#everything he needs to live in question: his work.

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Seven

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Surprise update! Yes, it's 1am and this is the longest chapter so far. Shhh. I'm craving porridge (is it the boarding school nostalgia? Probably)!

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They lay side by side in Oscar's narrow bed, Harper curled into his chest like she was trying to disappear into him. The radiator in the corner clicked every few minutes, rattling weakly like it was barely holding the heat hostage.

Sam was snoring softly in the other bed, back turned, face half-buried in his pillow. He hadn't asked many questions when Harper had climbed through the window earlier in her socks and school jumper. Just lifted his head, blinked once, and mumbled, "She staying?"

Oscar had nodded. Sam had grunted and rolled over.

Now, in the dark, the room felt small. Still. Safe, in that oddly teenage, temporary way — like nothing outside of it could reach them for a little while.

Harper's breath warmed the space between them. She shifted, tugging the scratchy blanket higher over her shoulders.

"I think I'm going to start showing soon," she whispered, voice barely there.

Oscar didn't say anything right away. His hand rested against the small of her back, thumb moving slow, calming circles just under the hem of her sweatshirt. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the tension still coiled beneath it.

"Maybe," he said eventually. "Dunno. Maybe not for a few more weeks."

"I'll need a new uniform skirt soon. Mine's tight."

"Headmaster said you could wear leggings if you wanted."

"I know." She exhaled sharply. "But I like wearing a skirt. And leggings'll just make people stare more than they already do."

Oscar winced slightly. "Yeah. Didn't take long for everyone to find out, did it?"

No. No, it hadn't.

It was late January now. They'd known about the baby for just over three weeks — and the school had known for at least two. She wasn't even sure how. Maybe someone overheard a call. Maybe someone read her expression too closely one morning in chapel. Or maybe it had just been Sam.

"Pretty sure it was your roommate," she murmured. "Can't keep a secret to save his life."

Oscar snorted under his breath. "Yeah. I love him, but he's hopeless."

She hummed. "I hate being stared at."

Oscar glanced down. Her voice had gone quiet again.

"I always hated it," she said. "Even before all this. The way people would look at me like I was some painting they want to own. It happened a lot when I was little. With my dad."

Oscar leaned in and kissed her forehead, slow and soft. "Then they don't get to look at you anymore," he said. "Just me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Possessive."

"Protective," he corrected, then blushed awkwardly.

That made her smile. She buried her face against his chest again.

Outside, snow tapped gently at the dorm window. The radiator clicked again.

After a long moment, she whispered, "I'm so relieved, you know. That you were okay with me... wanting to go through with this." Her voice wobbled. "I know it's mad. I know we're fifteen, and scared and it's going to make everything ten times harder than normal. But I think—" Her throat caught. "I think I already love it. The baby."

Oscar didn't move. For a second, she worried maybe he'd frozen. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

Then he nodded. Just once.

"Okay," he said.

She blinked up at him, eyes glossy. "Okay?"

"We'll make it work," he said. "Whatever you want, Harp. That's what we do. Already told you that, didn't I?"

She wiped her cheek with her sleeve, her breathing hitching. "You did."

For a while, they were quiet. Just the soft rise and fall of two bodies pressed together, trying to be brave.

Then, like a pebble dropped into still water, she asked, "What was it like? Growing up?"

Oscar looked at her. "Me?"

"No," she said, deadpan. "The other guy in this bed."

He laughed. "Alright. Cheeky." Then he shrugged. "I dunno. Normal? Mum made me packed lunches. Dad travelled a lot for work. I've had a hardcore obsession with cars since I was about two."

Harper smiled. "That's endearing."

"You?"

She made a soft, ambiguous noise in the back of her throat.

"Different," she said eventually. "My childhood didn't look like the ones on TV. There wasn't the little house on the end of the street with the dad in the driveway and the golden retriever named Biscuit. My dad... he was who he was. And my mum—her parents were rich, but Dad was something else."

"What was his title again?" Oscar asked gently.

"Officially? Duke of Northamptonshire."

Oscar hummed. "Like... an actual duke?"

"Mm-hmm." She didn't sound smug about it. She sounded tired. "Land, estates, racehorses. It was old money. Generational. My mum always wanted the fashion thing to stand on its own. But she married into the aristocracy and she'll never let anyone forget it."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "What was he like? Your dad?"

She went still. Not tense. Just... still.

"He was kind," she said softly. "That's the word that sticks. Kind, and a bit soft around the edges. He never seemed like the aristocrat they wrote about in Tatler. He used to sing really badly when he made breakfast. Always wore old jumpers that smelled like stale coffee and barn hay. He taught me how to play chess. Bought me this ridiculous rocking horse when I was six because one of my friends had one in her nursery and I liked it."

