson doesn't care right now. That's the one thing he doesn't want to do, is care.

Care about House's stupid pranks making his bad day worse. Care about how his ex is so happy without him. Care about how his life is in the gutter and how some of that in part is because of the man in front of him, but most of it, most of it is his own fault.

Even if everyone will tell him it's out of his control, that he can't do anything about other's actions, others mistakes. It won't change the fact that he let it happen. Won't change the fact that that's all he ever does is stand by and watch things happen.

He pulls away, meeting House's gaze. The way the blood trickles down his neck, the—already—slight swollenness of his lips. He's panting, they both are.

A bystander in his own damn life, Wilson is.

But not right now.

Before any protest can occur, his lips are back on House's. He keeps control with it. Breaking for air when he wants it, pressing as hard and as rough as he wants to. House fights him on it every step of the way, and doesn't let him get by with everything. But, Wilson calls the shots. He leads.

He doesn't like the angle they're at, so he changes it. Hands gripping House's wrist to spin them both around and now really truly pressing his body up against the other man and against the edge of the sink. Wilson thinks he feels him wince, he deduces it serves him right.

The rain beats down against the pane, thunder booming outside as for the first time in some time, there's nothing going on in either man's mind.

No work, no ongoing cases, no tragic patient diagnoses. No ex wives or pesky teams. It's just this moment.

It's just them.

The loud crinkling of the takeout bag pulls Wilson out of the memory. He hisses, reminded of his busted lip and busted body. He lifts the half melted popsicle from his cheek as House tosses a box into his lap.

He sits down again and tears open part of his own meal. "Gave them twenty percent because they remembered extra pancakes. Took it from your wallet, hope you don't mind."

"I do mind, actually." Wilson sits up fully, setting the popsicle aside. "You said you were going to pay."

House speaks mid bite. "Pay for the food, not the tip. That's on you." He digs in for another forkful. "Only fair since I'm in the market for a new cane, thanks to you."

"I-that doesn't-" Wilson stops, sighing. He reaches under the coffee table, pulling out two beers from the cooler. "Fine. Suppose you'd have another excuse at the ready anyway." He mutters.

House takes both beers from him, cracking them one after the other before handing one back to his couch partner. "I've got at least five if you want to hear them."

"Maybe later, turn it up. Can't hear a thing."

House scoffs, but obliges.

They sit in relative silence for some time, eating and drinking with little to say.

"Should probably restock the fridge. Beer's just on the borderline of being unpleasant."

"Let me eat first."

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #hilson #house x wilson #crack fic #this sure is something #my usuals dont look at me #house fans...#percieve me if you must #cw suggestive #slightly

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idiopath-fic-smile · 3 days ago

Note

[more leverage ot3, as a way of saying thank you for supporting my audio drama pilot Kickstarter, which is at like 98%(?!?) thank you!]

They had a busy morning laying the foundation for some future capers, and Elliott's headache evaporated in the face of several hours' good, hard work—and okay, maybe there was a possibility the painkillers had helped too. What was this, an interrogation?

Elliott was posing as a tech bro asshole for a big operation next week against a billionaire with an above-average vetting process, and that meant laying down a convincing online presence—not just a LinkedIn page but a personal website, full socials, and even a Yelp account. Most of that shit Hardison could do in his sleep, but for reasons surpassing fucking understanding, Hardison was insisting on taking new photos.

"What does it matter," said Elliott through gritted teeth. "You've already got what you need to photoshop me building the goddamn rocket myself if you want."

"Yeah, but these days, everyone's pics are messed with," Hardison shot back. "Filters, bogus backgrounds, the haunted fever dream of Frankensteining other peoples' stolen IP we call AI—"

"Not a single evil robot in sight," Parker confirmed. "I was promised evil robots."

"By who?" said Elliott. "And why?"

"The same reason Kasparov played Deep Blue," said Hardison with a shrug. "Anyway, verisimilitude is the word of the day. How do we make your fake profile stand out? Easy, we don't fake it." He held up his camera. "Now. Show me your good side."

Instinctively, Elliott turned to the right.

"No, this is his good side," said Parker, who surely had better things to do than hanging out to Elliott's left, munching on snack mix and occasionally glancing at the building's schematics.

Hardison swooped back and forth with the camera. Click click click. "Man," he muttered, "it is just not fair that someone as grumpy as you has two good sides. Think I need to speak with God's manager."

Elliott smiled with his eyes, just to be obnoxious.

"What do you wanna do for lunch?" Parker asked around noon. They were on the couch—Hardison on one end, Elliott on the other, Parker stretched out between them with her feet almost in Elliott's lap. She was still eyeing the schematics, but her eyebrows had returned to their standard position, suggesting she had found several ways in and just needed to pick one.

Her toes were a little gnarled, like a dancer's toes were gnarled. Elliott had once dated a prima ballerina; foot rubs had been the currency of their relationship. He did not have a thing for feet but the arch of Parker's instep was right there, and it looked tense. He imagined coaxing away the tightness, her involuntary little sigh as the muscles relaxed under his hands.

Elliott looked away. Looked back at Hardison, who was smiling as if he'd managed to hack Elliott's mind, too, and didn't at all mind what he saw there.

"What makes you think I'm free?" said Elliott, with more bite than he intended. "It's been hours. Could've made plans."

"But did you?" said Hardison annoyingly.

"We could cook omelettes again," Parker offered, which took a lot of nerve given that her whole damn involvement last time had been retrieving and then juggling the eggshells. Elliott had rarely seen her so light-hearted.

Hardison smiled again, slow and genuine. "Wouldn't mind revisiting that morning," he said, which made Parker sit up and grin, and it was so—it was—Elliott might as well have stared directly at the sun. Heat and brightness and the promise of never seeing clearly again.

Elliott stood and dug in his jacket for his keys. "Back in an hour," he said. "Eat without me."

All the way down to the ground floor, he reminded himself why it was a bad idea to sleep with Parker and Hardison. Of course, it was a bad idea to have already done it, but Elliott was too goddamn late on that count.

Because one night a month ago, when Elliott had been about to leave, Parker had laid a hand on his arm, light as a pickpocket, and Hardison had said, "You don't have to. Go, I mean," without a trace of smugness—without any proximity to a punch line—and Elliott had thought: okay. Apparently, Parker and Hardison's bedroom life was in an experimental phase, and the upshot was that Elliott would finally have a chance to get it out of his system.

All of it, and there was a lot of "all" by that point.

Elliott had been doing just fine not knowing how either of them looked or sounded when they came, not knowing that Parker was exactly that athletic and determined in bed, not knowing that Hardison was surprisingly generous, not knowing that both of them were capable of looking at him like they'd won some kind of damn prize—

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Obviously, he needed to rise above the needling bullshit, the we know you don't have anything else going on that was apparently hilarious to them both. What the fuck else did they want from him, at this point? Couldn't it be enough that he was willing to take a hit for both of them? Did anyone really need to ask why?

The door swung open. Elliott stepped out into the sunshine, keys in hand. He'd parked two blocks away. He was just looking over at his car when, with no warning at all, it exploded.

For the wnip meme if you're still taking them - no idea if you've seen Leverage (and no worries if not, of course), but I'd live for your Ready For Love / IDOAG-style take on the Leverage OT3, no matter the plot. The snark! The noodle incidents! The yearning potential always inherent in established-het-couple-plus-life-partner! It would be great.

oh my gosh, this is an amazing prompt and i love leverage!!! my first thought was that it would actually be very funny to put Elliott in a close-to-identical spot as Cosmo in Ready For Love, and then, uh. this happened:

The irritating thing about Hardison and Parker—

Well, there were plenty of irritating things about Hardison, too many to name, and at least two about Parker. Hers were the way she ate when she was feeding herself (Elliott still wasn’t over the time he’d walked in on her sprinkling Frosted Flakes onto a piece of pizza. “What?” she’d said. “It’s fortified with vitamins and minerals”) and the way she threw herself into danger even when Elliott was right there to take the hit. But the most annoying thing about them as a couple was that they had no shame, about anything.

“Anniversary cruise next month,” Hardison announced when Elliott slunk into headquarters on Monday morning, nursing a headache he’d been assured was not a concussion. “You coming?”

“I—am I coming,” Elliott repeated. “To your anniversary cruise?”

“Of course he is,” said Parker, dropping upside down out of the ceiling. “We already hacked into his calendar, he’s free.”

Elliott pinched the bridge of his nose, temples pounding. There were many, many things he could’ve said just then, chief among them “Seriously, again?” or “What is your goddamn addiction to having a third wheel around?” or “Do you two get off on being fucking pined at?” or even just a classic “Dammit, Hardison.” For reasons that surpassed his own goddamn understanding, what he said was,

“Next month’s not your anniversary.”

Parker flipped and landed soundlessly on her feet. “Yes it is,” she said. “September 16.”

“No,” said Elliott, with way more patience than they deserved, “y’all got together in August. August 28th.”

Hardison blinked. “Dude, you memorized our anniversary?”

Shit. Elliott could’ve hit himself. He had no cover, for knowing something like that. No real explanation, except for how closely he watched them.

“Well, you weren’t gonna do it!” Elliott blustered.

“Hey now,” said Hardison, “I think—I think I resent that. How could you believe I’d forget one of the most important days of my life?”

“Because you just did!” snapped Elliott.

Parker appeared at Elliott’s side (literally appeared; he hadn’t tracked the approach at all) with a bottle of painkillers, which she shook meaningfully.

“What?” said Elliott.

“I think she means ‘for the headache you’re suffering through for no good damn reason,’” Hardison suggested.

“Taking too many isn’t good for you,” said Elliott.

“Pain also isn’t good for you,” said Parker, and wasn’t that the truth?

“Oh, for god’s sake, gimme that,” said Elliott, pouring out two pills and swallowing them dry.

Hardison shook his head. “Why do you even have to be macho about how you take your Tylenol?”

“At any rate, we’re booking tickets for September,” Parker reported. “Three tickets, unless you’re busy. Which you’re not.”

“Because I’m coming on your anniversary cruise,” said Elliott disbelievingly.

“There, I think he’s catching on!” said Hardison. He and Parker high-fived.

See? Fucking irritating.

#leverage ot3

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livingdeadmlm · 1 day ago

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you know those young ladies who bath Arthur in the game, when you go to a hotel/saloon and pay to use their bath tub? male reader assuming that position for X reasons, Morgan being freaked out in a positive way that another guy (younger than him, but obviously +22) is going to touch his naked body, then reader ends up consensually giving Arthur the best hand job he has had in his whole life…

had a dream exactly like this and I don’t think I’ll forget it anytime soon. had to share it with someone mb

So real for having a dream like this anon I had a dream of Javier a bit ago and I’m thinking about writing it but it was a while ago 💔 I was a tailor working on some clothes he came in laid it on heavy and things got crazy on a vanity idk! But here we go lol!!

You worked only the night shifts, spending your hours in a dimly lit side room with the other bathswomen. It was a space filled with smoke and laughter as you all exchanged stories and idle chatter to pass the time.

Most nights were average, with only two men coming through, making the hours feel long and unproductive. Fridays, however, brought a welcome surge of activity; on the best nights, you had as many as ten men coming in.

But tonight was Wednesday, and the air felt heavy as everyone waited. The clock ticked steadily when, finally, the hotelier knocked on the door

“There’s a gentleman in room two. Get to him soon!” The women groaned; room two was code for wanting a Bathman instead of a woman.

You rolled up your sleeves and undid the first few buttons of the shirt. There were a few “ooos” and giggles as you stepped out into the hallway. The shirt was pretty fancy, made of a silky material that hung just loose enough around your frame to fall forward when you leaned down.

You looked at yourself in the foggy metal plate of the door. You knocked twice. “Do you need any help in there?” There was a moment of silence before the man said, “Sure, why not?”

The room was warm and steamy. You stepped over the abandoned clothes on the ground. The man's head was resting against the tub, his eyes shut.

‘He’s very handsome,’ you thought as you perched on the tub and began to wash his hair. The suds from the soap slid down the sides of his head.

“What’s a big man like you doing out here so late?” The lather of the soup was thick, the man seemed to enjoy the work of your hands, and his head leaned back completely. “Just ran into some bad luck recently. Needed to take a night for myself.”

You rinsed the soap off and adjusted your seating to be more comfortable. “It’s real good to treat yourself.”

Your hand slowly traveled down to his broad shoulders, massaging the muscles as the man sighed and opened his eyes. There was a shocked look on his face when he finally looked at you and spoke, “Yer a man?”

You could feel your heart sink. Had somehow a man managed to accidentally say the code word and wind up with a man? “I am… I’m sorry. I’ll leave and get you one of the girls instead.” Your voice was shaky; you were fearful of the potential anger this man could be feeling by being touched by a man.

You tried to stand quickly, to get out of the steamy room as soon as you could. But his hand caught your wrist. “Hey, now I didn’t say I was upset, just,” he waved his hands, “surprised.” You nodded slowly and sat back down.

Beginning to wash his arm, he sank more into the water.

“I didn’t know men had these jobs.” He was back to his usual talking tone, and you relaxed and chuckled, rinsing off the soap bubbles.

“Men have always been working these places, mister.” You reached across his chest, trying to ignore just how much you wanted to stare at the way his skin was glowing. “Just the first time you’ve seen us.”

The man hummed and sighed, “I think I’m liking the fellers more, you’re using the right amount of pressure.” Massaging the knots in his back would take you a lifetime, but you hesitated on his legs, favoring to clean his neck and chest before going lower.

“Course I use pressure, not like you’re exactly, fragile, mister.” This was a big mistake, running your hands across his chest, his pecs were well-formed but soft under your fingers. How distracting.

