#a bit of angst with a dash of drama

[fushitoru]

chapter 7: the rebound a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

Once again, dear Reader, this humble Author finds herself vindicated. Country house parties, as ever, remain the fertile soil from which the most delicious scandals bloom. And today’s revelation is no exception.

Yes, indeed, you read it here first: the dashing and ever-elusive Lord Satoru Gojo will not be marrying Miss Itadori, this season’s most celebrated diamond. The murmurs have already begun spreading like wildfire, bringing sighs of relief from hopeful ladies and knowing smirks from their watchful chaperones. The eligible Duke-to-be’s sudden return to certified bachelorhood is, no doubt, a development many find most agreeable.

But what, pray, has caused this sudden turn of events? The dissolution of an arrangement so seemingly perfect? Alas, even this Author—a tireless seeker of truths—has found the particulars elusive. Was it a clash of personalities? A misstep at the ball? Or perhaps, a secret grievance unearthed during those long, candlelit evenings at the country estate?

What this Author can confirm is that the ballroom whispers point to Lord Gojo’s own doing, based upon the countenances and actions of the pair at the ball. Did the ever-charming lord tire of his diamond’s sparkle, or has he found a more alluring treasure elsewhere? The possibilities are endless, and so, it seems, is the intrigue surrounding the pair.

One thing remains certain: while Miss Itadori may have stumbled in this engagement, she remains a diamond among gems—brilliant, resilient, and admired. What paths now await her are anyone’s guess, but if this Author knows anything, it is that diamonds shine brightest under pressure.

As for Lord Gojo, the question lingers: will his rakish reputation survive this latest scandal unscathed? Or has he, at last, met a match too dazzling even for him to outshine? Rest assured, dear Reader, this Author will remain ever-vigilant, pen poised and ready to uncover the truth.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

You could have had a bit more tact when informing Sukuna of the events of the past few days, for the reaction you gained made you realize that you may have made a misstep.

“What?!” Sukuna roared, looking at the three of you with fury. Yuji jumped, while you and Choso grimaced.  “He did what?!”

“Now, now, brother,” Choso stood up nervously to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. “It is all good and well, for I have arranged for a better match for our dear sister—”

“A duel!” Sukuna bellowed, standing up from his seat on the couch to stomp his way to the door. “I will challenge that Gojo fellow to a duel—” It was only until Yuji ran and tackled him to the ground that he was waylaid to God knows what he was going to do to Lord Gojo. You and Choso could only watch the scene, too perforce to the strength of bulls that your brothers had to be able to interrupt. 

A few scratches and awfully purple looking bruises later, Sukuna and Yuji were seated on the couch once again, thanks to Choso’s plead for nonviolence. It was then that Choso started explaining what had occurred in the season so far. “Mother insisted,” he sighed, shaking his head. “She seemed to have struck a mutual…entente with the Duchess of Gojo. It was only a matter of time before Mother forced her ways. Now that it has not redound in her favor, I have even more rationale to have my…way with Sister’s matches. For God’s sake, Sukuna stop glaring at me Mother left me behind on the first ball—”

Sukuna did not stop glaring; in fact, he chose that moment to take a long slurp of his tea while staring fiercely at him while Choso shifted nervously. After a long bout of silence, he finally offered, “I understand Mother can be very pushy, and that you, Choso, are not fierce enough to withstand her.” Choso did not even protest, just offered a deadpan. “But I, however, will not be a feather to a simple blow of the wind that Mother is. It is time our dear sister lived up to her reputation, what she has prepared so hard for.” He looks upon you with a soft gaze—that is, a soft gaze for Sukuna. “No matter how tactless Gojo’s estrangement was, Sister will recover, so long as her morale has not lessened.  Sukuna’s head turned sharply to you, “It has not weakened, right Sister? He has not left you heartbroken?”

You could hear your heart as you looked at your brother, dumbfounded. His perceptive gaze disarmed you, but you blurted out a “Of course not” and turned to hastily grab a pastry from the table next to the loveseat you were seated at.. When you looked back at your brother, you jumped as his gaze lingered on you then nonetheless turned to glare at your brother when Yuji opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to irritatedly remark on his denseness.

No matter, you think to yourself. Whatever you feel about Gojo is of no matter. The visit at the manor was only a delay and a small obstacle for your season. It was time to attend to the matter at hand: finding a husband. 

The dewy grass kissed the hem of your nightgown as you wandered to the old swing set on the far edge of the manor grounds—a relic of your childhood, weathered but enduring. The creak of the chains was a sound that had long since embedded itself in your memory, a reminder of simpler days when duty had yet to tighten its grip.

You had not been able to sleep.

The house was still, the hush of midnight settling over its grand halls and sprawling grounds. Yet sleep evaded you, your thoughts as restless as the autumn breeze that stirred the curtains of your chamber. In the quiet, the weight of your obligations pressed heavily upon you, a familiar but unwelcome companion. Deciding that solitude under the stars might grant clarity where the confines of your room could not, you slipped on a shawl and had ventured outside.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and teasing. He was seated on a swing with his big frame illustrating a comical sight on the small seat. His silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of his cigarillo, and the faint ember cast fleeting shadows across his sharp features, making his smirk all the more pronounced.

The unexpected sight of him startled you for a moment, though you quickly masked your surprise. You drew your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the chill of the night settling into your skin, and stepped closer. “And here I thought I was the only one who sought refuge in our old playground at such an hour,” you replied lightly, though your voice carried the faint weight of sleeplessness. “What brings you here?”

He took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarillo before discarding it into the damp grass, the embers hissing softly as they extinguished. Straightening, he gestured to the empty swing beside him. “Thinking,” he said simply. “And you? Or do I even need to ask?”

You hesitated for only a moment before lowering yourself onto the swing, your fingers grazing the cold chains as you pushed back slightly. The seat creaked beneath your weight, swaying gently with your movements. The motion stirred a familiar ache of nostalgia—a reminder of days when life felt less complicated. “What else could it be but the endless circus of expectations Mother has so kindly bestowed upon me?”

The bitterness in your tone was impossible to conceal, and Sukuna chuckled darkly. He reached up to push a hand through his disheveled hair, his movements purposeful, almost theatrical. “Ah, yes,” he said mockingly. “The marriage parade. The grand auctioning of one’s life for the sake of the family name. What a fine role you’ve been cast in, dear sister. I don’t envy you.”

You gave a dry laugh, your voice quiet yet tinged with resolve. “Unfortunately, dear brother,” you began, staring into the star-dappled sky, “it is my duty to be wed.”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brow furrowing. “It is not your duty, least of all when it robs you of your freedom.”

A protest began to form on his lips, but you held up a hand, your expression soft yet resolute. “Let me finish,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. Taking a deep breath, you continued, “If I were to grow old into a spinster, there would be no one to take care of me. You and Yuji would inherit our lands and manors, and Choso is the viscount; there would be no space for me except with some of our aunts.”

At the mention of your aunts, both of you shuddered involuntarily. The thought of their overbearing presence, their sharp tongues and endless criticisms, was enough to unite even the most quarrelsome of siblings.

“You cannot take care of me forever,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground. The swing swayed faintly as you spoke, the motion as restless as your thoughts. “One day, you—or any of our brothers—might choose to start a family with someone you love. It would be intrusive of me to remain dependent on you all.”

Sukuna scoffed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. “You know better than anyone that I aim to travel the world. I cannot be chained to a family or a manor—not now, not ever.”

You turned to him, your eyes softening as you regarded his familiar fire, the same defiance that had always set him apart from the others. “Sukuna,” you said gently, your voice tinged with fondness, “you may do as you please, and I would never wish to impede you. But I cannot rely on you indefinitely. You deserve to live freely, to make your own choices without the burden of my future weighing on your conscience.”

Once again, silence enveloped you both, broken only by the faint creak of the swings and the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna eventually broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “Then we must make sure to do well and find you a husband on your terms.”

You turned to him, brow arched in curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, “that you must stop playing the part Mother has assigned you. Demure and meek may be what she wants, but it’s hardly the truth of you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer as if to share a conspiracy, “do you think the kind of husband you’d want would fall for such a facade?”

His words caught you off guard, and you frowned slightly. “Are you implying I’m to frighten potential suitors away?”

“Not frighten,” Sukuna corrected, his tone amused. “But consider this: if a man is drawn to meekness, might that not suggest he wishes to dominate or control? Would you truly wish to tether yourself to such a person? Or would you rather find someone who can appreciate your independence, who will meet you as an equal?”

His reasoning gave you pause. The image of a husband who might respect your will, who might value the sharpness of your mind and the strength of your character, was tempting—if not entirely what you needed. “And how, pray tell, do you suggest I go about finding such a man?”

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Start by being yourself, unapologetically. Let them see the wit, the fire, the resolve that I know so well. Let them see you, and if they can’t handle it, then they aren’t worth your time.”

You smiled faintly, your heart lighter from his words. After all, this scheming was due on your part; you were only grateful this shift occurred with Sukuna as your humble advisor. “It’s a daring plan, brother. Let us hope it does not lead to my complete social ruin.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “If it does, then you shall travel the world with me. Who needs societal approval when there’s an entire world to explore?”

For a moment, the weight of your burdens felt a little easier to bear. Under the vast, starlit sky, you allowed yourself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a future where duty and happiness could coexist.

Despite the peace conversing with Sukuna had granted you, sleep evaded you still, leaving you to roll onto your side, the cool fabric of the pillow offering no solace. Your thoughts had been louder than ever these past weeks, and one name in particular echoed through your mind like a stubborn refrain: Gojo.

His face came unbidden, as vivid as if he were standing at the foot of your bed. That insufferable smirk, the casual way he tilted his head as if always in on some grand secret. He saw through you—that much was undeniable, no matter how much you abhorred it. It wasn’t just the way his piercing gaze seemed to cut through your defenses, stripping away the layers of pleasantries and propriety until you were left exposed. It was his words, too—sharp, direct, and unyielding. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t content to let you be the demure and dutiful daughter your mother had so painstakingly sculpted.

You turned onto your back, staring up at the shadowed canopy above, the weight of his judgment pressing against your chest. “He wouldn’t want to marry me either,” you thought bitterly, biting your lip to suppress a laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. Why would he? I am only but a pathological people-pleaser—a woman who smiles and nods and folds herself into whatever shape is required of her. It was a role you had perfected, a mask you wore so often that you sometimes forgot it wasn’t your face. And yet, he saw through it.

That was the part that unsettled you most—not his arrogance, not his sharp tongue, but his ability to cut through your defenses as though they were paper. He saw you, in all your contradictions and uncertainties, and somehow, you suspected that he pitied you for them. Or worse, respected you less for it.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you turned onto your other side, burying your face into the pillow. No wonder I’m still unmarried. The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel. What man would want a wife who couldn’t even decide who she wanted to be?

But that wasn’t fair—not entirely. You had a plan, didn’t you? A bold, liberating plan that would take you far from the shadow of your mother’s expectations. You could already picture her face when you told her—calm, composed, and quietly furious, as though your refusal to obey were a personal affront. The thought brought the faintest flicker of satisfaction, but it was fleeting.

The plan wasn’t perfect, nor was it foolproof. It hinged on one pivotal point: finding a husband who could be an equal partner rather than a master. A man who could grant you the freedom to forge your own path in peace, without the constant weight of disapproval bearing down on you.

Your thoughts wandered to Duke Nanami. Equal in power to Gojo, fair-minded, and kind—a man with no appetite for games or artifice. If you manage to secure a match with him, the ton would not view your…blunder with Gojo with such amusement. Insofar your interactions this season, he had always treated you with quiet respect, never pressing you into conversations you didn’t wish to have or cornering you with expectations. He would be a good man to marry, you thought. A safe choice.

And yet, even as you considered him, Gojo’s face intruded once more, unwelcome and unavoidable. Duke Nanami was everything Gojo wasn’t—measured, steady, predictable. But it was Gojo who set your mind alight, who made you question things you had long accepted as unchangeable truths. He irritated you, challenged you, unnerved you in a way no one else did.

You sighed, turning again, the sheets tangling around your legs like restraints. The very fact that Gojo occupied your thoughts at all was infuriating. He had no place there, no right to linger in the quiet moments when you were supposed to find peace. And yet, here he was, as persistent in your mind as he was in person.

The plan. You needed to focus on the plan. Liberating yourself from your mother’s expectations wasn’t about Gojo or Duke Nanami or anyone else. It was about reclaiming yourself, about becoming a woman who didn’t need to twist herself into shapes for anyone—not your mother, not a potential husband, and certainly not Gojo.

And it would start at your wardrobe.

You give the most polite smile you can muster, but you do not need the mirror in front of you to know that your countenance is strained, the edges of your smile not reaching your eyes. “Lower it even further.”

A beat passes in the room as the modiste, your mother, and Sukuna stare at you in incredulity.  The bustline to your dress is low. Of course, it is not yet teetering on the edge of what is socially acceptable, and that is the position you want it to be. Hence, you gesture to Sukuna, prompting him to regain his senses and snap his head towards Momo. “Please attend to my sister’s request.”

You could smell what you mother was about to say, even if she had not yet done so. “My dear,” she began, “I hardly think that’s appro–” Sukuna’s glares reorients itself now to focus on your mother, and she purses her lips with what appears to be arduous effort, knowing a quarrel with Sukuna would escalate quite quickly, both immediate and unwise.  

Madame Momo, for the better, offers no protest as she lowers the deep, wine red fabric she was upholding against your body. If you were not wearing your regular clothes, you would know that quite a bit of the swell of your breasts would be framed by the dress. However, it wasn’t enough. “A bit lower.”

The modiste lets out a small sigh, her needle poised mid-air as she hesitates. “My lady, to lower it further would risk—” she pauses delicately, “—compromising the structural integrity of the gown.”

“I appreciate your insight, Madame, and know that you are quite skilled at your craft,” you flash her a semi-apologetic smile. After all, she is the one that has to attend to your…rebranding crisis and revamp a majority of your wardrobe. “However, I am afraid that I’d like to do something new this season. Something eye-catching.”

A faint chuckle escapes her lips, no doubt spurred on by the flattery. With a practiced hand, she adjusts the fabric once more, lowering it to the precise balance of scandalous and sophisticated. She steps back, her critical eye assessing her own handiwork. “Well, it will definitely be eye-catching.”

“Precisely.” You nod in approval, smoothing the line of the fabric with your fingers. “I believe Lady Whistledown,” you add, your voice tinged with knowing confidence, “will ensure that the modiste responsible for the diamond’s striking attire becomes the talk of the season.”

Momo’s lips twitch into a smile, and she dips her head in acknowledgment, already returning to her work with renewed purpose. Sukuna, standing to the side, folds his arms and smirks at the scene, clearly entertained by your audacity.

Your mother, meanwhile, remains silent, though her pursed lips betray her disapproval. Let her simmer, you think, satisfaction curling in your chest. This season is yours to command, and you will not be overlooked.

I cannot do this. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cann—

“Sister!” Sukuna called out. You regained your senses, snapping your head at once to look at him, who was holding out his hand. Swallowing, you grabbed it so he could assist you out of the carriage. What had you in a tizzy was the sheer amount of people. Yet again, you were attending your first party after the events in the countryside but this time without your mother and Yuuji. Not only had the people you were accompanied with changed, but also different attire. A red silk dress fell over your curves gracefully, the draping across your chest a bit lower than usual. It is the dress of your dreams—one that you would have worn if not for your mother and her beliefs regarding your image. Now, your clothing was still socially acceptable but nevertheless daring—exactly the image you wanted to present. 

However, it was safe to say that after the events of the house party, venturing out in another—with so much of your chest exposed—had you nervous. Oh God, perhaps this wasn’t the brightest of my ideas— (a/n she’s just a girl :( )

“Presenting Miss Itadori, Mister Itadori, and the Right Honorable The Viscount Itadori!” As you were announced to the room, with your brothers linking arms on either side of you, you smiled—trying not to let the nerves show. At the sound of your name, the buzz of conversation faltered, dozens of heads turning toward you. You felt the weight of their gazes—sharp, judgmental, curious. You were certain half of them were eager to witness the fallout of Whistledown’s latest scandal, while the other half seemed transfixed by the boldness of your attire.

Your eyes flitted over the sea of faces as you moved through the room. There were gasps, poorly veiled whispers, and even a few widened eyes aimed at Sukuna, but what truly set your nerves alight was the attention fixed squarely on you. You resisted the urge to fidget, to adjust the neckline of your gown, to shrink under their scrutiny.

Then, amid the crowd, your gaze locked onto a familiar figure with a piercing stare—Suguru Geto.

He was lounging by the far wall, a glass of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he shook his head, clearly entertained. Your heart stuttered, the heat rushing to your cheeks making your nerves spike further. Am I being mocked?

Before the thought could consume you, he raised his glass in a mock salute, a gesture of acknowledgment—perhaps even respect. He then nudged the man standing next to him, none other than Duke Nanami.

Your pulse quickened at the sight of the Duke, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Geto’s casual amusement. The weight of Nanami’s steady, discerning gaze was one you weren’t prepared to meet—not tonight. In the periphery, you caught Geto slipping toward the courtyard, his laughter soft but audible as he disappeared into the night.

You tore your gaze away just in time, focusing straight ahead as you approached the Queen. Your shoulders stiffened, the intricate beading of your gown catching in the light. The murmurs grew fainter, the towering figure of Her Majesty now looming just ahead. With each step, your pulse thundered louder in your ears, but you kept your chin high, determined not to falter.

When you and your brothers reached the foot of the throne, you slipped your arms free from theirs and sank into the deepest curtsy you could manage. "Your Majesty," you murmured, lowering your head to avoid the weight of her gaze. The richness of the room—gold-trimmed drapes, towering portraits, and the hum of whispered conversations—did little to steady your nerves.

"Rise," the Queen commanded, her tone clipped and dismissive, the single word laced with impatience. You obeyed, your movements deliberate and slow, feeling the weight of every eye in the chamber on your shoulders. When you met her gaze, she was already appraising you, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. Her scrutiny was clinical, and when she sighed audibly, it was clear her judgment was far from favorable.

“I have not been…pleased by the recent affairs, diamond,” the Queen began, her voice cold and detached, like a blade gliding through silk. A sniff punctuated her words, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. “I fear this is a failure to the crown.”

The room seemed to tilt, your heartbeat quickening in your chest. The Queen’s disappointment carried a weight that could crush reputations, and yours was teetering precariously on the edge of her approval.

“However,” her tone shifted ever so slightly, and you found yourself snapping to attention, clinging to that single word like a lifeline. “Your recent change in…style is fitting.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. The Queen’s gaze lingered on the daring neckline of your gown, the rich red fabric catching the light in just the right way to emphasize its boldness. “You are not a simple and bland gem, Miss Itadori.” Her words were deliberate, measured, and the faintest hint of approval gleamed in her sharp eyes. “You are a diamond, and you must start to shine like it.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The Queen’s words were praise, yes, but they also carried an implicit warning: a diamond that failed to sparkle was of no use to anyone, least of all the crown.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, your voice steady but quiet, and you curtsied again, the fabric of your gown whispering against the marble floor. The Queen’s gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention elsewhere, her dismissal unspoken but clear. As you rose again, Choso placed a reassuring hand on your elbow, a subtle anchor in the sea of your swirling thoughts.

A light, “You all are dismissed.”

The cool night air wrapped around Suguru Geto as he strolled into the courtyard, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint strains of the ballroom's orchestra followed him, muffled now by the grand walls of the manor. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his lips as he glanced up at the stars. The night felt ripe with possibility, though it was the scene he had just left that truly amused him.

He exhaled, letting the crisp air settle over him, before taking another measured step toward the fountain at the courtyard’s center. His fingers grazed the cool stone edge, the chill a welcome change from the warmth of the crowded ballroom. He savored the silence, only for it to be broken by the familiar sound of approaching footsteps.

“Geto,” a voice called out, casual but clipped.

Suguru turned slowly, almost lazily, as though he hadn’t already recognized the speaker. Gojo Satoru emerged from the shadows of the colonnade, his silver hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He moved with his usual languid ease, though his sharp blue gaze belied his carefree demeanor.

“Well, well,” Suguru greeted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. “You’re out here. Don’t tell me you’ve finally tired of the fawning crowds?”

Gojo came to a stop a few paces away, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the marble columns. “Needed some air. The room’s packed with too many people pretending to like each other.” His gaze flicked to Suguru, scrutinizing. “And you? Slipping out to avoid trouble, or cause it?”

Suguru chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh, you wound me, Satoru. Can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace without being accused of scheming?”

“You?” Gojo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not a chance. So, what’s your angle this time?”

Suguru let the question hang, savoring the quiet tension between them. He set his glass down on the fountain’s edge, turning to fully face Gojo. His smirk widened as he finally spoke. “No angle. Just admiring the company tonight. Speaking of which…” He paused for dramatic effect, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Miss Itadori made quite the entrance.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change immediately, but Suguru saw the faint flicker of something—irritation, maybe, or something more carefully hidden. Gojo’s mouth twitched into a scoff, though the sound was faint, almost perfunctory.

“What about her?” Gojo asked, his tone deliberately disinterested, but Suguru noted how his fingers flexed briefly before he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if considering his next words carefully. “She looked… radiant tonight. Stunning, really. I can’t imagine half the room wasn’t staring. Though, I must say, some seemed more surprised than others.” His eyes darted back to Gojo, watching for a reaction.

Gojo rolled his eyes, though there was a tightness in his jaw that Suguru didn’t miss. “She’s just another debutante. Why would I care what she’s wearing?”

“Why indeed?” Suguru replied, his voice deceptively mild. He stepped closer, leaning against the fountain with an easy grace. “But it does make one wonder—what kind of man would care? Surely someone with a sharp eye for detail. Someone with… let’s say, a bustful interest.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Suguru tilted his head, studying Gojo with an intensity that bordered on playful. “Because I could swear you seemed a little distracted back there. And not by the Queen, mind you. Why did you leave as soon as the Itadoris were announced?”

“Drop it, Geto.” Gojo’s voice was sharper now, but there was an edge of unease beneath the command.

Suguru’s smirk deepened as he tried to fight the urge to snicker at his friend, but he let the moment linger, letting Gojo stew in his discomfort. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid idly before taking another slow sip. Finally, he straightened, his tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.

“Well, whatever it is—or isn’t—you’d better sort it out soon.” He started to walk past Gojo, his footsteps deliberately slow. Just as he passed, he paused, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in danger of losing your famously cool head.”

Gojo didn’t respond immediately, but Suguru didn’t need him to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw—those were all the confirmation he needed for his plan.

Suguru chuckled softly, a sound more amused than mocking, and continued on his way, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Satoru. Something tells me it’s going to be… illuminating.”

Left alone, Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the retreating figure. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked fervor. Still, Suguru’s words lingered, circling his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He turned his gaze back toward the ballroom, his thoughts uncomfortably crowded with images of a certain young lady and the maddening smirk of a man who always seemed to know too much.

It appears that you and Duke Nanami have much in common, for you are able to hold a most pleasant conversation with him.

The din of the ballroom fades to a dull murmur as you stand near the refreshment table, your gaze politely fixed on the Duke. His presence is commanding yet unassuming—a rare quality that draws you in. Dressed in a deep navy coat that matches the intensity of his solemn eyes, he inclines his head slightly as he speaks, the weight of his words tempered by the gentleness in his tone.

The arrangement is perfect. You have successfully caught your target, much to the chagrin of ladies. After all, it was not all days that Duke Nanami took interest in a lady. You would have to credit Choso; he had researched that HIs Grace did not like overbearing mamas accompanying their girls—a most rational opinion. Posing fiery opinions without the presence of anyone except yourself, it seemed that you had hit the mark.

“I find, Miss Itadori,” he says, his voice smooth yet deliberate, “that many in our circles underestimate the joy of simple pursuits. They mistake extravagance for fulfillment.” He takes a measured sip from his glass, his gloved fingers resting lightly on its stem.

You nod, a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I could not agree more, Your Grace. There is a certain comfort in the unadorned pleasures of life. A good book, a quiet morning—these seem to me the most worthwhile indulgences.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in what might pass as a rare smile. “Indeed. Though I daresay, quiet mornings are hard to come by when the season is in full swing.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the music that swells across the room. “Quite so. I suppose we are all too busy chasing the next waltz or whispering about the latest Whistledown missive.”

At the mention of Whistledown, the Duke raises a brow, his expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Ah, yes. Our ever-watchful chronicler. One wonders if she, too, finds time for quiet mornings.”

“I imagine she must,” you reply. “After all, how else would she craft such keen observations? A mind as sharp as hers surely requires moments of reflection.”

“Reflection, yes,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above, as if lost in thought. Then, returning his attention to you, he asks, “And what of you, Miss Itadori? Amidst the bustle, do you find moments to reflect?”

The question catches you off guard—not because it is intrusive, but because it is sincere. Few have ever asked you such things. You hesitate, then answer truthfully. “I try, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the season has left little room for it. It seems my every step is watched, my every word weighed. I sometimes wonder if I have forgotten how to simply be.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, you feel as though he truly sees you—not as the diamond of the season, not as the subject of idle gossip, but as a person. “That is a heavy burden to bear,” he says quietly. “Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself a reprieve. Even diamonds require care, lest they lose their brilliance.”

The words settle over you like a balm, and you find yourself holding his gaze longer than propriety might dictate. There is no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. It is both comforting and disarming. Before you can respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby group breaks the spell. You glance away, suddenly aware of your surroundings once more. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you feel.

“I merely speak the truth, Miss Itadori,” he replies, bowing his head slightly.

A pause lingers between you, not uncomfortable but weighty with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he clears his throat, his tone lighter as he says, “Would you care to take a turn about the room? I find the air here grows rather stifling.”

You smile, grateful for the excuse to move. “I would like that very much.”

As he offers his arm, you place your hand lightly upon it, allowing him to guide you into the throng. The music swells once more, and though the room is as noisy and crowded as ever, the world feels a little quieter with Duke Nanami by your side. You can see it—early mornings with Nanami, enjoying gentle banter as he returned your thoughts without any ire, without snark or judgment. Quiet respect and gentle affection filling your days. A life free of chaos, where your worries dissipate into the steady calm of his demeanor. Perhaps this could be happiness. A steady, uncomplicated happiness.

But then you see him.

You abhor your traitorous heart for lurching ever so slightly at the sight of Gojo. He is standing near the edge of the ballroom, the golden light catching on his shock of silver hair as though it had been crafted to draw attention. His smile—always so bright, so effortless—makes the lady beside him laugh. She looks at him with a sultry, yet detached and amused expression, her fan flicking lazily as if to dismiss her own growing interest.

Your chest tightens. You know this scene well. It is one you have observed too many times, and yet you have never been able to steel yourself against the sting it brings. The way he leans ever so slightly toward the lady, as though she were the only person in the room. The way his laughter echoes, a sound full of mirth and mischief, as if he had no weight upon his shoulders.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself he doesn’t matter.

But then, as though he feels the weight of your gaze, Gojo turns his head. Your pulse quickens as his eyes widen, the usual lazy charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, something you can’t quite place.

First, his gaze lands on your face, his eyes sweeping over it with a quickness that feels like a jolt to your chest. Then, they drop lower, and you feel the heat of his scrutiny settle uncomfortably on your chest. A flicker of something crosses his expression—shock, perhaps, or something else entirely—but before you can decipher it, his gaze moves again, lower still, to where your hand rests upon the Duke’s arm.

It is subtle, the way his jaw tightens. The way his smile falters, only to return a moment later, forced and brittle. He shifts his weight, turning back toward the lady at his side, but not before you catch the way his fingers twitch at his side.

You force yourself to look away, to focus instead on Duke Nanami’s steady presence beside you. He has not noticed the exchange—or if he has, he is far too polite to show it.

And yet, the moment lingers. Gojo’s image burns in your mind like the fading glow of a candle, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. You loathe the way your heart betrays you, its treacherous rhythm quickened not by the Duke’s calm assurance, but by the mere sight of a man who has always been more trouble than he’s worth.

Nanami’s voice cuts through your tumultuous thoughts, soft and grounding. “You seem distracted, Miss Itadori,” he remarks, his gaze kind but curious.

You manage a small smile, tightening your grip on his arm as though it might anchor you. “Not at all, Your Grace. Perhaps just…overwhelmed by the crowd.”

He nods, accepting your answer without pressing further. “Understandable. These gatherings can be rather tiresome.”

“Yes,” you murmur, casting one last glance in Gojo’s direction before forcing your focus back to the Duke. “Tiresome indeed.”

But even as you walk beside Nanami, his presence a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the evening, you cannot help but feel the weight of Gojo’s lingering gaze, the memory of his startled expression etched into your thoughts like a brand. You cannot help but observe the situation. Tonight, you would be ending the night on Duke Nanami’s arm, and Gojo with another woman.

Is this not what you both wanted?

Today, it seems that the usual trio at White’s is only a duo. The blonde and raven head swirl their alcohol in their shimmering glasses while sharing a comfortable silence. That is, until one interrupts.

“How do we know we’re not simply toying with her?” The blonde man’s voice is steady but tinged with unease, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glances toward his companion. “It would not be honorable of me to pursue Miss Itadori under the pretense of riling Gojo, as you seem intent on doing—”

“Kento!” The raven-haired man—Lord Geto—throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically amused. He leans forward slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest, as his grin widens. “So confident in your lady-pleasing and romancing abilities, aren’t you?” Nanami’s frown deepens, but Geto merely waves him off, his laughter subsiding to a mischievous chuckle. “No, no—don’t worry. You misunderstand me. This isn’t about Miss Itadori falling for you, though,” he smirks, “I’m sure you’d manage well enough.” His tone is teasing, but his words lack any true malice.

“Then what is it about?” Nanami’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though he remains as composed as ever, swirling his drink in quiet contemplation.

Geto straightens, a glint of something sharper flashing in his dark eyes. “It’s about them. They’re idiots, Kento—idiots in love, the both of them. And it is our duty, as Satoru’s friends,” he pauses, meeting Nanami’s gaze with deliberate emphasis, “to help him realize what he truly desires.”

Nanami snorts, setting his glass down with a muted clink. “You just want to toy with them, to orchestrate the ton and its leading source of gossip.”

The corner of Geto’s mouth quirks upward in a sly smile, one that practically oozes self-satisfaction. “That, my dear friend,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I cannot deny.”

They lapse into silence once more, the kind that only years of friendship can create, as the firelight flickers and dances on the walls around them. Nanami tips his glass back, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as he contemplates Geto’s words—and the inevitable chaos that would follow in their wake.

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEYYY POOKIES IT'S HERE IT'S HERE WHAT DID WE THINK. also here is the bridgerton!gojo playlist if anyone is interested!!! i apologize it is 99% taylor swift but i will be adding more diverse songs

despite the miss itadori hate in recent times our girl is BOUNCING BACKK #mogged i cant wait for her to become even more of a diva in the next few chapterssss!!!! (not rn shes going through her sad girl era or wtvr)

suguru (left) and nanami (right) at this whole drama

also i hope none of you WHORESSSS simped for geto when we made eye contact with him (im looking at zaynesbathrobe anon and all those anons that are obsessed with bridgerton!geto). stay FOCUSED girls gays and theys

thank you for readinggggg. a hot new bombshell will be entering the villa in the next few chapters can we guess who he is??? hint he has huge tits and smelly balls

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[zaczenemiji]

Hi there! It's me...again. Hope your doing okay.