Oscar didn't speak. Just kept tracing soft lines against her back.

"I don't think he really fit in with all of it," she said after a moment. "With the world he came from. He was born into it, but he didn't play the part very well. He cared more about people than image, and she my mum... She loved him, but she hated that: Said he was wasting his pedigree. Whatever that means."

"What happened?" Oscar asked. "I mean... after the crash. To you two. You and your mum."

Harper swallowed. "We inherited it all from him. The land and the estates and the horses. But it just... didn't feel right anymore. Maybe it never did. But my mum was in so much pain after losing him — I think I reminded her too much of him, you know? I was his kid in all the ways that mattered — and that didn't fit the mould she wanted for me."

Oscar was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he said, "I think he'd be proud of you. For standing up for yourself."

Harper blinked hard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He sounds like someone who would appreciate that."

She let out a shaky breath and tucked her face against his collarbone.

The radiator clicked again.

They didn't say much after that.

—

The common room had that early-evening stink to it — heat trapped under polyester, Lynx Africa, and the vague aftersmell of instant noodles someone had overcooked in the microwave.

Harper sat curled up in the corner armchair, legs tucked under her. Oscar was on the floor beside her, stretched out, one knee bouncing, thumb skimming idly along the edge of her sock. She was pretending to revise for maths. Mostly just staring at the page, eyes glazed. Sam lay on the rug like a chalk outline, feet shoved under the coffee table. Alfie and Matt were slouched on the opposite sofa, playing some game on Matt's phone with the sound off. Jane was painting her nails with Tippex and a biro.

It was quiet in the way that only a room full of teenagers rooms could be — full of shifting bodies and chewing and low muttering and the occasional sigh, like the air itself was tired.

Across the room, near the vending machines, three Year Thirteen girls were clustered in a semicircle of swishy ponytails, fake eyelashes, and aggressively rolled-up skirts. They had that perpetual stink of Clinique Happy and entitlement.

"Bet she thinks she's some sort of martyr or summat," one of them said, too loud to be an accident. "Proper bitch, if you ask me."

"It was bound to happen, wasn't it? The Aussie's here for what, five minutes? And she's got her claws in him. Investment, innit."

One of them made a clucking noise. "Mad, really. Her mum's some fashion type but she still dresses like she shops in M&S. Thinks she's posh just 'cos of her dad's name; but he's just dust in a crypt somewhere."

"Fancy name, fancy voice, still just a fucking slag."

Oscar stilled like someone had pulled the handbrake on him mid-thought. Sam sat up with the kind of speed he usually reserved for food or FIFA.

Jane didn't even look away from her nails. "Fuck off."

The girls blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me," Jane said, standing now, holding the little brush like a weapon. "Shut the fuck up. And fuck off."

One of them gave a mocking little laugh. "Bit aggressive, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," Jane said sweetly, "maybe if you weren't so fucking clapped, you'd be capable of getting laid. Then you wouldn't be so obsessed with the people who are."

Sam hauled himself to his feet and pointed a Dorito at them like it was a wand. "Cunts."

"Sam," Matt muttered, horrified.

"I said what I said," Sam declared, unfazed. "Cunts. Both of 'em."

Alfie barely looked up. "Don't stir it, mate. Let 'em chat shit. You know what they're like. They're just fucking jealous."

Oscar rose to his feet slowly. His face was blank, eyes fixed on the girls — no shouting, no swearing, but there was steel in his silence.

The ringleader rolled her eyes. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Sure," Jane said, arms folded. "You just woke up and decided to be a bunch of silly cunts. Congrats."

The girls left in a huff of swished ponytails, gum-snapping, and muttered slurs.

Silence settled over the room again, heavy and a little awkward.

Sam flopped back down onto the rug like nothing had happened. "Well that was fun. Anyone wanna order a pizza to the gates?"

Harper hadn't said a word the whole time.

Oscar looked up at her. "You alright?"

She nodded, but it was the kind of nod that looked more like bracing herself than answering a question. "Girls being girls. Was bound to happen."

Jane plonked back onto the armrest beside her and sighed. "I'm gonna put Nair in their shampoo. Watch me."

Harper snorted.

"I don't need you guys to fight my battles for me," she said after a beat, voice low but steady.

"Nah," said Alfie, not looking up. "We know. But you're our mate, yeah? And mates have each other's backs."

Harper blinked. She hadn't expected that from Alfie. He looked mildly horrified that he'd said something sincere, and immediately buried himself back in the game on Matt's phone.

Oscar leaned into her leg again, grounding her.