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

You lightly squeezed his chest, “It’s not like you’re exactly made of porcelain, Mister Morgan.” He laughed, an excellent sound as he kept eye contact with you.

“You touch all the men like this?” The water splashed slightly around him, “just the handsome ones.” You grinned and poured warm water across his chest.

“If I ask for more, is that extra?” Your heart stuttered. You really weren’t supposed to, but the hotelier said what happens behind the doors doesn’t concern him unless you’re hurt. And the only thing that hurt now was passing up the offer of getting to see a handsome man come undone.

“For you, Arthur, it’ll be on the house.” You whispered as your hand dipped into the water, slowly trailing his stomach as his breathing picked up.

You felt the weight of his hard dick, taking it into your hand and feeling his stomach tightened at the contact.

“Yer—hands, they’re real—real-soft,” Arthur groaned, a faint shiver of pleasure escaping him as his lips trembled when you settled into a steady rhythm.

The gentle lap of the water around your arm created a soothing white noise, softly enveloping the room and partially muffling Arthur’s sounds.

“Thank you, mister,” you replied, your voice steady and warm. As you focused on the task at hand, you couldn't help but notice the way the light danced across his face. The way his chest glistened thanks to the water.

You chewed on your bottom lip as Arthur's head lolled back. His eyes screwed shut as your thumb gently circled his tip. “You’re real handsome, Arthur.” Your voice blends seamlessly with the tranquil ambiance. It made Arthur's mind melt, getting so much attention from a younger man, no less, was more pleasurable than he’d ever fully admit.

But it was evident to you as his hips lifted in tandem with your strokes.

Arthur let out a soft, broken chuckle, his voice thick with both surprise and delight. “You’re gonna kill me talkin’ like that,” he murmured, words nearly lost in the wet hush of the bathwater and the low creak of the tub. On one hand, calloused from years of rough work like most men who'd wandered in here, reached out, unsure for a moment before resting lightly on your arm, his touch reverent, grateful.

“I ain’t tryin’ to kill you,” you said with a small smile, thumb brushing gently the prominent vein on his dick making his whole body jolt. “Just makin’ sure you feel good. You deserve that.”

His breath hitched again your words went straight to his cock you effortlessly took care of, but it wasn’t just the physical contact that unraveled him—it was the kindness. A quiet sort of intimacy he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now.

“Don’t reckon anyone’s said that to me in a long time,” he admitted, moans interrupting his sentence, eyes flickering open, soft and unsure as they found yours.

You leaned in a little, your face close, your voice even softer. “Well, they should’ve. I see you, Arthur. And I like what I see.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Then, with a drawn out quiet grunt, he came with a weak thrust into your grip. He pulled you just a bit, forehead resting against yours. The warmth of the bath water surrounded him like a thick blanket, but the heat between you that left him breathless.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he whispered. “Reckon I’m lucky tonight.”

Your hand lightly trailed back up his chest, groping his supple skin along the way. You could feel his heartbeat through his hot skin; the rhythm was steady and hard.

“Mmm, long as I’m here, you're lucky as often as you'd like, cowboy.” You kissed his cheek, and the stubble on his face poked your lips.

His hand didn't quite let go as you walked away with a sway to your hip. He'd almost follow you out of the bath if he didn't need to dry off and redress.

Stepping into the hallway, you gasped for air. You needed some fresh air urgently.

Speeding outside the hotel, your manager asked where you were going.

“Handsome men are so suffocating!” All he did was wave you off with a sigh as you stepped out.

You were almost painfully hard as you took a drag of your cigarette. Arthur Morgan. You'd have to remember that name.

He was the first man in a long time to make you feel like this.

To make you feel so eager to please, almost making you forget this job is all for money.

Shit

The money.

#male reader #m!reader #x male reader #red dead redemption x male reader #arthur morgan x male reader

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lucy-literates · 16 hours ago

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I have a request for Arthur pls! ❤️

Arthur ends up at some sponsor/charity event that Charles can’t make so begs him to go instead. He doesn’t really want to be there and is hovering in the corner trying to avoid people dragging him over to be introduced to corporate people he “simply must meet”. There’s a crash and he looks over to realise the waitress has dropped a tray and everything on it has fallen on the floor. He rushes over to help and when she looks at him and gives him a small smile he’s absolutely smitten. But before he can get a name or a number, her boss comes over and yells at her. And then, he is pulled away. The only way he can think to see her again is to throw some random party/event, find out what catering company was used and book them. Obviously his brothers take the absolute piss when he can’t tell them a reason for the party but begs them to help…

I love happy endings so pls end it with maybe nervous, stuttering Arthur asking her out. Or a kiss.

Sorry if this is too much detail! I love your writing so will be happy with whatever you write, even if your creativity takes it in a different direction 🥰 thank you legend!!

Unexpected

A/N: thank you so much for the request, I love the whole butterfly effect of it. I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it, and that I’ve done your request justice. Thank you for all your support!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Charles was always invited to galas, charity’s, and party’s and he always went. That was, until he came down with a horrendous stomach bug over the off season. He was supposed to attend an animal shelter sponsor event, and had to find a replacement, fast. Someone with the Leclerc name, who was also in the spotlight. So who else would he ask but Arthur.

Arthur was on his sim when Charles snuck into his room, sat on his bed, and watch Arthur play. Charles had a think blanket encasing him, a hand full of clean tissues, and was almost green.

After Arthur finished his sim race, Charles cleared his through to gain attention. Arthur turned around, eyes perched in a curious state.

“I need a favour” Charles croaked, and explained his situation. Arthur had no other choice but to say yes.

As the limo came to pick him up, Charles thank him another couple times, like he already hadn’t thanked him thousands of times before that. Arthur slid into the car and it sped off.

Upon arriving at the event, he was determined to stand in the corner with a flute of bubbly and just watch as people interacted. He saw a man with grey hair, an expensive suit and watch to match, make out who he was and started on a confident path towards him.

Right before he spoke, a loud crash erupted behind the man. Arthur looked around him to find you, in your waitressing outfit, absolutely terrified. He raced over and knelt down with you, helping to stack the devilled eggs back on the tray, luckily they don’t make too much of a mess when dropped.

He made eye contact with you and offered a small smile, his heart Linder in his ears and his hands became clammy. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful, so engaging, and so utterly true to themselves.

He was about to ask for your name when a grumpy man, red in the face, and came out and scolded you in front of all the high end people at the event. He picked you up by your arm and dragged you back to the kitchen.

Arthur kept an eye out for you for the rest of the night, but to his dismay, he never saw you again.

He thought about you for the next week, he couldn’t get your piercing eyes and embarrassed smile out of his head. He’d never felt what love was like but this must have been it, nothing else could explain the feeling.

He looked up the event, found the catering company, and searched for an employee log. There wasn’t one.

He kept brainstorm idea for how he could meet you again but, without a name or number, it felt impossible. Until, he thought, what if he threw a party and hired the catering company? Would it work?

It took him a full 3 days of planning. He booked a venue, catering of course, decorations, even a list of guests to invite.

One problem. What was the party for?

There were no birthdays coming up, no reasons to celebrate. So he decided to launch his own charity. A charity for sick children, those who were stuck in hospitals over important times.

He set up the website, and donated 1.5mil to get it off the ground.

He drafted up the invites, included the charity, its cause, and the logo he had drawn on a Google document.

The date was set, in 1 week he would see you again. He hoped.

The party kicked off without a hitch. The music was flowing, people dancing, friends and family came up to him and congratulated him on his charity. Charles kept pestering him about what the part what really for. Everything was as usual.

Arthur kept sharp eyes around the wait staff, trying to find you again. However, you found him first.

He felt a tray collide into his back, only to turn around and find that same embarrassed shock on your face. He knelt down to help you pick up the hors d’oeuvres, not at all concerned about whatever food landed on his suit.

He saw the red faced chef come out again but this time, Arthur held his hand up to the man and told him to leave, that it would be taken care of by him.

He led you to a quiet room with an attached bathroom stocked with towels. He took his jacket off and dampened a cloth, starting to scrub the stain.

“I am so so sorry sir” you meekly called out from a chair Arthur had you sit down in. He stayed silent.

He hung his jacket on the doorknob and walked over the you, kneeling in front of you.

“I’ve been looking for you” he admitted in his heavy, Monegasque accent. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do” you replied “Arthur Leclerc, brother to Charles and the development driver for Ferrari”

“Ah, you have good knowledge of who I am” he amused.

“I get nervous when I see you, I shake and it makes me drop things. I have tried to quick this god awful job but head chef won’t approve it” you told him

“That sounds awful” he admitted “but I am also glad you did not quick before today. I think I can help you with your problem” he said confidently

This confused you “how?”

“Come with me” Arthur took you jeans and led you to the kitchen where the head chef was barking orders, just watching his staff cook but doing none of it himself.

“Sir” Arthur started, but the chef cut him off “I am very sorry for this incompetent girl” the chef turned towards you “how fucking hard can it been to carry a bloody plate”

“That’s what I am talking to you about” Arthur raised his voice, just to get the attention “she won’t be working for you anymore-”

“-she must! I am understaffed, I-”

“-Then maybe you should treat your staff better” Arthur pulled at your apron string, and pulled it off impressively fast. He threw it at the feet of the head chef, took your hand, and walked out with your trailing behind him.

“Thank you Arthur, but you should’ve have done that. I already didn’t make enough to pay for my apartment, now I have to find a new job” you started panicking.

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to work another day in your life. I can send you money to pay for your apartment, and groceries, clothes, whatever you need.” He told you

“I can’t accept that, it’s too much. I barely know you” you began to argue.

Arthur was filled with a sense on confidence, he knew a stutter would slip out soon. That feeling went away with his surge of love induced confidence.

“Then let me take you on a date, show you who I am. I fell in love with you when we first met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you” he professed.

You raised to your tip toes and pecked his lips, “I feel the same way, I just didn’t know how to find you” you tell him. His heart swelled at your confession.

“And a date sounds perfect”

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #f2 #lucyliterates

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lilianade-comics · 22 hours ago

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I am LOVING your AU! I was just wondering... Do you plan on having Valerie show up more often in your season 3 rewrite? Because I just rewatched season 3 (while shredding SO much paper, so I wasn't exactly listening to it very much lol) and I realized that Valerie hardly shows up in season 3 at all! And it's another reason for why season 3 is so deeply frustrating! We hardly got to see Vlad and Valerie interact, even though Vlad is Valerie's patron and the entire reason she can ghost hunt in the first place! D-Stablized offers some interesting ideas, but there are too many of them tackled at once and none of them are given the proper time they need to breathe! Nor do they get as much set-up as these ideas deserved! Valerie being a sort of personal bounty hunter for Vlad? Interesting! Valerie meeting Dani and coming to want to protect her? Fantastic! Valerie having the motivation of wanting to protect humans from being harmed by ghosts, even if that means destroying said ghosts, and not just wanting personal, petty revenge? Could be an interesting direction for her character to grow in! Valerie learning Vlad's secret, but not Danny's? FANTASTIC idea, ESPECIALLY if we get to see Vlad and Valerie's relationship develop and grow! Season 3 just doesn't know how to execute it in a genuinely good way... Valerie was done dirty! Almost as dirty as Dani! Obviously not quite as dirty as Dani, but still! Would love to see both of them get the spotlight they deserved >.<

No worries if you don't end up having Valerie very much in your season 3 fix-it though! These ladies just deserve SO much better than what they got! I'm glad that someone's giving Dani the justice she deserves!!!

The answer is yes but also no on the topic of Valerie inclusion! I would LOVE to be able to say I've fleshed out a substantial role for her to play in this rewrite, but in truth it's been like trying to fit a Valerie shaped peg into the cheese melt shaped hole in my brain. However! That's not to say I haven't thought about her at all.

This rewrite has a few entirely original episodes to it, one of which is a Dani + Valerie team up episode. (Vlad brings the girls together to form a team for some sort of underhanded purpose.) Valerie reluctantly agrees to work with "Ellie Phantom" but she obviously can't stand the idea. Dani is her usual chipper self and is trying very hard to get Valerie to like her. They're like a good cop/bad cop dynamic that gets complicated when Danny inevitably gets involved.

Valerie and Dani both will appear in this AU's version of Girl's Night Out, because it's utterly ridiculous that Valerie wasn't in the canon version. Both girls' fathers have been snapped away by Kitty, Spectra, and Ember, (and I might throw Desiree and Dorathea in too so everyone has someone to fight) so they're both eager to help bring all the boys back.

That's all I can confirm about Valerie at this point. I've kicked around some other muddled thoughts about her in this AU, mostly about how to handle the only canon plot beats season 3 gave her, but I've been more preoccupied with Dani, Danny, and Vlad. She'll probably end up with more to do! I just can't say what yet.