I was thinking about a new request about Kenji Sato x Fem! Reader based on the song "Please, Please, Please" from Sabrina Carpenter. Reader is a singer just like her so and has a relationship with Ken but she thinks that some things aren't doing good, but she also has him wrapped around her finger. Like the part with "I beg you, don't embarrass me, mother******". It can be angst but also fluffy and spice (Only if you want to but no smut) It can end in a happy ending.

The rest is up to you because I know you'll do a great job. No need to rush so take your time.

Don’t Prove ‘Em Right

Kenji Sato x Singer!Reader

Word Count: 1,358

Genre/Warnings: Angst (light), Character Development, Drama, Emotional, Redemption

Author’s Note: I went with a bit of angst 🤧

MASTERLIST

“You could do better.”

This was one thing you’ve always heard since you started dating men as a singer. Throughout your career, you were either cheated on, abandoned, or used in a way that they just rode your fame.

Other times, fans would ship you with another singer or celebrity or whoever famous and you’d give it a try for them but the ending is the always same: you two were just pretending for public entertainment and there was never love at all.

Your perception of love blurred the longer you got in the singing industry. You sang about it, wrote songs about it, but you’ve never really experienced it for a significant amount of time or for a significant depth.

That was until you met Kenji.

Despite his fame, he seemed down-to-earth and genuinely interested in getting to know you. He took you to his baseball games and introduced you to his teammates. In return, you invited him to your recording sessions.

Kenji was always supportive, and always encouraging. He seemed genuinely proud of your achievements and was always there for you. Despite his busy schedule, he shows up at your gigs and concerts and cheers you on from the front row.

He had a way of making you feel special like you were the most important person in his world. It was easy to overlook the occasional outbursts, the moments of impulsiveness that seemed to come with his fiery temperament.

You told yourself that everyone had flaws, and Kenji's good qualities far outweighed his bad ones.

You believed in him and in the future you could build together. Despite the red lights and the stop signs, you held on to the belief that this time, this love was right.

But as time went on, the cracks in Kenji's facade began to show. His temper flared more frequently, and his impulsive decisions started to take a toll on your relationship.

You made excuses for him and justified his actions to your friends and family. You told them he’s different.

But they told you that with the way he’s behaving, you’ll just end up in the dumps again—that he’s going to cheat on you, hurt you, leave you, and the ending will be the same…

“You could do better.”

Heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is another. You couldn’t afford your name dominating the headlines again. And for what reason? Another breakup.

You loved him deeply, but the constant cycle of highs and lows was exhausting. You wanted to believe that he could change, that he could be the man you fell in love with.

But the more you tried to fix things, the more you realized that some things were beyond your control.

You sat in front of your vanity doing your makeup nicely. You glanced at the clock. Kenji would be here any minute to pick you up now. Tonight is your big night. It’s an afterparty to celebrate the release of your new single.

Your boyfriend had a reputation for causing a scene. It wasn't entirely his fault—he was passionate but it sometimes translated into impulsiveness. Tonight, of all nights, you needed him to be on his best behavior.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Kenji stood there, looking dashing in a tailored suit, a grin spreading across his face as he saw you.

"Wow, you look stunning," he said, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a smile. "You sure you wanna come?"

"Of course," he replied with a confidence that both reassured and worried you. “I’m always here for you.”

You arrived at the venue in no time. Celebrities, reporters, and fans filled the room, all eager to celebrate your success. You and Kenji mingled with the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations.

But as the night went on, Kenji's behavior started to shift. The drinks were flowing, and while you had stuck to soda water, Kenji had not.

You watched with growing anxiety as he laughed a little too loudly, and gestured a little too wildly. The conversations around you started to feel like a backdrop to a ticking time bomb.

You pulled him aside. "Kenji, please," you whispered urgently. "Just... take it easy, okay?"

He frowned, a mix of confusion and irritation crossing his features. "What? I'm just having a good time."

"I know," you said, forcing another smile. “Just... for me, okay?"

He sighed but nodded and for a while, it seemed like he was keeping his promise. He stuck by your side, an arm around your waist, engaging in polite conversation with your friends and family.

However, you left him one moment and then the next, he was talking to one of the reporters. The latter walked away, a smirk on his face. Kenji turned to you, his face flushed with anger.

"Can you believe that guy?" he spat. "He had the nerve to ask about the last game. Said I sucked."

"Kenji," you said softly, trying to calm him down. You placed your hand on his chest. "It's not worth it."

"But—"

"Please, Kenji. Just... let it go."

He looked at you, the anger in his eyes slowly fading. He took a deep breath and nodded. "For you," he said quietly.

But the reprieve was short-lived. You caught sight of him at the bar, raising his voice at someone who had apparently made a snide comment.

The situation escalated quickly, and before you knew it, Kenji had thrown a punch, causing a commotion that drew everyone's attention.

Your heart sank as security rushed in to break up the fight. You could feel all eyes on you, whispers spreading through the crowd.

You felt a sense of dejà vu as this wasn't the first time Kenji let his emotions get the best of him, and you were able to hold it together as you’ve always done, but then you heard the one thing you hated.

“She could’ve done better.”

Without a word, you grabbed your things and stormed out of the venue, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over.

Not long after, Kenji arrived at your house, disheveled and remorseful. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry," he began, reaching out to you. "I didn't mean to ruin everything."

You stepped back, keeping a distance between you. "Kenji, this can't keep happening. You promised me you would behave tonight!” You said in between sobs. “This was supposed to be my night, and you turned it into a disaster.”

You sat on your couch, your legs feeling too tired to keep you up. "I can't keep making excuses for you,” you continued. “I can't keep sacrificing my career for your mistakes."

Kenji fell silent, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He’s scared. He knew what those words meant. At that moment, he felt like the sky was crashing on him.

"I don't want to lose you, (y/n)," he said quietly, tears falling down. "I love you, and I know I've been screwing up. But I'm willing to do everything to make things right. Therapy, anger management, whatever it takes."

You stared at him, your heart aching with a mix of love and doubt. "Kenji, this isn't just about tonight,” you said. “This has been happening for a while now.“

“Please, (y/n),” he begged, his voice trembling as he knelt in front of you, embracing your legs as he rested his head on your lap. “I want to be the man you deserve. Please, give me one more chance."

Over the next few weeks, Kenji followed through on his promise. He made genuine efforts to address his issues.

He went out of his way to apologize to your friends and family for his behavior at the party, taking full responsibility for his actions.

Slowly but surely, he’s coming back to being the man you fell in love with. He made sure you wouldn’t be the one doing better because he was becoming better himself.

One afternoon, you had lunch with your friends. They asked about how things are now going between you and Kenji. You gave them a smile, a genuine one since after the party.

“He became better.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@flowerloves @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle

[ak319]

Lovesick Childhood friend x f!reader

Headcanon / Intro

Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are uncomfortable! Gonna have historical themes, little age gap (3 years) in terms of historical times, heavy angst, fluff, pining, and drama. The art is not mine, it's from Pinterest. Enjoy reading. ─ m.lists

"but you know what they say,

you can't help who you fall for

and you and I fell

like an early spring snow...."

─────────

1917

"Orsen, you’d better finish your food before you run off to play. Got it?"

"Yes, Papa!" Orsen nodded dutifully, but his gaze betrayed him, fixed on the window behind his father. His eight-year-old eyes sparkled with mischief as he struggled to suppress giggles. Out in the garden, you were pulling faces and breaking into an exaggerated, clumsy dance, clearly determined to make him laugh.

He had to finish his food quickly, before his father noticed anything. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of you getting a light smack on the back of your head from your mother, the estate gardener, who scolded you for goofing off. Orsen bit his lip to stifle a grin.

Without a second thought, he wolfed down the rest of his meal. His father’s disapproving gaze burned into him as he muttered something about unmanly behavior and lack of etiquette. But Orsen didn’t care, not one bit. Ignoring the reprimands, he dashed out of the room when his plate was empty, proving his father right in the process.

But none of that mattered. He’d kept you waiting long enough already.

"Finally! You eat too slow and... way too much for someone the size of a squirrel," you teased, crossing your arms with a smirk.

That earned you a swift smack on the chest from Orsen, who clearly had plenty of energy to spare. Ah, so that’s where it all goes, you thought with a grin.

"COME ON! LET'S START WITH A GAME OF CHASE, THEN HIDE-AND-SEEK!"

"You’re on!" you replied with mock seriousness, already taking off before Orsen could fully process the challenge.

And just like that, playtime began. You were eleven, three years older than him, and yeah, yeah, people might wonder why you spent your afternoons running around with the eight-year-old son of Lady Isolde. Because you were made to since he needed a playmate. You didn’t mind and if you were being honest, it was fun.

"You're too slow, Orsen!" you call out, weaving between the trees with practiced ease.

"I'm not slow! You're just taller!" Orsen huffs, his golden hair flying behind him like a ribbon as he tries to catch up. His laughter rings out, light and carefree, as he nearly trips over a tree root.

"Excuses, excuses," you tease, pausing just long enough for him to barrel into you, both of you tumbling to the ground in a heap.

"I got you!" Orsen declares, his soft hands gripping your arms triumphantly a stark comparison to yours , rough from helping your mother around the estate with tasks.

"You tackled me, not tagged me!" you laugh, sitting up and brushing dirt off your knees. "That’s against the rules."

"There are no rules in chase," he replies matter-of-factly, flicking his long blond hair over his shoulder like some princeling—and it makes you snort.

"Fine. No rules, huh? Then how about this?" Without warning, you spring to your feet and scoop him up by the waist, spinning him around while he squeals with laughter.

"Put me down, you IDIOT! I’ll get you back for this!"

"Sure you will," you grin, finally setting him down. His face is red from laughing so hard, but he immediately points to the swing hanging from the old oak tree nearby.

"Your turn to push me!"

"Your turn? When was it my turn?" you ask, feigning exasperation but already making your way to the swing.

Orsen is already climbing onto it. You steady the ropes for him, watching as he gets comfortable, his small hands gripping tightly. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

With a firm push, you send the swing into motion, the wood creaking softly under Orsen’s weight. He leans back, his laughter filling the air as the wind tousles his golden locks. "Higher!" he demands, his voice bright and full of life.

"Careful, you’ll go flying straight into the bushes," you joke, though you give him another push, watching as his laughter spills into the air like music.

"And you’d rescue me," he counters, turning his head to flash you a grin.

"Obviously," you reply, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. Or else your mother would make soup out of my bones if you even got a scratch.

"See? I’m safe as long as you’re here," he says, his voice lighter, softer, as the swing slows with the waning light. The golden glow of the setting sun paints him in warm hues, his hair a tousled mess, his cheeks pink from play.

You ruffle his hair as he climbs off the swing, earning an indignant squeak. "We should do this every day," he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, trusting eyes that seem to hold the whole world.

"Yeah," you say quietly, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Every day, Orsen."

And in that moment, you mean it.

1922

"Brother Orsen?" Rowan called, tugging at his older brother’s sleeve. "She’s calling for you."

Orsen, now 13, was sitting in front of his vanity, carefully sorting through his collection of accessories. He didn’t bother looking up, too absorbed in his task.

The 5-year-old huffed, folding his arms. "She’s calling you to play, not to do a fashion show."

"SHUSH! Rowan, come here for a second!" Orsen snapped, his tone light but firm. Rowan grumbled under his breath but walked over, clearly itching to be anywhere but here.

"Okay, so listen," Orsen began, lowering his voice even further as he picked up a necklace from his collection. "Which one should I wear?"

"Necklace?" Rowan blinked, his frustration barely contained. "You’re gonna wear a necklace to play?"

Orsen rolled his eyes dramatically. "Look, we are not playing instead (Y/N) is taking me out to see a play! To a theatre!"

Rowan’s expression softened at the mention of (Y/N)'s name. "A play? Really?"

"Yes, really!" Orsen grinned, his tone proud but slightly embarrassed. "It’s a big deal. I want to look my best."

Rowan exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief before quickly quieting down. "B-but mama and papa aren’t home! They told us to stay inside the manor, and what about the stupid nanny? I’m so over him-"

"This is exactly what I’m telling you!" Orsen pleaded, his voice low but desperate. "Just cover up for me, please! And even if Elias finds out, he won’t get mad or tell anyone, I swear, but the other servants, they can’t know, got it?"

Rowan frowned, clearly conflicted. "Are you going on... what mama and papa go to? What’s it called... um... a date?"

Orsen’s ears turned bright red, and a warmth spread through him, making his heart race in an unfamiliar way. His hand paused mid-air, the necklace he was holding slipping slightly as his mind began to swirl. A date. Was it a date? His chest tightened, a fluttering sensation moving through him. He tried to push it down, telling himself it was ridiculous. It was just (Y/N). But still... the thought of being alone with her, of seeing her smile...of being beside her...sitting so close to her...

"Ugh, I-" Orsen’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, hoping Rowan wouldn’t notice the redness creeping up his neck. "It’s not a date, okay? Just... something like that."

Rowan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. "Fine, fine, I’ll cover for you. But you owe me big time, Orsen."

Orsen smiled, his heart still racing. "Thanks, Rowan. You’re the best."

Rowan shot him a sly grin before walking out of the room. "Just don’t get caught, alright?"

Orsen watched him go, still feeling the heat of that unexpected moment, his thoughts full of the image of (Y/N) waiting for him. A date... He could only hope she saw it that way too.

The sunlight poured through the trees, casting long shadows on the garden path as you stood by the gate, tapping your foot impatiently. Orsen was late—again. You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the road ahead.

You had to admit, though, it was kind of cute how he always managed to show up just a little bit after you, acting like you weren’t already getting a head start on your impatience. He always had that timid, apologetic look on his face, but it was like he couldn't help it. It was endearing, even if it drove you crazy sometimes.

Finally, you spotted him.

When he saw you, his face broke into that shy smile, the one that always made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.

“Took you long enough,” you called out with a cocky grin, straightening up as he came closer. “Did your vanity mirror take longer than usual?”

Orsen flushed, immediately looking down at the ground, his fingers nervously brushing at the edge of his shirt. He bit his lip, clearly flustered. “I-I wasn’t... I mean, I was just making sure I looked decent,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "And...was just convincing Rowan to cover up."

“It’s fine,” you assured him, though you couldn’t stop the teasing note that slipped into your voice. “But I almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

He looked genuinely apologetic, his blue eyes wide and full of that quiet sincerity that always made your heart twist a little. “I wouldn’t leave you waiting, (Y/N),” he murmured, his hand tugging nervously at the sleeve of his shirt. “I promise.”

You felt the warmth in his words more than anything else, and it made your smile falter for just a second. Orsen was the kind of person who always tried to do the right thing, even when it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t like the other boys in the town, so confident and sure of themselves. No, Orsen was gentle, and careful, always thinking about others before himself. You could see that quiet, understanding gaze under his straw cartwheel hat , in the way he looked at you now.

“Well, if you’re sure,” you said, your voice softening, “we should probably get going before someone else notices, huh?”

“Yeah,” Orsen agreed, his expression turning a little more serious as he looked over his shoulder. He glanced up and down the street, making sure no one was watching, before taking a step closer to you. “Are you sure about this? I know it’s... a little risky.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach, but when you looked at Orsen’s face, you felt a little lighter. There was no teasing now, no jokes, just his quiet concern, and for once, it made you feel like maybe this was worth it. You nodded.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, then added with a hint of a smile, “It’ll be fun.”

“You really are...” He shook his head, his lips curving into a smile despite himself. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “Make everything seem like it’s no big deal? Maybe because it’s not. And you’re going to learn that today.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve to pull him toward the playhouse, he followed without protest.

Orsen’s heart skipped a beat as your hand enveloped his, and the warmth of your touch sent a flutter of butterflies through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but glance at you, his face turning a shade darker. He wasn’t sure why something as simple as you holding his hand made him feel so nervous, but it did. It wasn’t just the physical touch, it was the way you kept him close, guiding him gently, as if taking care of him.

You pulled him to the side of the sidewalk, positioning him on the inside to keep him safe from the traffic and the bustle of the crowd. He felt a sudden surge of warmth at how protective you were being, even if it was just a small gesture. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t explain, and his steps faltered slightly as you kept him close to you, shielding him from the rest of the world.

His heart raced, faster than it should have, as his mind wandered to those quiet moments when you became reserved, especially during functions. When he told you he was going to one or whenever they were held at the estate, your demeanor always seemed to shift. He noticed the way your gaze would turn sharp and distant, your movements brisk and careful, as though you were trying to shrink away. He hated it.

He hated seeing you as just part of the crowd, working tirelessly around the estate, your hands busy with tasks instead of resting in his. Most of all, he hated the functions themselves. Because while you were stuck there, unspoken and unnoticed, he was dolled up, standing with the sons and daughters of elites, smiling politely in a world that felt hollow. And maybe… maybe you hated that too.

Maybe you hated seeing him like that, all pretty, polished, and mingling with other people, particularly the daughters of noble families, ones his parents made sure he was somewhat acquainted with. Maybe you thought he belonged in that world, with them, rather than here with you.

The thought made his steps falter. A pang of desperation hit him. If only you knew. If only you knew that no crowd, no daughter of any elite, could ever hold his attention like you did.

To him, it didn’t matter how the world saw you or him, what mattered was this. You, walking beside him. You, pulling him to the safer side of the sidewalk. You, shielding him, even when you didn’t know that he was already yours.

At the theatre gate, you hesitated briefly before pulling out the money, the ache in your chest barely masked by the small smile you gave. Each coin was hard-earned, saved from days of labor at the Elaris estate and neighboring homes. As you handed it over, Orsen stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours for just an instant. The gesture was fleeting but warm, like a silent promise that you were not alone.

“(Y/N)... I know it’s not much, but-” He started to say, then hesitated, biting his lip. “I really appreciate you doing this. For both of us.”

You smiled at him, a little softer this time. “You don’t have to thank me, Orsen,” you said gently. “I want to do this.”

His eyes softened, and he looked away briefly, cheeks flushing just a bit. “You always know how to make me feel... better,” he muttered under his breath. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “Well, that's my job as your friend.” you replied, quietly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

He gave you a shy smile, more timid than usual. "I know..."

The moment passed quickly, but the quiet understanding between you both lingered as you walked into the theatre together, the world outside fading away. Orsen risked a glance at you, his gaze catching on the way the dim evening light outlined your sharp features. You looked so effortlessly composed, so handsome that it made his breath hitch for a moment. He felt a rush of warmth spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, his fingers brushing nervously against the ribbon under his chin as if it could steady him.

It didn’t matter that you were different. It didn’t matter that you came from different worlds. Right now, all that mattered was that you were both here, together, sharing this moment in time.

And for Orsen, that was enough.

── .✦

Orsen sat in his room, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wooden desk, his mind still occupied with the discomfort that had settled over him the past few days. He hadn’t expected his body to feel like this, unfamiliar, heavy, and strange. The flow had come, just as his father and tutor had warned, but it didn’t make the experience any less confusing or jarring. He had kept to himself mostly, trying to adjust, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts. He looked up quickly, his nerves suddenly tightening. His father, Lucan, stepped in, his posture rigid as always, his dark eyes scanning the room before landing on Orsen.

“Orsen,” Lucan began, his voice steady but tinged with an unfamiliar seriousness. "Wanted to talk about something, love."

Lucan stepped further into the room, his voice lowering, as if the matter was too delicate to say aloud in front of anyone else. “I and your mother think it’s time for you to stop... associating with (Y/N) for now.”

Orsen’s stomach twisted painfully. The words felt like a sharp blow to his chest, though he knew this was coming. His world, for the last few years, had been shared with (Y/N), the carefree days, the laughter, the moments when they were just two children playing in the garden or sneaking out to see a play. It was always natural, always easy, until now.

“Why?” Orsen’s voice cracked slightly, and he immediately regretted it, his cheeks burning as he stared down at the floor. “What did I do wrong? Wh-at did she do??”

Lucan sighed, a heavy sound that made Orsen feel smaller, as if he were a child again, needing to be controlled. "It’s not about you, Orsen. Your mother believes you should start focusing more on your responsibilities. You are no longer a child. Your a man and she...she's a woman. It’s time for you to stop playing games, stop seeking out... distractions."

Orsen felt his breath catch in his throat. Distractions. That’s how his parents saw (Y/N) now? His heart ached at the thought of never being able to run off and play with you again. It felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"You need to start preparing for your future," Lucan continued, not looking at Orsen directly, but at some point beyond him. “Your mother has plans for you, and she expects you to focus on your studies, your family name. No more distractions, Orsen. You’re growing into something much more than that."

The last words lingered in the air, and Orsen felt a sickening knot twist in his stomach. He wanted to argue, wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Why should everything change now? But the words didn’t come. Instead, he simply nodded, his eyes brimming with the weight of it all.

Lucan turned to leave, but before he did, he paused at the door. “It’s for the best, son,” he said, his tone almost sympathetic. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but your mother’s decision is final.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Orsen sat there, staring at the floor, his hands trembling. The world outside felt so far away now, like it was slipping through his fingers.

It was over. He couldn’t see (Y/N) anymore. He couldn’t run to her and find comfort in her presence. He couldn’t protect her or laugh with her. He was supposed to grow up. He was supposed to follow the path his family laid out for him, to grow into something else. To grow up for rather someone is more like it. To be a good man so that he can be a good husband...

But I’m not ready to let go, Orsen thought miserably. I can’t.

The evening had settled over the manor, but Orsen still hadn't left his room. He had feigned illness, citing exhaustion as the reason for his retreat, and, thankfully, his parents had bought it. His mother, as aloof as ever, didn’t press the matter too hard, but it was clear from the way she sent up his dinner that she wasn’t exactly pleased with him skipping meals. Nevertheless, they left him in solitude, and he barely touched the food. Just a few bites, enough to keep the appearance of complying with his parents' wishes.

You can't be with (Y/N) now...

The words circled in his mind like an endless loop, the cruel reminder of everything he’d just lost.

Society...

Family name...

And all that other bullshit...

Orsen couldn't suppress the bitter curses that slipped past his mental barriers, curses he'd only learned from you. Thanks to you, he had been exposed to the harsher truths of the world, the side that no one of his status was supposed to see, let alone understand. Without you, he would have remained ignorant, a sheltered boy in a world that seemed so far removed from the lives of people like you.

How could he just forget you? How could he ignore the way you made him feel so alive, so seen?

He wanted to lie to himself, to deny the truth, but it was becoming impossible. The feelings he had for you were not just those of a carefree childhood friendship. No, they had evolved into something far deeper, something he couldn’t bury beneath the expectations of his family and the rigid norms of society.

His mind swirled with the questions that had no answers. Had they told you? Did you know the news already? How would you have reacted?

Would you be heartbroken, too? Or would you simply move on, uncaring, as though he had never been a part of your life at all? After all, he was just the son of a lady of the manor, a wealthy, entitled boy. You, on the other hand, probably had your own circle, your own friends. Girls who shared your struggles, who truly understood your world in ways he never could.

The thought burned in his chest like a quiet, smoldering ache. Maybe there was even a boy among them, someone prettier, someone who fit into your life better than he ever could. Someone who could stand beside you without looking like a silly, awkward dreamer. The idea made his heart clench. He wanted to be everything you needed, but deep down, the fear whispered, what if you didn’t need him at all?

Orsen curled into himself, the loneliness settling over him like a suffocating weight. His heart ached with the thought of you, of how far apart he felt from you now. The girl who had been his closest friend, the one who had filled his life with laughter and mischief, now seemed like a distant memory, slipping through his fingers.

Would you even miss me? He couldn't stop the question from repeating itself.

But deep down, he knew the answer. You were strong, capable, too strong, too capable to be held back by someone like him. You had a life to live, a future that didn’t need him to make it complete. And he, a pampered boy who had always had everything handed to him, couldn’t keep up with that.

Still, his heart refused to listen to the logic of it all. It stubbornly clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in your life still.

But what if...

The thought was interrupted by a quiet sob he couldn’t suppress. His heart ached, and his tears fell unbidden, mixing with the confusion and sorrow that clouded his thoughts.

Just then, the soft patter of footsteps approached, and the door creaked open. Orsen barely registered the sound, too consumed by his own grief to notice at first. But when a small, tentative voice called out to him, it pierced through the fog of his sorrow.

“Orsen?” Rowan's voice was quiet, unsure.

Orsen didn't look up. He couldn't. Instead, he pulled his knees tighter to his chest, willing the tears to stop, though they kept coming. He didn’t want Rowan to see him like this. He was supposed to be the older brother, the one who protected him, the one who had all the answers. But now he felt like nothing more than a broken boy, helpless and alone.

Rowan, being much younger, didn't fully understand the weight of the situation, but he could sense the sadness in Orsen's hunched shoulders, in the way his older brother’s sobs shook his frame. Without hesitation, Rowan crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to him, his small hands resting gently on Orsen’s arm.

"You’re not alone....You’ve still got me."

Orsen felt the warmth of Rowan’s hand, and it was enough to make him break down completely. The tears fell faster now, as if Rowan’s simple words had unlocked everything he had been holding in. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it was useless. The pain was too much.

“I don’t know what to do, Rowan,” Orsen choked out between his sobs. “I... I don’t want to change. I don’t want to lose her. Why does everything have to be so... so different now?”

Rowan, though younger and not entirely understanding the complexities of the world they lived in, squeezed Orsen’s arm tighter. “Maybe it’s not forever,” he said quietly. “Maybe... maybe you can still be with (Y/N). You’re smart, Orsen. You’ll figure something out.”

Orsen let out a ragged breath, his body shaking as the tears slowly subsided. Rowan’s small voice, his unwavering support, gave him something to hold onto in that moment, something that felt like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Rowan,” Orsen whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "M-means a lot.."

Rowan smiled softly, his little hands patting Orsen’s arm as he snuggled closer. “You don’t have to. I’ll always be here, even when Mama and Papa tell you to stop playing with (Y/N). I'll always play with you!"

Orsen’s heart tightened. His little brother didn’t understand the full depth of what had just happened, but his words meant more than he could ever say. In this moment, Rowan was the one keeping him together, the one showing him that, even when everything seemed to fall apart, he wasn’t truly alone.

── .✦

He was perched at the balcony window, the cool breeze tousling his long, silky hair as he gazed out at the garden below. His fingers lightly gripped the edge of the windowsill as he watched you, working diligently on the grounds below.

You were cutting logs, a task far more physical than what Orsen was used to seeing you do. Your movements were strong, your muscles flexing with every swing of the axe, and it sent a strange flutter through his chest. His eyes followed the rhythm of your body, the way your arms tensed with the exertion. There was something undeniably powerful in the way you moved, a raw strength that both mesmerized and unsettled him.

Orsen swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat as you wiped the sweat from your brow, revealing the determined glint in your eyes. His breath hitched in his throat as he couldn’t help but admire the way your body worked, every movement fluid and precise. The sight of you, the girl who had always been by his side, now growing into someone completely different, had his thoughts running wild.

Stop it, he told himself, gripping the windowsill a little tighter. This is wrong. She’s... His mind stumbled over the words, his heart desperately trying to calm the fluttering sensation that wouldn’t go away.

You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on your task, but then, by some miracle, your eyes found his. For a moment, time seemed to stretch as your gaze locked onto his, and Orsen’s heart raced in his chest. There was something about the way you looked at him, a kind of unspoken acknowledgment as if you knew exactly what he was feeling without him saying a word.

He quickly forced himself to look away, his face flushing with heat, but not before giving a small, almost timid wave. His fingers, still gripping the windowsill, trembled slightly from the nervousness coursing through him.

You gave a quick wave back, then turned your attention back to the task at hand, but the simple exchange was enough to send a shiver of excitement through him. He leaned against the window frame, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

The quiet, pounding ache in his chest deepened. He was stuck, trapped behind this invisible barrier that kept him from stepping outside, from being close to you in the way he wanted. You, with your strength and duties, your hands working like they knew no other way of being. And him, trapped in this gilded cage, unable to touch you, talk to you.... to even get close.

His eyes followed your every movement, as if he could somehow close the gap between the two of you just by watching. The ache in his chest grew heavier, and the question hung in his mind like a dark cloud: Why am I feeling like this?

You didn’t even know, did you? Or maybe you did, but... what difference did it make? His hand tightened on the windowsill as he let out a quiet sigh. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. Just... watch.

── .✦

The days passed slowly for Orsen after that encounter. Each morning, he would wake up with an uneasy knot in his stomach, knowing he couldn’t be near you. He could only watch you from his window, his heart aching with every glimpse of you working in the garden, your hands strong and graceful, yet out of his reach.

But then, one day, a small note arrived. It was discreet, slipped under the door to his room by Rowan, who seemed to have caught onto the secret in his own innocent way. Orsen unrolled the crumpled piece of paper, his heart pounding.

I see you watching me these days, Orsen. Are you going to keep staring, or are you finally going to talk to me? Don't be afraid...

Orsen stared at the words, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. You, you, had noticed. He carefully folded the note and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt before his parents could catch him with it. His heart raced, but there was a comfort in knowing you felt something too.

Over the next few weeks, the notes began to come more frequently. They were always passed through Rowan, always discreet, and always full of the teasing, playful energy that Orsen both craved and feared.

One evening, Orsen received another note. This one was a little longer than the others, the ink scrawled with hurried words.

I’m starting to think you’re too shy to talk to me in person, Orsen. It’s just a letter. Why don’t you send me one back? Are you really just going to end our friendship like this...? I am worried for you too...Please answer..

Orsen’s hands trembled slightly as he read the note. He had never written to anyone like this before. He had never had a reason to hide his words. But you, you made him feel things he couldn’t understand, things that burned and twisted inside him every time he thought about you. And now, you were asking for him to write.

The next afternoon, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Taking a deep breath, he took up his pen and began to write:

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to talk to you, not like this. But I think about you. All the time. I can’t stop. But they said to...not to...I want to though. Every day...

It was simple, just a few words, but it felt like the world was contained in that tiny letter. He sealed it carefully, not wanting anyone to find it. Rowan, ever the accomplice, delivered it the next morning.

The day passed in anticipation, and soon, he received your reply.

So you're shy, huh? That’s alright, Orsen. But if you want to see me, if you want to talk to me... I’ll be in the garden tomorrow at noon. I’ll wait. They won't catch us. I promise.

Right... No one would know. It would just be you and him. Just like you promised.

That night, he barely slept, the thought of seeing you in the garden swirling in his mind. And as soon as the clock struck noon the next day, he snuck out of his room and slipped through the hallways of the manor, his heart thundering in his chest.

There, in the garden, you waited. The sun was high, and the breeze was soft. You were working again, your back turned to him as you cleared some weeds. His footsteps were quiet as he approached, but you heard them.