"Are they like that a lot?" He asked.

Harper gave a tired little shrug. "Some of them. It's just—That's how it is, Osc. Rich girls aren't taught how to make friends. We're taught to win rooms. Be the most valued person in it. At whatever cost."

Oscar frowned, then rested his chin against her knee. "You're the most valued person in this room."

"Only 'cause Jane hasn't finished her nails yet."

"Whatever you say, Lady Harper." He teased, lightly.

Harper huffed and let her eyes fall closed for a second. The warmth of him against her leg. Jane's foot gently nudging hers. Sam's fake-sleep breathing. The way Alfie kept pretending not to look up, like he'd jump in again if needed.

It didn't make everything okay.

But it made right now a little easier to bear.

—

The radiators were rattling again. They did that now — made a sort of mechanical clunk every ten minutes, like they were choking on their own ancient pipes. Sam had taken to kicking it every time it made a noise. So far, that hadn't fixed it. But it seemed to make him feel better.

Harper sat cross-legged at the foot of Oscar's bed, a Biology workbook open across her lap, biro tucked behind one ear, hair tied up with the bobble she'd stolen from Jane last week. Her blazer was somewhere on the floor in a heap, beside a half-eaten KitKat, an empty Ribena carton, and a pair of socks that definitely didn't belong to her.

Oscar was leaning against the wall, legs stretched out, a notebook in his lap. He was chewing the end of his pen like it had personally wronged him. His hair was a disaster — slightly flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. He hadn't shaved in three days and still couldn't grow a real moustache.

Sam was draped across his own bed, limbs splayed like he'd been dropped from a great height, chemistry flashcards held above his head like he was trying to burn the knowledge into his retinas.

"Is it February?" Sam asked suddenly.

Oscar blinked. "Yeah. It's the sixth."

"Oh. Happy February."

Harper let out a tired breath of a laugh. "Valentine's Day soon. You got a crush on anyone, Sammy?"

"Nah," he muttered. "Fuck love."

"Romantic," she said, eyebrows raised.

Oscar snorted. "That's our Sam."

"Better than what I said last year," Sam mumbled. "Told Miss Patel I hoped she got some on Valentine's and nearly got kicked out of school."

Harper snorted. "Jesus."

Oscar chuckled. "Still remember the look on her face."

"Yeah, well. You try doing triple science with raging hormones and Miss Patel reading Of Mice and Men in that voice."

"She's literally almost fifty."

"Doesn't matter," Sam muttered. "Voice like silk. Made me believe in the American Dream."

Harper groaned and flopped backwards. "I hate this room."

"You're in here more than your own."

"No I'm not." She argued.

Sam pointed a crisp at her. "You've basically moved in."

"I have not."

"You have a toothbrush in our bathroom."

Harper looked mildly indignant. "So? Doesn't mean I live here."

"You've got socks in Oscar's drawer."

"I have socks in lots of places."

Oscar smirked, eyes still on his notebook. "Do you?"

"Shut up."

Harper shifted slightly, wincing as she adjusted the waistband of her skirt. It was new — a size bigger than her old one, but it didn't feel like it. Everything felt tighter lately. Her jumper was clinging weirdly at the chest too. She tugged it forward and stared down at the buttons on her shirt.

"My boobs are massive," she muttered.

Oscar looked up. Then down. Then immediately went bright red. "No comment."

"Pervert."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to." She narrowed her eyes at him.

Sam made a strangled noise. "Please. I'm trying to focus. I cannot be thinking about Harper's tits right now."

"Fuck you!" Harper shrieked. She grabbed one of Oscar's pillows and hurled it across the room. It hit Sam square in the face.

"Assault!" he yelped, throwing his arms up dramatically. "I've been attacked in my own home."

Oscar snorted, folding his notes shut. "You're lucky that's all she threw."

"You're both annoying," Harper muttered, trying not to smile.

Sam peeked at her from behind the pillow. "You alright though? You've been making that... face."

"What face?"

"The 'everything hurts and I hate everyone' face."

Harper made a face. "That's just my face."

Oscar glanced over at her, more seriously now. "Anything feel off?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm just... heavy. Tired. I don't know. Apparently the baby's the size of a raspberry this week."

Sam perked up. "You're growing fruit in there?"

"Metaphorical, you idiot."

Oscar leaned over and brushed a bit of lint off her shoulder. "You want to lie down?"

"I'm alright." She smiled, faintly. "I like sitting and pretending to revise with you two."

"Oi," Sam said, wounded. "I'm absorbing this information with sheer force of will."

"You're absorbing crisps. That's it."