#danny phantom #valerie gray #text #asks

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fleurstruck · 19 hours ago

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morning glory

pairing: mingyu x gender neutral reader

tags: fluff, domestic, forced proximity, roommates au, office au

requested: yes

this wasn't exactly an ideal situation to be in. your home had run into some issues with the pipes and the landlord was getting it fixed but you had to move out for a couple of weeks. you took your necessities, packed them in a dusty duffle bag you swore you'd use for gym one day, and moved out for the time being. you didn't really know where to stay either, dreading to move into an inn because that's already more money spent than you could afford this month.

thankfully, your work friend (and honestly, a little bit of a work crush but nothing's gonna happen with it ever!) had offered the extra room in his apartment to you. mingyu had reasoned well; it would be easier to get to the office, you wouldn't have to stay in a strange place, you both knew each other well enough so you two aren't strangers. you couldn't be grateful enough to have a roof over your head, so the next morning, when all the exhaustion of packing had left your body, you got up early to cook the both of you breakfast before he drives the two of you to work.

you set to work in the kitchen, rummaging around to cook some pancakes for the two of you. you knew mingyu was a better cook than you, judging from all the fancy spices stored in a rack and all the bottles of whatever it is kept neatly in the cupboards, but you still wanted to try. humming away, you whisked the last of the batter. the pan was already heating up and the grumbling of your stomach tells you you can barely wait any longer for breakfast. pouring it carefully, the sizzle of the batter touching the pan somehow brings you joy.

as you finish up cooking through the last of the bowl, the coffee machine going off, you hear heavy footsteps padding your way. "good morning, gyu!" your cheery voice reaches mingyu's ears, the delectable scent of buttery pancakes and coffee wafting throughout the apartment waking him up.

you plate up the last of the pancakes, turning off the stove and turning around to set them on the table when your eyes widen in surprise. oh! he's…

so, you learned something new about mingyu. which is that… he sleeps without a shirt on. and you know that now, as he stands shirtless before you– oh my god, you knew he was attractive but you didn't know the dress shirt and tie combo he wears every day for work hid all of that underneath it. blood rushes to your cheeks, pink blooming across your skin, unable to take your eyes away from the sight in front of you. you should really look away now. like now. you're still unable to look away. mingyu sleepily rubs away any sleep from his eyes, spotting the way you freeze with the plate of pancakes in hand.

"oh, g'mornin'," he slurs, sleep still laced in his voice.

"morning!" you repeat, voice squeaking on the last syllable. get a hold of yourself! "i made us some pancakes for breakfast. hungry?" you finally manage to tear your eyes away, busying yourself with setting up the table and trying really hard to not look at your current roommate.

"mm, very." the deep voice does nothing to quell the butterflies in your stomach– why are there butterflies?! "i'll wash up first and i'll join you."

mingyu walks away, leaving you alone at the table with your thoughts, and the butterflies, can't forget about them. so, yeah, this really wasn't an ideal situation. so, maybe you didn't think it through when he first offered because his toothy little grin was entrancing you, maybe you were a little distracted by the panic and the way his genuine concern and offer warmed your heart, and maybe it actually is a little more than a work crush at this point. but it's a little too late to back out when your bathroom products were already in the guest bathroom and you've got no one else to turn to that lives even remotely as close as mingyu's apartment is.

yeah! definitely! mingyu comes back, disrupting you from your train of thought, thankfully with a shirt on this time. he smells like the aftershave you've caught a whiff of a couple of times when he leans over to check the data on your laptop. your heart skips a couple of beats as he flashes that toothy grin at you, sleep all washed away.

"thank you for the food!" he says, and suddenly all your worries wash away too.

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axkirak · 1 day ago

Text

Old Dog

(𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

Fandom : Arcane (TV Series)

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, huge age gap(reader is 20 and Silco is around 44-45), a bit of manipulate, a lot of teasing, fingering, p in v, dub-con, drunk sex, also save sex (Educated women are smart. So use condoms and don’t go raw.)

tags : porn with plot, It's set after season 1 but before season 2, reader’s lowkey like Viktor (didn’t mean to, just noticed after I finished it lol), canon compliant, heartbroken reader, drunkenness, a lot of smoking, sexual tension, flirting, hook up, one night stands (english isn't my first language)

Summary: You’re a Zaunite who got a scholarship to University of Piltover. You wanted to escape this messed-up city for a better life, but Piltover wasn’t what you expected. You got looked down on and a Piltovan guy broke your heart

So you went back home, crying and drinking alone at The Last Drop, before a random middle-aged stranger showed up and everything changed

A/N : I’m kinda late to the party (just finished Arcane). I meant to write a short Silco fic, but it ended up being 7k smut instead lol. I got inspired by ROSÉ’s song Messy when writing this fic. Gotta give her some credit for it.

I’m also thinking of doing a longfic for him (Peaky Blinders AU). No idea if anyone’s into it, so lmk and I’ll start.

Everyone knows Zaun is beyond saving.

The air is toxic, the water contaminated, and crime runs rampant. Drug outbreaks are common, and junkies linger in alleyways. Danger hides around every corner in this city, which is rotting from the inside out, waiting for the day it collapses.

The only question is whether you'll collapse with it or find a way out.

Of course, you chose the second option.

Not many people from Zaun are fortunate enough to rise above and make their way to the Upper City, and you happen to be one of the fortunate few. It wasn’t luck that brought you here. It was your sharp intellect and your relentless hunger for knowledge that pushed you far beyond what anyone had expected. You clawed your way out of the depths of Zaun and earned a place as a promising scholarship student at the prestigious University of Piltover, a place most Zaunites could only dream of.

After your mother passed away from lung cancer(caused by the toxic air in Zaun), you had no reason to stay in that godforsaken city. Once your scholarship was secured, you left Zaun for good. You moved to Piltover and began dreaming of a life of comfort and luxury like the Topsiders. You were convinced your future would be bright.

You pictured yourself graduating with top honors, inventing something groundbreaking that would stun the world. Maybe, just maybe, you'd catch the eye of a wealthy patron willing to fund your work and change your life forever. You imagined recognition, success, and a life far removed from the misery you'd left behind.

But reality rarely follows the script of your dreams.

During your time in Piltover, you painfully realized that you would never truly belong to this society. The other students kept their distance, quietly judging you for being from Zaun. Every time you ranked first in exams, their resentment only grew stronger.

There was no direct bullying, but most chose to ignore you. Their silence made it clear that you weren’t accepted. A few spoke to you like a normal person, yet even they remained distant. None of them ever felt like a real friend to you.

The dreams you had once painted began to crack and slowly crumble. You felt empty, melancholic, and drained in the midst of this large, bustling city, the very city you had once believed to be the city of your dreams, only to realize it was more of a nightmare.

But you knew you couldn’t turn back, so you had no choice but to keep pushing forward at the university where you constantly felt like an outsider. You tried everything you could to gain even a small sense of belonging. You made yourself more approachable, reached out to others, and even downloaded a dating app just to have someone to talk to.

And it worked.

You met a guy who was a fellow classmate. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wasn’t unattractive either. He seemed kind and easy to talk to, so you decided to give it a shot. You started seeing each other, going on what passed for dates, usually study sessions in the library or working on assignments together, with you often helping by doing most of his work (since your boyfriend wasn’t as good at studying as you were)

It was one of the happiest times in your life, a kind of happiness that blossoms in the heart of a young girl experiencing love for the very first time. The relationship between you two flourished for months, growing steadily and sweetly, until it abruptly ended right after the final exams. He left you with a single parting sentence:

"To be honest, I never really liked you like that. I just saw you were smart and thought you could help me study, that’s all."

In the end, everything you had shared with him, including every tender moment and every deep connection, was nothing more than a convenient lie, a calculated act of using you.

That heartbreak became your final breaking point.

You cried for days, sobbing as if your chest would burst open, the pain so sharp and consuming that you couldn’t bear to stay in this city of illusions any longer. It was that grief that pushed you to make the most reckless decision of your life: returning to Zaun.

You knew perfectly well that Zaun was no place to live. But you didn’t know any other city as well as you knew Zaun. For all its faults, for all the darkness and danger it held, it was still your birthplace. Your childhood memories were rooted in its alleyways and smog. You hated that city just as fiercely as you loved it. And so, it became the only place that felt right to retreat to while you nursed your broken heart.

Still, you never imagined just how much it had changed while you were gone. It had changed so much that you could hardly recognize it anymore.

It was dirtier than before, filled with more criminals than before, and even more chaotic than you remembered.

What the hell is going on here?

That question lingers in your mind as you sit at the bar counter of The Last Drop, a once-renowned nightlife spot that had been the safest and most peaceful place to gather in the entire city.Back then, it was under the watchful eye of Vander, a burly, kind-hearted man who served as both bartender and owner of the place long before you were even born.

But Vander isn't here anymore. He's been replaced by a tall, tan-skinned young man with a scowling face who now tends the bar, swearing at customers every other sentence. He looks more like a thug than a bartender. The patrons aren’t any better either. Rough-faced types with tattoos crawling over their bodies, dressed in garish outfits and loud hairstyles, dance wildly to the deafening EDM pounding from the speakers. Those who aren’t dancing are either slamming down shots until they can’t sit upright or openly doing drugs without a care. The air reeks of illegal booze, smoke, and sharp, acrid sweat that turns your stomach.

You let out a long, weary sigh. All you wanted tonight was a quiet drink to drown your post-breakup blues. But in this place, it’s impossible to feel anything even close to melancholy. And you can’t exactly go somewhere else with a better atmosphere either, because The Last Drop is the only bar in all of Zaun. So here you are, forcing down whiskey straight with a lump in your throat, surrounded by EDM basslines that shake you from your head to your toes.

Fucking hell. What a vibe. (Not.)

But even that isn’t the worst part of the night.

The worst part begins when he walks into the bar.

You can feel the weight in the air shift the moment he steps inside, as if the entire world holds its breath. The music keeps playing, but not a single soul dares to dance. Every head turns toward him. Yours included.

He looks like a man in his forties, tall and wiry, with short, neatly styled black hair streaked with grey. His skin is pale, almost ashen. But what truly catches your eye is his outfit—luxurious, far beyond anything typical in Zaun. He wears a deep burgundy shirt beneath a black waistcoat trimmed with gold, an ensemble you instantly recognize as the signature style of Piltover's elites.

How strange, you think. You’ve never seen a Zaunite dressed like a Topsider before, not just because Piltover is wealthier, but because of the long, bitter history between the two cities. The people above look down on those below, and the ones below resent those above. The hatred runs deep. You know it all too well.

Yet more striking than his clothes or the unsettling air he carries is the ruined side of his face. The entire left half bears the remnants of a violent past, disfigured and scarred in a way no makeup could ever fully conceal. He tries, clearly, but the damage remains visible.

And then there’s his left eye: unnaturally large, dark like polished marble, with an iris that glows faintly orange. It looks just as broken as the skin surrounding it. In contrast, the right eye is perfectly intact, a piercing, vivid blue. It might even be beautiful if his presence weren’t so terrifying.

You don’t know who this man is, but you’re certain of one thing. He’s not just some random local. That much is clear from the way everyone reacts. Even the foul-mouthed bartender straightens up and falls silent the moment he walks in. Everyone seems oddly deferential to this new arrival. And when he lifts a gloved hand and gives a small, casual wave, a silent signal for the others to stop staring, the room hesitantly returns to its earlier rhythm.

Or at least pretends to. Because you can still feel the tension humming beneath the surface.

If this were any other time, you’d probably be just as nervous and intimidated as everyone else. But right now, you’re three shots deep into cheap whiskey, drifting somewhere between tipsy and numb.

You glance at the man for only a moment, then shrug indifferently and turn back to your glass. The sharp burn of alcohol keeps sliding down your throat, dulling your thoughts and making the ache in your chest just a little easier to bear.

You sip absently, lost in your own sorrow. The noise around you fades into the background; none of it matters. Right now, the only thing that holds any meaning is the glass in front of you.

You don’t even realize you’ve caught the man’s attention.

And that’s when you meet him. For the very first time.

Silco—he introduces himself with that name, after striding up and taking the seat beside you without asking, like he owns the place. His gloved hand reaches out in greeting as he casually asks, “You’re not from around here, are you, Kid?”

You turn to look at him, suddenly aware of how sharp and unrelenting his gaze is. His right eye, vivid and piercing blue, seems to look straight through you. The left, darker and unnatural, makes your skin crawl.

You ignore his outstretched hand, choosing rudeness over risk. Even in your drunken state, you're still sober enough to stay cautious, especially around someone like him. “Why do you ask?” you reply, your voice steady but tinged with suspicion.

Silco smirks, clearly amused by your guarded reaction. He lowers his hand, then pulls a cigar from his coat, places it between his lips, and lights it with a golden lighter. He takes a slow drag, blowing smoke into the air without taking his eyes off you. His mismatched gaze drifts from your face down to your shoes and back again, studying every detail. Then he finally answers, though it sounds more like a critique than a response.

“Everything about you screams out of place. Neat. Clean. Untouched.” That last word comes out softer, almost whispered, and it sends a chill down your spine. “Like one of those Pilties.”

The way he says the word 'Pilties' drips with open contempt, his disdain for people from Piltover crystal clear.

That’s when you start to understand why he approached you.

He’s just as suspicious of you as you are of him.

“I’m a Zaunite, same as everyone else,” you explain quickly before he gets the wrong idea. “I got a scholarship to study at the University of Piltover, so I had to move up there. But today’s the first time I’ve been back.”

He raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised. Then his smirk deepens.

“Well then, welcome home,” he says, his tone far too friendly to be genuine. “So, how does it feel to be back where you came from?”

You can tell he’s only teasing, but the question lingers. Ever since you set foot here, you’ve been struck by how much everything has changed.

“It’s different,” you admit, grimacing as you take another sip. “Not in a good way. The whole place is crawling with junkies and thugs now. Even in here.” You gesture around The Last Drop, a bar that once had a reputation for safety, but clearly no longer. “What happened to Vander? He owns this place. Why’d he let it fall apart like this?”

The moment Vander’s name leaves your lips, Silco’s expression shifts. His gaze darkens, and his jaw tightens for just a second before his mask returns.

“You knew Vander?” he asks, pausing to savor the smoke curling around his lips. There’s a flicker of something stormy in his eyes. “Well... things have changed. Vander doesn’t run this place anymore, sweetheart. This city’s entered a new era. My era. And it’d be best if you didn’t go digging up the past.”