You turned around, your eyes meeting his. The playful glint in them was gone, replaced with something softer, something warmer.

“You came,” you said, smiling slightly. “I thought you might be too scared.”

Orsen’s face flushed, but he nodded, his heart racing in his chest. “I wasn’t sure… but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know how to say it.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Well,” you said with a sly smile, “you’ve said it now.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. But you didn’t give him time to think. You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, the touch sending a shock of warmth through him.

As he looked into your eyes, the teasing, playful energy that once defined their interactions was gone. Now, there was only a quiet understanding, a deep yearning that neither of them could ignore any longer.

Orsen’s breath caught in his throat. His body was still, heart racing, as you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing the faint line of his jaw. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure what to do, but every part of him screamed to hold you.

"You’ve been so quiet, Orsen," you whispered, your voice softer than he’d ever heard it before. "What’s on your mind?"

The question hung in the air, but before Orsen could form a response, his gaze flickered to your lips. His heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he leaned in...you did too. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, standing in the middle of the garden.

And then, as if drawn together by some invisible force, your lips met.

The kiss was hesitant at first, tender and shy like two people testing the waters of something new and forbidden. But it didn’t take long for the hesitance to melt away. Orsen's hands found their way to your collar, pulling you closer as if he could feel you slipping away with each passing second. Your hands gripped his slender waist holding him firmly in place as you lost yourself in the feeling of his soft plump lips.

The kiss deepened, and Orsen felt the weight of everything he had been holding back, the feelings, the longing, the fear of losing you, all come crashing down in that single moment. He wanted to say so much, but all he could do was hold onto you as if his life depended on it.

Finally, when they broke apart, Orsen was breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He opened his eyes to find you gazing down at him, your face flushed and your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"I… I don’t know what to say," he murmured, his voice unsteady.

You smiled softly, running a finger across his jawline, as if reassuring him. "You don’t have to say anything."

But then, your expression shifted, and Orsen could see the uncertainty in your eyes. It was like a sudden weight had descended on you, something you couldn’t hold back any longer.

You pulled away slightly, looking away from him for the first time in their brief encounter.

"I have to tell you something," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "I’ve been trying to avoid saying it, but you deserve to know."

Orsen’s heart clenched at the seriousness in your tone. "What is it? You’re scaring me."

You took a deep breath, your gaze returning to his. "I’m being...drafted into the army. I leave in two weeks for training."

Orsen's face drained of color. The words didn't fully sink in at first, but as they did, a chill ran through him. "What do you mean? You’re going away?"

"I have no choice," you said quietly, looking down at the ground. "I have to go. You know I always...wanted that and my mother wants it too. I passed the test. And will have to leave for...I don't know yet. Could be an...year."

The weight of her words hit him like a physical blow. He reached out instinctively, taking your hands in his, as if holding onto you could somehow change everything.

"But we just-" Orsen’s voice cracked. "We just… we just had a kiss. And now you’re leaving?"

You nodded, wiping the tear slipping down his cheek. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. But I have no choice. This is what’s expected of me."

Orsen’s heart ached, but as he looked into your eyes, he knew there was nothing he could do to change it. The world was too big, too complicated, and he was just a rich boy who wasn’t allowed to have what he wanted.

He stepped back, releasing your hands, and turned his back to you. He couldn’t let you see the way his eyes were welling with tears.

He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I didn’t even get to tell you, h-ow much I care about you. And now yo-u’re leaving."

You stepped closer again, gently touching his shoulder, your voice soft. "I care about you too, Orsen. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ll be back. I promise. It's not a big deal. Please...don't cry. I want to see you smile...before I leave...."

"But how long? What if we never-"

"We will," you whispered firmly. "When I come back, I’ll find you. We’ll figure this out, together."

Orsen turned to face you then, a smile weakly tugging at the corner of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. "I’ll be waiting for you."

"I am doing this...for us. I---I have felt this way about you for very long...and I now know you did too. So... when I return," you said, your voice firm with conviction, "I’ll ask for your hand."

Orsen’s heart stopped for a second. The words you spoke were like a breath of fresh air in a world that had felt suffocating. But then, a cold, sinking feeling crept into his chest. He swallowed hard, his thoughts racing.

"I…" He shook his head, his voice faltering. "My mother… she’ll never allow it. I can’t-"

"Don’t worry about her," you cut him off gently. "When I return, we’ll figure it out. I’ll fight for us. I am not a coward. I won’t let anything stand in the way of what we have."

But Orsen’s mind was already racing, and despite the warmth your words brought, doubt gnawed at him. His mother, Isolde Elaris, a businesswoman, would never allow him to be with someone like you. She would never approve. And no matter how much he might want to be with you, he couldn’t ignore the reality of his world.

Still, as you gazed at him with such earnestness, he found himself nodding, almost against his will.

"I’ll be waiting for you, just like I said, promise. Be safe...for me...please (Y/N)...." Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with all the hope he had left.

With that you pulled him into a warm embrace that seemed to melt all his worries, his hands gripping you like a lifeline.

1923

One year later...

You had returned.

A year of training had shaped you into someone different, not just physically, but in ways you couldn’t have imagined. At 17, you were a Junior Sergeant, a rank earned through sheer grit. You hadn’t just survived the grueling regimen; you had thrived in it. Yet, despite all that, none of it felt quite as important as the task ahead.

Convincing your mother had been no easy feat. It took more strength than any of your drills to get her to agree to accompany you today. But, in the end, she relented. She didn’t speak much as you both traveled, but the tension in the air was thick with her reservations.

You heard the standard protests from your parents.

"What if we get kicked out?!"

"There is no match between us and them."

"You’re saying she will marry her son only for him to live in the servant quarters of the manor?!"

"I just want to ask for his hand, not bring him here!" you snapped, your voice steady with the weight of your resolve. "Just an engagement, nothing more, until I’ve found my footing. My own house, where we can all live, where we’ll be happy."

Your words were filled with confidence that stemmed from the one thing that motivated you, the love you had for Orsen. It wasn’t about status, not about titles, or what others thought. It was about him. It was about making him happy, seeing him smile, and one day—maybe soon, building a family with him.

Your mother’s protests quieted as she looked at you, still skeptical but, perhaps, beginning to understand the depth of your determination.

"I will fight for him," you said softly, almost to yourself. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

Orsen’s breath hitched in his chest, his sweaty palm almost crushing his younger brother Rowan's. Both of them stood just outside the drawing room, where you and your mother were speaking with his parents. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of what you had just said, and Orsen’s anxiety surged with each passing second of silence. He could barely comprehend it, you had said it. You had confessed your love, asking for his hand.

The silence was broken by a furious, sharp voice that made Orsen's heart drop into his stomach.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Isolde shot up from her seat, her eyes blazing with fury as she pointed an accusatory finger in your direction.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND ASK FOR MY SON’S HAND, THE ONE WHOSE SINGLE SHOE COSTS MORE THAN YOUR ENTIRE QUARTERS?!” Her voice rang with disgust, the insult heavy in the air.

Orsen felt his knees threaten to give way. He had known his mother would react this way, hell, he had feared it. But hearing her say those words about you, about what you meant to him... It hurt more than he could have imagined.

"Love... love is not something that you weigh, Ms. Elaris." Your mother gripped your arm tightly as a warning, her fingers pressing into your skin as she tried to pull you away, her voice full of urgency. She muttered apologies under her breath, but you remained rooted to the spot, staring straight ahead. Isolde’s presence loomed closer, her fury palpable in the thick tension of the room.

"Oh really?" Isolde sneered, stepping forward with venom in her voice. "Well, your pathetic and nasty feelings towards my son WON'T KEEP HIM FED! IT WILL ONLY RUIN EVERYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH HIM, WHICH IS MY FUCKING NAME THAT I BUILT!"

Her words sliced through the air like a blade, but you stood your ground, not backing down, your voice steady despite the knot of anger rising in your throat. "You think I would have come here for something as trivial as commitment just to let him starve? We both love each other-"

"DON'T FUCKING SAY HIS NAME, YOU-" Isolde's face contorted with rage. Before you could even react, she struck you across the face, the sharp sting of her palm sending shockwaves through your head.

The sound of the smack echoed in the room, and it was all Orsen needed to hear. He couldn’t take it anymore.

"NO! MAMA! Don't hurt her!" His voice broke through the tension, desperate and raw. He dashed into the room, his eyes wide with panic and pain, his feet carrying him faster than his mind could catch up. The sight of you, standing there with a reddened cheek and your heart in turmoil, pushed him past his breaking point.

"Don’t you dare!" he cried out, trying to rush toward you, as his father stopped him.

Isolde turned to her husband, rage still boiling in her voice. "YOU LET THEM PLAY WHEN I TOLD YOU NOT TO!" she screamed. "See?! This is what it fucking results in!"

Orsen ignored her, his focus entirely on you, on the hurt she had caused, and the way it shattered him to see you suffer. He reached for you, but his father blocked his path, forcefully holding him back.

"NO! STOP!" Orsen sobbed, the sight of you being dragged away tearing him apart. His chest tightened, his heart breaking into a million pieces. All he could do was watch as his dreams of being with you, of having a future together, crumbled before him.

"At least think what your son wants! I promise to keep him happy even if it means working myself to death, just give me a chance Ms. Isolde! I'll be forever loyal to-"

Isolde’s voice rang out again, cruel and final. "I WON’T GIVE YOU MY SON IN A MILLION YEARS!" she spat. "Now go home. Pack your bags. GET FUCKING LOST FROM MY PROPERTY!"

The words struck like daggers, and Orsen could only stand there, his body wracked with sobs. The pain, the injustice, the helplessness, it all became too much. You were being dragged away, your love for him still so clear, and yet, everything was falling apart.

And as he watched you being forced from the manor, Orsen’s world seemed to collapse in on itself. He could feel every part of him breaking, every dream he had of a future with you slipping through his fingers like sand.....

Please be a nightmare...please be a nightmare.

Isolde stormed back into the manor, her fury still crackling in the air. "Lucan! Get him inside his room, and I don’t want to hear a single word about that pathetic woman! Neither the sobbing! You hear me?" She didn’t wait for an answer. Without another glance at her sons, she turned on her heel, the sound of her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she made her way toward her study, her anger still seething.

Lucan stood there for a moment, staring at the door his wife had slammed shut, the weight of his own helplessness pulling at his chest. He sighed heavily, then turned to Orsen, whose body trembled with the weight of everything that had just unfolded.

"Orsen..." Lucan’s voice was softer now, but laced with concern. He approached his son, his hand resting on his trembling shoulder. "My dear... calm yourself," he murmured, trying to comfort him as best he could. But it was clear that his own frustrations and regrets were too much for him to contain. "You really thought your mama would let this be? Why did you let yourself fall for her?" His tone was more accusatory than he realized, but it was clear that his anger wasn’t directed at his son, it was just a manifestation of his own disappointment.

Rowan, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped forward. His small hands reached out for his brother, and with the innocence only a child could have, he whispered through his tears, "Orsen, please don’t be sad. I... I don’t like seeing you cry."

Lucan finally helped his son to his feet, though Orsen could barely stand on his own. The weight of his heartbreak was too much to bear, and he leaned heavily on his father, the pain in his chest threatening to crush him with every breath. Rowan followed close behind, his small hands trembling as they touched Orsen’s arm, trying to support him.

"I don’t... I can’t live without her," Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, a tremble in every word. "Please... I’ll die... I’ll kill myself..." His words hung in the air, heavy with despair. And then, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, Orsen’s world faded to black, his body collapsing in his father’s arms as everything around him went silent.

── .✦

After you left, Orsen felt as though half of his soul had been ripped away, leaving him hollow and incomplete. Lucan had tried to convey this to his wife countless times, but Isolde was deaf to his pleas. She dismissed his concerns about their son with cold indifference, refusing to acknowledge the truth of what Orsen had become, a lovelorn boy consumed by grief. He withdrew from the world entirely, locking himself away in his room. Socializing, already a challenge for him, became impossible. And so, he painted. Over and over again, he painted you.

Each canvas bore your face, your smile, your essence. Every brushstroke was a desperate attempt to capture what he had lost. The paintings multiplied, filling his room with hauntingly beautiful reminders of a love he could no longer hold.

“This is getting out of hand!” Isolde’s shrill voice echoed through the manor as she stormed into the parlor. “I swear to God, if I see one more portrait of that bastard in my house-”

“STOP!” Lucan’s voice thundered, cutting through her tirade. “For God’s sake, Isolde, just stop! Can’t you see what you’ve done? My son, our son, has lost himself because of you! If only... if only you’d handled this with an ounce of discretion, with empathy! They were young and in love for God’s sake! She was young, and she did it, she came here, to us, and asked for his hand. What was her crime? Loving him? That’s not a sin!”

“Oh, it most certainly is!” Isolde snapped, her face flushed with fury. “She did commit a sin because how dare she even think she’s at par with us? How dare she believe she’s fit to be my daughter-in-law? She’s a nobody! And you-” she pointed an accusatory finger at Lucan, her voice trembling with rage, “you need to stop wallowing in pity with him and do your job as his father. Go up there and fix your son instead of standing here arguing with me, your wife! You failed to raise him properly! I want the best for him too! Do you think I’m his enemy?”

Lucan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides, but before he could respond, Isolde pressed on, her tone sharp and resolute. “If you won’t act, then I will. I’ll find him a suitor. A proper one. Because clearly, you’re too busy sulking to see what’s best for him. There are plenty of well-established women, daughters of my partners--women who will treat him like the prince he is! Not like some charity case meant to be dragged down by a girl who doesn’t even belong in the same world as us.”

Lucan’s eyes burned with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he whispered, “And what do you think that will do to him, Isolde? You think parading someone else in front of him will make him forget her? You’ll break what little is left of him.”

But Isolde had already turned her back, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand as she walked toward the grand staircase. “You’ll see, Lucan. One day, he’ll thank me for saving him from her.”

However, Isolde’s plans always seemed to crumble before they even began. Every suitor she brought forward found her son either too meek, too detached, or, worse yet, eerily silent. He was almost ghost-like, his quietness mistaken for muteness by many. But it wasn’t silence, it was absence. Every fiber of Orsen’s being was consumed by you. His thin frame seemed weighed down by the memories he refused to let go of.

Because every part of his being was consumed by thoughts of you, his eyes replaying the memories, his hands yearning to be held by yours, his ears straining to hear your voice, his nose craving the faint trace of your scent, and his mind entirely consumed by you. His mind, utterly devoted to you, left no space for the present. How could he be anything but a shell of himself?

The embarrassment came soon enough. The rumors spread like wildfire after one particular incident---a disaster in Isolde’s eyes. Forced to interact with a suitor in private, Orsen, in his dazed and lovesick state, spoke only of you. Your name slipped from his lips like a prayer, every word dripping with longing and devotion. The suitor, bewildered and offended, left without a word. And that was it, Isolde’s perfect plan shattered yet again.

But the world outside was less forgiving.

A boy in love?

The son of Isolde Elaris in love?

And with a mere servant, no less? Tsk, tsk. So unruly...

No wonder he looks so wretched. Betrayed by a woman beneath him, perhaps?

Heard she’s in the army now. But poor as dirt, that explains why Isolde refused.

The whispers, the snide remarks, and the pitying glances reached Isolde’s ears, stoking her fury. But Orsen? He couldn’t care less about the rumors. Let them talk. Let them mock. None of it mattered to him.

His world had shrunk to the confines of his room, where his paintbrush brought you back to life in hues of longing and heartbreak. Your laughter echoed in the silent strokes of his art. Your touch lingered in every corner of his mind. Your memory was his solace and his torment.

He needed nothing else, just the faint traces of you that lingered in his heart. For him, they were enough.

"You destroyed your life for HER?! She isn’t coming back here, and neither am I ever going to accept her, so imprint that in your mind and fix yourself! Otherwise, we will be forced to move to another province."

SLAM!

The door rattled violently as Isolde stormed off, leaving the air thick with tension. All she ever did was talk, command, dictate, and talk some more. Orsen leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a dry, rueful chuckle. Her words barely scratched at the armor of his despair anymore.

"Does your mother always think she’s the empress of everything? Or does she just save that energy for me?"

He could still picture you folding your arms, feigning indignation while your eyes sparkled with mischief. Back then, you’d leaned closer, dropping your voice conspiratorially. "No offense, but I’m half-expecting her to declare a new tax just for looking at her wrong."

That teasing jab had made him laugh so hard he’d forgotten, for a moment, the weight of his world. He could still remember how your fingers used to drift into his hair without a thought, toying with the soft strands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It always made his cheeks flush, though he never stopped you—he loved it, cherished every touch, every moment your attention lingered on him.

Now, his hands gripped the scissors, the metal glinting faintly under the dim light. His movements were sharp, almost desperate, as he cut through the alluring gold locks, yet there was an underlying tenderness to it, hesitant, like he was severing a connection to you. Gently, because you loved his hair. Aggressively, because he didn’t want anyone else to see it anymore. No suitors, no flattering remarks from his parents. No one deserved to notice him the way you had.

Even now, the memory of you was so vivid it felt like you were in the room with him. Almost. But not enough to fill the void you’d left behind. Nothing ever could.

Meanwhile, you, after being kicked out and shamed by Lady Elaris—were drowning in an unbearable mix of shame and guilt, especially in front of your parents, who were now homeless because of you and your foolish fantasy of being with her son. What were you thinking? Had you been so blind in your naive, reckless love that you lost sight of reality? Your parents should have been your first priority. Instead, you had risked their stability and comfort over a foolish dream.

Your heart broke the day your father had to sell his cherished marriage jewelry, pieces he had once treasured, because your single month’s salary, combined with your mother’s meager savings, wasn’t enough to afford even a modest one-room apartment. It was a moment that crushed you, made you see the depth of your mistakes, and yet, it also became the turning point.

At that moment, you made a promise. You vowed to repay them tenfold, no, a thousandfold, everything they had sacrificed because of you. That vow became your life’s focus, your unrelenting drive. There was no more room for silly infatuations, no place for childish fantasies. Only purpose.

1931

Over the years, countless letters were written by Orsen to you. Rowan, ever loyal, carried each one to the post office, just as he had done when they were boys. But you never wrote back. Not once. Each unanswered letter chipped away at Orsen's hope, leaving him to wrestle with the silence. In his heart, he could only fathom two reasons for your absence: either you had truly forgotten him, abandoned him, played with his heart, or you had simply given up on the dream.

Perhaps you kept the love a secret but he didn't. He kept it as an oath.

He thought it would be a love for the ages. But now, as the days turned into years, he realized he was the only one writing on…pages.

But why? No. No, you shouldn’t have. You promised to fight for him, didn’t you? You were the woman, you were supposed to fight for your love. He had fought for you, hadn’t he? So why didn’t you?

There were moments when resentment clawed at his heart, moments when he hated you for your silence. But his love always overcame it. A quiet voice within reminded him of the guilt and heartbreak he had seen in your eyes that last time, the moment you stood at the threshold of his home. No, he would tell himself, you didn’t betray me, did you?

And yet, the doubt lingered, cold and cruel. Was he really so...forgettable to you?

"BROTHER ORSEN! Orsen!" Rowan's voice trembled as he rushed inside his brother’s room, panic rising in his chest as he saw Orsen hunched over, lost in the sea of his own thoughts. He approached him gently, reaching out to steady him, but it was as if Orsen was made of glass, fragile and on the edge of shattering.

"I-... I did you hear the news...?" Rowan's voice quivered, unsure if he truly wanted to be the one to break this.

A slow, hesitant shake of Orsen's head was all Rowan received—what he had expected, but still, it hurt more than words could express.

"T-the... war is upon us... and..." Rowan’s voice faltered, breaking on the edge of that awful, cold truth. He didn’t need to say more. Orsen’s face went blank, his body slumping further, as if the weight of the world had just pressed him into the bed.

"War..." Orsen’s voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t the war that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t the world outside that was destroying him. It was the war within, against the memories, the love, the haunting silence.

"Y-yes, brother. War, soldiers are being deployed to the western border... but don’t you worry, she’ll return, she’ll be fine-"

"But she won’t return to me..." Orsen’s words were choked, and Rowan felt his heart fracture as his brother's emerald eyes filled with unshed tears.

"No matter how many wars go by, Rowan..." Orsen’s voice quivered, his body shaking with the intensity of his pain, the weight of years of silence and waiting pressing down on him. "She won’t fight the war... for us. The one war that I was ready to die for."

Rowan’s heart ached, and he reached for Orsen immediately, his hand coming to rest gently over his brother’s lips as if to shield him from speaking the words that were tearing him apart. "Why do you always speak ill of yourself? It hurts me, Orsen. As much as I... support you and love you you need to stop destroying yourself over her."

Orsen’s hands trembled, and his voice broke as he whispered, almost desperately, "Rowan, my heart doesn’t stop! There’s always this voice... this voice that tells me she still feels something for me, that I still live in her heart, the same way mine beats for her. But it’s all I have left. The hope. The hope that she’ll come back... and maybe... maybe it will be enough."

Rowan's throat tightened, but he couldn’t speak, not with the agony in his brother’s voice. His own heart broke for him, but he couldn’t let Orsen sink deeper into the suffocating grief.

"Even if she returns..." Rowan’s voice faltered as he feared what the consequences would be. "Mother will-"

But Orsen cut him off, his voice low, almost too quiet to hear, "It won’t matter, Rowan. I’ve already lost her...I've lost...everything."

One year later...

After years of bloodshed and sacrifice, the town whispers of your return. At 25, you walk back into the place you once called home, no longer the wide-eyed girl who had left at 17, but a woman hardened by the brutal realities of war. Your uniform, now adorned with a sergeant's insignia, tells the story of your rise through the ranks, your resolve steeled by every battle fought and every friend lost. The air feels different, heavier, almost suffocating as you step through the town’s familiar streets, but your heart remains unyielding, barricaded from the past. Orsen’s letters are still tucked away, unopened, each one a reminder of a love you’ve forced yourself to forget. You’ve accepted it. You were never meant to be, and no amount of hope could change that now. The weight of those letters no longer tugs at you, not when you’ve fought and survived so much more.

Dear Orsen,

I know you’ve been waiting. I know you’ve sent me countless letters, filled with hope that I would somehow return to you, to the life we once dreamed of. But Orsen, I can’t. I’ve read every word you wrote, and yet I find myself unable to respond in the way you so desperately long for.

I wish things had been different. I wish I could turn back the clock and be the girl who ran away with you in her heart, the girl who believed love could conquer everything. But that girl no longer exists.

You were my first love, Orsen, and you will always hold a piece of my heart. But that piece is buried deep now, and I cannot let it resurface. You deserve more than the shadows of someone who cannot return your love. You deserve someone who can give you all the things I cannot.

Please, move on. I’ve had to. And though it breaks me to say this, I need you to as well. There are things we can’t undo, and I’ve learned that some battles are meant to be lost.

I wish you nothing but happiness, Orsen. Please find it, for both of us.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Orsen read the letter over and over again, the words blurring as his tears fell onto the paper. He could feel the weight of her words, the finality in them, but it didn’t matter. She was back. She had sent a response. That was all that mattered. He could still feel the flicker of hope inside him, despite the pain.

"See, Rowan?" Orsen's voice trembled, filled with a raw, desperate conviction. "She does care... she did come back! And she sent a response! After all these years, after everything..." His hands shook as he held the letter, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if the letter were some miraculous token of proof that his love had not been in vain.

Rowan stood still, watching his brother, his heart aching with the quiet sorrow that had always lived within Orsen. He had been there for all of it, the hopeless days, the constant painting, the letters, the belief that (Y/N) would return. But now, even with the letter in hand, he knew nothing would ever truly change for Orsen. The boy who loved her so deeply, so painfully, would never let go.

"Orsen-"

"I told you, Rowan!" Orsen interrupted, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill down Rowan’s spine. He didn't even hear his brother’s voice, his focus solely on the canvas beneath him. He dashed to his desk, where he'd been working for hours, and pulled out the latest painting of her, his masterpiece.

He held the canvas in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. His hands, once trembling with uncertainty, now steadied as he placed a soft kiss onto the painting of her.

"I knew you would," he whispered into the stillness of the room, the words soft, almost a prayer. "I knew you would, (Y/N)... I knew you’d come back to me."

His lips brushed the painted figure as though it were real, as though he were holding her in his arms once more. He collapsed beside it, curling up against the canvas as though it were her embrace. The painting of (Y/N) became his only solace, his only love.

And though the letter told him to move on, to accept the impossible, Orsen couldn't. He wouldn't.

He would live in his world of painted memories, of moments stolen from time. If that was all he could have, then that was enough. His heart belonged to her, now and always.

Rowan sighed, a heavy, sorrowful breath, and sat beside his brother, not knowing how to save him from the pain that would never fade.

── .✦

The years had been kinder to you in some ways. You had finally earned the respect you'd dreamed of, built a stable life, and found a steady income. Your parents, once worried, once ashamed, were proud now. They had a bungalow, a car, and all the comforts that came with your hard work. Adrian was a good man, his steady smile and warm presence had become a source of quiet comfort. Your parents approved of him, and in public, he fit the role of what they had always envisioned for you.

You had met Adrian at one of the official functions after the war, an event meant to honor veterans and those who had served. He had approached you politely, a charming young man from a good family, well-educated, and well-spoken. It was easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. He was kind, and considerate, and seemed genuinely interested in your experiences, nothing too probing, nothing too personal, and a touch of flirty which you found attracted to. The connection had been easy, and effortless. Over time, he had become more of a presence in your life, someone to lean on, someone to rely on when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

But in the quiet moments, when you caught him smiling or when his gentle presence filled the room, you couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if Orsen were here instead of him.

Had he listened to you? Had he chosen a different path? You had told him to move on, to find happiness elsewhere. But as you thought of him, still alone, still stubbornly clinging to something that had long since slipped away, you felt an overwhelming ache. You wondered if he was doing well if he had found peace, or if he was still trapped in the same loop of memories, the same quiet obsession that you had once shared.

The whispers that reached your ears spoke of his isolation. They called him a "spinster" in the most cruel terms, among their circle blaming him for wasting his life over a dream, for not letting go, and for refusing to welcome suitors. The town had forgotten the love he had once held for you, reduced it to mockery and judgment. And it stung more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just the cruel words, they blamed him, not you. But you still felt the guilt gnaw at you. If only you could have done something differently. If only you hadn’t pushed him away if only you had stayed.

You wished things could have been different, so different. Sometimes, you would drive by the road that led to the Elaris estate, the place where it had all started, where it had all fallen apart. You grimaced each time, your mind filled with the memories of Isolde’s cold arrogance, her cruel insults hurled at your mother, the disdain that had torn everything apart. You would never forget the way she looked down on your family. Never forget the way her words had stung.

And yet, despite it all, the quiet moments still haunted you. Adrian was everything you had ever been told to want. He was good, stable, and kind. But whenever you saw that smile, whenever you felt his hand on yours, the image of Orsen would slip into your mind, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered, what if?

"Ready for the date, love?" you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you slid into the driver's seat of your sleek Packard coupe. Adrian hopped in beside you, his excitement palpable as he fastened his seatbelt. The polished chrome gleamed under the fading sunlight, reflecting your success.

"Ready as ever," Adrian grinned, leaning in for a quick peck before you revved the engine.

As you pulled out onto the road, Adrian’s eyes sparkled with energy. "Oh my God, baby! Look! An exhibition! We should totally go there!"

"But what about our reservation?"

"We can eat somewhere else," he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. "I'm in the mood to go there now! And it’s going to be fun!"

"As you say, doll," you laughed, making a sharp turn, and Adrian’s hand instinctively gripped your arm as the car glided smoothly along the streets.

The gallery was quiet when you both entered, the sound of hushed conversations echoing in the background. But as soon as you stepped through the door, you both stopped in your tracks.

Every single wall was covered in paintings. And what made your heart skip a beat, what made the air feel heavy, was that every single painting was of you. Each canvas captured a moment, an expression, an angle of you. The portraits were hauntingly familiar, your face, your eyes, your presence, all staring back at you in ways that felt too intimate, too familiar.

Adrian stood beside you, his mouth agape as his eyes darted between the paintings. "What the hell is this?" His voice trembled with confusion, but his gaze never left the artwork.

You didn’t respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The words caught in your throat as the reality of the situation sank in. How had this happened? Why had someone done this?

You felt the walls closing in, the weight of every portrait suffocating you. The paintings weren’t just of you, they were a testament to someone who had been watching, remembering, and never letting go. They were not just of your face, but in parts too but all those parts...made a story , the story you were all too familiar with.

The garden...

The swing...of you pushing a boy...you knew too well.

your eyes...

your lips nuzzling in golden hair...

you working in the garden but the painter drew it as they...were in some balcony...

Adrian looked at you, searching your face for an explanation. "Do you know who did this?"

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper.

"Is this… is this really me?" you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice.

Adrian stood beside you, studying the painting. He gave you a gentle nudge. “Of course, it’s you. Look at that, love. It’s beautiful. Who could capture you like that? It's like they’ve seen the real you.”

Your mind was however not registering his words as you turned your eyes to the next painting. Another portrait of you. And another.

The entire gallery was filled with paintings of you. Each one more personal than the last.

Your breath hitched. The familiar, almost painful pull of longing twisted in your chest. The artist, who could it be? Why was this happening? You didn't want to think it, but you knew deep down. You knew this was Orsen’s doing.

Adrian sensed your shift in mood, his brow furrowing in concern. “What’s going on? This... this doesn’t seem like you to be so quiet.”

You turned to him, the weight of the paintings and your tangled emotions making your heart ache. "It’s… it’s him. Orsen."

Adrian’s face softened in understanding, his eyes scanning the gallery around you. "I thought you'd told me you had moved on from him. That you had buried that part of your life."

“I did,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I thought I had. But I didn’t expect this… to see him like this. To see him still... holding onto me."

Adrian studied you, his expression a mixture of concern and something softer, more understanding. He took your hand, gently guiding you towards the painting of you in the center of the room. “(Y/N), listen to me. This… this is what he’s been doing all this time. This is his heart, laid out on canvas. But you, you, need to follow yours now.”

Your heart raced as you turned to look at him. “I don’t know if I can,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “His mother… she ruined everything. I ruined everything.”

Adrian’s hand squeezed yours gently, and he looked you in the eyes, the sincerity in his expression unwavering. “But you’re not her, (Y/N). Don’t let her shadow stand in the way of what’s real. You feel it, don’t you? You feel that pull. The ache in your heart. You’ve never really let him go. He’s still there, inside you. Maybe it’s time to go to him. Maybe it’s time to follow your heart, before it’s too late. Be the woman you should be. For him."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Adrian’s eyes softened as he added, "Go to him, (Y/N). You owe it to yourself."

For a moment, you stood there, torn between the past and the future. But deep down, you knew what you had to do. Adrian was right. You had buried the love you shared with Orsen for too long, hidden behind walls of fear and shame. You couldn’t pretend anymore. The paintings were his way of reaching out to you, of showing you that he never stopped loving you, even when you were too proud or too afraid to admit it to yourself.