He speaks with a calm voice and lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s a sharp edge in his words that makes you pause. A flicker of suspicion rises in you, but you choose not to press further.

“So... you're the new owner of The Last Drop?” you ask, piecing it together from what he said. It catches you off guard. Silco certainly looks like someone with money, but it never crossed your mind that he might own this place.

He chuckles and shakes his head, clearly amused by your naïveté. Tapping the ash of his cigar into a glass ashtray on the counter, he says, “Of course not just this place. I own the whole city.” The smugness in his voice makes you want to roll your eyes.

Then he snaps his fingers, signaling the scowling bartender to come over. “Get another glass of whiskey for my new friend. And keep it coming. This one’s on me.”

Silco turns back to you, his thin lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile. His gaze sweeps across your face, now flushed from the alcohol and cheeks still stained with tears.

“All right, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Tell me, why is a pretty girl like you sitting here crying her heart out, instead of being out there, having fun like everyone else?”

You narrow your eyes, starting to get a read on him. “Are you trying to hit on me?” you blurt out, incredulous. “’Cause if you are, it’s not working. You’re old enough to be my dad.” The alcohol in your system lends your voice a certain boldness. You wave him off without an ounce of courtesy, owner or not. “Just leave me alone, will you?”

Silco pauses. For a moment, his face hardens. Then a quiet laugh escapes, deep and dry. He leans forward, propping one elbow on the counter, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. His eyes stay fixed on you, sharp and unsettling, like he’s trying to read your soul.

“Hitting on you? Not quite,” he says smoothly. “I just can’t stand seeing a beautiful girl sitting here crying. I’ve always had a soft spot for tears, you see.” He takes another drag of his cigar, slow and deliberate. “Besides, a girl like you really shouldn’t be drinking alone in a place like this. It’s not safe. There are dangerous men here. They wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of a vulnerable young woman. You’re lucky I found you first.”

He pauses again, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips, then shifts even closer, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours.

“As for the age thing... it’s just a number, sweetheart. And with age comes experience. That should be a plus, shouldn’t it?”

His long fingers trail along your jawline with a casual air, teasing as if to provoke a stray cat. When you jerk your face away in obvious displeasure, it only seems to amuse him even more. Something about your defiance reminds him of a feline’s untamed grace.

“Hey! Don’t touch me without permission.”

Silco raises both hands in mock surrender, chuckling softly as he shakes his head with what almost looks like affection. There’s no trace of anger at your blunt rejection, even though he's not the kind of man who typically tolerates disrespect, especially not in his own territory.

But you, it seems, are an exception. Perhaps it’s because you clearly have no idea who he is, and that, to him, is strangely refreshing. Most people in Zaun wouldn’t dare come within five meters of him, let alone talk back like you do.

"My bad, sweetheart. Just old habits from old dogs, you know." His apology doesn’t carry a hint of sincerity. “Now, why don’t you tell Uncle Silco what’s really bothering you? Maybe this old man can help.”

He continues to coax you, maintaining the facade of a kind-hearted stranger, trying to appear like someone you can lean on.

But the truth is, everything about him contradicts the idea of kindness. Everyone in Zaun knows that all too well.

You’re probably the only one who doesn’t realize yet.

That Silco is the one—the most powerful crime lord who controls the vast underworld of the city

You let out a long sigh, already knowing he isn't going to leave you alone like you asked. Sure, he’s a pain, but deep down, you can’t lie to yourself. You need someone to talk to. Someone to pour it all out to before it explodes inside and drives you mad.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s just frustration. Whatever it is, it makes you spill everything to him without holding back. The words tumble out of you like a stream, an unfiltered flood of pent-up emotion spilling into the ears of a man you don’t even know. You rant about the crushing pressure at the academy, the way people sneer at you just for being Zaunite, and your shitty ex who only pretended to love you for his own benefit before stabbing you in the back. And now, here you are, drunk and crying like a lunatic at The Last Drop.

You’re not sure if you're imagining it, but when you finally glance at him after rambling on for so long, his expression seems softer somehow. His eyes no longer hold that sharp, unreadable edge they had when he first approached you. You’re not sure which is stronger in them now, pity or sympathy?

"I know what it feels like," he finally says, his voice thoughtful, as if dredging something up from deep within. "To be betrayed by someone you trusted." You notice a fleeting trace of pain on his face, a shadow that appears and fades so quickly it's almost invisible unless you're really paying attention. "But believe me, drowning yourself in alcohol won’t fix anything."

Silco places a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing it in what seems to be an attempt at comfort.

"Why don’t you let me help you?" he asks, his tone careful, testing the waters.

You snort softly into your glass, take another swig, and let out a sarcastic scoff. “What are you gonna do? Beat up my ex for me? Get revenge in my name?”

For a split second, there’s a glint in his eyes. Cold. Calculated. Like the suggestion doesn’t sound too bad to him.

But just as quickly, it’s gone. Silco chuckles softly and offers you a wry smile.

"Nothing so dramatic, sweetheart," he assures you. "My offers are much simpler than that. Just the two of us, somewhere quiet. No distractions."

His voice dips low, almost into a whisper, and there's something dangerously enticing in the way he leans in close, speaking near your ear. "Let me keep you company tonight. And maybe, just maybe, I can help you forget all about your pain and your pathetic ex too.”

His hand still lingers on your shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. The light pressure of his fingers sends a strange jolt through your body, making you flinch just a little.

“Come on now, sweetheart.” He rises to his full height and takes your hand, giving it a light tug, coaxing you to stand as well. "Give yourself a chance to experience something new. What have you got to lose?”

You’re not naïve. You know that if you go with him, it’s not going to be just 'talking.'

You want to push him away, to snap at him and tell him to leave you the hell alone. But you’re drunk, and your thoughts aren’t exactly clear right now. Logic is buried under a mess of emotion: irritation, anger, sorrow, resentment. You’re falling apart, and the only thing that crosses your mind is: Fuck it.

You know this is a reckless way of lashing out, but honestly, even if tonight ends with you sleeping with a man old enough to be your father, does it really matter? You’re single. You’re free. And it’s not like you have a problem with one-night stands. In a way, maybe this is your twisted version of payback for that bastard ex.

Back when you were together, he wouldn’t even let you stand next to another man. He hated it when you wore makeup and said, "Only sluts do that." He insisted that your clothes stay modest, made sure your skirts went past your knees, controlled every little thing you did.

So maybe now, it’s time to finally be free.

Silco is right. You’ve got nothing to lose.

You press your lips into a tight line and turn to look at him, silently hoping this isn’t a mistake.

"...Fine. Just for tonight," you mutter and slowly push yourself up, swaying slightly from all the alcohol. "Lead the way." You try to sound confident, but the tremble in your voice betrays you.

Silco, on the other hand, is nothing but confidence. That smug, victorious smile creeps across his face as he grabs your arm to steady you and gently helps guide you out of the bar.

"Oh... just for tonight?" he murmurs beside your ear, his tone playfully mocking. "Let’s see how far tonight takes us, then."

"Welcome to my humble abode,"

Silco says as he leads you into his private quarters, a place that you quickly realize is anything but humble.

The room is vast and dimly lit. The soft glow from small lamps casts a warm, intimate ambiance. At the center stands a large desk, cluttered with books, maps, and curiosities gathered from all over the city. A plush red velvet sofa rests against one wall, paired with a nearby bookshelf, while the opposite side of the room features a bar lined with rows of expensive liquor bottles. Every corner exudes luxury, which feels like a world away from your cramped student dorm.

What draws your eye most is the bookshelf. You find yourself walking toward it as if enchanted, your fingertips grazing the spines of rare books with a mix of awe and wonder. The collection is meticulously maintained, showcasing a wealth of knowledge.

"You like to read?" you ask, still staring at the books.

"Of course. I believe knowledge is power. And in a place like Zaun, power is everything."

You flinch slightly as his warm breath brushes your ear. You have no idea when he moved to stand behind you, close enough that your bodies nearly touch. He holds two glasses of liquor, freshly poured from the bar. As you turn to face him, he hands one to you.

"Try it. This one’s a special blend, imported from Runeterra. I think you'll like it."

You accept the drink, sniffing it cautiously before taking a small sip. Your eyes widen slightly as the complex flavors dance across your tongue, leaving a lingering warmth in your mouth. It's stronger than anything you've had before, and far more exquisite. The quality is leagues above what they serve at The Last Drop. Clearly, this is the kind of liquor an ordinary Zaunite could never afford.

Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washes over you. You’re struck by the sheer distance between you and this man, as if you come from two entirely different worlds. You’re just a broke student. He, on the other hand, seems rich, powerful, and completely out of reach. You can’t imagine what someone like him could possibly want with someone like you.

You set the glass down on a nearby table and meet his gaze. The height difference only makes you feel smaller. He towers over you, and your head comes just up to his shoulder.

"Why me?" you ask plainly. "I’m not suspicious or anything, but… you look like you could have anyone you want. So why would you waste your time on a stranger like me?"

Silco’s good eye narrows slightly with amusement. He takes a sip from his own glass before placing it beside yours, feigning contemplation.

"Why you?" he echoes. "Maybe because you're different. Innocent..."

His eyes travel slowly over you, from the plain blouse and muted brown skirt to your unadorned, makeup-free face. Nothing about you stands out. And yet, that’s exactly what makes you stand out in a place like Zaun, where everything is loud, brash, and glaring.

"You're not the kind of woman I usually see in Zaun," he adds.

His tone sounds playful, almost teasing, but there’s not a trace of humor in his gaze.

"To put it simply, I'm not just looking for someone to pass the time with. And you happen to be exactly what I want. Does that make sense, sweetheart?"

You flinch slightly as his fingertip brushes the tip of your chin, tracing the line of your jaw with slow, deliberate pressure, just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine.

"Wow… uh, you're very direct,"

You laugh awkwardly, your breath catching. Your throat suddenly feels dry, and you reach for the glass, downing it in one go. The bitter burn of alcohol floods your senses, drowning the unease stirring in your chest.

You’re beginning to wonder if it was a mistake to come here. This feels exactly like walking into a lion’s den.

But whatever the case, it’s too late to turn back now.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to face Silco once more. Your eyes flick to his lips for a brief moment before locking with his gaze. The air is thick with tension, a silence heavy with invisible pull.

Without breaking eye contact, you step closer, close enough to catch the intoxicating scent of alcohol and expensive cigars lacing his breath. It makes your head spin even more than the liquor coursing through your veins.

“You said power is everything in Zaun...” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. “Well, I’d like to get to know your power a little better. Care to show me?"

A slow, sharp smile curves across Silco’s lips. His eyes glint with understanding, catching the unspoken meaning behind your words. One arm wraps around your waist, his large hand sliding down your back, settling on your hip with a teasing squeeze before pulling you tightly against him. The movement is swift enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip his shoulders instinctively to steady yourself, feeling the heat of his body seep through the thin fabric of his shirt.

His lips brush your ear as he leans in, his voice low and rough. “Sweetheart, I promise you’ll get to know every inch of my power. All night long.”

In the blink of an eye, he drives you backward until your back hits the wall. His mouth crashes onto yours in a searing kiss. You taste the faint bitterness of cigar on his tongue as it invades your mouth, tangling with yours in a hungry dance. Every movement is laced with raw desire. His hands roam freely over your body, exploring every curve with a possessive touch as the kiss deepens, stealing your breath and swallowing your every sound. All you can do is moan softly into his mouth, clinging to him for dear life, as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

The kiss steals the breath from your lungs and leaves your legs trembling. When he finally pulls away, your knees give out beneath you. You’ve never been kissed like this before, never been devoured so completely. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as a low chuckle rumbles from his throat, clearly amused by your breathless, weakened state.

You try to say something, anything at all to regain your composure, but the words dissolve into a whimper when his lips shift to your neck, biting and sucking along your delicate skin, leaving behind pink marks that will surely linger for days.

"Let’s move to the sofa," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, making you shiver. "Wouldn’t want you passing out before we’ve even started."

He kisses you again as he guides you toward the sofa in the corner of the room. Gently, he pushes you down onto the cushions, then climbs over you, fully in control. His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, caressing the soft skin of your inner thighs, inching higher until he reaches your panties. With a sudden tug, he strips them away before you even have time to react.

Your breath catches as the cool air brushes over your now-exposed sex. The way he looks at you, like he’s starving, makes you blush. You instinctively try to close your legs, but Silco doesn’t let you. He parts your knees with ease, holding you open as he lifts his head to meet your eyes, as if seeking permission.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice a mix of challenge and teasing intent.

"Honestly? Not really," you whisper between ragged breaths, trembling with anticipation. "So you'd better hurry before I change my mind."

A wicked grin spreads across his face, clearly pleased by your bold response. "With pleasure, sweetheart," he says.

His hand glides between your thighs and finds your slick center with practiced ease. His thumb presses against your clit in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing and teasing, drawing shivers of pleasure from you with every stroke that makes you jerk and moan.

Your mind begins to drift, overwhelmed by the rough texture of his fingers playing mercilessly with your cunt. Your fingers dig into the cushions. Your mouth falls open, and a helpless cry slips out.

He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you already feel like you’re unraveling.

Your moans rise again the moment he slides his middle finger deep inside you. Every motion is precise, as though he knows exactly where to touch. He curls his fingers and hits that elusive spot with unnerving accuracy, each stroke sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your trembling body. The sensation is so intense it makes you writhe beneath him, but you can’t move far with his other hand gripping your hip, holding you in place as he adds another finger, plunging into your tight channel with a steady, relentless rhythm.

Your body is fully awakened, flushed and burning. Sting and bliss entwine, flooding through your core and making you tremble. You begin to grind your hips against his hand, chasing more of that exquisite friction, whimpering as he picks up the pace, thrusting deeper and faster until the wet, obscene sounds echo through the room.

His thumb circles your swollen clit in maddening patterns, each pass winding the tension tighter until it’s unbearable. When it finally snaps, you shatter.

Your body convulses with the force of your climax, vision blurring as pleasure surges through you in blinding waves. Your inner muscles spasm around his fingers, pulsing in the aftermath. You cling to him, gasping for air, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

His fingers keep moving, slower now, gentler, easing you down from the high and drawing out the bliss just enough to leave you melting beneath his touch.

The entire time, Silco never takes his eyes off you. He watches every flicker of expression, every twitch of your lips and flutter of your lashes, waiting until you begin to settle. Only then does he pull his fingers free and lift them to his lips, licking them clean of the slickness coating his skin. A satisfied smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

“Tastes pretty good,” he says flatly, completely unfazed.

You, on the other hand, want to disappear into the floor.

He lets out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. “Not used to people being that blunt, huh?” he teases, already knowing the answer.

One look is all it takes to read you. You're the type who always plays by the rules, never straying from the path. If it weren’t for a broken heart and the urge to rebel, you never would’ve agreed to a one-night stand with a stranger like him.

Silco makes quick work of your blouse buttons, revealing just enough to expose your lace-covered breasts to the air. You help him eagerly, reaching up to unhook your bra and letting the delicate thing slide from your shoulders. Yet your skirt stays on. You’re not quite ready to be fully naked in front of someone you barely know, and neither is he. He shrugs off his suit jacket, lets it fall to the floor, and remains in a dark red shirt, unbuttoned nearly to his abdomen. Then, he turns to his trousers.

You lift your head, watching as he pushes them down. Even with your thoughts spinning and your body burning, you manage to speak with firm clarity.

“Don’t forget the condom.”

Silco nods, not planning to take that risk either. He retrieves one from the pocket of his discarded pants, tears the wrapper open with his teeth, then rolls it smoothly onto his fully erect length. The latex snaps softly at the base. His eyes return to you, gleaming with hunger as they rake over your disheveled form. Your tousled hair, kiss-swollen lips, and flushed cheeks form a vision of raw, aching need.

His breathing grows heavier without him realizing, the last threads of control fraying, just one heartbeat away from snapping.

Without hesitation, Silco grabs your thighs and pulls you toward him, settling between your legs. The tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance, and he deliberately runs it along your folds, teasing you until you’re trembling with need.

"Ready, sweetheart?" he asks, though he has no intention of waiting for your reply.The moment the words leave his lips, he thrusts forward in a single, solid stroke, filling you to the brim.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your brows draw tight. The stretch is intense, your body struggling to take him in. But the tension doesn’t last. Slowly, your inner muscles begin to relax, the discomfort fading into a pulsing fullness that leaves you breathless. Silco moves with surprising control, his pace slow and each motion deliberate, a stark contrast to the ruthless man he’s known to be.

You open your eyes to find his gaze locked on yours. The fire in those mismatched irises draws you in, sets your pulse racing. You lift your head to kiss him, no longer shy, your hands roaming over his shoulders and down his back as if you never want to let him go.

The boldness catches him off guard, but he returns the kiss hungrily, his thrusts gaining force. When he finally pulls back, his eyes drop to your breasts, bouncing with each deep stroke. He reaches for them, hands full of soft flesh, thumbs teasing your nipples until they harden beneath his touch.

The dual sensation of his cock driving deep while his hands knead and tease your hardened nipples pushes you dangerously close to the edge. Moans spill from your lips, echoing through the room as the rhythm between you grows frantic and desperate.

Silco doesn’t hold back. Now that your body has fully yielded, he takes everything you offer. His hips slam into yours with rising force, each thrust angled to go deeper. He lifts your legs, hooking them around his waist, and fucks into you harder, faster, finding the secret spot that makes your whole body jolt. Ecstasy sparks through your limbs, your toes curling, every nerve lit up with punishing pleasure.

Your mind drifts, lost in the haze. The world shrinks to nothing but the two of you. A few tears of rapture slip from the corners of your eyes, and Silco leans down to lick them away. He feels the way your walls start to flutter around him, your voice rising in helpless cries as you teeter on the edge. He knows you're close, just as he is. A low growl escapes his throat, tension coiling in his loins as he nears his own breaking point.

He pounds into you with reckless abandon, chasing release. His rhythm stutters, but it’s enough to send you both spiraling into climax together.

With one final, brutal thrust, your vision whites out. Your body convulses, locking up as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, ripping through you with raw, unrelenting force.

Deep inside, Silco pulses within you, spilling into the condom in hot, thick spurts of cum. He gasps for air, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting in sync, wrecked and breathless from the intensity of your coupling.

As the storm of lust begins to fade, neither of you moves. Silence settles over the room like a warm blanket, broken only by the slow return of steady breaths. Your limbs feel heavy, spent, and satisfied.

In the quiet, Silco reaches out to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, something unexpectedly tender flickers in his eyes. A rare, unguarded smile softens his scarred features before he leans in and kisses you again.

This final kiss is soft, almost reverent. You trade slow, lingering kisses, your tongues dancing lazily until he finally, reluctantly pulls away. He rolls off of you, slips off the condom, tosses it into the nearby trash, then begins to reassemble himself, piece by piece.

The heat between you lifts with the return of your senses, leaving behind nothing but a stifling awkwardness. You rise from the sofa and reach for your discarded underwear, slipping it on before buttoning your blouse and tugging your skirt back into place. You run your fingers through your tangled hair, trying to restore some semblance of composure.

Then, after a long pause, you turn to Silco.

"Um... I think I should go."

You don’t have the courage to stay the night, not because you feel awkward or don’t want to impose, but because, deep down, you feel it too. Just like he does.

This wasn’t just casual sex.

Something about it feels different. Something deeper. Something neither of you can name.

It was good. Too good. So good it terrifies you. Because the longer you stay, the harder it’ll be to pretend this is only a one-night stand.

Silco says nothing for a long moment. He simply watches you, as though weighing something in his mind, before finally nodding.

"I’ll have my men take you back to Piltover."

He remains seated on the same sofa, lighting a fresh cigar, his eyes never leaving your face. Just as you start walking toward the door, he reaches out and grabs your arm.

"Will I see you again?"

It isn’t a command. Not even a proper question. Just a quiet request, with no pressure and no expectation.

You pause and glance back at him, meeting his gaze as you absorb the unspoken weight behind those words. Your lips press into a thin line as you weigh your heart against your better judgment.

"I don’t know... I have classes in Piltover. I probably won’t be coming down here often."

You choose your words carefully. Not shutting the door completely, but not leaving it open either.

Your worlds are too different. The gap between you isn’t just age. He belongs to the Undercity. You belong to the Uppercity. The chances of your paths crossing again are almost nonexistent. And you have too much at stake: your education, your future. It isn’t worth gambling all that on a fleeting connection with a man you barely know.

Maybe it’s better to cut things off now, before they get messy and spiral into something far more complicated.

Silco frowns at your answer. For a brief moment, something like disappointment seems to flicker across his face, quickly hidden beneath a casual smile.

"If that’s what you want," he says with a smile that tries to look understanding but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "And remember, sweetheart... whatever happens in the shadows, let it stay in the shadows."

His voice is gentle, almost a whisper of suggestion, but the message is unmistakably clear. Silco wants this night to remain a secret. No stories. No rumors. Nothing that could smear his name in Zaun.

Then he rises to his full height, steps closer, and reaches out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger a second too long against your skin, and his gaze softens just slightly.

"Good luck. Until then."

His touch sends a sharp jolt through you. You flinch, your cheeks flushing once more. Swallowing hard, you nod and whisper softly, "Goodbye."

You turn away before you can change your mind and walk out swiftly. Your heart pounds, and you can still feel his eyes on you even after the door clicks shut behind you.

You hope you won’t see him again.

...But things probably won’t go the way you hope.

Especially when the man you spent the night with isn’t just some stranger—he’s the most feared crime lord in all of Zaun.

Silco stands silently, watching you disappear through the door. A faint smile curves his lips as he recalls every detail of the time you spent together: the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin, the way your body seemed to fit so perfectly against his. Like a puzzle piece made just for him.

This won’t be the last time he sees you—He’ll make sure of it.

A dangerous glint flickers in his eyes as he exhales a slow stream of cigar smoke, letting the thin gray haze drift lazily through the air. His thoughts move in silence, already shaping plans with you at the very center.

And Silco is a patient man.

He’ll wait.

Until the day you come crawling back to him.

#silco #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #silco arcane x reader #silco fanfic #arcane x reader #arcane smut #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #reader insert #x reader #fem reader

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luvdalkxdlk · 1 day ago

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Hugo is a big subtle Perry The Platypus meme. New Eridu just being Doofs T_T

1.6 and 1.7 spoilers. Using Hugo demo and some trust events, either taken from my own screenshots or other people's YouTube because one, I am not going to time spam everything to get all the trust events because I don't feel too insane today and there are some moments that only 1.6 and 1.7 cutscenes can't cover entirely. I am the Interknot brainrotter coming with you with startling news.

As the title said, if you have heard enough of the Perry The Platypus meme...

Tis the example. You get what I mean. Also, do you know who else wears a fedora...

The fedora is intentional damnit. Because I just realized. When we first meet him, as Hugo Vlad, an 'ordinary' collector...

He's not wearing the hat, people. He's not wearing the hat.

He's still not wearing the hat.

Even after coming out of his faked death...

Don't want people to immediately know that he's back from the dead, and like... people didn't recognize him???

Even after everything is over, people being pretty sure he's alive this time around. That Hugo Vlad is the only publicly known Mockingbird...

You come to us for trust events without the hat and that's enough for people not to recognize you????

THE MAGIC TRICK IS GOING WITHOUT THE HAT AND MASK???? ESPECIALLY THE HAT???? I'M BAMBOOZLED. UTTERLY BAMBOOZLED.

The only times he had worn the hat would be for work, phantom thief work.

Having a reunion with Lycaon as the Mockingbird phantom thief founder, who has every right to call him traitor for leaving Mockingbird...

He lost his hat along the way, but they all know he's Hugo Vlad so maybe that's why he can afford showing himself...

And then he puts it back on to fight Lycaon??? DOES THIS MEAN SOMETHING??? PURE BRAINROTTING PEOPLE. PURE BRAINROT.

Even for his escape.

For some reason even though for Mockingbird business, he comes without hat. Because its a public place and he doesn't want to be outed as a Mockingbird yet...?

Hugo Vlad the citizen revealing he is Mockingbird. Like, that was hard to figure out when it was the hat and mask that covered it up. Hugo had to say it himself??? The long blond hair and his heterochromic eyes aren't giving it away. This is just too Doof for me.

At first I was a little confused, because one moment he wears the hat and the next moment he doesn't. In this particular mission, does he work as Mockingbird or Hugo Vlad. Is it just that he wears the hat all this time and that the game model was too lazy to add it there for unknown reasons?

But then this scene happens, hatless when he talks to us Proxy, as Hugo Vlad himself and not as Mockingbird leader. So my guess would be that he wears the hat when he wants to show that he's doing things as a Mockingbird and without the hat is his true self?

When did you have time to put the hat my man? Is it to show the Mockingbird alleigance or something else? Something else, considering the dim lighting and maybe that the hat can shade his face to be unrecognizable. In a phantom thief's world with many enemies, and what Hugo knows, he had to make sure his work face is on...?

No hat Hugo being so real to Hartman, with the best full name identity ever. So maybe that's his edgy dramatic self, putting on the hat leffting that scarf sway, letting the dawn light illuminate him, like what. I'm just being objective coz is it just laziness to have a hat in game model. But personally I stand by my reasons about the differences in hat Hugo and no hat Hugo. It differentiates between Hugo the civilian and Hugo the Phantom thief. AND FOR SOME REASON THAT WORKS???

He had put the hat when he was hatless through, which is what will become the MockingbirdFalling.mp4, which is important to why the hat is needed and when it is not... explained somewhere further bellow.

HE INTRODUCES HIMSELF AS HUGO VLAD THE LEADER OF MOCKINGBIRD WITH THAT SUAVE HAT ON, AFTER THE FAKED DEATH WITH THE BEST COMEBACK SINCE PEOPLE KNOW AND HE OWNED IT. THOUGHT THE HUGO VLAD RAVENLOCK WON'T BE TOPPED BUT THIS PROVES WRONG. IT WAS WHEN THE WHOLE INTERKNOT WENT CRAZY KNOWING HIS IDENTITY, HAVING THAT MOCKINGBIRDFALLING.MP4.

And right after, he's back without the hat. Needing to make sure no one around after dramatic asf reveal can see the really alive Mockingbird and arrest him?

All this time in his reveal, in the death video, he had his hat on. So that people know it is Hugo Vlad the phantom thief. But has he ever, even once, shown himself without the hat when he declares himself the phantom thief? Has anyone ever seen Hugo Vlad so blatantly without the hat where he revealed who he truly is?

It's like this...

Are you telling me that the hat covers the face all that well? Was this planned by Hugo all along????

Why he has the hat on, when the video is taken, during this time of day with the hat on that you honestly cannot see the face well... It might be even difficult to discern who the people are, but its because of the hat that Hugo is famous for with those long blonde locks and maybe even those clothes, maybe, that somehow people immediately believed it was Mockingbird, that the video was all too real when the whole thing spread...