With a shaky breath, you turned to Adrian and smiled softly. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He smiled back, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “No need for that, love. Just be happy.”

After a comforting and final farewell with Adrian and dropping him you drove towards the Elaris estate. Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat louder than the last. You knew what was waiting for you. You knew that, despite all the years of pain and regret, Orsen was still out there, still holding onto you, waiting for you.

You didn’t know how you would face him, but you knew one thing for sure, you had to try.

When you arrived at the grand estate, it felt like stepping into the past. The familiar sight of the towering gates, the ivy-covered walls, all of it reminded you of everything you had left behind. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel, but you didn’t hesitate. You got out of the car and walked up to the grand doors, your heart heavy with the fear of what you might find.

Orsen’s mother answered the door, her face cold and dismissive as ever. “You’ve come back for more, have you? He’s upstairs, but don’t think this will end well.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. She could fuck herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you arrived at his door. You hesitated for just a moment before knocking.

"Orsen?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. “Orsen, it’s me.”

For a long moment, there was silence. But then, the door creaked open, and there he stood, your Orsen. His eyes widened in shock as he saw you, standing there on his doorstep after all these years.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I came, Orsen....I did..."

The years between you didn’t matter anymore. The world outside could’ve been falling apart, but in that moment, all that mattered was him. And you. Together, at last.

Orsen’s voice trembled as he spoke those words, his hands shaking as he reached for you, his face painted with disbelief. "I never stopped loving you. I never gave up on us."

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, and then, without another thought, you stepped forward. The distance that had kept you apart for so long seemed to vanish as he collapsed into your arms.

Orsen's breath hitched as you wrapped your arms tightly around you, You could feel his tears against your neck, the way his body trembled as he let out a sob, quiet at first, but then growing louder, more desperate.

"I thought you were lost to me forever," he whispered between gasps, his voice cracking with emotion. "I tho-ught--I thought you would never come back."

You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing your cheek against the top of his head as he cried. His sobs were broken, painful, as if years of longing and heartache were finally being released. It hurt to see him like this, but it also made you realize just how much you had missed him, how deeply he had always felt for you.

"I’m here," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, but the words felt like a promise. "I’m here, Orsen. I never wanted to leave you. I was a coward--a fucking coward...a bastard. That's what I am."

Orsen pulled back just slightly to look at you, his tear-streaked face full of vulnerability. He reached up to touch your face, your jawline, his fingertips brushing gently over your cheeks as though he couldn't quite believe you were really there.

"You... you never stopped loving me?" His voice was raw, a mix of hope and doubt.

"I never did, never" you said, your own tears starting to slip free. "I just... I was afraid. Of everything."

He shook his head, a soft smile breaking through the tears, though it was a broken one. "Yo-u are not a coward....you are my everything...I-I feel as if I can breathe ag-ain (Y/N)...I love you..."

"Oh Orsen..." You pulled him to your arms again as you both now sat on the carpeted floor. " I love you too. Always. I am so sorry.."

You hugged him tighter, your body pressed against his as he continued to sob in your arms, his tears soaking into your clothes, but you didn’t care. You held him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, making you realize that all the pain, all the time spent apart, didn’t matter anymore. You were here now, together.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself cry, the tears falling freely as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally lifted. His arms were around you, and he was holding you so tightly, as though he would never let go again.

And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped turning. All that mattered was the two of you, your past, your fears, your love, all of it was there, unfolding in his arms. Orsen had always been your home, and now, finally, you were both back where you belonged.

It didn’t matter that the world outside remained uncertain, that Isolde still cast her shadow over Orsen’s name, or that the whispers of the past lingered like unwanted ghosts. When you finally stood together with Orsen, hand in hand, the rest of the world fell away. You had spent too long apart, too long in the agony of wondering “what if,” but now, there were no more questions. No more waiting.

As Orsen stood beside you, the man who had loved you for all these years, he seemed almost too perfect to be real. His emerald eyes, the same ones that had once searched for you in the distance, now held you in a steady, comforting gaze.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered to you as you exchanged vows, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was never going to feel your arms around me again, never hear you say my name.”

“You never lost me, Orsen,” you responded, your voice steady, but your heart thundering in your chest. "I was always here..."

And then, as if nothing else mattered, you sealed your promises to each other with a kiss that was as soft as the years you had spent apart, as fierce as the love you now shared.

The years of separation melted away in that one, perfect moment, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of your past was lighter. You had come back to each other, and that was all that truly mattered.

After the wedding, life settled into a quiet rhythm. You and Orsen moved into the bungalow. It wasn’t grand compared to where he came from, but it was nonetheless a heaven for him. Every room held a piece of you both, and slowly, you began to build a new life.

Orsen often found himself in the garden, his hands in the dirt, tending to the flowers that now bloomed as brightly as his heart. You would watch him from the kitchen window, leaning against the frame, a smile tugging at your lips as you admired the way he made everything seem so effortless. The way he painted in the garden. His laugh, when he caught sight of you watching, was soft and full of warmth.

At night, you would share simple dinners, just the two of you, with candles flickering in the dim light. Orsen would tell you stories of his of the times when he had been filled with hope and dreams, waiting for you to come back to him. You shared your own tales, of the war, of the triumphs and the losses, the people you met, and the battles you fought. And yes of course, talking about the memories of your childhood...the most cherished ones.

But the best moments, the ones you cherished the most, were the quiet ones. The evenings when Orsen would in your lap, his arm around your neck as he clung to you, as you both listened to the wind rustling through the trees, and the sound of crickets filling the air.

You never spoke of Isolde much. She remained a distant, bitter part of Orsen’s past. And while she still tried to cause trouble, trying to remind Orsen of what he “could have had,” you both knew that she no longer had a place in your life. She had lost him, and that was all that mattered. You had heard how she had suffered losses in her business and for Orsen and you, it seems like she was facing the consequences of her ego and stubbornness.

Sometimes, you would take walks through the town, just the two of you, your fingers intertwined, the sun setting in the distance. The people who had once whispered about your union now smiled, and you would catch the glint of admiration in their eyes. You had proven that love, even in the face of all odds, could survive.

One evening, as you both sat on the porch, the stars beginning to twinkle above, Orsen turned to you, his eyes soft and filled with a quiet happiness.

“Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

You smiled and shook your head. “No. I think about now. I think about you and me. This. That’s enough for me.”

And Orsen, ever the poet, kissed you gently, his lips lingering on yours in a quiet promise that this love, this life, was all that mattered now.

The past was gone. The future was still unwritten, but you were both finally, truly together, and that was more than you had ever dared to dream.

In the warmth of each other’s arms, you knew, finally, that no matter what the world might throw your way, you had everything you needed. You had each other.

You did it. You fought for him...no, you both did, in fact you felt ashamed sometimes that it was Orsen who really did. He remained true to his word, his love.

Now none of the bitter past mattered. What mattered was that you two were now bound.

And that was enough.

── .✦

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the bungalow, and the soft hum of evening filled the air. The days had stretched into years, and now, the soft patter of little feet echoed through the house.

The twins, Isla and Blair, were running around the garden, laughing as they chased each other between the rows of flowers that Orsen had lovingly tended. Isla’s bright curls bounced with each step, her fiery energy matching her mother’s, while Blair, a little more reserved, hid behind a bush before springing out with a playful shout. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them, so full of life, so full of joy.

Orsen stood beside you, a proud smile on his face as he adjusted the collar of your shirt, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the children for long.

"Think they'll ever slow down?" he asked, his voice warm, though laced with a hint of exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Not as long as they have that energy. They're just like you at their age, honey."

"I was never that much trouble," Orsen said, feigning innocence, though his smile betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You want me to remind you about the treehouse incident?”

He laughed leaning back on your chest, the sound rich and full. "Alright, alright, maybe I was a bit much. But they’ve got your fire in them, that’s for sure. I see it every day. It’s like they’re part of both of us."

"You can say that again. Isla's already giving Rowan a run for his money with her mischief."

You then nuzzled the side of his soft and milky neck, feeling the warmth and peppered light kisses as he giggled. "And definitely got your streak of being a brat."

"Oh, shut up you..." His voice softened, looking up at you with a dreamy gaze. He cupped your jaw gently, his thumb brushing the line of your cheek as his eyes traced the lines of your face. "You know...this was my dream, and I would sacrifice everything a million times for this... for you."

You shook your head, smiling tenderly as you brought his soft hand to your lips. "You sacrificed enough. It's my time to do that." You kissed his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin and the quiet ache of love that swelled in your chest. He swore he melted right then and there, his heart swelling with emotion.

"I WANNA KISSHY TOO!" Isla’s voice broke the moment as she wobbled over, her little face scrunched with exaggerated impatience. You chuckled, easily scooping up your three-year-old daughter, her giggles filling the air as she flung her arms around your neck.

"Do you now?" You teased, smiling at her. "Then kisshies you get. And you too, little mister." With one swift motion, you scooped up Blair in your other arm, planting kisses all over both their little faces. Their giggles filled the space around you, a sweet symphony of innocence and love.

Orsen laughed softly, his eyes twinkling as he watched the scene unfold before him. The sight of you, his family, so full of life and laughter, was a dream he had never dared to speak aloud, one he was living every single day. He sighed in contentment, his heart swelling at the sight. It was everything he had hoped for and more.

All his art had come to life, and it was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Every brushstroke, every moment of uncertainty, had led to this, a home filled with love, with laughter, with a family bound by unspoken understanding, and, most importantly, by the love that had always been there.

© ak319. All rights reserved.

[meidiary]

( 📁 ) THEY ENTERTAIN ANOTHER WOMAN FOR TOO LONG

synopsis: instead of them being jealous, this time you are because of their attention being focused on someone else 🤧

characters: zoro, luffy & sanji!

warnings: female terms used in zoro's & sanji's <3, nicknames + swearing, angst for sanji

mei's note: my previous post had an accidental angsty ending for luffy so i'll be posting a happy one soon! <3

⟶ @ahseyy request: ... And i have this idea 🤧 we had that the OP boys are jealous, sooooo obviously we need that Yn is jealous! ...

☆ "they're just friends!" usopp's words kept ringing in your mind as you stare at ZORO and his ex-girlfriend.. you and the rest of the strawhat crew had stopped sailing, planning to settle a bit on the island you came across. oh, how you deeply regret telling luffy that "this seems like a good place for us to stay in and regain our energy!" now you're stuck witnessing this situation play out, having you completely engrossed in it.

☆ usopp, having a sixth sense for drama, immediately noticed the lack of your presence as a result of you spying observing zoro and his ex.

☆ "are you done spying on your boyfriend?" he chuckles seeing your startled expression. "i'm not spying on him! i'm just-" you see her playfully slap his bicep, earning a displeased look on your face. "why is he even speaking to her for so long? it's not like they left at the best terms.." you blurt out, sighing after seeing usopp's sly smirk.

☆ you know he thinks you're an obsessively jealous person, but you can't find it in you to care because there she goes touching him again! the worst of it all is that zoro doesn't seem to be bothered by it.. your eyebrows furrow as you keep witnessing them smiling way too much, standing way too close, being way too touchy, and the worst of all; they're talking way too soft for you to eavesdrop!

"that's it, i'm going over there!" you utter annoyed, dropping the mop you were holding for the past 15 minutes, having made little to no progress at cleaning the ship's floor. usopp, taken aback, dashes to stand in front of you, blocking the exit of the ship. "are you out of your mind? don't you understand you'll be labeled as the most controlling girlfriend ever?! just- sit this confrontation out alright?" he let's out a sigh of relief, feeling he prevented a major fight to go down, not only between you and zoro, but possibly also between you and zoro's ex..

usopp was right, you know he was, but you couldn't bother thinking straight while you were still seeing that woman being handsy with your man. fuming, you gaze at the two, loathing the almost non-existent space there was between them. "i'm so done," you mutter upset. "please take over cleaning for me today, usopp.." you left to your room and plopped down on your bed, trying to put all your intrusive thoughts to rest.

but of course you couldn't after having seen that interaction between the two. were you exaggerating? was this normal? is it wrong for you to feel this way? this fuming feeling is causing you so much distress. it's like your thoughts are eating you up from the inside. you don't want to feel this way, like you're the one at fault, like you're not enough, like you'll never be enough.. right after that thought crept up out of the darkest pits of your brain, you heard a knock on your, now locked, bedroom door. "baby? you alright?.. why's the door locked-? baby?" you recognize zoro's voice immediately, mentally being stuck between picking the easy choice: ignoring him and bottling up your feelings, or the hard one: facing him and talk to him about your current thoughts..

unbeknownst to you, you unconsciously chose the former option. you open the door and look him in his eyes, hiding as much of your feelings possible. "what?" he furrows his brows, confused by your cold welcome before he remembers usopp warning him you weren't in a good mood because of his overfriendly encounter with his ex. "is this about her?" he chuckles before shaking his head slightly, in disbelief you'd be this bothered by someone from his past. "so what if it is?! is it so weird for me to be upset some woman is being all handsy with you?! and is it suprising that i got bothered even more by you not minding her touching you? is it that weird, zoro? 'cause if it is, please, do tell me!" you blurt out, almost all in one breath, before slamming the door shut.

you weren't planning on letting it out, you didn't want to bother, assuming he'd just brush it off as you exaggerating.. you didn't expect him to open the door you aggressively slammed in his face, so soon. you didn't expect him to, when he saw you leant on the wall with furrowed brows and a trembling upper lip, grab you by the waist and pull you closer to him, so close there was barely anything between you at all.. and least of all did you expect him to grab your chin, raising it so you looked him in the eyes while he told you "if i gave one shit about her, would i be here right now? tell me, if i didn't care about you at all, then why would i tell her i'm not interested in getting back together with her when she asked? why would i tell her i finally found someone that i want to spend the rest of my life with? shit, as cheesy as it sounds, it's true, baby.. i can't imagine being with anyone else except you. so please, don't you get jealous about girls i don't give a damn about."

you send him a soft smile, leaning your forehead on him. "don' know who told you i was jealous.. but you got to get better sources 'cause i for sure wasn't jealous.." zoro scoffs letting out a "yeah, right."

☆ needless to say you two made up and cuddled for the rest of the day.

☆ that would be the end.. but of course usopp had to bug you.. "hey! i took over your cleaning today, so you better take over mine for the next week.." usopp pleaded, with both his hands on his hips. "out." zoro mumbled into your neck, expecting him to comply instantly. "but-!" usopp began to bicker, before getting interrupted by zoro. "now." you accidentally let out a giggle, swiftly moving your hand to cover your mouth right after. "whatever! i will be back, considering this debt!" with that usopp leaves the room, leaving you two alone, enjoying the comfortable silence.

☆ SANJI is a womanizer, that's no shocking discovery. you've know about this fact since the moment you met him. he was charming you up while asking everyone's drinks and then he went off, flirting with another woman on his way back to the kitchen. that moment you learned that this was sanji. but there's also the caring sanji that'd make you a warm soup when you're sick, tending to your needs yet still somehow find away to make you blush whilst laughing with him. in addition to the caring sanji, there also is the determined sanji; whenever he'd speak about finding the all blue, and all the meals he would cook, all the different fish he would see, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening with adoration and resolve. further, intellectual sanji heavily plays a role in your daily life; happily helping you with mundane chores to the most exciting adventures you and your fellow strawhats go on. he fills you in on books he's read, food he's cooked, ingredients he's used, products he's bought and much more!

☆ you could go on and on, daydreaming of all sanji's positive personality traits, but you're all time favorite would have to be considerate sanji.. the way he could immediately sense from you that you weren't feeling like your usual self still amazes you. how he always chooses the right moments to bring you a freshly brewed cup of tea with your favorite desert right next to it, which you have know idea how he had the time nor ingredients for. how he treats you like a princes and tells you how much you mean to him in so many different ways when you feel absolutely miserable. and, oh, how he always knows when to embrace you tightly and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, until it becomes numb.

☆ so with all that, you accepted him being a womanizer, having the seemingly perpetuous habits of bantering with other women. you always wondered if he'd stop flirting with so many women if you asked him to.. but then the thought that you two were nothing and wouldn't be anything else than friends hit you.

☆ nevertheless, seeing his cheeky smile being sent to some random woman, seeing him subtly sling his arm around her waist as he guids her to the dance floor, seeing him lean closer to her every minute, it was killing you, no more like slowly scraping you from the inside, the bottled up pain waiting for you to finally burst open.

you've been eyeing them the whole night, not once taking your eyes off of them or bothering to answer usopp's rants with more than a 'mhm,' or a 'hmm'. "have you listened to a word i said?!" usopp voiced suddenly, turning the strawhats' complete attention to you. "mhm.." absent-minded, you nod hearing him say something, but not comprehending the words he spoke.

"see, told you she wasn't paying attention," usopp leaned back against his seat after pulling up his shoulders, indicating he was right about you not paying attention to what anyone was saying. zoro, being the one seated next to you, tapped your shoulder, earning a "hm?" from you. getting annoyed by your negligence, he shifted his gaze to the direction you were looking in, finally understanding what the issue was.

to clarify your absent-mindness, zoro nudged his head towards sanji and his date. his date, who was sat on his lap at this point, making the knot in your stomach grow substantially. seeing his arm wrap around her hips as she leaned on him was your final stroke, your last straw. it was your breaking point.. you've reached, no, you've long surpassed your limit for these shenanigans, but right now, this very moment you finally break.

you suddenly feel a rush of tears burn your eyes, overwhelmed with your thoughts and emotional distress. you jump up, hurriedly leaving the club room you were in, not wanting anyone to see you in your current state. you desperately search for a private area where you can cry yourself out of this situation without having people judge you. but you notice the whole place is packed with couples who can't keep their hands off of each other, except the balcony, so you shakingly make your way to the cold space.

all of a sudden, you hear someone's heavy breathing behind you. "darling? what's the matter? what happened?!" sanji. he asks you breathlessly, due to him running after you. you quickly tried to wipe your tears away, but they kept coming! making you feel even more hysterical. "hey, hey now -" sanji notices your crying, he turns you around, his arms moving from your arms down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "talk to me, sweetheart.. please, just talk to me.." he pleads, moving his face closer to yours.

"i- i can't- do- it!" you babbled in-between sobs. "what, darling? who did this to you?" sanji moves his hands to your cheeks, pulling your face to his, carefully. "you..! you're killing me!" he furrows his brows in confusion. once you calmed down, you slowly tore one of his hands off your face. "i can't keep seeing you with others, sanji.. it really fucking hurts! i- i just can't-" you push him away a little, "i can't keep bottling it up sanji.. i'm done.."

☆ he didn't even mean to.. he was just being friendly, he was cracking jokes, making sure she was feeling calm and at peace, he asked sanji to get her something to snack, he was being luffy..

☆ normally, you'd swoon over him whenever he'd be in this caring mood of his. but not this time, no. this time, you were close to glowing green out of envy. you shouldn't be feeling this way, you know that. you trust luffy with your everything! it just hits you in the wrong place whenever he leans towards her when she speaks. it's like you can feel your heart cramp up each time she looks up at him and smiles, receiving his usual toothy grin in return.

☆ she was lost, abandoned at sea by her very own family. at least that's the bit you picked from usopp dramatically narrating her lifestory. is it heartless that all you could think of was that you hoped, the strawhats and you would drop her off at the very next island, wish her luck with her life, and continue your journeys? knowing luffy, that's the last thing that would happen. no, it's not even on the list of things he would ever consider! your thoughts made you feel absolutely terrible. you weren't a bad person, so why were you being so uncaring towards this poor girl who had lost so much? envy. jealousy can bring out the absolute worst in people. the lowest of a person's nature gets drawn out someone. and that someone now, was you.

you tried to stay away from her, not wanting to accidentally lash out. you felt bad for her, you did, but you also how far you could go, when jealousy takes apart in decision-making. so you avoid her, and just like that, you were also avoiding luffy. because for some reason, he was always near her, always. it's like he was scared she'd run away?

luffy noticed. but he didn't know the reason you were avoiding her. he's always optimistic and cheerful, so everyone expects him to always be exactly that, except you. you were there for him, allowing him to have bad days. he didn't have to hide his feelings or emotions. it was a relief for him to find someone like you, someone he lived so dearly, who lived him back just as much. it was refreshing, calming, delightful. what happened? what did he do? was he too much? or did he do too little to show you he cares so much, that he'd give you the world if you asked for it. he'd go to the moon and back for you. he doesn't know how, but he'd find a way. and now he lost you? that can't be true. it can't. he won't accept it!

that's how you got in your current situation; his face was buried in the crook of your neck, his hands holding you tightly by your waist, mumbling something about how good you smell.

you had told him the reason you were avoiding was because of your sudden jealousy. he laughed for a good 10 minutes about how ridiculous you were to think of something like that! but in his mind, oh, how relieved he was that you weren't avoiding him because you fell out of love with him. it was because you were too in love with him..

☆ you two ended up having a picnic on deck, trying to keep usopp and chopper away from your neatly set up meals prepared by sanji (duh)

☆ luffy kept teasing you about how jealous you were and that you love him too much for your own good. acting like he wasn't on the verge of being a crying mess because he thought he lost you 🙄

☆ he kept giving you nose tip smooches while telling you you'll never lose him <3

MEI'S NOTE: so, uhm yeah sanji's part was definitely something...

... hope you enjoyed!! <3

[soelstress]

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: Bucky misunderstands when he hears you but doesn't recognise those popular lyrics...

Word count: 3.4k

A/N - Hello lovelies! Thought I'd post this piece from when I was working on ANOTHER WIP and in a craze for misunderstandings from eavesdropping. This is silly fluff with a possible smidge of angst.

A big big thank you to @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for eyeballing this and catching my hiccups. Much love, Skittle!

The pic is what I had in mind for the polaroid.... just look at him 🥰😍 Sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

Whistling, you prepared two lunches to go in the kitchen of Stark Tower. After putting the food into containers you cleared up any mess. Looking up, you saw Bucky stride into the kitchen. “Hey doll”. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, leaning on the counter.

You grinned back, your face heating at his proximity. “Hiya Buck. What’s up?”

Shifting his weight, he straightened slightly. “That movie you were talking about is playing at the old theater this afternoon. Thought I’d go see it… and wondered if you’d wanna go?”

Happiness filled you at his hopeful tone, only to be immediately swamped by guilt. “Oh Buck, I’m sorry but I’ve got-“

“Petal, are those nibbles ready? We gotta dash and dine!” A male voice called down the hall. You saw Bucky’s eyes then register the two lunches in front of him. His smile wavered.

“Coming Danny!” You quickly scooped the containers into your bag. Approaching him, you placed your hand on his flesh hand which rested on the counter. “Let me know if you do go, Bucky. If you don’t, maybe we can watch it here later? Snacks, popcorn, big pillows - the usual?”

His Vibranium hand covered yours,  whirring gently at the contact. “I’d love that doll”.

Once again you felt the heat in your cheeks as you tried not to melt at the feel of your hand caught between both of his. Catching sight of your watch, you groaned. “Crap I gotta run. See ya Buck”. Without thinking you stood on tip toe to peck his cheek and ran out. Unseen to you, Bucky touched where your lips brushed his cheek and blushed.

You met Danny at the elevator. He bounced with energy, his brown eyes glinting. As you both stepped in, he nudged you gently. “I know I said it after asking you, but I really appreciate you doing this, Flower. You’ve got enough going on with the team and saving the world”.

“Saving the world one memo at a time” you joke and he laughed. 

Exiting the elevator into the garage, you got into his car and drove to Queens where Danny was starring in a community production of Grease, performing for one week. He loved the stage, and was psyched to play Danny Zuko. So it had been a surprise for him to arrive at the Tower saying the show was in trouble and he needed you. Once calmed, he explained that the female lead had been injured in rehearsal and wouldn’t be able to perform on opening night. The director tried to contact people who had previously auditioned with no success. Danny had thought of you, knowing you loved Grease and had taken drama classes in school. Hesitantly you auditioned, knowing you weren’t the best singer but apparently your soft notes sounded better than some of the banshees called back as a desperate measure. When offered the role for opening night, you jumped at the chance. Trying to juggle rehearsals with your job was tricky but you were determined to push through, for Danny and yourself.

You arrived at the theatre and immediately started rehearsing. With opening night one day away, tensions were running high for everyone. Final notes and adjustments being made, everyone checking and rechecking every minute detail. The director watched you perform “Hopelessly Devoted To You”.

“Nice one, sweetheart” he drawled, scribbling on his script. “The pitch and volume are good, remember don’t push too much”. You acknowledged his advice. “My main thought is it needs just a bit more emotion, a bit of angst. Sandy’s fighting the urge to love this man but her love is so strong she’s determined to hold on. Might help if you think you’re singing to someone like that, rather than just an audience”. He eyed you with a frown. “Know what I mean?”

Nodding, you bit your lip. “I’ll try”. He nodded and turned to move onto his next task. Moving to the edge of the stage, you fought the image that appeared in your mind.

“Thinking about that Super Soldier of yours?” Danny obviously overheard your feedback… and seemingly read your mind. “I heard him ask you out earlier” he elaborated at your raised brow. “And what about inviting him and the team? I’m sure they’d come to see you”.

“Yeah, if no emergencies pop up” you snorted. “Come on Danny, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes showing up for a pen pusher?”

You found yourself being spun gently and saw Danny scowling. “I hate when you put yourself down, Petal. You did that even when we were together”. Shrugging, you avoided his gaze but didn’t move away. “But you’re more than that - you train with them, gather intel, help each one in their own individual way - paperwork is the least you do for them! Just because you’re not actively fighting in the field doesn’t mean you’re not part of the team. But even if you were just a ‘pen pusher’, I bet Barnes would still show”.

Sadly you shook your head. “It’s not like that between me and Bucky. Come on Dan, you know me. I’m not the type to be his girl, however much I might want to be”. Exhaling, you mumbled about rehearsing more before forcing the notion from your head.

Later that night, you walked through Stark Tower and asked FRIDAY the location of the team. The AI informed you that the team was sparring in the gym. Knowing you wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, you made your way to the open lounge. It was roughly the same size as the audience seating area at the theater. Popping your AirPods in, you asked FRIDAY to record your efforts. On your second attempt, you remembered what the director suggested. From your wallet, you took out a Polaroid you’d snapped of Bucky. Unguarded, his baby blue eyes sparkled, lips turned up in a soft smile. Your heart tugged, having fallen hard for the seemingly surly Super Soldier. Inhaling, you played the song again and allowed emotion to wash over you.

Bucky walked to the kitchen, grumbling about Tony and Sam showboating during training rather than focusing. Noticing a soft sound, he used his sensitive hearing to find the source. He paused at the entrance of the lounge to see you facing out of a window, your back to him. Carefully he took a step forward, intending to say your name when he heard you speak softly.

My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him" My heart is sayin', "Don't let go Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do I'm hopelessly devoted to you

Frozen, he watched as you looked at a photo before pressing it to your chest, your voice hitching. He silently withdrew, not hearing you sing the chorus. Bucky entered his room and closed the door, heart thudding painfully as he replayed what just happened. He had been working up the courage to ask you on a date, but hesitated when Danny reappeared in your life. You had told Bucky that the two year relationship had ended amicably but Danny would still be your friend. Bucky had found himself wondering if the two of you had worked things out, given that you had spent so much time together the past few weeks. Still he hoped that something was possible, especially as you made every effort to make up for declining the plans Bucky offered. But now… he understood. It crushed him, but he knew he couldn’t hurt you by keeping you from the man you love. He only hoped that Danny knew how lucky he was. 

The next day rushed by in a chaotic blur, running errands for the team in the morning and dress rehearsal in the afternoon. Unfortunately due to a technical hiccup, you were unable to review your solo notes with the director. You and Danny relaxed backstage, inhaling your dinners knowing you wouldn’t be able to eat until after the show. Nerves began to show in twirling the cutlery, which he picked up on. “You know what they say about a bad dress rehearsal. Stop worrying Petal, you’ll be fine”. 

“Easy for you to say” you growled.

“Jeez, you need to chill out. Are they keeping Barnes on ice again? He could cool you off… or heat things up” Danny smirked, ducking when you reached to flick his ear. “Ok forget the team for a second - why didn’t you invite him?”

“That’s all I need Dan - nerves over inviting him and then with my luck performing badly. I’m stressed enough”. You pointed your cutlery at him for emphasis before throwing it in the bin. “Please… it’s opening night, can we just focus on that? No more talk of invites or team support”. Danny nodded and you sighed in relief. 

At the Tower Nat, Steve, Tony and Bucky were gathered in the living room for movie night. Since you usually joined them and offered options to watch, they noticed your absence. “Where’s our movie critic?” Tony asked, pouting when you don’t appear with snacks in hand. “Tin Man, did she say anything to you?”

Bucky shrugged, frowning. “She’s not been around the last few afternoons, but she didn’t say anything about tonight”.

Peter suddenly skidded into the room, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

“Where’s the fire kid?” Steve caught Peter before he crashed into someone. 

Panting, Peter shuffled nervously. “So have you guys heard of that old movie Grease?”Tony and Nat groaned at Peter’s definition of ‘old’ while Bucky and Steve were confused. It hadn’t been mentioned to Steve, so he wondered if he should add it to his ever growing list of things to look into. Bucky tried to understand how a movie could be made about grease… unless Peter meant the country?

Nat started to suggest watching it for the current movie night when Peter interrupted her. “Wait! At school I was walking by the bulletin board, you know where you can put fliers for things. There was so much on that board - actually there’s a demonstration I think you and Bruce would love Tony - “

“KID!” Tony huffed with a smile. “What’s this got to do with Grease?”

Pausing, Peter blushed before laughing. “Oh right! Well I saw a flier advertising opening night tonight at a local theater. But that's not what caught my eye. Look at this”. 

Nat took the flier before anyone else could, her brows reaching for the heavens. “Well this explains a few things”. 

The boys gathered round. “No way” Tony exclaimed, his eyes widening behind his trademark glasses. Steve let out a noise of confusion while Bucky stared at the picture snapped of Danny in his T Bird Costume and you in a poodle skirt. Tony asked FRIDAY to check if any tickets were still available, which the AI confirmed would be set aside.

“Well we’ve got our movie night plans, though I’m definitely adding the movie to our list for these two fossils” Nat smirked as Steve let out a sarcastic laugh. “Everybody go change, I doubt our support would be as appreciated if we show up in our sweats”.

Everyone scrambled to go change, Bucky collaring Peter as they headed down the hall. “You know anything about theater kid?”

Backstage, it was a swarm of activity as everyone counted down to showtime. Standing in the wings, you saw Danny on the other side of the stage mumbling and wringing his hands. Darting around your castmates, you engulfed him in a hug which he reciprocated. “It’s gonna be great Danny. Let’s show ‘em the ole Razzle Dazzle”.

His body drained of tension as he softly laughed. “Wrong show Petal”. 

You faux pouted. “Fine. Let’s show ‘em Grease is the word”. He laughed again, prompting a big smile on your face. “Break a leg Danny”.

“You too, Petal”.

You crossed the stage back to the wings, not hearing the whispers about the audience being a full house due to a post on social media. In the audience, a certain group of people sat three rows back, not wanting to risk distracting either you or Danny. Bucky and Steve fidgeted, not knowing what to expect but nevertheless excited to see you perform. Nat sat beside Steve, with Bucky on his other side. Peter was sandwiched between Bucky and Tony, watching on his phone as followers responded to his post about the play. Once the curtain rose, the group was hooked by the performance with Tony and Peter humming along. 

The first few scenes passed smoothly as you darted backstage for a quick costume change. Nerves fluttered in your chest as you hummed a few notes in preparation. Danny appeared like a ghost, handing you the Polaroid and giving your free hand a comforting squeeze. “Remember, deep breaths… and sing to him”. Taking one last glance at the picture, you thought of the soft blue eyes that haunt your thoughts. Hearing your cue, you moved back to the stage.

Bucky’s breath left him as he saw you walk onto the stage, softly singing. He’d never heard you sing before, and the gentle tune was soothingly beautiful. But his heart stopped as he heard the words from the night before and understanding crashed through him - Danny’s sudden return and constant presence, you not being available to hang out - you were practicing for your performance tonight. His heart restarted when he once again heard the hitch in your singing, words filled with emotion. He steeled himself, thinking he might still have a chance and would take any opportunity to try. The group applauded loudly when you finished.

It was a whirl of costume changes and songs until the final act. Slipping into the leather suit you borrowed from Nat, you cursed when the zipper refuses to budge. “Wow, you’re really channeling this whole costume thing aren’t you? Right down to the broken zip”. Danny grinned mischievously. “I’m not sewing you into that, Petal”.

“No one is touching this suit - Nat will kill me if I return it in less than perfect condition”. You cursed softly. “I’m gonna rip this thing if the damn zipper won’t move”.

“Good thing Barnes isn’t here then, I bet you’d have his attention”. You flipped Danny the bird as he cocked his head in mock thought. “I bet he’d fight Widow for a chance to rip it off you himself, not like he couldn’t afford to replace it anyway”. Thankfully the zip then moved into place and you shoved him towards the stage.

When you walked on stage in the ‘Bad Sandy’ costume, the effect was immediate. “Shit” Tony murmured. Peter's jaw dropped. Steve reflexively admonished the cursing, Nat smiling at the exchange. Meanwhile Bucky silently growled. Gone was your workday office combination, the leather suit hugged your every curve, just the right side of sexy and not too modern.

The final song concluded and you were met with thunderous applause. Each cast member took their bow, ending with cheering. When you stepped forward for your turn, you thought the noise increased slightly but since audiences usually cheered loudest for the lead roles, you thought nothing of it. You practically floated backstage, thrilled with how tonight went. As you moved to enter the dressing room, you stopped in shock.

“So our Jack of all trades is also a moonlighting performer” Tony’s glasses flashed under the bright lights. He smirked at your surprise as you gaped at the four people crammed in the room. 

“What? How - “ you were at a loss for words. 

“Underoos here found a flier. Not important” Tony stepped forward and clapped you on the shoulder. “You did good kid, great work. Though now I know how you can juggle things, maybe we should discuss your workload”.

Nat swept you into a hug. “Explains why you wanted to borrow the suit… I was hoping it would be for more indecent purposes”. She winked as you blushed. “These meatheads all had their tongues hanging out, you stunned them. Good thing it wasn’t the ‘Cell Block Tango’, you might’ve given them all strokes” she laughed.

Peter and Steve both also congratulated you on your performance, Peter enthusiastically as he was familiar with the show. Steve mentioned he would definitely be adding the movie to his list. 

You smiled at them all but before you could say anything more Danny spun you round, sweeping you up in a huge hug. “Petal, you were amazing! I cannot thank you enough for helping us”. He turned to Peter and Tony. “And thank you both for sharing the event on socials, it’s helped us sell out all the shows”.

“It’s the least we can do, given how much Sandra Dee here helps us out. Especially our resident grandpas” Tony shrugged carelessly.

Danny nodded in agreement, pulling you close to the doorway so he could murmur “Just a pen pusher huh?” Leaning back, he winked at you before letting go. “Great seeing you all, thanks for coming. Petal, Ash is here and wants to take me for a drink so-“

“So what are you still doing here?” you laughed. “Get changed and say hey from me”. He turned with a nod, almost colliding with Bucky. Danny apologised, Bucky reciprocating without taking his eyes off you. Face heating under his gaze, you opened your mouth to speak but Bucky beat you to it.

“Is that what you really think?” His Vibranium hand took one of your hands and gently tugged you closer to him, so there was barely any room to breathe. “You really think you’re just a pen pusher?” Dread filled you. His enhanced hearing… what else had he heard? Lowering your eyes, you saw his chest rise and fall before cool metal fingers cupped your chin and raised your gaze back to his. “Doll… you help all of us on the team. Yes, you ensure all our paperwork is filed correctly and on time. But you step up when we need someone to train with, make sure we’re looked after in the field and you help us all individually… Starks errands, Parker's love life, Steve and me being old guys…” You chuckled softly. “Even your guy knows how valuable you are to us, so I can’t - “

“My guy?” You blinked in confusion. “What guy?”

Bucky frowned at you. “Danny, who else? Anyway, even he knows what you mean-”

“He’s not my guy”. Now Bucky wasn’t the only one confused. “I told you all that we’re just friends… did you think we’re still a couple?” At the nods, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I promise you, we’re just friends now”. A flash of movement caught your eye. “If you guys look you’ll see why”. The group gathered at the doorway to see Danny leaving arm in arm with a beefy looking man who was listening to Danny in adoration. Danny in turn planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s Ash, Danny’s boyfriend” you smiled when five sets of eyes widened. Tony and Nat murmured something about needing a drink, Steve and Peter following them out the door. 

“But the picture…” Looking up, you see Bucky was still confused. “Last night I saw you in the lounge, you were looking at a picture. If it wasn’t him, then who?” For some reason he looked upset. Heart pounding, you crossed to your dressing table and picked up the Polaroid before holding it out to him. Keeping your eyes down, you heard him inhale sharply. “Doll…”

“I’m hopelessly devoted to you” you murmured. 

His flesh hand entered your vision, holding something. You gasped. It was a red rose. “Parker said flowers before a show is bad luck, and that roses are usually accepted afterwards. Do you know why one red rose?” You shook your head. “One rose is for new love… while the red is passion, desire and romance”. Your eyes darted to his blue ones, soft with love and happiness. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you too, baby girl”.

[kravinoffswife]

Red Hood x fem!reader (Bridgerton AU)

Authors note: I really enjoyed writing this! Sorry if Jason seems a bit OOC, I tried to make him fit with regency-era language and customs. I'm thinking of making this multiple parts because I have soooooo many ideas for chapters!

Warnings: AFAB reader, a bit of angst/flirting with sexual undertones.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Trepidation bubbled in her stomach as her uncle's carriage pulled onto the drive, the clip-clop of the purebred horses slowing to a halt. It was the second ball of the season; a masquerade hosted by Lady Danbury. It was also the second ball that [y/n] had ever attended having lived most of her life in the countryside. Of course, there were events amongst the nobility of Yorkshire (where she had grown up) but these were nothing more than barn dances in comparison to the glitz and grandeur of the ton.

In a bid to distract herself from the impending ball, she surveyed her environs through the small window. Even in the near-darkness she could see the sheer immensity of the building in front of her; pristine cream blocks and gargantuan pillars. The grounds were well-kept with a perfectly mown lawn, viridescent hedges and cone-shaped bushes.

Her elder cousin, Edmund, exited the carriage then took her hand and helped her onto the magnolia gravel. Each step felt like a pulsing heartbeat as they neared the entrance to the manor. Once inside, time seemed fly by and she was soon surrounded by the clamour of the London Ton. She held her mask close to her face as if that might shield her from the abrasive judgements of her fellow ball-goers. The mask was a sage green colour with delicate silver details, perfectly matching her dress, which she fidgeted with nervously with her other hand.

The hall was large, endlessly so, each wall decorated with satin curtains and ornate paintings. Daisy-yellow light was cast from the myriad of diamond chandelliers. The band was stationed in one corner, streams of music drifting from their instruments.

She did not know where to look, where to go. Her cousin had left her to catch up with some of his acquaintances from his boarding school days that just so happened to be in attendance. She drifted towards a huddle of young girls that were stood next to the refreshment table, quickly u-turning after catching a glimpse of their sour expressions.

One of said girls, a tall young lady with fair hair and bird-like facial features walked past [y/n], spilling the contents of her glass on her dress as she did so.

"Oh my, how clumsy I am!?" She said with mock apologeticness that was actually insulting. "Ever so sorry."

"I am sure you are, Cressida." [y/n] held back harsher words. Back home, she was known for her sharp tongue and volatile temper. That was part of the reason she had to leave. She refused to repeat the mistakes of her past.

"Excuse me." She pushed past Cressida and the gaggle of ball-attendees that had gathered to watch the drama ensue. She fought her way out of the room and navigated her way to the gardens. The cool spring air entering her lungs sent waves of tranquillity through her person. Solitude was finally hers, and she could not be more grateful. One thing you must get used to as a lady of London's high-society is that you are rarely truly alone. There is always a lady's maid, servant, prying peer or well-meaning familial relation nearby - or in this case a dashing young man.

He took off his crimson mask, revealing a face that was crafted by Michelangelo himself.

"Am I interrupting something?" He spoke bluntly as if having to talk to her was a chore that he would rather not have to do.

"Yes, go. You are interrupting my wallowing." She snapped before she could stop herself.

"You are not the only one who would like to use this space for wallowing, miss..." He trailed off expectantly.

"[l/n]. Miss [y/n] [l/n]."

"Jason Todd. Under other circumstances I might kiss the back of your hand and say it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Careful, Mr Todd. Lying is a sin."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "And what would you know about sin, Miss [l/n]?"

"Do not let my debutante status and nervous demeanor fool you. I know ample amounts about sin." She said the last part quietly under her breath. He raised a brow at this and wet his lips with his tongue. He took a confident step towards her and bowed his head so that his breath danced against her neck as he spoke.

"I think I shall need proof of your alleged debauchery." He said lowly. [y/n] felt an unfamiliar tingling sensation in her lower abdomen which seemed to gain in intensity the longer she breathed in his musk.

"Please, elaborate."

"What I am envisioning is not meant to be said in the presence of a lady." His fingers trailed the soft skin on the back of her neck.

"Yet you have no qualms about envisioning said things." She scoffed and cut him off as he tried to retort. "Are you scared I'll swoon?"

"If you do I shall catch you."

"How valiant." Her eyes rolled.

"Yes, quite." His eyes traced the lines on [y/n]'s lips. In the lack-luster light she could not decide whether they were blue or green, simply a cacophony of ocean shades with a fleck or two of gold. Flush crept up her neck and onto her face. Her breath hitched, chest pushing against the stiff fabric of her dress as she inhaled deeply.

"Am I making you nervous, miss [l/n]?"

She shook her head, suddenly devoid of words.

He smirked. "Do I make you excited?" His well-muscled arm encircled her waist. He gradually drew her closer to his chest. Even through his various layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth that his body radiated. [y/n] melted within his embrace. The feeling in her stomach meta-morphed to a pulsing feeling in her lower regions.

[y/n] did not get to answer his question. Edmund's voice cried out, "[y/n]! Where are you? Are you hiding? Come back the ball this instance!"

As quickly as he had come, Jason Todd disappeared, leaving only a yearning in her heart (and other parts of her body).

She had to see him again.

[inkystaar]

hey. don’t cry. mafia dash simulator.

canary-in-a-timeloop reblogged

🌟 canary-in-a-timeloop Follow

guys!! angel duo is literally so toxic why are you shipping them :(( and cedar is like!! a bajillion years old and gem’s way younger!!! it’s really weird :((

🪽 angel-certified Follow

You literally ship Bowie/Jordan for goodness sake… Please be quiet.

🌟 canary-in-a-timeloop Follow

oh so now i’m banned from joy and whimsy?? i see how it is!!!

#literally so rude #just because i want a little enemies to lovers??? so toxic

36 Notes

localshapeshifter reblogged

🍄 localshapeshifter Follow

actually so pissed off that cinth broke the bond with icarus… like yeah it was an accident but he’s still to blame…

💀 cinth-numberonefan Follow

EXCUSE ME??? CINTH IS LITERALLY THE BEST!!!! AND ICARUS FORGAVE HIM!!!

🍄 localshapeshifter Follow

i was going to argue with you but in your bio it says you’re 15…wait a few years, okay sweaty?

103 Notes

toothrotting-angst reblogged

🪼 toothrotting-angst Follow

any 1 else miss the polycule 😞

like…remember that 1 ship art of them cuddling?? so cute…and now they barely interact…

🥩 twink-of-fortune Follow

op have you considered that they have seen the Horrors? tweaks literally went insane and bowie and gem had that whole drama?? /lh

🎭 fanof-fallenstars Follow

shh…op is living in blissful ignorance

🪼 toothrotting-angst Follow

WAIT WHAT!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭

213 Notes

📜 bones-and-braids

did i write another bones duo oneshot? yes.

is it the 6th one this week? …yes

do i miss bones duo? YES!!!!!

#someone save me it’s only tuesday #bones duo #they moved into my brain and won’t leave

12 Notes

twink-of-fortune reblogged

🥩 twink-of-fortune Follow

AUGH…. BAM….. THEY MAKE ME MENTALLY ILL…………..

💀 cinth-numberonefan Follow

BOWIE LITERALLY KILLED SAM??? KINDA FUCKED UP FOR YOU TO SHIP THAT!!!

🥩 twink-of-fortune Follow

but it was so heartbreaking!!! and the fanfictions that came from it were so amazing :((( (if anyone has bam fic recs PLEASE please please tell me /gen /nf)

42 Notes

arson-at-eight reblogged

🪻 arson-at-eight Follow

everytime m!gem swears a little bit of my soul leaves me

🦌 t4t-braid-duo Follow

so do you just not want her to swear LMAO?? it’s empowering

🪻 arson-at-eight Follow

help??? that wasn’t my point???

🦌 t4t-braid-duo Follow

then what was your point? omfg no need to be an ass abt it

🪻 arson-at-eight Follow

omg nevermind this literally isn’t worth my time

28 Notes

[chimivx]

That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 9.9k (part NINE of ten) ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

{ there are names & faces in here that come from NMWID <3 }

october 7th ~ monday ~ 9:58 a.m.

“Three, probably,” Wooyoung said, turning the wheel in his hands, parking along the side of the quiet street in front of Blend. Unbuckling yourself, you make a face and scoff.

“Three?” Sarcasm dripped from your lips. “You slut!”

Wooyoung turned the car off and glared at you. “You were on Yunho’s dick all summer, what the hell was I supposed to do?”

Grabbing the door handle you pursed your lips. “Fair enough.” The two of you popped the doors to the BMW open, but you reached a hand over the center console to grab his sweatshirt, yanking him back into his seat. With raised brows and attentive eyes he looked at you. Your words made him laugh. “Were they pretty?” “So pretty,” he whispered, narrowing his eyes. The same sarcasm you gave him, he handed right back.

“Really?” He nodded after your whisper.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. “They certainly were not as hot as you, though.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, Wooyoung giggling at the way you shoved his shoulder and dashed out of the car. Fixing the hoodie you wore, adjusting your jeans before he circled the car, you were able to tuck your hair behind your ears by the time he joined your side. Maybe you should’ve dressed a bit better, not only were you going to speak to a professor about his own daughter, you were spending the day with Wooyoung, and you were wearing a hoodie and jeans.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice gentle. With a nod you smiled and led the way, Wooyoung hanging close behind you.

He wore the same, so you shouldn’t be too panicked about your appearance, a black zip up hoodie on his top and baggy black denim jeans on his bottom. You were his colorful counterpart, two sides of the same coin. Plus, he was here with you, skipping classes to drive you around so the two of you could face some type of justice. He’s seen what's beneath the clothes anyway, nothing about them should bother you.

Keeping your gaze locked on the door to Blend, Wooyoung flashed his from side to side, surveilling the premises, like he was on watch, on alert.

The clothes worry most likely stemmed from last semester, when you caught him with Yeji. Aside from shattering your heart into a trillion pieces, it made you question a lot about yourself. You’ve been over this before, Yeji is the complete opposite of you. At the time, Wooyoung, alleged slut, would seem like he’d go after anything, but finding him with Yeji sparked an entirely different insecurity.

They would be the couple to rise to absolute fame and fortune entirely too fast, and then, like you’d hope and envision over many nights before bed, their Camelot would burst into flames and they’d both crash and burn. Entirely too dramatic. Wooyoung was right about the situation fucking with your brain scientifically. You’d have to tell him what you planned out for him and his alleged lover's future later.

Then you’d have to ask him about this emotional maturity stuff. The emotional intelligence thing. What was it, how did you get it, and when were you supposed to use it?

Stepping into Blend, into the air that was cooler than the outside, you look hopefully toward the counter for Theo, but freeze immediately. Wooyoung, unsuspecting behind you, let the door shut and bumped into your back, bringing a hand to your shoulder, standing directly behind you.

For the most part, the typical Monday morning, Blend was empty. A student sat by the windows working vigorously on her laptop, but aside from her the cafe was empty. Save for the two boys standing at the counter. Well, one leaning on the tallest part of the counter, the other sitting on the counter with his knees tucked into his chest, his gangly legs poking out of the rips in his jeans. Theo, behind it, speaking with both of them, looked straight at you as you walked inside, glanced at the boy behind you, and froze, just as you had.

Your knees turned into jelly, and Wooyoung tightened his hand on your shoulder as if he could feel it. 

“Let’s go,” he said to you. Judging by his tone, you know his eyes were hot on the three of them. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

Seonghwa and Soul, they both wore some type of remorseful look, the younger boys lips in a pout while the older boys brows were flipped over. You haven’t seen either of them since last Saturday, Soul when Tori pulled you away from him and his friends, and Seonghwa when you watched him battle with himself internally as Wooyoung smuggled you out of the ATZ house.

Interesting, really, how he could play the part of inconspicuous let me help you lover boy, seem so genuine, then turn out to be another player in the game of your life. That night, walking, or stumbling really, out of the house you never planned on setting foot in again, the way he looked at you… Shock, pain and confusion all wrapped into one cryptically beautiful face, it made you sick.

How could he possibly feel bad?

The other one, Soul. The freshman. The nineteen year old with a crush on you, he wore that face now. Pain, like he was holding something within that he needed to get out or he’d implode. The two of them here together, talking to Theo, who’s brother hated him a few weeks ago, it was all the more strange. It wasn’t until shit started hitting the fan that these boys started following you around.

“You’re here early,” Theo said.

Pointing your eyes at him directly, trying your hardest to not look at either babe to his left or his right, you clenched your jaw and tilted your head the slightest. “Not going to classes today,” you mumbled.  When Seonghwa’s gaze traveled behind you, you swore he sighed as he turned away, facing the counter so he wouldn’t have to look at the two of you for any longer. 

“Come on,” Wooyoung said, coming closer to your ear. “I don’t want to be here.”

An anger lived beneath the surface of your being. The feeling you had Saturday night when you unloaded onto Mina, and it was growing, it had been growing since that night. Face to face with them now, it was uncontrollable, you couldn’t hold it back.

Turning around, you put a hand to Wooyoung's cheek. Your whisper had his expression shift into something harder, understanding you within seconds. “Then you can go outside, and I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’m not gonna leave you alone with them,” he said.

Your smile was slightly sadistic. “I was raised by Choi Yeonjun, I can handle myself.”

Wooyoung bit back his smile. He gave you a tiny nod. “Then, I’ll stay for the show.” His eyes did the thing again, they flickered to your lips. “Go get ‘em.”

Whirling around, you bounded for the coffee counter, all three boys caving within themselves more and more the closer you got. The space tightened, and nerves infected your veins, but your rage overpowered all.

Theo, standing up straight, glanced at his brother who sucked in a breath when you reached his side. “Hey, Ror,” he mumbled. “What can I-”

Facing Soul, looking him in the eye, you straightened your brows. “I want the same damn thing you’ve been making me for the last three weeks.” Soul was most definitely shaking, if you reached out to touch him you’d be able to feel it. “And, considering I have an allowance, I don’t think it’d be too much to get that Wednesday night Chai Tea now, would it?” Theo looked at Wooyoung, but Soul could barely give him a glance.

“No problem,” Theo said, and got to work.

Snapping your eyes to the boy behind the counter, you said, “Extra honey.” Turning back to the freshman who hadn’t moved an inch, you smiled at him. “What’s the matter, Soul? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Leaning on the counter, tipping your chin back a bit, you pouted. “You look like you’re a part of something you don’t really want to be a part of.” They boy gulped, his black eyes blinking feverishly. “What’d they do to you?” His eyes pointed behind you, at Seonghwa, but you put a hand on his thigh and he loosed a breath, coming back to you. “Don’t look at him, I’m right here.”

“Shota,” Theo spoke up, and you know he gave his brother a disapproving look.

“They made me do it, Aurora, I swear,” he breathed. Soul grasped his cheeks and inhaled. “He made me do it, Seonghwa, it was the initiation, I had to do something for each of them, his was you.” A rock formed in your gut, furthering the urge to clench your fist and launch it into Seonghwa’s jaw. “I had to get upperclassman attention from ITZ, and if I did, I passed, ‘cause I was desirable.”

A chill ran over your skin. Knowing what he’s been through, you shot a glare behind you at Seonghwa, one he shied away from. “You guys are disgusting.”

“He picked you, even though I wasn’t sure why, ‘cause you guys were a thing,” Soul continued on, the word vomit filling in some blanks you didn’t even know were blanks. “He had your location on his phone, you shared it with him or something, and he would be able to tell me where you were, where you were going, and I’d be able to find you.”

That made sense.

“I had to collect things for proof, or none of it counted,” Soul sucked in a breath, “You always wear lipgloss,” he glanced to your lips and scrunched up his face, “Except now, apparently, shit, and I’d walk you to class and take your straws from these cups, god.” Hiding his face in his hands now, he groaned and shook his head. “It sounds horrible like this,” he looked up and searched for his brother who bobbed his head, not looking up from his work.

“Keep going,” Theo said. “Tell her everything you told me.” He broke his fixed gaze on his work this time, shooting a glare at Seonghwa.

Soul, heartbroken, turned to you. “I recorded conversations… our conversations. For proof.” Your body went rigid. Standing up, you took a hand to your neck, grasping the collar of your hoodie for comfort.

“All of those times,” you whispered, and he pressed his lips together. His eyes were shining, like he was moments away from tears. “You… pestering me for attention, flirting with me like you couldn’t care less I told you I liked him,” you threw a hand back toward Seonghwa, then clasped that hand over your mouth, “I told you I liked him,” you whispered. Soul waited, flinching as you put the same hang on one of his knees. “Soul,” you said, and he nodded. There was no use in holding it all back now. What more did you have to lose? “I told you I had feelings for Seonghwa because I was hiding… a relationship, I guess I could call it, with Yunho.”

Theo, at the counter with your drinks, appeared just as shocked as his brother. “I knew you guys were up to something,” he muttered, sparing a look back at Wooyoung who perched himself up against the wall, his arms folded over his chest.

Waving Theo off, you only spoke to Soul. “It looked like he was with Mina, right?” The freshman nodded again. “I was… the sidepiece… who thought she was the main piece. He made it really convincing, that he loved me, and he told me that. I was keeping him and I a secret in hopes that he’d break it off with her, like he said he would, but he never did, and he continuously lied to me about it.” 

Soul thought to himself, then said, “I mean, I figured something was up at some point when…”

“Tell her,” Theo’s tone went stern as his brother's voice trailed off.

“I had to get you to come to ATZ, that was the final thing,” he whispered. “If I could convince you to come to the house, by my invitation, I was in the clear.” His voice regained some strength. “You wouldn’t do it, I couldn’t get you to come, so he had me do something else.”

Soul's hand retreated into the pocket of his jeans. Pulling it out, his fingers in a fist, he offered it to you and you opened your hand. Discreetly, he dropped something soft in your palm and used his fingers to close yours. You didn’t even have to look, the feel of the lacy fabric told you enough.

“He told me that Yunho had something of yours,” Soul spoke above a whisper. If your blood wasn’t already running cold, it would be now. “If I could find it without him knowing I took it, I was in.” He gulped. “So, I did. It was easy, he never locks his door.”

“Where was it?” you whispered, your voice starting to shake.

Soul blinked. “In a drawer, next to his bed.” Squeezing your hand into a fist, you plunged it into your hoodie pocket and left the lace there. “Aurora?” When your eyes were back on him, he took a preparative breath. “Even though it looks like you aren’t with him anymore, I guess, I have to tell you…”

“Soul,” your voice wavered.

“They weren’t the only ones in there,” he whispered.

Jaw falling open, your knees really wobbled this time, like the earth had shook. Raking your hands through your hair, tugging at the strands, you took a step backward and fell into a pair of arms that secured your balance, wrapping around your waist. Dropping your hands to his, you gripped the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Wooyoung.

“Who the fuck?” you gasped.

“Mina,” Seonghwa said, and you dropped your head back onto Wooyoung's shoulder. A tear slipped down your cheek, one the boy holding you took from you with his cheek.

A singular horrid laugh came from your chest. “I don’t believe you,” you said, lifting your head to look at him, twisting in Wooyoung's arms. “You’re a fucking liar, Seonghwa. You knew what they were all doing the entire time, you preyed on my feelings, you had your little shadow stalk me and feed me more lies, how am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

“It wasn’t all lies,” Soul offered, taking your attention back. “I do like you, Aurora, but I remember what you said. That part wasn’t a lie.” Wooyoung's arms tensed around you.

“You can believe me because I had to hear all about it,” Seonghwa said, turning around so that his back was leaning on the counter. Looking down at you, that face he gave you Saturday night appeared. “And not from Yunho. From Mina.”

“What?” you sighed.

Seonghwa let his shoulders speak for him for a second, giving you half a shrug that also put emphasis on his own personal disappointment. “I’m risking a lot here, Ror, can we just acknowledge that first? I am the Vice President.” Your fingers dug into Wooyoung’s arms at his audacity. “What Wooyoung did Saturday night? What happened to him? That could happen to me, but here I am risking it all to tell you the truth.”

Rolling your eyes, where more tears had fallen from, you mumbled, “My hero,” and Theo chuckled to himself. 

Ignoring you, Seonghwa continued. “Mina knew about you and Yunho. At first she had her strong suspicions, but after you ended up in my bed and confirmed it, I was able to put her theories to rest, because they were real. She and I were already wrapped up in Yeji’s presidential era thing, so she leaned on me for help. I was supposed to distract you, keep you away from Yunho so she could secure him, but she wasn’t able to do it.” He shrugged. “Neither of you have been able to do it.”

“Her telling you that she’s never been with anyone before? It was all an act. She wanted you to think you had the upper hand because you could get him in bed, and she knew he wouldn’t tell you if they were hooking up because he hadn’t told you anything about them at all. You were so worried about keeping your own secret, and then our secret, that she knew you weren’t going to notice if he was fucking you both. At the party, when you popped off on her, your confession as she called it? That was supposed to get you in huge trouble with Yeji and the other girls, Mina was going to keep playing along like she didn’t know about you and Yunho.”

“If I did find out,” you whispered, unable to feel anything save for Wooyoung’s grip around you, “I would most likely come to you, I would tell you, ‘cause I trusted you. You would tell her I knew, wouldn’t you?”

Seonghwa swallowed, hard, then nodded. “I would’ve, yeah.” Whatever was left of the goodness you held for this boy crumbled to pieces. “This deal between us, it was included in the Yeji deal, the president deal. If either was… is broken, then we’re…” he glanced up at Wooyoung.

“Is that why you’re telling me this now?” you asked, the words harsh behind your teeth. “Here, in a place where they can’t hear you?” Wriggling around in Wooyoung’s arms he kept his hold around you tight, not knowing what the hell you would do if he let you go. “So your precious Vice President role isn’t taken away from you?”

“No, Ror, this is just where we’ve caught you,” he said, his voice falling quiet. “Soul and I, we’ve been speaking since Wooyoung moved out, the entire house is whispering to each other. It’s fucked up. All of it is fucked up. Realizing what’s happened, what it’s done to you, to him, to the rest of us… But, mainly you? Ror, you were one of the first students I met here, one of the first friends I made while everyone else looked at me like some sort of disgusting nepo-baby snob.”

“Nepo-baby?” Settling in Wooyoung’s arms, you rested your body against his. Even Soul looked at his senior with curiosity. Theo though, he hung his head.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa rolled his eyes, taking a breath. “My uncle’s the dean,” he nearly whispered. The shock that flashed over your face made him huff a laugh. “Easy for me to be Vice President.”

“Easy for you to spill all of this and have no consequences,” you grit your teeth. “No way in hell Hongjoong would kick you out, he’ll keep you close, won’t he?”

“I guess, I…” Seonghwa scoffed, pushing off of the counter to take a few steps around himself. “That’s why I’m telling you this, because of my uncle.” He gestured a hand toward Wooyoung. “He could reinstate you. Hongjoong expelled you for disruption, didn’t he? I watched him sign the notice. Disruption of the rules, disruption of the mission. If you get enough of us to come forward to speak for you, to vouch for you, you can submit an appeal. I’ll help.”

“Why?” Wooyoung’s tone was hot, sharp to the touch if it took physical form.

Seonghwa flashed him sorry eyes. “Because what the fuck are we letting them get away with? We joined these groups because we wanted to be around people like ourselves, people to trust, people to lean on, people to get through these four years with. Our freshman year, amazing. Sophomore year, amazing,” he glanced at you, “For the most part. That’s when it got screwy, in the end. It started to turn into a money grab for most of us. We all saw what it was doing to us on social media, we all experienced the Yeji tag follower rush. It was so easy to fall into her game, her plan.”

“Why’d you do it, Hwa?” you whispered, and he softened.

“Reputations are built fast,” he said, sharing a look with Wooyoung, “You know that all too well.” He returned his eyes to you. “Yeji knew of my uncle and what power he had. She offered me money, like she did with all of us, and then she threatened me. Ror, you already told me what you heard about me, what I liked to do to girls I sleep with? How everyone spun it into this thing, that it made you mine? She said…” he paused, sucking in a breath, “She said that if I didn’t help her she would tell the entire school board, including my uncle… That I…”

He couldn’t even get the words out. Clenching his jaw he tipped his chin back and blinked too many times, showing too much emotion for Park Seonghwa.

“I had to help Mina, I had to make Yeji president, I had to make Soul do what he did, or she would ruin my life,” he whispered, looking back at you. “That doesn’t make anything between us better, and I understand that. I understand if you never forgive me, ever. I don’t deserve it.” A part of your heart felt for him, as much as your anger was fueled by his presence. “But, she deserves to pay.” He hesitated, then his following words made you all crack a soft laugh. “More than she already has.”

After a breath, you shook your head, praying you were able to process and remember everything he’s told you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he sighed. “Just promise me you’ll bring me with you if you do anything about this, and I’ll tell you anything you want, Ror.”