But truly, no one has seen his face yet... is the hat really that powerful, or is everyone in New Eridu really having this doof mindset???

SERIOUSLY

DO PEOPLE JUST NEED TO PUT HATS IN ORDER TO HIDE THEIR FACE??? Even PubSec's, ARCHON database has things about Vivian and Lycaon, the current and former partners and they still can't find Hugo Vlad, especially until he revealed himself???

Also, I'm suddenly realizing very few people and even characters wear hats and maybe hats are all too powerful for disguises. There's Lucy with her helmet, and other than that, no one else really wears a hat... but people can recognize Lucy with and without hat, because she introduces herself as such but maybe Hugo introducing himself as two different people with and without people has given placebo effect... Or maybe it specifically needs to be a fedora. A freaking cool fedora.

No wonder people haven't figured out his face yet. Never without his work outfit the hat even when chased around...

All the photos they have of him aren't without a hat... I...

Even when he's escaping indeed...

Here's the link bellow as sources to a thank you for making this insane posts.

Hugo trust event vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KwyP8DXbYY

Hugo 1.6: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DMN1oRgNUw&t=12366s

Thank you for coming to my probably incoherent and conspring brainrot. The only people that aren't blind somehow are the people who know, who Hugo revealed himself and one Asaba Haramusa who figured it out all on his own. Someone call Jane and tell her how she can effectively disguise herself without much effort TT_TT

I would make the Hugo meme if I didn't have the photo limit but Hoyo... Hoyo... SERIOUSLY, THE PERRY THE PLATYPUS MEME??? IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE????

... Excuse me chat while I still go reel from this. Hope you feel as insane as me about this. There are a lot more things to be insane about Hugo Vlad, from his fanfiction and the male convention but the moral of this story is no matter how unique your long blonde hair and heterochromic eyes are, the hat hides all... TT_TT

#hugo vlad #vivian banshee #zzz #von lycaon #zzz 1.6 #zzz 1.7 #interknot conspiracies #mockingbird #perry the platypus meme #new eridu are all doofs #except asaba help them all #the meme is too strong #hat hugo vlad #hatless hugo vlad #ravenlocks #trust events #bring the red string board #HOW IS EVERYONE SO BLIND #I CAN'T ANYMORE

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gwenyn28 · 2 days ago

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Just a few thoughts. I don‘t want to excuse any development or sound condescending. I don’t want to excuse the writing because I still stand by it being shitty and it could have been better in so many ways for a lot of storylines and characters. But I just had a few thoughts that I wanted to share. So… here they are. About season 7 and season 8. And probably the Buddie of it all.

If you are still too emotional and mad about the whole development? That is absolutely valid and I would never try to invalidate it. Be disappointed. Crash out. Curse everyone and their mom. Be angry and mad and sad and frustrated.

If you are open to read about a different approach, a different opinion and some thoughts and the last two seasons and some Buddie stuff… be my guest to read the following.

Just please be respectful if you disagree with things.

Imagine the following scenario:

Fox had the show for six season but then noticed that they can‘t do it anymore. Because it is too expensive. They also shut down Buddie permanently because… omg, no way. It was visible especially in season 6 when Buddie had barely any scenes together (though there were still some great Buddie moments with the ��Do more!“/lightning and the poker date). Then, all of a sudden, abc appears, wanting to buy the show. Because they have the money and they see potential there. Especially with Buddie.

And so they try to set their plan in motion, to use the potential they saw, with starting the Buddie route after the opening disaster in 7x04. And it works in their favor. The response for bi!Buck as the first one of them coming out (excluding the few homophobic idiots) is mainly positive and euphoric. For them it is confirmed that the plan is a good one and will work out for them, bringing in fans, viewers and mainly money.

But then something unexpected happens. We remember some of the interviews from back in season 7 after the opening disaster. Especially Peter. He is talking about him being „too old“ for this kind of work. That is is tiring. That it is demanding. To carry around that heavy gear, the long hours (that led to a tragic death in real life), the stress… all of that.

Suddenly they have a „problem“ here. Peter is an executive producer and one of the main faces of the show. They can‘t ignore his complaints. (Maybe there was also a fallout with some higher ups about this or other things concerning the show like work schedules in general and/or character development but since this is just speculation I will keep it out of this text. I just wanted to mention it once that there could be other reasons for this whole „problem“ as well.)

Therefore they need to find a way to help, to solve that problem. And by doing so, they put all their focus on him and his character‘s development/storyline while unfortunately forgetting about the others and sidelining them.

This is a huge problem and there is nothing in this world to sugarcoat it. Tim has a whole team of writers working on this show. If he is not able to take care of the others and their characters he could have given this task to someone else to solely focus on Peter/Bobby. So everyone would have gotten the story they deserved.

Instead of handling it that way, we get 7x09 though that was a Bobby episode (with not even a mention of anyone else). That episode calls back to the house fire with how his story began. And the suicidal tendencies which come into play in the finale of season 7. The viewer is reminded that Bobby has had these thoughts in the past. That him dying is not a foreign concept to him and his character. That it has been an issue in the past. With bringing that up again they try to plant the idea into the viewer’s mind that they could see it and understand this being an optional and logical next step. Because they might see it not as a surprise then when he dies in the season‘s finale.

But the reactions were negative. Killing him off like that? Addressing his suicidal tendencies? With one main point for that planned death being his old guilt that has actually been resolved, kind of, since season 2? They notice their mistake that this is not the right way. The right solution. Therefore, they bring him back to life even though he should have stayed dead after being gone for 14 minutes. (Because who would and could survive that?)

So, that is their first try to solve that problem. Unfortunately, it doesn‘t work out. The problem‘s still there. And not only this. With focusing on that story, they have a whole other new problem - they neglected the other characters for that. They gave them shitty storylines that led to nothing much and didn’t get resolved because they felt like Tim had an idea but got sidetracked with other stuff. It was not cohesive at all.

Therefore, the season ends with two problems instead of just one - Bobby is still alive and the rest has crappy or barely existing storylines.

Then, season 8 is on its way. They get back on track and focus on „how to make it easier for Peter“? Again. The stupid thing is though… That is their sole focus. They forget about the others. Again. There is no development for any character in season 8. They get something small here and there but that‘s it. Nothing big, nothing connected, nothing cohesive and consistent. They bring in outsiders to create conflict instead of working with what they have and what has been the essence of 911 - their family as the core story. But yeah, it tracks. Because their main story is Bobby right now. The others are just an afterthought. Their stories fall flat and are stagnant. That sucks. But they either ignore it or they just don‘t notice. Fair? No. But that is the current situation.

And if we really think about it… a lot of people were noticing that and complaining about „why does Bobby get so much attention this season?“ That is the reason why. He has been the focus because there was an issue to solve. People might have not been able to see that back then, coming up with other explanations about „he is the male lead and it‘s Peter!“. While it might not have been about him being high on the callsheet though. It might have been just because they needed to find a solution.

In then end, they are still on the „Bobby/Peter problem“ for season 8a. That is when the idea comes up with the Hotshots plot. That is their test run for the idea of „what if we make Bobby retire? What if he is not part of the 118 anymore but still on the show?“ So, they use that story to test the waters here. How the people would react to them having (and finding) a new captain, to have a new dynamic at the 118, to still be connected to Bobby though but pulling him out of the focus. That follows Peter‘s wishes and complaints about not wanting to do all the stunts and hard work anymore that is demanding for his body and health but would keep the character. Could have killed two birds with one stone, right?

So, Hotshots was never meant to be a 911 meta, to poke fun at the show or to give us callbacks. It was simply there to test changing the position and role for Bobby. Theoretically a good idea. But it didn’t work out.

People are not okay with it. They don‘t like it and want Bobby back. The result? They know now that having Bobby retire, to write him off and/or out of the 118 (while still being on the show though) won‘t work out. People would not like it and they would want him back, no matter what.

So, season 8a ends. And the problem is still there. How to make it work for Peter? A lot of conversations have to be held and things are discussed. While they still have to continue with the show because it is still on and a work in progress. They are under pressure somehow.

And then the decision is made. There is only one solution. Retirement doesn‘t work. „Demoting“ him to guest or recurring? Not working either. The people want to see Bobby.

That is the moment they just have one solution - Kill him permanently.

Is it a good decision? Debatable.

Is it a good execution? Definitely not.

Could it have been done differently? Probably.

But the point stands. Their only way out at that point is the permanent death. Everything else hasn‘t or wouldn‘t work out.

Also, somehow Ryan, Aisha and Kenny cancelling the plans for the „Saving Lives“ convention could be seen in a different light now. The original story, if the retirement idea would have worked out? They would have been done by then and could have attended. But since they had to rearrange everything and write a new story? They were needed on set. Therefore, cancelling the convention.

Don‘t get me wrong. I don‘t want to excuse that decision or say that it was amazing or great or well-done. Because it wasn‘t. It was rushed and badly executed and they lacked a lot in the writing department here to make it a cohesive story to have people get the plot. There was so much missing which tracks back to my earlier statement of Tim getting sidetracked so many times and losing the bigger picture.

If it had been done differently I think a lot of people would have accepted killing off Bobby a bit more. Easier. But we already were unsatisfied and mad at all the shitty storylines and plots happening before to all the characters so… the foundation was just not there. To have a good and solid story and then deciding to kill off a character. That would have worked. Not what we got though.

For most fans the MCD was just another shitty thing that happened in a row of shitty things. Therefore there was no acceptance. If they had handled it differently, maybe it would have been a better result. But we will never know because the damage is done.

But back to the main point. The decision is made. Kill Bobby. But now they have to do that, to commit, one way or another. I assume this decision happened around February or so.

The Texas stuff was already filmed in January, 8x11 was planned and had started. Hen‘s bus storyline was on its way as well. So, they have to rearrange the whole schedule and everything from budget to permits to departments involved - the Contagion arc is born.

A lot of us felt and still feel that this was so off and random, it made no sense in the overall story. It felt weird and forced into the main story. And it actually was. We were confused about the stuff we found out through bts about them pushing around episodes (15 being 13 all of a sudden) and other things not adding up. But the root of this chaos was the „we need to put an end to the Bobby problem asap“, not a „I have no clue at all what I am doing“.

It was said in one interview that Bobby‘s death was derailing everyone‘s personal storylines and putting them on hold. And that was actually a bad thing in that moment because they had to stop everything they were doing. So, that couldn‘t be more true. Because exactly this happened. They had a plan (not that it was a good one, don‘t get me wrong) how to get through the season. But since they had to get through with killing Bobby as well they had to change the plan and shake everything up.

You might ask „why kill him then and why not doing it differently and doing it in 8x15?“. Like I said before. The problem still stands. Peter is maybe not able to do all the heavy stuff anymore (not that I would blame him, but it might be just a fact due to his age). So, they are ripping off the band-aid and are like „Okay, let‘s get through with it and accept the shitstorm for now. We have no other way out.“

And that is exactly what happened. The backlash was and still is huge. And they got and get a lot of negative feedback. They just take it. Because they knew that this would happen. But they saw no other or better way out of this situation.

Again, I don‘t want to excuse it or defend anything. It was still poorly executed and could have been better. Because let‘s be honest, Tim got even sidetracked there again with his „action“ and „I want a four minute long helicopter chase“. Two episodes could have been enough to give Peter/Bobby a proper goodbye and death to his character if done differently. But they did it in a bad way and have to live with it now, accepting the reactions while trying to see the positive side here as well with „okay, that death shakes up things for every character and we can finally develop them further. Our problem is solved.“

Let‘s have a look at the Buddie of it all then because that is the thing that probably interests us the most. They are our babies.

Like I said in the beginning, abc saw the potential and greenlit Buddie.

They take the first step in 7x04. Then the Bobby problem appears and they loose focus, being not the main plot anymore. The Buddie development gets sidelined for now, maybe with the thought of „One thing after another, let‘s solve Bobby first, then get back to Buddie“. Unfortunately, that doesn‘t work out and the problems is still there.

They admit defeat then and are okay with with sidelining Buddie for season 7 even though both Oliver and Ryan are on board (and if anyone says they, especially Ryan, are against it… this is not a safe space for you!). Let‘s push it to season 8.

And then season 8 happens and the Bobby problem is still unsolved. Because killing him in season 7? Not happening and Buddie is still sidelined in 8a. Because there are more important matters to take care of. But again, this doesn‘t work out. Hotshots as a test run for retiring Bobby is a failure. And 8a ends with still two problems at hand - Bobby alive and characters (in this case Buddie) being sidelined.

For 8b they decide to change their approach. To finally shift the focus. The Bobby problem can’t be solved quickly. They learnt that after 7b and 8a. So, the plan is to concentrate on Buddie for now. The potential is still there and that has been their original idea anyway. Maybe they can work that out first and then take care of the Bobby problem?

That is why the beginning of 8a feels like a Buddie dream coming true. The whole fight about Eddie moving, him leaving Buck behind who can barely handle this situation, 8x11 and the two Texas episodes. Great. That is exactly what they wanted. The Buddie train is back on track and thriving. The fans are ecstatic and the GA picks up on that plan.

But then… shit. Bobby. Almost forgot about him. He is still alive and the Captain of the 118. Peter still has to work and do the heavy stuff and… damn. Ignoring the problem or pushing it back didn‘t solve it. So, the focus had to be shifted again. Abandon Buddie, put it on the back burner.

I am sure that the decision to „rip off the MCD band-aid“ wasn‘t made easily. And that they had a lot of conversations and debates about it. But once the decision was made they had to stop the Buddie train again. They were not okay with it and they probably hated it, especially Oliver and Ryan who were happy that there was finally the development that both (!) anticipated. But everyone accepted it for now. Bobby was the more pressing matter at hand in that moment.