Turning your head to peek up at Wooyoung, you waited for his blessing.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, shaking his head.

“If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it together,” you said. “I need you to be okay with it, too.” 

He thought to himself, and shrugged, glancing away from you a couple times. “I mean, from what I know, he’s telling the truth,” he said quietly, letting his eyes travel to Seonghwa. “I didn’t know about Yeji threatening him with all of that, I thought it was just the whole kicked out of the frat thing.” The boys stared each other down, something unspoken happening in between it all. “She’s fucked up for that, Hwa,” he whispered, then held up a hand, “As much as you suck for doing all of this, much like myself… She’s fucked up, and deserves to pay.”

Looking at Seonghwa, the pain in his face somewhat resolved, he gulped and bobbed his head. He turned his gaze down to you. “As much as I want to tell you to go fuck off,” you began, and he tensed, “I unfortunately trust this guy,” you nodded back to Wooyoung, “So if he says you’re telling the truth, I think I have to believe you, too.” A small smile broke onto his lips. “It feels stupid as hell though,” you held up a hand, “I just said this to Wooyo, Hwa. Please, for the love of god, don’t fucking embarrass me. Again.”

“I won’t,” he said, tone hurried and rushed. “Aurora, I won’t.”

Taking a steadying deep breath for yourself, and what you’re about to agree to, you tell him what you have planned for the day. That Soobin finished his lecture around one o’clock, and that you and Wooyoung were going to go in and speak with him. About what, though, you still weren’t sure. Walking into his classroom guns blazing didn’t seem ideal, and Seonghwa agreed with you.

“You know, Soobin is friends with my uncle,” Seonghwa said, like it were everyday information. Eyes shooting open wide, standing firmly on your own two feet now, you spun toward Wooyoung and wacked his arm. Cringing, he covered the spot with his hand and muttered a joke about you beating him again.

“Chan said this,” you restated, bringing up what the boy had said to you Friday night. “Soobin has a friend of importance, holy shit.” 

“So we go to Soobin, then we take it to my uncle,” Seonghwa said, laying out the plan. He glanced at Soul, still sitting on the counter, watching you all with admirable patience. “I think you’re stuck with us, kid.”

Soul sat up tall, averting his gaze over to you, knowing it was your call. A smile snuck onto his lips when you nodded toward him. “Come with us,” you said gently. “You have four years in that house, it’s better to make a change now.” The boy jumped off the counter and tucked his hands behind his back, ready for the next call to action. Theo smiled at you and it told you plenty. He didn’t need to say anything to express his thanks and his apologies, he was able to wrap it all up in the curve of his cheeks.

“Crushes only,” Wooyoung said to Soul, motioning toward you, and the freshman widened his eyes and nodded, bowing his head in understanding. 

“Four of us could be enough,” Seonghwa said, scanning the group before him. Looking at you he asked, “Should we get Tori, too? Make it five? The more, the better.” The weight of the plethora of unread messages and missed calls living on your phone made it onto your face. Pulling his lips into a frown, Seonghwa said, “Or… not?”

“I haven’t spoken to her since the party,” you mumbled. “Which makes me want to ask you, what I wanted to ask you before,” you paused and he nodded, “Did she know?”

“No,” Seonghwa sighed, answering you as fast as he possibly could. “She didn’t know anything, she and Yuna weren’t involved. They were too close to you, Yeji knew better than to involve them. They found out everything in real time with you, last week.”

Damn. Which meant she was going through this alone.

“What about Mingi?” you asked, biting your tongue, praying to a god your father never taught you about. If he knew, and Tori found out he knew, and he didn’t tell her anything… Almost three years of her life would be torn apart. Almost three years with the love of her life.

Seonghwa shook his head. “Mingi wasn’t in on it either.” Thank god. Hesitating, he glanced away for a moment. “Yunho didn’t know anything either, for what it’s worth.”

You started to laugh, all of the boys looking to you with worry. “Of course he didn’t,” you laughed even louder, smacking a hand to your thigh. Wooyoung slid a hand over your shoulder. “That just means he was playing his own damn game. A little side quest. How long can I keep fucking both these girls before one of them finds out?” 

Yes, him.

Yes, Yunho.

You knew this. You’ve always known this. It shouldn’t hurt this bad.

You just feel stupid for falling for it.

You feel stupid for thinking this entire time, since May, that you had the one up on Mina with Yunho. That you were winning the game, that he was yours. But, while you and Mina played cops and robbers, chasing after one another every other night, unknowingly tossing Yunho back and forth, you had no idea he was the one holding the gun.

Digging for your phone in your back pocket, you swiped open to your messages.

You needed her.

You needed Tori.

Ignoring the paragraphs you’d read later now that you know she’s really on your side, you opt for a phone call, tapping the button in the corner. Pressing it to your ear, you wandered away from the boys, praying that they wouldn’t annihilate each other while you weren’t there to referee. It took two rings, but she answered with a heave of a breath.

“Aurora?” Half panicked, half shocked, either way, her voice was the greatest comfort.

“Torilynn?” Hitting her with her full, birth given name, you braced yourself for her shriek. And, oh, did she shriek.

“I can’t even be mad at you for saying that,” she said. “Why are you calling me, holy shit, where the fuck have you been?”

“At home,” you said. “Dad’s been driving me back and forth everyday. I can’t be in that house. I don’t even know how you can be in that house.”

“Ror, we’re falling apart,” she lowered her voice. “We told Ryujin, me and Yuna, and she lost her shit. It’s like a battlefield up in here, Yeji won’t show her face. Mina and Chaeryeong are speaking for her, but even then, no one knows who to believe. I want to say we’re on the winning side though, ‘cause it’s pretty much all of us against Yeji. What’s she gonna do, expel us all?”

“Tor,” you said, putting an end to her ramble. “We have more to tell you.”

“We?”

“Me, Wooyoung, Seonghwa-”

“Seonghwa?!” she shouted.

Closing your eyes, you sighed. “And, Soul.”

“How the… What the fuck?” The line went quiet, then she uttered another, “What… the fuck?!”

“I’m at Blend. Its operation take down Yeji and Mina in a few hours. How fast can you get here?”

You heard her take a breath, then move around wherever she was. “Getting ready now, I’m at the house.” Something was dropped on her end, it sounded like a hairbrush. “And Mina?”

“Yeah,” you started to smile. “Guess who hung out with her big brother Chan Friday night?”

“ROR!”

“Guess who was right about her being a big, fat, liar?”

Tori, silent for a few seconds, came back with the sound of an echo, like she’d put the phone on speaker. “You,” she mumbled. “Ror, I’m sorry.”

You were on apology overload for the day. “Don’t be, we were all being deceived. Just get here as soon as you can. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, not even Yuna, unless she asks.”

“Holy shit, okay,” she breathed, the sound of her makeup clicking open and closed sounding through the phone. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you soon.”

october 7th ~ monday ~ 12:23 p.m.

It took Tori a half hour to get to Blend, longer than any of you anticipated, but when she arrived, hair done, makeup done, dressed to impress, you couldn’t blame her. Where there were nerves, there was an exquisite, done up appearance. Admitting she got carried away the second she stepped into the cafe, she bustled over to where you were sitting at a booth beside Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Soul across from you. Leaping from your seat, outstretching your arms, she fell into them, squeezing you into oblivion.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she muttered into your hair, rocking you back and forth. “Choi Aurora, don’t you ever ghost me again.” When she pulled back she used her baby purse for ammo and knocked it against your arm. Glancing at Wooyoung who met you with a small smile, you couldn’t help but laugh. Looking at him, too, Tori shook her head. “What the fuck is going on?” She took in Seonghwa, and Soul. “How are you not doxxed? Either of you?” Putting a hand on her shoulder, her light colored sweater matching the weather outside, you pulled her attention back to you and smiled. “I’ll update you in the car. We need to go now. It takes a half hour to get to the law side of the school, we need to leave.”

The boys all rose from the booth, heading toward the door as Tori asked, “What, who’s driving?”

Wooyoung gave her a smirk and spun his key on his finger. “I am,” he sang as he passed by her, and the three filed out the door.

Walking side by side with her, she linked her elbow with yours and leaned closer to you. “Did you guys-“

“No,” you huffed, pulling your brows together.

Tori, shocked, asked, “But, you’re back on? You two?” 

Outside of the cafe now, watching him circle around his BMW, taking his time, waiting for you, you looked at your best friend without an inkling on your face. “I don’t know. We’ll see once this shitstorm is over.” Unlinking your arms you hurried for the passenger door and slid into your seat the same as Wooyoung, who met you inside with a smile.

Soul ended up in the middle of the backseat, both Seonghwa and Tori squishing against him to lean forward toward the front seats. Tori sat behind you, while Seonghwa sat behind Wooyoung. The two glanced at one another. If looks could kill, Seonghwa would be done for.

“I don’t think I like that you’re coming with us,” she grilled.

Wooyoung looked through the rearview mirror as he manipulated the car out of the tight, parallel park job. “Tori, he’s okay.”

“Yeah, okay, Yeji fucker,” she said, and you laughed. Wooyoung, offended as ever, twisted his face up and shot you both a look. “She might be able to forgive you faster, but I’m best friend, ain’t no way in hell you’re living that shit down, Wooyoung, I won’t let you. This girl was messed up for months.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Fair enough.”

Putting your hand over his on the shifter, where it lived all morning, you shared a smile with him, one that made Tori whine.

“Somebody tell me everything right now or I’m going to lose my mind.”

And so, you filled her in.

For thirty minutes the boys sat in silence while you and Tori yapped endlessly back and forth. Seonghwa popped in occasionally to give his input, or when you’d ask him if you were telling the story right, you know, the one he just told you, but other than that he let you take the reins. Not one of them dared to get between two best friends, not one wanted to feel the wrath of interrupting you two.

She heard about the bar with Chan, you heard about her solemn time spent with Mingi trying to work things out amidst the chaos. You told her how your dad has been, she told you what it’s been like in the house this week. Spoiler: hell. Filling her in on Souls purpose here, she told you about Jongseob and how he still wouldn’t leave her alone.

For thirty minutes, you wouldn’t shut up. Not until Wooyoung pulled up in front of some architectural masterpieces, buildings stretching into the sky for miles. Beiges, tans, sparks of earthy orange, the law side of Nasara was breathtaking. It was like the Conoscenza on steroids.

“Holy shit, they get it good over here,” you whispered within the quiet air, and four hums agreed with you. Nerves shot down into your gut as Wooyoung pulled into a parking spot, the lines of white in a row along the center median of the wide road, the median covered in green grass and delicately manicured bushes and shrubs.

“Which building is he in?” Tori asked, and you answered with the press of your finger onto the glass window.

“That one,” you said, finger in the direction of the largest building to your left. “He’s on the fifth floor. We have to hurry, he might leave right after he’s done.”

The five of you yanked off your seatbelts and threw the doors open, but Tori stopped you before you could get out. “What are we going to say to him?” She waited, and when you couldn’t answer she asked, “What are you going to say to him?”

Flickering your eyes between hers, you gulped and tried to smile. “Honesty. The truth. Even if he doesn’t believe it.” 

She took your words, and lowered her chin, signifying her support. “Let’s go, Choi.” 

Waiting for you outside of your door, Wooyoung pushed it shut once you stepped out, Seonghwa and Soul a few steps ahead of everyone. Tori flashed you a look before she followed the boys, letting you know she was on your side, that she would have your back no matter what happened inside of this classroom.

“You gonna be okay?” Wooyoung asked quietly once Tori turned to follow the other two.

With a slight shrug, you tightened your lips. “I think so.” He waited for you to say more, knowing that you were going to say more. “It’s all too much, it’s overwhelming. Like, none of it feels like it should be real.”

“But it is,” he added, agreeing with you.

“It is,” you sighed.

He held open his hand, offering it to you. He wore a ring on his middle finger, a skinny silver band, and when you placed your palm over his and laced your fingers together, it was cool to the touch.

“I got you,” he said, meeting your eyes, calmness becoming him. “No matter what happens, with any of this, with us, I got you. I’m here for you.”

A breath corrupted your lungs, forcing you to look away from him. Wanting to ignore how your heart started to beat fast, how he suddenly had the ability to become a rock for you, part of you didn’t want to. You wanted to feel excited, you wanted someone like this, someone genuine. And, if you thought back on it, like really thought back on it, he’s always been someone for you to lean on. You just never allowed yourself to.

Squeezing his hand, you dropped them between your bodies and pulled him along, walking faster than any of them, you and Wooyoung taking the lead. Seonghwa and Soul were talking about some anime the freshman was into, an old one that you’re certain your father watched as a kid. Up on the sidewalk now, turning to question him with a brow, you ignored Tori smiling at you and Wooyoung's intertwined hands.

Soul laughed at something Hwa said, then once he stepped up on the sidewalk he looked around at the five of you. “Hey,” he said, serious as he was the day he told you he fucked Theo’s girlfriend. “It’s us,” he laughed between his words, “They’re us.”

“Are you talking about Avatar?” you asked, and he nodded, proud. “Avatar the Last Airbender? That’s not anime, did Theo teach you nothing?”

Soul shoved his hands in his back pockets and cocked his head to the side, his blonde hair brushing over his forehead. “Damn, and all this time I thought you were Aang.”

Holding up your hand, the one Wooyoung wasn’t clinging to, you motioned with one finger around the group. “We are Team Avatar?” Soul’s cheeks broke out into a grin. “I am Aang, Soulie.”

Wooyoung nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin. “She is,” he uttered under his breath.

Seonghwa snickered. “That makes you Katara.”

“What?” The hand dropped quickly, his brows furrowing tight above his eyes, nestling right into the center of his forehead. “I would not be Katara.” Moving your other hand over the one you were holding, you tapped it twice.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, and the boys laughed together. “You’re Katara, it’s okay.”

“What does that make me?” Tori’s face read that she wanted no part of this, but equally wanted all the parts of this. “I’m not Zuko, nor am I Sokka.”

“That’s why you’re Toph,” Soul said without missing a beat, and you and Wooyoung lost it. Weighing her options, she glanced about the trees and shrugged.

“She’s badass, I’ll take it,” she said, then sent a look toward Soul and Seonghwa. “You’re definitely Zuko,” she pointed at Hwa, then Soul, “Which makes you Sokka.”

Everyone narrowed their eyes at him, the freshman stuck with four juniors. His silly little smile lit up his face as he took each one of you in. 

He shrugged. “Only Sokka would be able to force you into choosing which character you are.” Tori had something smart to say to him, something that Seonghwa bounced off of, the three of them bickering with one another like their new aliases would. You thought of Sokka’s other charm and how it related to Soul, one you weren’t too keen on sharing amongst the group right now, so you would save it for later.

Here’s hoping he’d make it to stick around for later.

Their bickering continued into the building, their whispers echoing off the sculpted walls and ceilings, all the way up to the fifth floor. Five stories of listening to their pointless arguments of which episode was the best, and was Avatar really an anime or not? Five flights of stairs, and by the time you had reached the landing of number five, they still hadn’t figured it out.

“Guys, shut up,” you hissed, turning to them once they made it up behind you. Like children, they snapped into place. “It’s that room,” you pointed a finger to the third metal door down the hallway to the right. “When I looked up his lecture it said floor five, room eight.”

The man was there. Mina's father was in that room, and you were here in the hall of a building you’ve never once set foot in so that you could tattle to a girl's daddy about how she hurt your feelings.

Your friends were quiet.

They were quiet until you turned to face them and said, “Maybe we should just leave.” Audible groans and protests came out of each one of them. Looking down at the floor, your legs like lead, not even Wooyoung’s hand over your shoulder could soothe the feeling.

“We’re so close, Ror,” Seonghwa said.

Tori nodded profusely. “After all of this, you can do it. You said it, go speak your truth.”

Truth. Your perception of truth is so distorted at this point, how were you so sure that the four of them weren’t lying to you right now in this moment? Convincing you that it was alright to confront this innocent man, persuading you to walk into his classroom and shame him for the daughter he raised. What if it was all a lie?

You should’ve dropped out when you had the chance.

“Ro,” Wooyoung whispered. He took both hands to your shoulders and walked you backward, away from the others who took the cue to wander down the other side of the hall. Looking into his eyes, his wide, sparkling, empathetic eyes, you took a breath to ease your pounding heart. “You’re okay. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, no matter what any of them say. No one is forcing you to do this.” He nodded, making sure you nodded along with him. “This isn’t me trying to talk you into it, but you’ve come this far. If anyone has the capability of going in there and talking to this Soobin guy, it’s you.” You tried to look away, but he took a finger to your chin, keeping your eyes on his. “You’re Aang,” he whispered, and it made you both laugh.

After a long deep breath, you whispered, “And you’re Katara,” just to laugh all over again. His toothy smile flushed your cheeks pink. “Only if you want to be,” you added, and he rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t want to be your Katara.”

Standing within the world's biggest hallway, the space seemed to close in on you, the air growing tighter, and that feeling from the car ride this morning came back. Butterflies filled your belly. His finger on your chin, frozen in place, didn’t dare to move. Only his eyes shifted to your lips, and just as you were both about to bite the bullet and close the inches between you, the doors to four different classrooms flew open.

Jumping apart, rejoining reality, you both turned away from one another for a few seconds as students poured out into the hall. Your friends down the other end blended in with everyone else, you couldn’t spot them as you faced Wooyoung. When his eyes found you again, he gave you a smile, then nodded toward the classroom that was nearing empty.

“I got you,” he said, holding up a pinky finger.

He’s got you.

You’ve got you.

You could do this.

Tiptoeing toward the classroom, Wooyoung getting lost in the crowds that washed him down the hall, you hovered a few feet from the door that was now closed. Students were either filing into other rooms or trekking down the mile long staircases. It would just be you and Soobin. If he allowed you to speak.

Just you and Soobin. You would speak your truth.

After a breath that ended with the heaviest sigh, you threw away your inhibitions and grabbed the doorknob, pushing the heavy metal open with a creak. The lecture room was like any other, numerous rows of chairs behind long tables all facing a large desk toward the corner of the room in front of a chalkboard and a tall projector and screen. Like the rest of the building it smelled of books and old paper, like school. 

The man standing behind his desk gathering his things into a bag looked like school.

Tall, a stretched out type of stocky, Soobin had dark hair with a few strands of pepper streaking through it. Glasses perched on his nose, he used the knuckle of a finger to push them back after shoving a few leather bound books into his bag. You wouldn’t lie, he was stunning, you cursed yourself for not considering law as an option for a major. Tori was going to eat this up.

He didn’t hear you until you took a couple steps toward him, and still, there were feet upon feet of space between you. His head popped up, his hair parted to the side somewhat gracing his forehead ever so slightly.

“Hi,” he said, his voice clear, and so deep. “Can I help you?” Looking at your trembling fingers folded in front of your middle, Soobin’s brows dipped. “Is everything alright? Were you just in my lecture?”

“No,” you said, then cleared your throat, feeling the tightening begin already. “I, uh, I wasn’t, I just… Was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk?”

Glancing about his empty room, he peered at his things, then back to you. “If this is about the practice, I’ll have to send you to enrollment, I’m not-”

“It’s about Mina,” you pushed from your lips, cutting him straight off. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Mr. Choi, but I could really use your help.”

Setting his jaw straight, his lips that always seemed to rest in a smile pointed down. Looking in front of him, at the rows of tables and chairs, he sighed, then nodded once. He stepped around his desk, leaving his things behind. Motioning for you to follow him, he sat on the table of the first row, letting his longer than life legs hang off the edge. His feet were almost touching the floor.

“Is she okay?” he asked, not giving away anything with an inflection in his tone. He was a lawyer, he was going to be good at this.

Sitting beside him, using your hands to help you up onto the table, you left ample space between you and Soobin. “Uh, she’s okay,” you said, folding your hands in your lap. “I’m not.”

He released a breath, letting his head shake, pointing his focus forward. “One good year,” he mumbled to himself. “What’d she do?”

Taken aback, you stuttered a few times before you were able to say, “A lot. She was involved with… a lot. I felt bad coming here, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, but I’m at a loss of where to go, or what to do.”

Soobin leaned back on his hands, his wide chest curving inward, his light blue button down clinging to his muscle. “Your feelings are valid, Aurora.” The way your eyes shot open made him smile, his lips pulling to the side. “You’ve met Chan, kid. The only boy in the world who cannot keep his mouth shut. I was fully prepared for you to come in here today, he gave me the rundown. Usually I walk out with my class so I can get home as fast as I can to my wife.”

“Faden,” you said, and his smile grew.

“Chan ran you through our family tree, I heard,” Soobin said. “Always some type of excited, that one is,” he glanced away from you, “Funny, too,” he looked back at you, “But, not as funny as my Wonwoo.” A snicker passed through his lips, one you joined in on. “Don’t know why I felt the need to share that with you. Probably has to do with the fact that you share no relation with my family in any way, yet our history cannot help itself. Our lives are still intertwined.”

“You mean,” you cleared your throat, “My dad?”

Soobin pressed his lips into a flat smile and raised his brows. “Your dad, Aurora.”

“Chan told me he was… an asshole to Faden,” you said, then shook your head quickly, “Mrs. Choi, sorry.” He huffed a laugh.

“Soobin and Faden,” he assured you. “Don’t stress it.”

“What happened between them?” you whispered your question, and for the first time it seems you’ve struck him with the unknown.

Taking his time to think, the process happening all over his face, he tilted his head. “How new is this for you? Chan, and this?”

Toying with your fingers, you said, “Very new. I didn’t know any of you existed until a week or so ago.”

“Right,” Soobin said, his tone always breathless, yet on point. “I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you what happened between them, Aurora.” Pointing his brows, he shook his head. “If you asked your father, would he talk about it with you?”

“I dunno,” you muttered, glancing down at your hands. “We talk about a lot, but he’s never brought up his past like that. It’s always vague, he likes to start from when I was born. He said that’s when his life began, or something.”

His smile triggered yours. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “I know how he feels.” There’s a few seconds of quiet before Soobin sat himself up and sighed. “Now, speaking of children, let’s get to Mina, shall we?” He gave you a look that told you you must’ve physically turned green. “It’s alright, Aurora, Chan spoke with me. I’ve been debriefed,” he laughed, “Don’t hold back on me, I know my daughter, I can handle it.”

“I’m just going to tell you everything I know,” you whispered, and he smiled with his nod. “All of it, Soobin.”

Twisting on the table, trying to break some type of ice, he folded his long legs beneath him and motioned for you to do the same. “Hit me,” he said, his chin low and his gaze on focus mode.

Every nerve you felt out in the hallway had vanished. Something about this man, about Soobin, made it entirely too easy to speak to him. He listened, he took in every word, every sentence, no matter how clinically insane it sounded, and he digested it. Processing in real time, the man, a certified genius allegedly, dots were being connected and ties were being tied. 

Though most of what you told him was you accusing his daughter of being a liar, and a manipulative bitch, he took it all like you were talking to him about the shoes you had bought for the school year. Not one thing that came out of your mouth made him flinch, made him itch, made him stop you out of fear of blowing his top.

How crazy was this chick?

Unsure of how long it actually took to tell him everything, you were almost near tears twice, something he took into account.

“I swear to you,” you whispered by the end of it all. Glancing about the room, you held one hand on your heart and the other in the air. “Whatever the hell it is they do in court,” you said, and he laughed. “I solemnly swear. I”ve spoken the truth. My truth. I’m not here to accuse your daughter, I am not here to get her into trouble, I am not here to make her out to be a bad person, because believe me, Soobin. Aside from this shit, I know she could be a really good person.”

Dropping his eyes, Soobin bobbed his head and shot you a half smile. “First of all, thank you for coming to me. I appreciate you coming here, telling me all of this.” Taking a needed deep breath, you popped your brows. “Second of all,” he started, sitting forward, placing his elbows on his knees, “I am so sorry.” His pause held power, a lawyer's choreographed moment of silence. “This is not me apologizing for her, or because of her. This is me apologizing to you as a person on the outside. You didn’t deserve any of that, no person does.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Soobin glanced at the door. “Your friends that you said came with you, are they okay?”

Following his line of sight, not a soul seen from the tiny window on the door, you said, “I think so, for now.” Whipping your head back to him, your wide eyes excited his own. “Seonghwa, Park Seonghwa. He’s here with me. The Vice President of the fraternity.”

Soobins cheeks broke out into a knowing smile. “Jimins nephew,” he said with a chuckle.

Energy surged through your body. “Yes,” your whisper was breathless. “Him. He said he could help us. That you guys… You could help us. All things with Mina aside, the wench sitting on the throne in my sorority needs to be taken care of.” Soobin considered his options. “I know, your daughter is involved, I can understand if you won’t. Either way, we’re going to go to the dean's office and do this all over again, except it will be five of us in that room with him. Maybe more if we can get my best friend's boyfriend to join us, and knowing him and her, it won’t take much convincing. Trust me.”

Soobin rolled his eyes playfully and looked down to the table beneath him. “Oh, don’t worry, I remember my twenties.” Sharing a laugh with him, he reached over to you when it got quiet, placing a firm hand to your shoulder. A fatherly hand. “Like I said, thank you for coming here first. Trust me when I say, that when the time comes, I’ll stand with you and your friends.”

Holy shit.

You could’ve jumped out of your skin. Tossing your head backward with the loudest sigh, a tear seemed to slip out at the same time. Unable to help yourself, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Returning it, his arms firm and strong, Soobin let go when you did, letting you hug him for as long as you needed.

Pulling away from him you touched your cheeks and let out a laugh. More tears were falling. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Soobin put his hand back on your shoulder. “That’s okay, let it out. You just revisited some traumas, it’s heavy to talk about, but the more we do, the lighter it gets.”

Wiping your cheeks clean, you sniffled. “You should be a therapist.”

Soobin breathed through a laugh. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“I mean it,” you said. “You seem like a good dad, too. I’m sorry this is all happening with Mina.”

He brushed the matter off, then hopped from the table, offering you his hand to help you down safely. When you looked up at him, he smiled and said, “Your dad seems like a good dad, too.” The words brought the tears back to your eyes. “Learn about his past, but don’t hold it against him. People can learn, people can change. I’ve watched it happen, in three different people.”

Out of all the names you’ve learned, you couldn’t place who he was talking about, but figured it must’ve meant the world to him.

“Mina can, too,” you offered, and he smiled, grabbing your shoulder once more before he walked to his desk. 

“Thank you, Aurora, but now I have to go home to my wife.”

Heading for the door, you waved at him and flashed him a genuine smile. “Thanks, Soobin. I appreciated your time.”

Hitting you with one last lazy smile, he propped his phone up to his ear, and just as you were walking through the doorway, you heard him say, “Hi, my love. We’re going to need to come up here together within the next couple of days, can Kai take the store for a day or two?”

The hallway was silent.

Pulling the door closed behind you, you stepped away from it and ran your hand through your hair.

You’d done it. You had spoken to Soobin, you told him everything, every detail down to his daughter lying about his son. He heard all about Yunho, all about how he teetered back and forth between you and Mina, and she knew about it, but you didn’t make her out to be the complete villain there, Yunho easily fit the mold as well.

A grown adult, one who works at the college, now knew about Yeji’s scheme. It was out there. It was no longer a petty thing for your make believe hierarchy shit.

He believed you. He believed it all.

The truth, your truth.

Facing the end of the hall your friends were sitting around, you watched as their heads perked up.

Their truth.

Our truth.

Your steps started out light, the dizziness you felt since stepping out of Soobins presence intoxicating, but the closer you got to them, the more they came into view, their beautiful faces and their anxious anticipation, your steps turned into strides, which then turned into a run as a smile and a ragged laugh graced your lips. Their murmurs could be heard, flowing in one ear and out the other, their excited energy influencing your own.

Wooyoung leapt to his feet, the others rising with a hesitance, not wanting to get their hopes up too high before you had the chance to spill the news, but the boy couldn’t hold himself back. Walking toward you, knowing you weren’t going to slow down he opened his arms, throwing them around you as you launched yourself onto his chest, arms tightening around his neck. With your feet off the floor, he laughed and stumbled backward at the impact.

Catching your breath, your shoes found the tile. Tangling your hands within his hair, his dark waves framing his face, you pulled back from him and pressed your noses together. One of his hands took to your cheek, brushing away tears that lingered and new ones that fell. Heart pounding between your lungs, you loosed a laugh with him and pressed your hands to his cheeks.

“I did it,” you whispered, and he smiled, his gaze full of pride.

“You did it,” he whispered back, and then he lost himself in you, your lips finally meeting. A kiss way overdue, yet so perfectly timed you couldn’t even bring yourself to reprimand your heart that reached out toward him.

You’d done it. Soobin knew, and he was willing to help you.

And, as much as it was a relief to have gotten past this first step, knowing what was to come did nothing but scare you shitless.

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[yoomiwrites]

Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ Here you can find (mostly) all links to my stories. Sometimes it is not up to date, but I try my best! You can also find some important information about this blog here.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Hi!

About the blog:

The majority of my works are allowed for everyone and have no age restrictions. However, please always refer to the notes above the respective chapter.

Most of the reader perspectives have no gender (they/them) and are named Y/N (your name). However, it can happen that a reader is female, which I try to say in the notes or so. Even more so in my long stories, while my Oneshot's tend to be without specific gender.

You are always welcome to send me your wishes or ideas. However, I cannot promise whether I will accept and write them.

I see every comment and every message, but I can't always answer or respond to them. Please understand.

I often have fixed scedules on when a chapter will be posted, but if this is not the case, I am probably sick, busy or something else. Please wait patiently, I will get back to you.

Thank you! ♡

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

This one will be moved to the One Piece Masterlist soon.

Sugar Rush | Genre: Fluff, Comedy | Fandom: One Piece

Reader x Kizaru (with a dash of Kuzan & Akainu)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22

╰┈➤ One Piece Stuff

Since I have a lot One Piece content & will have even more, it has it's own masterlist that you can find here: One Piece Masterlist

╰┈➤ Arcane Stuff

We won

Reader x Ekko

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Genre: Angst, Romance & a bit fluff

□ In progress

■ Finished

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Comfort

Reader x Mel

Chapter: 1

Genre: Fluff, Angst

□ In progress

■ Finished

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Piltover Ghost

Reader x Silco

Chapter: 1

Genre: Drama, angst, slow-burnish / childhood love?

■ In progress

□ Finished

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

╰┈➤ Jujutsu Kaisen Stuff

Flustered

Reader x Gojo

Chapter: 1

Genre: Fluff

□ In progress

■ Finished

╰┈➤ My hero academia

My boring love

F!Reader x Hawks

Chapter: 1 2 3

Genre: Drama, fluff, angst, comedy

■ in progress

□ finished

╰┈➤ Future Work

After the Rush stories are done, the following stories will start:

Smeared Lipstick | Genre: Gore, Romance | Killer x Reader

Basic loser | Genre: Comedy, Romance | Genma x Reader

╰┈➤ About me

Finally, some information about me!

We're all friends on this blog, so feel free to talk to me casually!

Anyways, you can call me Yoomi.

I was born in 2001 and work as a content manager (phew), have 3 cats (let me tell you, I end up being a cat granny) and a dog! Since I live in Germany, my English is definitely not always perfect - I try to improve and ask DeepL for help with difficult questions, haha.

I'm introverted, but happy and content with myself and my life. If I have one wish for the future, it's to meet new people and gain new perspectives.

As I already said, we're friends now that u read this here. In case you really want to get to know me, you're welcome to hit me up!

Much love to you! ♡

[freeuselandonorris]

whats freeuselandonorris thinking these days

oh man anon that's a good question. i'm not entirely sure myself. felt like a bit of a weird hollow shell for the last few months due to Life Stuff and also just being crazy busy over the last month (admittedly mostly with nice stuff like going on holiday so i'm not complaining!)

i thinkkk i'm kind of sad that the landoscar era seems to be losing its shine for me a bit? which is largely just how my brain works but also is undeniably influenced by how toxic their respective fandoms are getting as the championship battle heats up and like, as much as i'm thrilled to see them both doing so well, i do kinda miss when the landoscar fandom in general was a bit more...harmonious? i've culled 99.9% of the actual drama from my dash but then you just see all the secondhand references to it and stuff and it just sucks the fun out of things a bit for me yk. and it's having an impact on the fic trends too (k @mecachrome's tracking of fluff vs angst in landoscar ao3 tags over the past year is FASCINATING) and idk i think i've just developed a bit of a weird aversion to seeking out new fics bc i want to just go back to the same few comfort fics all the time? so i'm probably missing some bangers but the desire just isn't there rn.

but yeah i think that combined with a general kind of anxiety burnout that's made me even worse than usual at staying on top of messages/inboxes and also my sex drive totally fucking disappearing for months (again, a reasonable anxiety/grief reaction but also one that feels really weird and upsetting to me whenever it happens because it's usually such an intrinsic part of my personality) has meant i haven't been feeling very freeuselandonorris recently 😔 BUT i am slowly trying to get back to the fun side of things and engaging in a way that feels enjoyable and manageable for me!

GOD sorry this was a whole fucking accidental vent post lmao

[reevezs]

//lots of end-of-the-year shouting in this post, sorry if it gets too loud, I'm screaming into a read-more pillow... mostly.

there would be no Zach, Eric, and Ria (and Ver lol) without ByeNYC so:

thanks @byenycfm , its lovely admins, and every single member of the group, I obv won't tag all of you on an indie blog but I LOVE YOU. you're all amazing and amazingly talented, I love your characters. I'm grateful for Ria and her beautiful skeleton bio, thanks for letting me take care of this bby. thank you for *the* brotp I'll never get over, thanks for two heartbreaking ships and three heartwarming ones, for all the crazy headcanons we've got there, whether it's chasing zombies with an RC car or pushing one out of the window or down the stairs... most importantly - thank you for promising you'd come back after the group's hiatus and for actually coming back. we've created a community we wanna return to and we all deserve the biggest hug for that. 💙

thanks for coming back @renegadetulisrp , Old Ass RPers know what's up lol. we've known each other for more than a decade, holy shit. I love you and your babies - don't ever change, add more muses, write more crazy plots, you're one of my favorite reasons I'll always log back here 💙

@pleinsdemuses my bb! I love you and our 1000 verses where we hurt our babies for the plot and hand them some Happy Verse cookies so they don't kill us. my angst, smut, drama partner in crime, I don't think we'll ever run out of ideas. thank you for everything 💙

I don't know if I love us or hate us, @parvumchao , probably a bit of both lmao. it sounds like a threat, but I'll follow you everywhere, the dash without you is shitty. I love your muses - we don't have a single happy thread *shrugs*, but I really do 💙

@nikkiitalks , let's ruin our muses and cry over them like we're not responsible for their misery! thank you for finding me years ago and for keeping me. or for letting me keep you. I don't know, we're just holding hands and follow each other everywhere and that's how it should be 💙

another partner in chomper crime! I'm so happy you and your ocs joined BNYC, @myriadxofxmuses , so now our lovely nerd ship can sail in two verses, giving us diabetes! it wouldn't be the same without you, my dash here wouldn't be the same without you, I'm so happy I've met you! 💙

@ayakoito first-time husbands muns, I'm so happy for these two! we can have 100 threads and they find a new way to make me AWWW in every single one. we can ramble about everything and anything and I'm so happy to have you, but I'm sure you will understand when I say thank you for teaching me the most important word ever: verschlimmbesserung. 😂💙

thinking "oh god, so much cringe" already? it gets worse. more hugs and thank yous:

@plotsjotsandespressoshot and your girls - I apologize for being a shit partner and I miss writing with you, so we need a new thread or ten now lol 💙

@kierankyleculkin you hurt a bot but I think you're lovely 💙

@impcrsonatcr my fellow h.alsey human, big hugs! 💙

@thefvrious & @ghostsxagain and your chef's kiss muses - I'm a fan 💙

@dontcxckitup , @richardxoliverxmayhew , @kit-just-kit - I don't think you'll mind if I put your trio like this? that's how I see you, guys lol. your muses are among my all-time favorites. 💙

speaking of favorites - @notsoinnocentlittleangel I want you to know that Joanna is one of my favorite female ocs ever 💙

@brokenblondeprincess and pierogi is a full sentence 💙

@rcbf4 it's "Adam", not "Jake" 😂💙

@sugarandwhiskey and your lovely bby - thanks for popping on my dash 💙

@emeryfleming @corxunum @ghostsandmirrors @formaechao @heartxshaped-bruises @crew-from-capulet @bewitchingbaker @thxnymph @poisonedfire @brooklynislandgirl @thatslayer @facepeeled @alwaysanangcl - seeing you on the dash makes me happy 💙

people I've followed since my indie debut, @cheapxseats @heartonanoose - idk if you're still around, we haven't had a thread together in ages but thank you for the ones we had in the past 💙

[egcdeath]

getting down to business

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick deal with pre-wedding nerves. (part of the succession/tomshiv adjacent au. previous parts here: part 1 and part 2)

word count: 6.3k

warnings: mostly fluffy with a hint of angst, a touch of jealousy, some allusions to cheating but no written cheating, tashi cameo but she’s a little mean, weddings, a bit of family drama, super brief mention of alcohol, a little domesticity and cheesiness at the end

author’s note: this is very much the calm before the failmarriage storm.

i would be remiss if i did not thank my succession anon for all of their help with brainstorming this fic and au. i mean it when i say that this literally would not exist without them. i hope you all enjoy!!

You were no stranger to anxiety, but as you sat at a vanity in a bedroom located in a castle, applying mascara in a way that was much more meticulous than mascara application ever called for, you couldn’t deny that this particular flavor of anxiety was something that you hadn’t ever experienced. 

It was a strange mixture of excitement, knowing that you’d finally be marrying Patrick in just under 24 hours, fear of what the future may hold for you, and a touch of dread of having to spend the evening with a mixed bag of guests—some who loved you and hated your fiancé, others who hated you and loved your fianc��, and a few who didn’t particularly care for either of you. 

Your eyelashes were beginning to look a bit like spider legs, so you put the wand down and let out a long, drawn out breath. Everything was going to be fine. 

In a stark contrast to you, Patrick strolled out of the bathroom confidently, his posture so impeccable that it could put anyone to shame by just looking at them. He had no reason not to look as sure of himself as he did, as he looked absolutely dashing in the tailored suit he wore. If you weren’t so anxious, you certainly would’ve commented on how handsome he looked—maybe even running a hand down his chest or copping a feel of his ass that looked criminally good in his pants.

“Ready?” he asked after approaching you where you sat on the bench in front of the vanity before setting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you laughed nervously and looked at the two of you in the mirror in front of you. You snaked your hand up to set it on top of his and gently squeezed it. 

“That doesn’t sound very ready to me,” he sat down next to you, the two of you barely fitting on the small bench. 

“Sorry. I am ready to marry you. I’m not ready to mingle with your family and my work associates,” you shifted your gaze from looking at Patrick in the mirror, to looking at him beside you. “Can you believe that by this time tomorrow, we’ll be married?” 

His expression briefly shifted away from one of confidence to one of nerves, the moment so small that anyone else would miss it, but after knowing him for as long as you did, you picked up on it with ease. Though he was putting on a brave face, it was somewhat of a relief to know that he was feeling just as anxious as you. 

“If it’s any comfort, your guests don’t like me very much either. We’ll just stick together and have each other’s backs.”

“Sure,” you agreed and smiled at him, though you knew that things were never that simple when his family were involved. You kissed Patrick’s clean-shaven cheek, leaving behind the smallest hint of a lipstick mark. He turned his face to look at it in the mirror, and set his hand on top of the space that you just pecked. 

“I hope you know that I’m not wiping that off.”

“Good. Let everyone know you’re mine,” you grinned, then stood up and walked away from the vanity and over to the floor to ceiling window that gave you the perfect view of your first few guests arriving, milling about and talking with each other. 

It didn’t take long for Patrick to join you, wordlessly announcing his arrival by setting his hand on the small of your back as he stood beside you, taking in the scene below you. 

“Should we just run away and get married at a courthouse or something? No guests, no castle, no fancy rings, just you and me?” you asked jokingly, though your words had the slightest bit of truth to them. Genuinely, you would marry Patrick anywhere or any time. You would marry him right in that bedroom, though the fact that the bedroom was located inside of a castle only slightly betrayed your sentiment of not needing extravagance. 

Patrick laughed at your words, so you laughed along with him. Your laughter was a welcome antidote to your nerves, your anxiety dispelling with every rise and fall of your chest. 

“I would marry you anywhere,” Patrick said rather earnestly for what should’ve been a joke. “But our guests are starting to arrive, and I don’t want to piss anyone off by being late. Let’s go?”

“Good point,” you agreed, wasting no time by pacing back over to the vanity and taking one last good look at yourself.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Patrick complimented as he set a hand on the small of your back once more, subtly shepherding you to the door. “You know how much I love that dress on you.”

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you replied  as you closed and locked the door behind you. 

“Even at my best, I couldn’t look a fraction of how good you do.”

“Are you sure? You clean up pretty nicely.” 

The two of you went back and forth as you walked out, your silly and meaningless banter a welcome distraction from the particular flavor of nerves that your wedding produced. 

The months leading up to your wedding were nothing short of an absolute whirlwind. Between deliberating on cake flavors and laborious dress fittings, you were relieved that the drama of your engagement was finally coming to an end, but slightly anxious to see what your marriage had in store for you.

You were pretty sure that nothing would really change—that was the case for most other couples, so you couldn’t see why that would be any different for you—other than your net worth increasing by a few billion, of course. 

Patrick had been a bit of a diva leading up to the wedding. Though you had some of the best wedding planners money could buy, he seemed to be stressed and nitpicking every single detail that they ran by him. It started off as sweet that he was so worried about giving you the best wedding possible, but eventually became a little concerning to see your fiancé practically pull out his own hair over an event that would only last a few days. Still, it was a relief to finally see the fruits of his labor pay off, and to know that his higher stress levels would finally come to an end. 

While you were excited for Patrick’s stress to conclude, you were also ready for the rumors and gossip of you being a gold digger to be put to bed. You would think that after years of being together with Patrick, people would eventually stop accusing you of being his sugar baby or someone who slept her way to the top–but no, the tabloids and his family always seemed to have something to say about your relationship. Surely, tying the knot and legally being bound to one another would give the media a little less to discuss, and might finally shut up his sisters.

You would never forget the look on their faces when Patrick announced that the two of you were engaged. You weren’t exactly sure if he meant to do it as unceremoniously as he did, but after growing tired of seeing you being picked on at a family dinner, he finally revealed the news by referring to you as his fiancé. It was nice to not have to hide anything, but if you’d known that you would spend the next several months hearing the same lines about how they never expected their commitment-phobic sibling to marry someone, let alone a small-town nobody, you would’ve kept it secret until the day of the ceremony. 

Regardless, his family was your family now, and your family was his–which was something you tried to explain to him as you attempted to convince him to come to Minnesota with you and meet your parents for the first time. After years of your relationship (and years of Patrick putting off meeting your family), he finally agreed to come back home with you. Though the trip didn’t go as well as either of you probably would’ve liked, with your parents turning out to not be the biggest fan of your fiancé, you were at least able to check that box off. 

Besides, it was basically a rite of passage to hate your in-laws. At least that aspect of your relationship felt normal.  

As the date of your wedding grew closer, you couldn’t help but notice Patrick’s weird moods. How he’d pull away from you and grow distant when you brought up how soon the wedding was, or how he’d occasionally reject your affection shortly after you mentioned that he’d be your husband in a short while. 

Not to mention the prenup. You would remember that conversation for years to come–how he awkwardly served you the papers over breakfast, giving you a manila envelope and an awkward justification of how his family insisted on it and that it was just a formality, how you eagerly agreed to sign it regardless of his contents, and how he insisted that you at least have a lawyer look over it. 

The following circumstances were somehow even more awkward–the phone call you had with your mother after she looked through the document where she advised you against signing it and pointed out that the document seemed to have a clause for everything under the sun except infidelity. Even worse was the conversation you had with Patrick after your call with your mom, and the weird way he danced around that particular clause–or the lack thereof. 

Still, you were so in love with your partner and wanted to marry him so bad that it didn’t even seem like an issue. You knew Patrick had a lot going on, but you were more than pretty sure that he would never cheat on you. 

You all but put that out of your mind, not letting a few weird instances get in the way of you marrying your dream man. 

Once your bachelorette party came around, you made the mistake of taking the party out of your closest friends’ hands and into the hands of one of Patrick’s sisters, who insisted that she be in charge of the event. Several fun cocktails, some sort of business meeting between Patrick’s sisters and the owner of the family’s biggest competitor, and one tablet of molly later, his sisters were loaded with blackmail material for the rest of your life. 

Stress around your wedding only seemed to continue to grow as the date grew closer, with Patrick managing to somehow grill your wedding planners even more, his father declaring that he wouldn’t be attending the wedding at the very last minute after Patrick somehow pissed him off, and your parents putting pressure on you to reconsider the union altogether. 

To say that you were relieved that this pre-wedding chapter of your life was closing was a complete understatement. You could only hope that the event finally happening would put an end to the endless cycle of tension and drama that was turning out to be your wedding. 

You did your best to hide your relief as you stood in the pathway in front of his mother’s castle and clung onto Patrick’s side, greeting your guests with a friendly wave or a hug if they were particularly close to either of you. You spent so much time waving, shaking hands, and hugging that your arms were beginning to go sore, and you were starting to grow worried that the next person who shook your hand and complimented your appearance would be on the receiving end of an unwarranted angry outburst.

Luckily for both of you, the endless greeting and small talk was beginning to come to a close. Most of your guests arrived right on time, if not earlier than expected, and were all chattering amongst themselves on the inside of the old building. 

As you were beginning to wind down, finally letting out the hefty sigh you’d been holding all evening, a sleek black car pulled up, and out walked one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever laid eyes on. Looking like she sauntered right off the cover of a magazine and donning a dress that looked particularly similar to yours—save for its red hue—you couldn’t help but lock your eyes on her as the valet took her vehicle and she walked toward the two of you. 

The woman approached Patrick first, shaking his hand in an almost awkward way, as if she weren’t totally sure of what way was most appropriate to greet him.

“Glad you could make it, Tashi,” he said, sounding slightly awkward himself. His interaction with her was such a stark contrast to the way he held himself just a few guests ago that you almost couldn’t believe it.

It felt strange for you to be putting a name to the very beautiful face that was Tashi Duncan. You couldn’t help but wonder why Patrick seemed so awkward with his coworker, as if he didn’t work closely with her every day–though you figured it was more likely for him to be generally feeling uneasy from the wedding and the sheer amount of people you’d both just greeted, rather than anything with that one particular guest.  

Still, something about meeting her felt a little off. You vaguely recalled when Patrick told you about working with her, soft launching his new position by telling you that he’d be working with an old friend from college. A week later, and her description turned into an old friend-with-benefits from college, and a few days after that it turned into the woman he dated for a few months. You’d been so offended at the time, but seeing her now, in all of her beauty and confidence, made you realize why your partner might want to keep that type of thing from you. Besides, you’d been the one to omit the information that you were almost engaged to the boyfriend you were with before Patrick until he’d come face-to-face with him during his trip to Minnesota–though that’d been more accidental than on purpose. Neither of you were perfect. 

“Yeah, good to be here,” she commented, then looked up at the looming building above the three of you. “Glenn will be here later. He’s on his way but his flight got delayed. He should make it in time for the strategy session tonight, though.”

You were a little surprised at her ability to talk shop right away and so freely at your wedding, despite the policy you insisted on having no discussions of work. What was even more surprising was the fact that Patrick would be working on the eve of your wedding night. Surely, Glenn’s presidential campaign could wait a few days. 

You bit your tongue despite the newfound complaints for your fiancé and continued to observe the two of them and the way that something seemed to hang over their interaction. Did a presidential campaign really call for all of that drama? Maybe they secretly hated each other. You would have to ask Patrick about it during your pre-wedding debrief.

“Cool. Well, there are drinks and snacks inside. I think Cornelia wanted to talk to you about something, too.”

“Cool,” she replied, parroting Patrick’s words. “Congrats, guys,” she said as she acknowledged you for the first time in your entire interaction. 

She walked off without sparing you another glance, leaving you to look at your fiancé

“Want to head inside?” he questioned, all tension suddenly gone from the air. 

“Sure,” you shrugged.

As the two of you walked inside, you held onto Patrick’s arm for the stability that walking on gravel in high heels required.  “So that’s the famous Tashi?” you asked, mostly trying to make small talk.

“Yeah,” he replied, keeping his eyes glued in front of you.

“She’s hot,” you replied, mostly joking after what was clearly a very tense moment. 

Patrick chuckled, but it sounded rather forced. You tried not to think too much of it. Besides, there was no time to think when you were immediately bombarded by your guests the moment you walked into the room.

The two of you socialized with guests as a unit for as long as you could both manage, knowing that both of you desperately needed the backup when it came to interacting with each other’s inner circles. You would never let Patrick take on your parents alone, and he would certainly try his best to not leave you alone with his sisters.

Somehow, the two of you still ended up separated once Patrick was whisked away by his mother—who he needed to give a stern talking to after she spent the evening making small talk with your guests by asking how long they thought your marriage would last—leaving you to take on the rest of the foreseeable evening on your own. 

If you had to make small talk on your own, you at least needed something strong to drink. You wandered off to the bar to attempt to fulfill that need before you received yet another passive aggressive comment from Patrick’s mother about you not being the right person to marry. Though, you guessed if you owned a castle that would be inherited by one of your children, you would probably want their spouse to be an heiress, too. 

You ordered yourself a cocktail then took in your surroundings, finding yourself surprised when you realized that you were standing right next to your fiancé’s coworker and ex-girlfriend. 

It would be rude of you to wordlessly stare or to act like you hadn’t seen her after you already clearly made eye contact with her, so you had no choice but to commit to speaking to her, lack of liquid courage be damned. 

“Great dress, by the way,” you referred to her dress that looked nearly identical to the one you were wearing. You’d picked it special for this occasion, its tight fit complementing your curves nicely and being one of your fiancé’s favorites in your closet. 

“Thanks,” she looked down at the dress as if she were seeing it on her body for the first time. “This guy I knew used to really like this style.”

You raised your brows curiously, knowing that Patrick was a big fan of your form-fitting cocktail dress, much like the one Tashi was wearing. Surely, the man she was referring to was him. 

You wondered if your fiancé’s taste hadn’t changed since college, or if the two of them discussed fashion often while they worked together. For some reason, you just couldn’t imagine Patrick showing his coworker a picture of his favorite dress of yours in his closet. For the first time that night, you felt genuinely uneasy. Was she trying to play some sort of mind game with your fiancé? 

“You know, I never really thought that Patrick would settle down. Especially with someone like you,” she paused as she took the sight of you in and gauged your unmoved reaction. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you lied. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” 

You laughed the comment off, doing your best not to assume the worst of your guest, despite the fact that you were growing very tired of that sentiment. You’d heard it a thousand times from Patrick’s family, even more often from the press, and now from his ex-girlfriend. Besides the fact that it was painfully unoriginal, you didn’t need to be reminded that you were out of Patrick’s league at the frequency you were currently at. Hopefully, that would be yet another thing you would stop hearing after you finally tied the knot. 

“Well, I don’t think any of us thought he would be able to get his shit together around love and commitment. You should’ve seen him back in his prime. God, he was such a slut. He was so scared of commitment that he would self-sabotage and cheat on everyone, even people he’d only been seeing for a few weeks. It’s honestly a miracle that we lasted as long as we did.”

What was the point of her sharing this information? Was she trying to play mind games with you?

“And how long was that?” 

Three months. You asked as if you didn’t already know the answer. At least, you knew the answer that your fiancé told you. 

“Not long,” she replied coolly, wholy unphased by the reminder that their relationship came and went. “All that’s to say, congratulations on domesticating Patrick Zweig. He talks about you like you’re the best invention since sliced bread. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You would certainly hope he talked about you so highly–especially to his ex who didn’t seem to be fully over him. You wondered if her little crush on your husband was as obvious to him as it was to you. Again, the thought made you feel uneasy. 

You didn’t have the time to collect your thoughts enough to come up with a witty remark by the time that you were interrupted by your partner who was looking more than slightly disheveled by an urgent speed walk over to you. 

“Hey!” he sounded slightly out of breath as he greeted the two of you. “Mind if I steal my fiancé?”

“She’s all yours,” she gave Patrick a smirk and for a moment, he looked mildly alarmed. The look didn’t last long, but it was enough for you to feel slightly unnerved. You didn’t enjoy feeling like you were out of the loop when it came to your partner, but you did your best to push the weird feeling you were having out of your mind. It was probably nothing.

You allowed yourself to be swept up with Patrick for the rest of the night, endlessly socializing with your guests despite your quickly depleting social battery. You didn’t even have it in you to protest when Patrick snuck off to meet with his candidate and Tashi, despite your plans to give him shit about working at a very explicitly no-work function. 

The exhaustion of your day fully settled into your body the moment you stepped into your bedroom. You all but collapsed in bed, burying your face in a pillow that smelled distinctly of your fiancé’s shampoo. You lamented the fact that he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with you that night out of tradition and superstition. You had so much you wanted to discuss with him about the day, like his overzealous aunt who seemed to be following you around all evening, and his ex-girlfriend’s strange behavior. You wanted to ask him if he was as nervous for the ceremony as you were, or if seeing you in your dress turned him on as much as it turned you on to see him all dressed up in his suit. 

Shit. Your dress. You needed to shower and take that annoying, tight thing off, then prepare your hair for the stylist in the morning, and do a twelve-step skincare routine to ensure that you looked as dewy and radiant as possible for your wedding. 

You groaned into the Patrick-scented pillow at the idea of having to get up, but accepted the necessary evil with the knowledge that you’d thank yourself in the morning. 

By the time you got yourself settled back in bed, you shot Patrick a text message that remained unanswered and tried to relax your racing mind enough for you to actually fall asleep. 

A soft knock on your door disturbed your restless half-awake half-asleep state, the anxiety and excitement of getting married the next day coursing through your veins and preventing you from properly sleeping. 

You didn’t respond to the knocking, hoping that the person might get the memo and walk away on their own. When the knocking happened again, this time with more gusto, you sighed as you got out of bed, fully prepared to snap at a drunk guest who wandered to your room and decided to bother the bride. 

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find that your visitor wasn’t a drunk guest at all, but your fiancé.

“Patrick?” you asked as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, still not completely sure that you weren’t dreaming. 

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper-shouted. “It’s bad luck.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked with half a smirk. Regardless of what you believed, you immediately knew that he would be seeing you in some capacity before your wedding, despite whatever old wives’ tales had to say about his action. 

“I believe that I don’t want you to see me like this,” you gestured up to your face, where under-eye patches and a sticky face mask sat on your face. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he dismissed before worming his way into the room. You accepted defeat and closed the door behind him. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him. “Having second thoughts already?”

“I just wanted to see you,” he dismissed. not really answering either of your questions. 

“At,” you glanced at the clock on your bedside table, “3:35 in the morning? You’ll see me in a few hours. What’re you really here for? One last fling before the old ball and chain?” you joked, though you were genuinely curious about his middle of the night appearance. 

He looked at you for a moment, trying to read your expression. You looked back at him just as openly, trying to figure out if you should continue joking with him or take his nerves seriously. 

“Pat?” you asked again, trying to catch his attention. 

“Sorry. Want to come out to the grounds with me?” 

You glanced over at the clock once more, knowing you were going to be absolutely exhausted in the morning, but your fiancé looked like he was in need of a little late night debrief. 

“Sure. Why not.”

Patrick waited patiently at the bench in front of your vanity as you searched for and pulled on a robe. You swore you heard the faint sound of him looking through your jewelry and makeup as you changed into something a little less pajama-like and peeled off the items on your face. 

Your fiancé took your hand as the two of you left the room, leading you through the sprawling old castle. The two of you did your best to be quiet, though you couldn’t help but let out the occasional gasp of surprise at the sight of such an awe-inspiring building. 

“It’s so beautiful out here,” you were slightly wonderstruck once you finally arrived at the massive garden, taking in the tall, neatly trimmed hedges that were currently surrounding you. 

“I know. I spent so much of my childhood admiring it from afar. My mom always spent so much time and effort hiring people to make it as beautiful as it was, then never let us come out here.”

“That seems like a waste,” you commented as you sat down in a padded chair. 

Your partner shrugged dismissively, never one to do any deep analysis on his very strange childhood. “Bring that up with her, I guess.”

“Does that mean we’re breaking the rules right now?” you asked with a mischievous grin. 

“I’m sure she can make an exception for the newlyweds.”

“Not newlyweds yet,” you corrected. “Which reminds me, why did you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to show you the garden. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you repeated, then leaned into him. “Obviously you’re withholding information. So spill, before I start talking your ear off with gossip from today, since we didn’t get to do a debrief.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” he replied, though you both knew that wasn’t the truth. “Is it a crime for me to want to see my beautiful fiancé before we get married?”

“Stop trying to butter me up, Zweig.”

“I’m not buttering you up, soon-to-be Zweig.”

“Sure,” you eyed him in a playfully suspicious manner. “I’m not sure I believe you though. I think the Patrick of last week who was running around like a chicken with his head cut off to make sure every detail of the wedding was perfect would have an issue with that.”

“Trust me when I say that my belief that this ‘bad luck if you see each other before the wedding’ superstition is bullshit did not change over the course of a week.”

“I’ll remember you said that when our marriage falls apart,” you joked, fully confident that your marriage could withstand anything that was thrown your way. 

Patrick grew silent momentarily, his bit of laughter fading away. “You don’t think that that’s gonna happen, right?”

There it was. For a moment, you were reminded of your earlier conversation with Tashi, where she told you about Patrick’s fear of commitment. While you’d heard this sentiment from his inner circle a number of times, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen it so blatantly in front of you. Patrick never seemed to have an issue with you when it came to the progression of your relationship—not hesitating to ask you to move in with him or even to marry him. Still, it was interesting to hear it come from the source himself. Patrick was nervous about what marriage meant for the two of you and your future. 

“Of course not,” you leaned against him and took his hand, knowing that physical affection was a nearly foolproof method of  helping to quell his nerves. “We’ve been together for so long now that I can’t see how one extravagant event, some pieces of paper, and jewelry are gonna make any difference with us.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” he paused and trailed off, trying to collect the thoughts that he hadn’t been able to put into words. “I never had a good example of love growing up. You’ve seen how my parents are. It’s a miracle that my dad decided not to come to the wedding, ‘cause god knows those two would find a way to make it all about themselves and how much they hate each other. And you’re so… I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve this. You, I mean.”

You were taken aback at his confession, completely unaware that Patrick ever worried that he wasn’t a good enough partner for you. Suddenly, all the drama of trying to give you the perfect wedding made a little more sense to you. 

“Oh Pat,” you laid your head on his shoulder and scooted so close to him that you were practically sitting on his lap. “I feel like I should be the one who’s worried. All night long, people have been telling me that you settled for me and that I’m out of your league. Even your ex-girlfriend told me that.”

“They’re all idiots. You’re the one who settled for me. I don’t know what the hell I did to get someone like you in my life.”

“I guess if we both settled for each other, then we’re even,” you gently poked at him. “I think maybe we should put less stock into what other people think of our relationship. I love you and I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume that you love me. I don’t see why it has to be any more complicated than that.”

He wordlessly kissed the top of your head and somehow pulled you even closer to him. Though he didn’t say it, you could feel those three words on the tip of his tongue and radiating from his actions. 

The two of you moved on from the topic of your pre-marriage fears rather quickly and spent the rest of the night swapping stories and gossip of your guests. It was refreshing to have a moment where you could both pretend like one of the biggest days of your life wasn’t rapidly approaching. 

Eventually, the dark night sky began to fade into a lighter, brighter color, and the sun peeked out from the horizon. You hadn’t realized just how long the two of you’d been talking until the morning light reminded you that it’d been hours since you initially began your conversation. Years into your relationship, and you were still stunned at your ability to never run out of things to say to each other. 

You yawned, doing your best to keep the action subtle despite the lack of sleep beginning to catch up with you. You were having such a good time with your partner that you almost didn’t want it to end. 

Despite this, when Patrick noticed just how tired you seemed, he insisted that the two of you go back to your respective rooms. Though the task seemed simple, there was one small issue—a few of the staff for your wedding had already arrived in the building. You certainly didn’t want any rumors about your whereabouts, or the fact that you’d broken tradition and apparently doomed your marriage in one fell swoop. 

Luckily for you, Patrick spent many summers wandering the halls of the castle, sneaking in and out to spend the night at a club or smoke a blunt with his sisters on one of the many acres of land his family owned. 

Your partner took your hand as the two of you snuck through corridors, trying your best to be quiet despite your urge to giggle or step a little too aggressively on an old, creaky piece of wood. At one point, you were nearly caught by a caterer, only narrowly dodging them by pressing yourselves up against the wall and holding your breaths. Once the coast was clear, Patrick stole a quick peck from your lips, then continued to show you his secret way to get back to your bedroom for the night. 

At last, you made it back to your bedroom, where Patrick nudged the door open and stepped inside behind you. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” Patrick asked out of the blue as he stood by your doorway. He had a slightly distant look in his eyes, as if the reality of your situation was settling in for the first time after a somewhat surreal night.

The first night you met was one of your clearest memories. You swore you could remember every detail of your conversation with your friend before she told you that Patrick was coming, and the drink you ordered to calm your nerves. You remembered exactly what bedsheets were sprawled across Patrick’s mattress, and every subject you covered as you talked to him for hours in his kitchen. 

You didn’t know how to put that all into words, so you responded simply. “Of course I do.”

“I remember thinking that you changed my life already, and I’d only known you for a few hours. I think I wanted to propose to you after you stayed up talking to me all night.”

For a moment you thought about the ring box you’d seen hiding in his dresser, well over a year before he proposed to you. You wondered just how long Patrick thought about asking you to marry him before he actually ended up doing it. 

“Is that version of yourself jumping with joy that we’re finally getting married?” 