So, the Contagion arc happened. And finally they solved the Bobby problem but had to accept the backlash on that AND the sudden Buddie stagnating.

The final three episodes after this arc were used to close this storyline and I am convinced that Bobby‘s death won‘t be a topic anymore in season 9. They let them grieve (even though poorly, still acknowledging the bad writing in some parts on my end here), trying to pull the characters out of being sidelined, getting back on track with giving them development.

Season 9 can be now used again to get to tell the stories they either wanted to tell in season 8 or had no time to even think about for this season.

But what about the press tour before the finale? Let‘s say it was… bad timing? Disney‘s upfront is a fixed date and the finale aired after it. Unfortunately. The press we saw that heavily featured Buddie… was not press for the finale. It was press for season 9. If the finale had aired before that all the Buddie hype would have been seen for its actual intention. To „hype“ season 9. To promote it. To sell their show. To finally go through with what they wanted to do for two seasons now but couldn’t do because they had to take care of something else (Bobby) first.

Was it calculating and kinda rude what the outlets did, to air and publish the stuff before the finale? Yes. Because it was misleading and a lot of people thought it was about the finale. Imagine that stuff being said next week or the week after? Completely different outcome. But them airing it before the finale gave people a wrong impression.

The problem is that a lot of people, me sometimes included I give you that, have an idea and theory because we see something or get hyped by other‘s theories… and then we focus so much on that and expect something to happen. While it just doesn‘t because it has never been the plan. And that is why people get disappointed and angry so often.

I don‘t want to blame anyone for doing that. It is just an explanation for why this happens, you know? And why people react to it the way they do.

If you put the hype aside and think about it being for season 9 and not the finale? It can be seen in a different light, especially with what I explained earlier. Buddie got sidelined and partially forgotten because of the Bobby issue. But now that they are free, they can get their focus back on that. And everything in the interviews and articles and videos is pointing towards it.

Abc still sees the potential and is still on board with it. Otherwise they would have shut it down for real, the interviews and everything that happened during that press would have been different for sure. They would have given more professional answers, more open worded. They would not have been that happy and giddy about the whole think. So, we can assume that it is still the plan for the upcoming season(s). We also know that they plan to keep 911 as long as possible, like the new Grey‘s Anatomy with a shit ton of seasons to come. Abc hasn’t given up on the show.

They just had to solve a problem first. And even if they did it in the worst way possible concerning the writing, the sidelining of other characters etc.? The problem is solved. The detour they had to take? Done. They can go through with their original plan. And that is Buddie.

Also one or maybe two important things. With Bobby gone it actually plays into the Buddie canon of it all. Why? One of the main faces of the show is gone. The male lead so to speak. That is why Oliver got so much promo work this week. Because they want to build him to be the new „male lead“ (I know it is an ensemble show but I have no better way to explain it.) He will take Peter‘s place. Not as the captain (that will be Chimney). But as the male face of the show. And Buddie? Even though it sounds weird but… Buddie is planned as the new Bathena. I don‘t want to make Bathena fans mad with this but…

Let’s be realistic for a second. Bathena was a main pull for the show. People tuning in for them. But now? Bobby is gone. And Athena? She has no house anymore so where does she live? I can see Angela stepping back as well. Not leaving the show completely but being more of a guest. To be their police connection until… she can raise the next one. A rookie. This is how these long term shows work. If an actor has to or wants to leave you find a replacement, have them interact and get them some build up. Then you can slowly pull back the old character and replace them with a new one.

The same can happen for the 118. There is an open position now. So… Ravi anyone? Anirudh could become a permanent member of the team and they would have an open position for a recurring firefighter/probie. The next generation for the 118. This could also lead to new relationships because the mains are all coupled up - HenRen, Madney, Buddie. So Ravi and the new rookie and firefighter? Next generation also for personal storylines. Win-win for the show.

Also, 911: Nashville plays a role in this. Because people, mostly GA, were complaining about OG being too woke (and with Bobby dead they killed the only straight white cis male of the show). They are unhappy but like the franchise as such, the emergencies and some of the personal stories (that is their main reason to watch the show). They can simply switch to Nashville. A mostly white cast (for now), nothing „woke“ we know of yet. They can latch onto a new straight white cis male as captain with his wife and team. And OG? That will draw in more queer viewers because it is „woke enough“ with queer rep, PoCs and mainly women on their show.

In the end abc won‘t loose that many viewers. The ones that leave OG becaues of „woke“ will move on to Nashville and OG draws in more of the queers. Win-win. Again. In the ends, the numbers and the money is what counts.

Buddie brings in more queers for OG and Nashville is for the straights. To simplify it.

To come to an end (and thanks if you read until here!):

Bobby‘s death was not a creative decision, it was a problem they had to solve to cater to Peter‘s wishes and needs. They took their time and sidelined characters for it. They tried a different approach with Hotshots but it didn‘t work out. So they took the MCD out and accepted their fate. After that is done now they can go back to their original plan with Buddie and start in season 9 with a clean story. Buddie will be their flagship relationship they focus on in 9a. Buddie was always meant to happen but got pushed back because of the more urgent matter. Bobby/Peter. Now they have the time to do it.

And one last thing before you are finally getting rid of me…

I said it more than once. I don‘t want to excuse anything. I am still on board with the „they wrote shitty storylines and executed a lot of things badly“. Characters were sidelined because of too many ideas with poor decisions being made. They could have done things better. And we know they can because we got better writing in the past. So, I will still criticize the show and how they did things. I am not blindly following and praising everything they do. I still have trust issues with them really being able to handle storylines for the characters accordingly to how they deserve to be handled in the future. I am hopeful but not delusional.

How they ended things with Bobby was… underwhelming and feels undeserved after so many years. He should have gotten something better and if Tim had not been focused on the action he could have given a two-episode goodbye that would have honored Peter‘s role and character.

I simply tried to approach both seasons with taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture after they are both over now. I am not giving Tim too much credit with saying that yes, I think he had a plan. I mean he has 30+ years under his belt. He is no newbie who has no clue what he is doing. But, and that is a big but, he got lost in all his side quests that he lost sight of his main quest. He lost the red string that should have been there throughout the season, connecting episodes and characters, because there were so many other shiny objects he wanted to explore.

I am not on the „trust the process“ train because like I said. I have trust issues. I just tried to understand why the stuff that happened happened the way it did. And to me that makes sense (not only me because a lot of that stuff was discussed in a little group of wonderful people who always try to stay sane and rational). But just because it makes sense doesn‘t automatically mean that I like it. I don‘t.

I can see their plan being pushed back because of some unfortunate and unforeseen problem and I can just hope that they will get back on track with their plan concerning Buddie since that problem is solved now. That after two season they can finally do what they wanted from the beginning after they changed to abc.

#911 abc #911 on abc #911 show #buddie #season 8 analysis #season 7 analysis #911 season 8 #911 season 7 #bobby nash #speculation #911 speculation #911 spoilers #just my thoughts #could be wrong #but to me it makes sense somehow #Therfore I will never close on Buddie

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breakmeoff · 7 hours ago

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In Vino Veritas │Nebbiolo

pairing: choi seunghyun x fem!reader

warnings: flirting, slight tension, mentions of alcohol (story is about wine afterall), the slowest of slow burns so far

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: seunghyun meets you in town after you offered to take him on a tour of the consortium where you work. plans change and you have to take a last minute trip out to a vineyard, and you invited seunghyun to join you. after spending the afternoon sampling wine and getting to know each other a little more, you drive him back to his rental villa.

note: once again, this is a work of fiction people/places are made up for story purposes only. thx for reading :)

Masterlist (this is Part 2 of the In Vino Veritas series)

Seunghyun was known for being habitually late to almost everything. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, it was mostly because he moved leisurely - he liked to take his time with everything he did; tying his shoes, languid brush strokes on a painting, slow sips of champagne, making decisions.

Because of those reasons, Seunghyun’s manager, Taejoon, was surprised that he was ready to go fifteen minutes before their agreed upon departure time. Hurrying himself up to meet his employer’s speed, the two were out the door within five minutes, taking the winding drive down from their rented villa onto the main road leading into Alba.

Seunghyun and his team had only been in Italy a matter of days thus far and hadn’t ventured into the new town, so he asked his manager to take the top down on their rented Ferrari, letting the warm spring breeze envelop them as they wound up the curvy, narrow roads into the hilltop township.

As with most Italian piazzas, vehicles were not allowed in the pedestrian areas, so Taejoon parked on a side street, turned the engine off and climbed out of the luxury convertible at the same time Seunghyun opened his door. Shifting his shirt sleeve to expose his watch, Seunghyun checked to make sure he would still be on time to meet you at ten.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be occupied today,” he spoke in Korean to Taejoon. “I don’t want to make you wait around for me so I’ll just give you a call when I have a better idea of when I’ll be finished with Y/N.”

Taejoon nodded, briefly discussed his plans for the day and agreed to keep an eye out for his call. Shortly thereafter, Seunghyun turned towards the main piazza, quietly taking in the architecture and passersby. Rounding a corner that led from the alleyway he came from, his eyebrows lifted at the expansive open square littered with small cafes, vendors selling trinkets, and people meandering aimlessly.

Spotting the fountain you had mentioned as the meeting location the day before, he made his way over in an unhurried manner. He paused in front of the marble fountain, examining the simple sculpture, watching the water cascade down into different basins rhythmically.

“Buongriono!,” a bright voice exclaimed, pulling Seunghyun from his reverie. Turning his body in the voice’s direction, a small grin spread over his features as he replied to you. “Good Morning.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” you said, coming to stand before him, resting your hand on his upper arm as you leaned in to press your cheek against his before switching sides with your other cheek in greeting. He knew the custom of kissing and touching was common in European countries, but he couldn’t help but tense a little at the contact, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks.

“No, I just got here…” he replied.

“Good! Are you ready? There’s a caffe just on the other side of the piazza where we can stop for an espresso before heading into the Consorzio.” You smiled, shifting your straw handbag from one hand to the other.

Seunghyun nodded his head, and extended his hand to allow you to lead the way. “Please.”

Falling into step with him as your white, lightweight sneakers guided you over the cobblestone streets, you pointed out a few things along the way. Pausing at a particular alley, you leaned in and pointed down the street. “My apartment is just down there, about four buildings down. See the balcony with the greenery? That’s mine,” you pointed out proudly.

“Wow, that’s so close to the piazza,” he noted, shifting his eyes from your building to you. “Si, I am very lucky. Close enough to walk everywhere and still just far enough off the main square that it isn’t too loud.”

A few minutes later, you approached a small caffe with no more than four tables and chairs strewn out front, but welcoming with the front door propped open to let in the fresh air. Walking in first, you spoke up in a sing-songy voice as you entered, Seunghyun right on your heel. “Buongiorno Paolo!”

The elderly proprietor turned around from behind the counter and smiled warmly, “Ciao ciao Y/N!” He walked around the side of the counter and greeted you with the traditional double cheek kiss, the two of you conversing in rapid, familiar Italian.

“Paolo, this is Seunghyun - he’s visiting from Korea and toured our vineyard yesterday.” You motioned towards the tall man beside you, and Paolo returned to his place behind the counter. “Bene! Welcome!”

“Thank you,” Seunghyun said quietly, observing the friendly informality between the two Italians.

Brushing some of your long hair behind your ear and shoulder, you pointed to two pastries in the case in front and ordered two cappuccinos to go. Paolo busied himself with your order and presented it to you on the countertop while plugging in a total to the vintage cash register. Reaching for your wallet, Seunghyun lifted his hand to stop you and handed the owner enough euros to cover their tab. “Grazie,” he said softly, nodding his head in a brief bow as he reached for the two beverages, handing one to you.

You reached up for the two pastries and began walking out the door once you waved your goodbye to your friend inside, and handed Seunghyun one of them once you stood outside. “Have you tried a cornetto yet?,” you inquired.

“No… it looks like a croissant almost?” He said, investigating the flaky pastry before he took a small bite from one end.

“Si, but cornettos are so much better than croissants,” you teased, playfully insinuating his statement was insulting. “They’re softer, cakier… and filled with Nutella.”

Seunghyun obviously had just gotten to the hazelnut chocolate center the same time you mentioned the spread, and his eyes lit up as he finished chewing. Nodding appreciatively, he flicked the tip of his tongue against his lower lip to catch any lingering crumbs. “You are absolutely correct, these are much better than a croissant.”

Laughing triumphantly, you took a sip of your cappuccino and continued leading him down the windy, narrow side streets to your office.

A short while later, pastries finished and cappuccinos consumed, you approached an old stone building, likely a few centuries old, with a modern sign out front - Consorzio di tutela Alba Langhe.

You stepped towards the large door, but before you could reach for the handle, Seunghyun moved forward and held it open for you. “Grazie,” you said quietly, smiling up at him as you walked in first and let him follow you inside.

“So,” you began, slowly guiding him through the hallways lined with old photographs of the town, the region, and infographics about wine. “This particular consorzio was founded in 1934 primarily to uphold the quality of wine being produced from this area, and to educate new vintner’s on the particular standards the government requires for authenticity. Our location here has also become a school of sorts, and we promote further knowledge of the wine and the fair, unadulterated competition between vineyards.”

Seunghyun listened carefully, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the photos on the wall and anything else you pointed out of note. His focus on you and the information before him rivaled how he studied paintings in art galleries, quiet, invested, and attentive.

You walked him through most of the public spaces of the building, and explained much of the purpose behind the foundation and regulations. Laughing softly, you paused and looked up to him, “I am sorry if this is too much information.”

Seunghyun stopped to look down at you, a kind smile over his lips as he shook his head. “No, I am passionate about wine and find it all fascinating. I appreciate you taking the time to explain the process to me.”

“Of course, it’s just surprising to have a potential client be as interested in the details like this.”

Dropping his hands from behind his back, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to find the words to explain himself. “I… like to take my time with things, especially if I plan to put my name to them. I have been very selective so far with who we have partnered with, and my intent is to be as educated as I can about the wine I choose and the way it’s produced.”

You nodded your head in understanding, “I can appreciate that - especially since there are so many thousands of vineyards you could work with.”

There was a pause before someone came down the hall, catching your attention. “Y/N!” You turned your head to your coworker and greeted him briefly before he began speaking to you quickly, Seunghyun watching the exchange and trying to pick out familiar words he might be able to translate.

He could tell by the expression in your face that you weren’t very pleased with the conversation. Not angry, more annoyed. He waited patiently, and shifted to look around the room idly.

“Si, si, ciao,” you replied dismissively to your coworker as he turned back down the hallway and disappeared. With a heavy sigh, you turned to Seunghyun once again. “I am so sorry… something came up and I need to make a trip out to one of the vineyards. There are some documents that need to be signed today to keep their registration active and there was a mix up in paperwork or something…” you trailed off.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I understand,” Seunghyun nodded with a small smile, though the subtle look in his eye gave away his disappointment.

After a beat or two, you spoke hesitantly, “would… would you like to come with me? It’s about 20 kilometers south of here and they have a public tasting area. They specialize in Nebbiolo, which you mentioned yesterday you were interested in exploring?”

He studied your face for a moment, trying to ascertain if it was a sympathy invite or genuine. “I don’t want to intrude on your work…”

“No, not at all!,” you insisted, probably too eagerly. “I just need to grab some documents from my colleague and then we can go. If you want to,” you paused, not trying to push.

“If it’s really not a problem, then sure. I’d love to.”

A little over an hour later, you pulled your dusty blue, vintage Fiat 500 off the main road and down a well taken care of gravel road, leading up to another beautiful villa with grapevines as far as the eye could see. The scenery was idyllic, and exactly people would imagine the Italian countryside to be.

Finding a place to park near the vineyard’s tasting room and main office, you turned the engine off and reached into the backseat to grab your bag, hat and the documents before getting out of the car. With Seunghyun standing by your side, you walked into the open front door and greeted one of the employees with a pleasant smile, asking to see the owner when he had a moment.

Turning back to Seunghyun, you noticed he had already wandered off to an elegantly styled wall display of their bottles of wine to examine what they produced. In the quiet of the moment, you finally noticed his stature - tall, lean, broad shoulders. He certainly carried himself well, and took pride in his appearance, from the perfectly tailored navy slacks, classic checkered white and navy button up shirt, rich brown belt and matching leather shoes. He was handsome.

Shortly thereafter, you heard your name, breaking your train of thought. Turning towards the proprietor, you greeted him informally with a smile and the double cheeked kiss, chatting with him for a few minutes in your native tongue, and attempted to get the business portion of the visit out of the way first.

Seunghyun turned over his shoulder once he heard the lilt of your voice again, and studied your interactions with the man curiously. He hadn’t met anyone with the same sort of natural exuberance you embodied in a long time, and if he was being honest with himself it was refreshing - and enticing.

You presented the required documents to the owner, using the bartop as a makeshift desk in order to go over the forms with him briefly before asking for his signatures. A few minutes later, after all of the signing was complete, you gathered the paperwork back up and tucked them into your bag.

“Seunghyun, I’d like to introduce you to Alfonso.” You said, gathering his attention and gesturing for him to join the two of you. “Alfonso is the owner of the vineyard, and I told him that you were looking to tour some of the nearby wineries as a potential client.”

Alfonso leaned forward to shake Seunghyun’s hand. “Piacere, pleased to meet you. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to schedule a meeting and tour for you with our manager?”

Looking between you and Alfonso, he nodded his head briefly. “I’d like that very much, thank you. Do you have a business card? I’d like to make sure my partner can join us when we can schedule something.”

“Si, one minute.” The owner turned around and disappeared into the back office for a moment, leaving the two of you alone once again.

“I hope you don’t mind?” You asked, looking up to the taller man. “I have worked with this vineyard for a long time and their quality is excellent. I wouldn’t have suggested you meeting with them if I didn’t support them.”

“Not at all, thank you for making the introduction,” Seunghyun smiled down at you just as Alfonso returned.

“Please just call this number whenever you and your partner have some time,” he said, handing Seunghyun the card. “In the meantime, please allow us to give you a bottle to sample and enjoy our patio.”

“Ahh, grazie Alfonso!” You exclaimed, nodding in approval before waiting for Seunghyun’s response.

“Y/n mentioned you are interested in Nebbiolo? Let me bring you one of our best. Please go have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you!” Alfonso insisted, gesturing out the front doors and to the aforementioned patio.

“Thank you,” Seunghyun replied with a smile and short nod of his head, and waited for you to lead the way out front.

Taking a seat at one of the round tables on the side of the patio, far enough away from other visitors also enjoying a glass of wine outside, you sighed as you set your handbag down in one of the spare chairs, and adjusted the hat resting loosely on top of your hair, smiling at Seunghyun once he sat beside you. He was silent though, his rich brown eyes having settled on the sprawling, uninterrupted view of the valley below.

“It is so beautiful out here,” he said quietly, taking in the scenery. Folding your hands in your lap, you couldn’t help appreciating how relaxed he seemed. You’d only met him the day before, but there was something about him that led you to believe he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders. The way he presented himself alone told you he was calculated, reserved, observant.

A few minutes later, Alfonso returned with two crystal Burgundy glasses, a bottle of red, and a plate of bread, salami and cheese. “For you, my friends…” he said cheerfully, pulling a wine key from his pocket to open the wine.

Seunghyun turned towards the owner as he poured a splash of the wine into one of the glasses and handed it to him. “Please, taste. We can find something else more suitable to your liking if this isn’t what you are looking for.”

“Thank you, Alfonso,” you said softly, watching the exchange of the two men before looking over to Seunghyun as he swirled the contents once, before inserting his nose into the bowl of the glass. His eyes fell closed as he took in the aroma, and sat with it for a second before he opened his eyes again and took a small sip.

After a moment, he nodded his head subtly. “Lovely,” he said in his deep timber, setting his glass back down on the table. “Bene, bene,” Alfonso exclaimed, pouring him a full glass before he shifted to you and filled your glass next. Setting the bottle on the table, he placed the cork beside it and took a step back. “Please enjoy and let us know if you need anything. Grazie.”

You grinned at the owner as he then turned to disappear back inside the villa, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Reaching towards the stem of your glass, you brought it to your lips and took a sip, savoring the taste of the bold red before you placed it back on the table. “Have you been Italy before this trip?”

Seunghyun glanced over to you, swallowing the wine lingering on his palette. “Yes, several times.” Lifting one of his legs to cross over the other, he leaned back against the chair. “I am also an art collector, so I have visited Rome and Florence many times.”

“Oh,” you said, somewhat surprised though intrigued. “Italy must be one of your favorite countries then,” you laughed softly. “Art, wine, beautiful scenery…” you began, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table as you studied him. “I didn’t take you for a romantic, but maybe I am wrong.”

With that last statement, Seunghyun’s eyes flitted to the glass of wine before him again, lips curling in an embarrassed smile. “In theory perhaps,” he nodded, leaving his response somewhat open-ended.

“What other plans do you have while you are visiting?” You inquired, taking another sip of wine.

“The scouting is our primary focus,” he said, lifting his glass to hint towards the wine, “but I’ve been invited to looking at a new men's collection at one of the fashion houses in Milan, and a friend of mine has curated a new exhibit at one of the museums in Florence that is opening in a few weeks that I plan to attend.”

“Ahh, fantastic,” you smiled, watching him continue.

“If time allows, I would love to take a few days to go down south, I haven’t gone to the Amalfi Coast area yet and I have a secret obsession with limoncello that I want to explore,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Limoncello is delicious! Why is it a secret?” you ask brightly, surprised by his statement. Focusing your attention on him, you studied his features for a little longer than necessary. … had his jaw always been that sharp? His eyes always that kind?

“It’s so sweet, it’s more like a dessert than a drink,” he replied, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

“And extremely high in alcohol content,” you laughed, emphasizing your point. “There is nothing embarrassing about that, for sure!” Your hand reached out to rest on his forearm gently, innocently in your mind, though Seunghyun’s breath caught once again.

The two of you continued to chat there, savoring your respective glasses of the Nebbiolo for another hour or so. The smile that had become an almost permanent fixture on Seunghyun’s face by this point was an indicator that he was beginning to relax, not only in the new environment but with you. Your energy and joyful nature was a welcome change, and something he hadn’t recognized previously that he was truly missing.

As you finished the remnants in your glass, you sighed happily, looking over the horizon. “We should probably head back soon, driving on these windy roads can be tricky at night.”

“Of course,” he nodded, reaching forward to recork what was left of the bottle so they could take it with them. “How long do you think until we’re back in Alba? I’ll text my manager and let him know when to come get me.” He asked, glancing at his watch before standing.

As you started to scoot your chair back, he came behind you to the back of yours and helped you stand before tucking it back under the table.

“Where did you say you were staying again?” You asked, glancing up to him.

“Oh, don’t ask me to pronounce the village,” he said with a chuckle, reaching for his phone. “I don’t want to mispronounce it horribly. Let me show you on the map.” Shifting to stand right beside you, he pulled it up on his screen and handed it to you.

With his proximity so close, you instinctively stiffened slightly at the light pressure of his arm against yours. The scent of his smooth, musky cologne becoming evident for the first time as well.

“Oh, that’s actually on the way back to Alba, I can just take you there.” You replied, glancing up at him.

Seunghyun hesitated, his eyes meeting yours momentarily. “Are you sure it’s not a major inconvenience?”

“Not at all,” you insisted. Clearing your throat, you turned to grab your handbag and the documents inside before Seunghyun grabbed the bottle of wine and followed you back to your car.

Once you were both seated in the car, and headed back down the long driveway to the main road, you felt it. You were positive that the slight attraction you felt was purely one sided, and therefore you shoved it down, intending to keep the rest of your time with him strictly professional. Not that you had crossed any boundaries. Nor would you.

The drive was relatively quiet, save for the humming of the engine and the soft radio, and for some strange reason Seunghyun felt tension for the first time since he’d met you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it though, and figured it was just him overthinking as usual.

Coming around a familiar curve in the road, Seunghyun pointed over off into the nearby distance. “I think our villa is actually just on the other side of that hill,” he said softly.

You glanced down to the address on your phone and nodded in response. “Just about five minutes down the road.”

Finally pulling up to yet another typically long driveway, you slowed the car down as your eyes widened, blinking at the villa you approached. “Wow…” you mumbled softly, Seunghyun’s eyes shifting to you with a smirk. It wasn’t cocky, just amused with your reaction.

Pulling up to the front, you shifted the car in park and looked over to him. “How many of you are staying here?”

“There’s only four of us right now… my parents are planning to come out for a week at some point, but not sure when that will be yet.”

Shifting to look back at the massive home before you, “It’s beautiful, must provide a lot of space for everyone.”

He looked at you curiously, unbuckled his seatbelt and motioned towards the house. “Would you like to come in and take a tour? Looking from the empty driveway everyone else is gone right now…”

“Oh, no no… that’s ok,” you replied rather quickly. “I should get back to the Consorzio to make sure the forms get filed before the end of the day.”

Seunghyun nodded slowly, “well maybe another time then.”

With a small smile, you nodded in reply. “Another time.”

He sat there in the seat, unmoving for a moment, unsure of what was keeping him lingering there. “Uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “would it be ok if I asked for your phone number? I-in case I have other questions about the vineyard… or town.”

You watched him hesitantly, sensing some nervousness coming from him as he spoke. “Yes of course…” you replied, reaching out for his phone. After he handed it to you, you typed your contact information in and sent yourself a quick text from his phone so you could save his information in yours.

“Please call me for anything. I can offer some suggestions of other vineyards too sometime if you’d like,” you paused, and Seunghyun nodded, taking his phone back.

“I will, thank you.” He waited a moment, awkwardly, and eventually reached for the handle of the door and pushed it open. With the bottle of wine still in his hand from the winery earlier, he handed it to you. “Please have the rest of this.”

Watching him stand, you took the bottle from his hand, “are you sure?” You ducked your head down to look at him through the open passenger door which he now leaned down to.

With a warm smile, and a playful glint in his eye, he nodded his head. “Yes. I still have some bottles I got yesterday from another vineyard,” he paused, “the wine is better and the staff was prettier.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, laughing softly as his statement. “I’ll be sure to let my father know you thought he was pretty.”

Dropping his head with a bright smile, he chuckled, and looked up to meet your eyes again. “Please do. Thank you again for today, Y/n. See you soon.”

You smirked, nodding your head. “See you soon, Seunghyun.”

With that, he reluctantly shut the passenger door and took a step back as you backed up, and drove down the driveway. Lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair, he exhaled loudly and stood there frozen for a few minutes, starting to recognize that his trip to Italy might not just be all business after all.

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Masterlist (this is Part 2 of the In Vino Veritas series)

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p #top #t.o.p fanfic #choi seunghyun fanfic #top fanfic #big bang fanfic #bigbang fanfic #choi seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun x female reader #choi seunghyun fanfiction #in vino veritas fanfic

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