He grinned at you. “This version of me is jumping with joy that we’re finally getting married. I love you. Like, a lot. More than I thought was possible.”

Though you knew it was the truth, you didn’t hear those three words from him all that often. Somehow, hearing them made all of your nerves and fears for the day melt away. You didn’t even get a chance to return the words before your fiancé was pulling you in for a gentle kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face sweetly. Even as he pulled away, you chased his lips, not wanting the moment to be over.

“Save the sappy stuff for your vows. I don’t want you to be all sapped-out by the time we’re actually getting married. Unless you’re planning on marrying me right now,” you held his hand that had fallen from your face against your chest, right next to your heart. You wondered if he could feel the rhythmic pattern of an organ that only seemed to beat for him. 

“I told you already, I’d marry you anywhere,” his voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, as if someone might overhear and interrupt your moment. 

You smiled into his eyes that almost looked like they were sparkling in the dim morning light peeking through your windows. 

“Goodnight, Patrick. I’ll see you at the wedding,” you forced yourself to bid him farewell, knowing that if you had your way, the two of you wouldn’t leave the room for the rest of the day. 

He gave you one last farewell kiss, this one deeper and sweeter than the one that preceded it. Though you were attempting to send him away, you couldn’t help but drape your arms around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer and allowing him to kiss you even deeper. 

The shrill sound of your phone alarm rang out from the pocket of your pajama pants, letting you know that you only had a half hour before a makeup artist, maid of honor, and bridesmaids joined you to help you prepare for your big day. 

“You really need to go now,” you laughed, pulling away to turn the annoying sound off. “I love you so much.”

He blew kisses at you from the door as he left, clearly feeling just as reluctant as you to leave you alone and prepare for your actual ceremony. You watched him go and shut the door behind him and you softly sighed to yourself–a complicated mixture of relief and fear that you were one step closer to your wedding.

Part of you still couldn’t believe that he would be your husband in just a few hours.

[rjthirsty]

E for Erogenous Zones

I've created an ABC list for Ikemen Prince ranging from humorous crack-fic ideas to the smutty, with a dash of drama and angst. 26 letters of the alphabet x 13 characters / 12 months = 1 year of drabbles, headcanons, and creating with these men in mind.

Tags: Mature, Headcanon,

Chevalier

Let's ignore the obvious genital area and go exploring a bit more, shall we?

Chev loves the underside of his jaw and chin gently stroked. Yes, like a cat. But not because he's a cat, it's because no one touches his neck and under his chin even less. He's not even aware this is a thing until one day you trace his jaw and suddenly he wants you to touch him there again and again.

The pads of his fingers are also sensitive. He wears gloves so he doesn't have to feel sensations on his fingertips he doesn't want, but when the gloves are off, he wants his fingers brushing all over you. He slides them in your mouth, along your body, into your hair for the tactile sensation. Give his fingers a suck and you'll have him eating out of your hand.

If you really want to get one up on Chev, you gotta go for his inner thighs. From his crotch to his mid-thigh, light touches will cause shivers and instant goosebumps. Try with your tongue and he won't be able to hold himself back, but also be unable to say why. Don't bite! He'll never let you down there again! But try grazing teeth over skin and his dick will throb for you.

[taesancore]

the playlist i never sent

woonhak x f!reader

(𝐈𝐈𝐈) So let’s go see the stars

a/n: so pt.3 took mUch longer than i thought it would-and its not the final part either😭, anyways this one’s a little longer than usual so i hope yall like it!!

🧸.ᐟ series masterlist ❕

🧸.ᐟ genre: f2l, (idiots to lovers🤡), angstfest in this part

🧸.ᐟ warnings: angst, depictions of anxiety and similar symptoms, crying, rich people setting, kind of an emotionally insensitive mother :/, mentions of enhypen’s ni-ki, riize’s anton, seventeen’s jeonghan and dino, lmk if there are more!!

wc: 4981, lowercase intended.

“heyyy rikiii !!” you said brightly as you walked into art class. “what do you want” came the weary of your classmate and partner during art class, nishimura riki. he continued to stare at you suspiciously as you shot him a huge smile, unlike your usual snarky remarks that were a part of your usual banter. but you had to admit, you two made the best duo in art class whenever projects were assigned.

“so are you free this week” you blurted out, watching his expression turn confused.

“no…but why?” he asked. welp.

“nothing really!” you replied in that same cheery voice as you sat down next to him.

“…you’re being weird today” he eyed you as your teacher walked in.

you ignored him, furiously working your mind and thinking of other ways. riki wasn’t an option now…who else was there?

“something’s up isn’t it? tell meee” riki whined as you shushed him.

“…need a date for a business party this week” you muttered, wincing as you

“just ask woonhak” he replied as you huffed.

“he has a date on that day—“

“eh??”

you blinked at his startled exclamation.

“are you sure? but that makes no sense…” riki mumbled. he was positive that the younger boy was madly in love with you, so how on earth was he ready to go on a date with someone who wasn’t you??

you sighed.

“well it’s true so he’s out of the question…do you have anyone who’s willing to accompany me? i’ll even pay if they want!”

“you need a date?? for what?” came a voice from behind you as you jumped.

out of all the people, why did it have to be han jihoon??

“yo woonhak has a date?? who the fuck??” riki questioned jihoon before you could say anything.

“he WHAT??” jihoon squawked, making all the heads in the class turn towards him. mrs. moon sent him a little glare as she continued to silently observe the students, while jihoon muttered an apology.

“woonhak said yes?? to seowon??” he whisper yelled as riki shrugged.

“that’s what y/n said”

“is it true?” he asked you, wide eyed. you nodded as jihoon smacked his forehead.

“wait then why do you need a date? is it a double date?” jihoon questioned further, still unable to fathom the new bit of information he received. just why on earth would woonhak say yes to seowon??

“ah um…did i say date? i meant hate!! yeah i reallly hate riki you know? haha” you laughed, shoving an offended riki beside you as jihoon looked at the two of you with a skeptical gaze.

“that was a pathetic excuse you know” jihoon said bluntly as riki snorted. luckily the bell rang loudly at that moment, saving your sorry ass from replying to jihoon and defending yourself. you squeaked out a quick “goodbye!” before dashing out of the classroom, desperate to avoid any further encounters with him.

phew. god saved you with that one.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“still didn’t find anyone?” eunchae asked softly as you two stood in line for lunch. you spent almost the entire day carefully observing your classmates to see whom you could ask. but then it would be weird to straight up go ask any of them to be your date…after all they were just your classmates!

the mere thought of walking up and asking hanjin, or maki or any of your classmates, most of whom you’ve known since elementary and middle school made you cringe, that would remain as an awkward memory forever and that was the last thing you needed amidst all the current drama.

“why just why do i end up doing these kind of things?? even my mom thinks i’ve got a boyfriend now!!” you lamented as eunchae stifled a giggle, remembering yesterday’s events that you had filled her in with the minute you entered school today.

“did i hear that right? have you really got a boyfriend now y/n?” of course your mom had to hear that. she strode towards you with a confused stare as you tried your best to mask your panic.

“that’s right mom, i figured i’d reveal him at the party itself…” you said, words flowing out of you automatically. was this how liars lied so easily? you could become a pro at this rate.

your mom did something unexpected, she beamed at you as eunbin scowled. “that’s great sweetie! i can’t wait to meet him now!” she said as you gaped at her.

now you really needed to find a date—no boyfriend.

“i think i’ll just go dateless chae” you sighed, placing an apple on your tray as the line moved forward. “and let that greaseball eunbin annoy you further? hell no” eunchae scoffed, making you wince at the thought of his smug face if you walked in dateless.

“if only you didn’t go ahead with your plan, woonhak would’ve been your date but noooo you martyred yourself!!” eunchae scolded you for the nth time, and for the first time you found yourself doubting your actions.

but martyring yourself was the best option in this case…he’d be happy with seowon.

“speaking of woonhak, i haven’t seen him all day?” eunchae wondered, missing your guilty expression that took over your face. truth was, you had been avoiding him ever since the seowon incident in the corridor as you had no idea to act around him now.

seowon being around him most of the time made it pretty easy for you, but when she wasn’t, you found yourself hiding behind walls and turning in the opposite direction whenever you saw him nearby.

you wanted to be normal truly…but now that him and seowon were making progress, you had to find a way to keep the green monster inside you at bay…even if it meant ignoring your best friend.

“woonhak? i bet he’s with seowon again, that girl can’t leave him alone to save her life” came the voice of haerin as she joined the queue.

“y/n weren’t you looking for a date?? i know someone who might be of help” she added as you perked up at this information. looks like the world didn’t hate you after all.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“yah kim woonhak!!” hollered jihoon the minute he found his friend in the class.

“what the blazes were you thinking? you’re really going on a date with seowon??” he cried as woonhak looked away.

“she might be the dove girl jihoon…i don’t know” woonhak said half heartedly.

“and what about y/n?”

“what about her? she doesn’t like me anyways and you know that!” woonhak snapped, startling the boy next to him.

“i know okay? i know…i like her, fuck i like her so much it hurts, i wish she was the one in the mask that night, things would’ve been easier but what can i do? she’d never see me the same”

jihoon could only watch sadly as his friend hung his head low, clearly overwhelmed with the entire ordeal. clearly this was not the best time to break the news of you having a date to him as a moody and jealous woonhak was not a combination he was ready to deal with at the moment at all.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“have you found a date yet?” mr. yoon asked you that evening as you went home from school.

“i think? i’m yet to text him though” you murmured, scrolling through the profile haerin had sent to you.

“i’m still surprised that woonhak has a date, that kid is literally in love with you” jeonghan mused as you scoffed.

you: hi is this taesan?

han taesan: yes, are you y/n?

you: yes, i’m assuming haerin told you about sunday’s event…i hope you’re free?

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

the only time han jihoon had seen his friend woonhak lose his shit was once when he accidentally deleted his entire project which he was partnered with you for, and when he heard that their senior yang jungwon had a thing for you. both the times, you were involved when he exploded and it was always jihoon who served as his emotional support.

but today? jihoon could tell he was close to losing his shit over his date, with the amount of texts seowon had been bombarding him with since yesterday but his usual signs of him normally losing his shit were…unusual today.

“so...did y/n talk to you?” he asked casually, trying to bring up a familiar and favourite topic to help him analyse why woonhak was currently expressionless as he rummaged through jihoon’s wardrobe.

“It’s been 6 days since she has—hey where’s that red jacket of your’s?”

“six days?!”

woonhak hummed as he pulled out a simple denim jacket, matching it with his outfit, one that he wore often when y/n would drag him to the cafe near her house— stop. stop thinking about her.

“anyways, forget about y/n for now, are you excited for the date??” jihoon quipped as woonhak put his phone down, unbothered to open the endless row of unread messages from seowon.

“I’m only doing this to find out if she’s the dove girl jihoon, and to return her earring of course” woonhak sighed as he turned towards his friend.

“honestly, I’d be more excited if y/n texted me right now instead of seowon” he chuckled bitterly as jihoon’s pursed his lips.

“ayo woonhak—isn’t y/n l/n your girl??” came the voice of jihoon’s brother taesan as he entered the room.

“yes—but what happened?” Jihoon questioned before woonhak could deny him

“why’d she ask me to be her date then…what a small world” taesan mumbled to himself as jihoon’s eyes widened.

“she wHAT??” if woonhak was expressionless earlier, he sure wasn’t now with his current nonplussed state as jihoon winced. what a small world indeed.

“s-so you were the date..” jihoon stuttered as woonhak turned to glare at him.

“you knew about this?? why didn’t you tell me—I’m gonna kill you han jihoon—“

“I couldn’t risk dealing with your hormonal ass if I told you?? you’ve got a date too anyways!!” jihoon cried as woonhak sputtered, still trying to fathom the news he just heard.

why would she even need a date unless—

He took in taesan’s attire, a neat blazer with shirt—a business party again.

“hyung” he spoke out as jihoon and taesan looked at him

“you can’t go with her”.

seowon: woonhak im near the ferris wheel! Are you here yet?

seowon: you must be running late, I’ll be near the carousel, ive taken cotton candy for the two of us!

seowon: it’s been half an hour already…is there a lot of traffic?

seowon: woonhak?

seowon: will you be coming today..?

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

you were a mess. and your day was going to be a mess too. and it was all taesan’s fault. the emo looking guy had bailed in the last minute and now you were back to square one: dateless.

mom is gonna kill me, you thought as you politely greeted some of your moms colleagues, trying not to visibly wince because of the tightness of the threads of your dress that were tied near your waist.

your heart was thumping loudly in your ears as you felt beads of sweat forming on your forehead. god please, now was not the time. you spotted your mother entering the ballroom of the hotel as people clad in fancy suits and dresses stopped by to chat with her. you scowled as you spotted eunbin too, hair greased back with gell and all as he smiled artificially at his father’s friends.

“y/n darling! there she is my daughter!” your mom called out, smiling widely as she beckoned you over to her work seniors.

“this is my daughter—darling where’s your date?” you gulped at her camouflaged glare and slight change in tone, which went unnoticed by the people around you.

“he’s gonna be here soon mom, don’t worry—it’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am” you simpered with a huge smile, eyes darting away from your moms as you tried to focus on anything—anything else other than her, or eunbin at that moment.

the world went blurry around you, you weren’t sure for how many minutes or seconds it lasted but once your vision cleared, you registered one of your moms colleagues—executive lee who was introducing his son to your mother.

“…graduated last year, and he’s off to yale soon, my son chanyoung!” he beamed as your mom gushed at this information. the boy—was he your senior? chanyoung looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but at the party as he sent a nervous smile at your mom who was still raving about his studies.

“that must be so exciting!! i’m sure you’d have a lovely time at yale dear, it’s so nice to see young people working so hard…if only my y/n could be like you, congratulations chanyoung!!” your mother smiled widely at him as her seniors expressed their congratulations too.

you merely laughed along at her statement, avoiding chanyoung’s sympathetic expression towards you as you ignored the familiar pang of bitterness inside you. this wasn’t anything new after all, if anything you had gotten better at masking your hurt.

“you bet he will! my son was just like you y/n dear, but look at him now!” executive lee boomed as he gave his son a mighty pat (more like a slap) to his back as he winced.

lee chanyoung looked like he was a second away from running out of the hall with the way everyone was surrounding him now; you could make out eunbin’s envy as he smoothened his jacket, while conversing with some of the other children of the businessmen in the party and shooting poor chanyoung the occasional glare.

“y/n dear where is your date? is he running late?” you didn’t miss the hint of distaste in your mom’s tone as she questioned you again, still maintaining her polite persona in front of her seniors.

“yeah, where is he y/n? did he dump you?” eunbin joined the conversation, further escalating your growing anxiety.

“don’t be silly! he’s probably stuck in traffic—it’s a sunday after all” you laughed softly, smiling lightly as your mom continued to look at you suspiciously. your vision tunnelled again as you racked through your brain for solutions, anything to escape this situation.

“are you sure? i’d be surprised if your, ah imaginary boyfriend does somehow show up” oh how badly you wished this slimeball had a mute button. some of your mom’s colleagues turned towards you two, interested in the conversation as chanyoung who was still in the group near you shot you a look of concern, the only one observant enough who noticed your tensed state.

“but hey…i’m always here in case you—“

“kim woonhak?” came a soft voice—from chanyoung as you turned around. woonhak?

“woonhak?!” your echo of disbelief attracted quite a few people’s eyes as you brought a hand to your mouth. red-faced, you bowed out apologies fervently as kim woonhak, decked in a neat black jacket with a white shirt underneath and black pants—oh wow, walked towards you with his usual smile.

“i’m so sorry i came late—mrs.l/n you look lovely as usual” woonhak greeted your mom as he gave her a bouquet of flowers. it hadn’t even been a minute and he already charmed your mom, you couldn’t believe kim woonhak. scratch that, you couldn’t believe your current situation right now seriously why is he here—

“so you’re y/n’s date?” eunbin butted in again—the urge to tape his mouth together was so strong. he eyed woonhak up and down as you glared at him.

“boyfriend actually, and you are-?”

you knew that woonhak knew who eunbin was, but that was the least of your concerns right now because

boyfriend?!

one one hand you felt like you were in a netflix drama, where the males had one of those dramatic stare offs. woonhak’s usually cheery tone was replaced with an air of coolness, a tone which was quite unfamiliar for you who had at the most, heard him whine out complaints occasionally.

on the other hand, you were frozen on spot as one of his arm went around your waist, pulling you closer to him. eunbin’s scoff drowned in the sea of the chatters from your mom and her colleagues as he strode away. but you didn’t care. your mind was floating once again and you weren’t sure if your heart was pounding from the earlier nerves or his arm around your waist now.

“i knew it—it took you two long enough didn’t it?” came chanyoung’s sly voice as he beamed at woonhak—riight he was on woonhak’s dance team, you failed to recognise it as he had dyed his hair a deep red, unlike his previous dark hair.

“anton sunbae! how’ve you been!” woonhak made his classic little woah of surprise as he in for a bro handshake.

“if yall are done with your bromance—woonhak, a word?” you tugged on his arm at the last bit as chanyoung waved a goodbye at you two.

once you pulled him outside the hall near the fountain lit garden, you faced him.

“what are you doing here?? and where’s taesan?” you burst out.

“seriously? not even a thank you?!” he scoffed, folding his arms.

“and what did you mean by boyfriend?! last time i checked we’ve been together since never!!”

“what—does the idea of being my girlfriend sound that bad??” he quoted your words from earlier, shooting you a glare that mirrored your own which was directed at him.

“i’m being serious woonhak—oh my god your date?? what are you doing here right now?!” your voice grew higher with each word as it dawned on him. right. his date.

“oh god i—no im so confused right now—why would you miss your date—how’d you find out about the party?!” you continued rambling, mind spinning as you began registering what happened. woonhak missed his date to come here? why was he here?

“why the fuck are you worrying about that date y/n—seriously is that what you’re panicking about right now?” he said incredulously as you continued to walk around in circles, the only thing going on in your mind right now was woonhak missed his date. and it’s somehow my fault.

“i swear to god—i don’t get why you didn’t tell me about today?? you didn’t have to hunt around for a date when i’m right here y/n!!” he could feel his temper rising but he didn’t care, woonhak really was feeling quite betrayed about you keeping things from him—was this why you were avoiding him?

“you’ve avoided me for a week y/n—and i don’t even know why!! and now you’re worrying about my date when i came all the way here for you??”

he finished angrily, breathing loudly as you finally stopped pacing around, freezing as you looked at him with a broken look.

“i-“

it was too much. you had successfully pissed woonhak off. your previous anxiety came crashing down as a tidal wave of emotions swept across you. it was too much, god you missed him so much but you fucked everything up. everything was too much, the past week had been hell for you and it all came crashing down as you let out a sob you had been holding in for god knows how long.

“i’m sorry—god i’m sorry woonhak, i’m so sorry”

you couldn’t keep your composure for longer, sinking onto the wet grass as tears freely trailed down your cheeks and fell on the fabric of your dress as you hung your head low.

“wait—shit, y/n—“

he made you cry. woonhak wanted to kill himself at that moment, seeing you cry because of him? fuck his temper, that stupid temper that made him lose control of his words. he wasted no time in bending down to your level as he pulled you into a hug, his hold on you was firm and tight as you sobbed your heart out into his chest.

“i’m sorry…it’s too much” you said between sobs, confusing him. he still held you, shuffling slightly so that your smaller frame was now nestled in his lap as he felt you first the back of his jacket tightly as your tears stained his shirt.

“what’s too much—y/n what aren’t you telling me?” he pleaded as you continued to let out choked out apologies while hiccuping out tears.

“can’t…breathe” you gasped between tears as he loosened his grip. huh—oh. his hands reached out to the ridiculously tight knotted satin around your waist as he pulled them out. you continued to breathe in heavily as he squeezed his eyes shut. what had he done??

“shh breathe…breathe in y/n..” he whispered as you let out another “i’m sorry��.

“no..i’m sorry y/n—fuck i didn’t mean any of it” he murmured as he lightly rocked you while gently stroking your hair.

woonhak thought his heart broke when he realised that you’d never feel the same way as he felt for you, but he was sure it physically broke today as he heard you whimper out a “please don’t get mad at me” while you trembled like a leaf in his arms. he silently vowed into the dusky skies that he’d never ever make you cry again, or he’d really die of misery.

“i’m sorry…for everything. and i missed you so much” he felt you mumble into his shirt as your breathing reduced its pace. you loosened your fists as you let go of his now crumpled jacket, small hands rested themselves on his back as you continued to sniffle lightly.

“im sorry for your date…i know i fucked it up—“

“shh. you didn’t do anything okay? i chose to come here instead and i’d do it anyday” woonhak said softly but firmly, and you knew that was the last time you’d be bringing up that topic again.

“i missed you too y’know” he murmured, resting his head above yours as he continued to comb his fingers through your strands.

the two of you sat in silence in the grass, the music from inside the hall floated softly though the garden as you began to calm down. inwardly, you didn’t want to leave the comfort of woonhak’s warm embrace, his arms felt like a second home.

reluctantly, you pulled away from his warmth and sat back on the grass as you found yourself face to face with a devastated woonhak.

“you look like a puppy who’s been kicked” you let out a watery giggle as he gaped at your change in demeanour.

“and you look like someone who’s failed at applying their mascara” he said as you let out a full blown laugh. he started laughing too as he heard you struggle to hold in your laughs and just like that, the ugly fight was forgotten.

“woonhak” you said once the two of you calmed down.

“let’s go see the stars”

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“so you’re telling me taesan is jihoon’s brother?! oh my god what are the odds?” you marvelled as woonhak snorted.

“i still don’t get why you asked him though, like hello i’m right here??”

you could hear the pout in his voice as you smiled. the two of you were currently on the roof of your house, the telescope lied abandoned as you two lied on your backs, gazing at the night sky which was freckled with stars.

“i didn’t wanna ruin your date…” you admitted slowly as woonhak turned towards you. his previously neat hair now lied messily on his forehead, tousled by the gentle night winds.

“why are you like this…always placing others ahead of yourself” he chided softly as you turned to face him too.

“i don’t like seowon like that, and i don’t think i ever will” he confessed as your brows flew up. what??

“then whom were you talking about?!”

“huh?”

“huh?” you echoed back, cursing yourself inwardly for letting that slip out.

“…anyways, don’t ever do that again..putting yourself before others, especially with me” he emphasised, eyes boring into yours.

“i’ll try” you said lightly, facing the sky again as he did the same. all you could think about right now was how the two of you watched the stars just like this at school during the ball, except this time there were no masks involved.

“you know…we did this at the ball too” woonhak chuckled softly as you stilled.

“me and the dove girl…we looked at the stars after we danced, just like this”

you kept your mouth shut as he continued to reminisce, fearing that you’d blurt out something else again if you spoke up.

“i never told you this…but she kissed me y’know” he said bashfully as he avoided your eyes.

“do you like her?” you questioned slowly as he furrowed his brows.

“nah. i don’t think i do” he said after a beat as he faced you.

“do you like someone though?” you continued, more curious than ever now that he told you that it was never seowon whom he liked.

“…i do, but she’d never like me back” woonhak said slowly. truthfully, he had no idea why he was out here confessing his secrets to you. but why did you look so sad when he said that?

no way. he needed to stop bringing his hopes up for the smallest of gestures.

“are you upset that i didn’t tell you?” he asked softly as you shook your head.

“i don’t believe that she doesn’t like you back y’know” you said, trying to conceal your previous downcast expression. and you meant it, how could anyone not like him?

“whoever she is…she’s a lucky girl woonhak, you’re a really precious person” you whispered as you moved closer to him, still looking at him in the eyes.

“really?” he asked you with a small voice.

“really.”

there was a soft expression on his face as he smiled at you, before pulling you into a tender hug. you snuggled into his warmth for the second time that night as his arms encircled your smaller frame, his faint heartbeat thudding against your ear.

“you’re a really precious person too y/n” he murmured, kissing the crown of your head silently as you hummed. and he meant it, he really did.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“look at the two of them, god i can’t take this anymore” lee chan made a sound that was a mixture of disgust and endearment as jeonghan snickered next to him.

“i don’t think they know that we can see them” he continued, watching you and woonhak cuddle on the uneven roof of the house from below, where the car was parked. “they’re so in love it’s sickening”

“nah, they’re both so oblivious it’s sickening” jeonghan corrected as he hopped off the car’s opened boot, enjoying the fresh night breeze.

“wait— they aren’t dating?!” chan cried in disbelief, eyes darting back to the love struck teenagers on top who were now exchanging some more silent words.

“how do you not know their lore by now…” jeonghan sighed, heading back towards the car as chan prepared himself, eager to learn about the history of you and woonhak.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“alright guys! i’ll be assigning you in pairs, please hold hands and don’t get lost in the museum!” you looked around nervously, dreading whoever your teacher was going to assign you with. middle school trips were supposed to be fun but you were terrified in the crowded museum, bustling with kids from other school younger and older than you.

“y/n and woonhak!” your teacher’s voice rang out as you raised your hand. a smiley boy caught your eye, waving happily as he ran up to you.

“hi i’m woonhak!! you’re y/n right?” you shyly avoided his eyes, hesitantly holding out your hand for him to shake it. mom always taught you that shaking someone’s hand is a sign of expressing politeness.

he shook your hand quizzically, then proceeded to hold it tightly as your group walked behind your teacher. you glanced at your hand in his, heart thumping fiercely as he smiled at you again.

“woah!! aren’t those dinosaurs?” he exclaimed excitedly when you two stopped near the prehistoric section.

“yep, they’re stegosaurus, they’re herbivores” you said softly as he turned towards you. “you like dinosaurs?”

“yeah..” you mumbled, trying to blend into the background once again as he beamed at you.

“i love dinosaurs too! what’s your favourite one??”

soon the two of you found yourselves strolling through the prehistoric section, hands still interlinked as your school group was far forgotten. he would excitedly point towards the displays of early men and prehistoric creatures as you tried to remember information about them.

“ooh they’re homo erectus! they’re one of the earliest human species” you quipped up as woonhak snickered at the name. “seriously stop” you giggled with him as you two dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“i thought i wouldn’t be able to make friends with you” he said once you two calmed down. “you’re really quiet..but you’re so cool during science class” he said shyly as your cheeks bloomed pink.

“are we..friends now then?” you asked with a small smile as he broke out into a large grin. “hell yeah we are—hey where’s mrs. shim?!”

later that evening when you two got scolded soundly by mrs. shim for wandering away in the huge museum, the two of you left her office with large smiles instead. you were thrilled at making a new friend and woonhak was overjoyed as he finally got to talk to the cool girl from his science class.

꒰ 💭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

you had no idea how you were back in your room, or how you were now on your bed with woonhak fast asleep next to you. did he carry you down here?

you slowly got up from the bed as you tiptoed into the empty hall, the clock currently read 3:12am which meant your mom was either still at the party or on her way back.

you crept back into your room as you took in its messy state, the reason being you and eunchae hunting for the perfect dress for the party the day before. your closet was open with clothes strewn haphazardly in it—

oh my god. oh my—

your stomach lurched as you nearly zoomed towards your closet, shutting it close as you nearly gasped out for air. you stood in front of the closet with your back plastered to it, as woonhak continued to soundly sleep. had he seen it? there was no way he could’ve missed it…what if he did see it?

it wasn’t your fault, you truly didn’t expect woonhak of all people to enter your room while you were rummaging through your wardrobe the day before. yeah, he could’ve missed seeing it. maybe he did.

the only thing you could do was silently pray, that he missed the sight of your peach coloured dress you wore to the ball. despite it being hung neatly next to all the gowns you owned in the previously wide open closet, you prayed that he somehow missed it.

you didn’t want to think about the possibilities that could occur in case he did see it. you really didn’t.

a/n pt.2: yes, i had to add anton to this, blame his new hairstyle not me😓😓.once again i’m so sorry that this took so long for me to write😭😭, i’m ngl this isn’t proofread rn but i’ll get to it by tonight!! tysm for reading this and being patient with my extremely annoying uploading schedule~ :,)

🖇️: @woonagi-lemon @huhuiiiisworld @helpsplease @jmclouds @minkkumaz @woonsbot @unhakki @dearly-somber

[weewoo911]

If you could pick 3 Buck/Tommy scenes in S8 that the writers had to include what would you pick?

Oooh I love this ask thank you so much 💖✨

1- Another domestic scene:

I want to see them waking up/getting ready for work together. Tommy’s coffee mug in Buck’s loft. Them talking work drama at a date. Something reaffirming that they’re an established couple and they’re happy and thriving

2- Hurt Tommy/Tommy in peril:

Okay maybe I’m evil for this but I love a bit of hurt/comfort and Hurt!Buck has been done. Been there, done that, had the coma dream. Let’s put Buck on the other side of it

And there are many different ways they could do it: Buck seeing Tommy’s helicopter go down on the news or in person, Buck sulking because Tommy hasn’t called him back after they had a minor disagreement and then he gets a call from Tommy’s phone and he answers already talking to Tommy but then realises it’s a call from a hospital bc Tommy’s been in a car crash or something, them being both at the same call and there being a moment where we think Tommy has died before it’s revealed he’s okay

I want all this to have a happy ending of course but I like a lil spicy dash of angst 👌✨

3- Firefam hangout or hangout with Eddie:

Goes without saying, Tommy was part of the 118 before and I’d love to see him at a group hangout, maybe a housewarming for Bobby and Athena’s new place. Bobby used to be his captain, there’s some fun teasing we could have there from Bobby, and the rest of the team tbh.

OR

A hangout with Buck, Tommy & Eddie to show that Tommy is fully supportive of their friendship and that Tommy and Eddie are still good friends too. I enjoy a bit of jealousy in fanfic but I’d be kinda disappointed if they went there in canon tbh. Tommy is the first LI of Buck’s that Eddie has expressed a positive opinion on (I think) and they’re friends! I wanna see that (and not bc I’m also buddietommy trash I mean I AM but they wont go there-). Plus Eddie needs his friends rn.

[lara-cairncross]

Ello, I gave it a bit to simmer now I must ask.

What do you think?

I must know your opinion because you are the tinkerbell fairy expert on my dash and I've been rotting here alone.

(Of course you don't actually have to answer I'm simply very excited like a little pup to finally have a reason to send you an ask because I love you ((platonically)) and am a very awkward person)

Lots of love and adoration- Sbf🐍

"tinkerbell fairy expert" oh MAN. that's. that's a lot of responsibility LMAO AHHSHEHD I have a title now this shit is getting serious

ANYWAY--

YES I LOVE THAT SONG OH MY GOD. So many people have sent it to me and I go back and listen to it every single time 😭😭 the LORE the ANGST the DRAMA!!! simply divine !!! Part of me really wants to try and work that into the fairy au, but I'm also juggling, like, five other ideas for it right now so I have no idea what's gonna actually make it in ??? (and that's if I actually end up going somewhere with the au beyond just silly little doodles lmao)

BUT BESIDES ALL THAT. GOOD SONG. EXCELLENT SONG. I AM VERY HAPPY LOL THANK YOU SBF :DDD