Oscar gave a low laugh, then glanced at Harper. "Remember, my mum's coming this weekend."

Harper looked up. "Right. Yeah. I know."

She went still for a second — just a flicker, like something locking up behind her eyes — then flipped a page in her workbook, trying to look casual about it. But her voice had gone a little too careful.

Oscar noticed. Of course he did.

"She really wants to meet you," he said, softer now. "She's been asking since... well, since last September when we started going out. I know you've spoken to her on FaceTime but it's not, like, the same, is it."

Harper gave a small, lopsided smile. "She's not fuming, then?"

"What?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Osc." She sighed. Gave him a look. "About the baby. About the fact that I might be ruining your life?"

Oscar dropped his pen and sat up straighter, frowning. "Harps. You're not ruining anything."

Sam chimed in from his bed. "Nicole's literally a saint. She's lovely."

"She's not mad." Oscar said quietly. Leaned in and touched Harper's lips with his thumb, like he was trying to physically wipe the frown off of her face. "She was... shocked, at first. But she's doing better with it now. She's been knitting."

Harper blinked. "She knits?"

"Badly."

"I'm scared," Harper admitted, very quietly. "Like... really scared. What if she hates me?"

Oscar leaned forward, nudging her foot with his. "She won't. I promise. My mum's not like that. She already calls you 'little love' in texts."

Harper let out a shaky laugh. "Does she?"

"Yeah. Wants to take you out for tea. Thinks you need feeding up."

"I agree," Sam muttered. "She's had half a KitKat and one of my crisps."

"I'm nervous," Harper said, then glanced at Oscar. "Not about her being mean. Just... I want her to like me. She's your mum."

Oscar smiled gently. "She will."

"I'm not used to nice mums." She whispered.

He leaned in. Kissed her softly. "I'm sorry."

Sam gagged. "Can you two fucking stop? I'm trying to eat."

—

The gravel drive outside the school crunched under the tyres of a silver Volvo as it rolled to a stop near the visitor bays.

Oscar spotted it first from the common room window. "She's here."

Harper immediately stood up, then sat back down. "Okay. I feel sick."

Sam didn't look up from his flashcards. "Don't puke on her. First impressions and all that."

Oscar gave her hand a squeeze. "She's excited. Honestly, she keeps texting me pictures of tiny socks."

"I don't know how to talk to mums," Harper muttered. "Mine doesn't count for obvious reasons."

"You've FaceTimed with her."

"FaceTime is different. That's like... TV. This is real life. What if she doesn't like me in real life?"

Oscar stood and tugged gently at her sleeve. "Come on. You'll be fine. She's got biscuits."

"...what kind?"

"Don't know. Probably the ones she always buys that no one actually likes but we all pretend we do because they're posh."

Harper followed him out across the courtyard, heart rattling inside her chest like a loose marble. It was cold — the kind of sharp, bright February cold that made your breath cloud up instantly. Her school coat was unzipped and flapping around her knees. She hadn't even checked her hair. Christ.

Nicole stepped out of the car wearing a giant woollen scarf and sunglasses too big for her face, carrying a tote bag that looked like it had seen every grocery store in Hertfordshire. She was taller than Harper expected — tall in that mum way, where it was all good posture and sensible boots. Her hair was curly and dyed dark at the roots with stubborn greys she hadn't bothered to cover. And she had the exact same laugh as Oscar, Harper realised — loud and too delighted.

"There's my boy," Nicole said, pulling Oscar into a proper, swaying hug that lifted him slightly off the ground. "God, look at your hair. Have you been brushing it with a fork?"

Oscar muffled something into her shoulder, cheeks pink. "Mum."

"And you must be Harper."

Harper froze for a split second — then managed a small smile. "Hi."

Nicole took one look at her and pulled her straight into a hug.

Warm. Solid. Smelling of fabric softener and mint gum.

It knocked the air right out of her.

"I feel like I already know you," Nicole said when she pulled back. "You're even prettier in person. Not that you aren't gorgeous on FaceTime. But I always think those calls make everyone look like they've been filmed on a potato."

Harper blinked. "Oh. Um. Thanks?"

"I brought biscuits," Nicole added, digging around in her tote. "And a scarf. You don't own a decent one, apparently."

She held it out — it was knitted. Badly. Yellow and lumpy and soft.

Harper stared at it. Then at her. "You made this?"

"Well, I had help. There's a very patient woman on YouTube called Marion who saved my life." She grinned. "Go on, take it. It's hideous but it'll keep you warm."

Harper took the scarf. Her fingers tingled. It was the first homemade thing anyone had ever given her.

"Thanks," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Nicole just smiled and tucked a stray curl behind Harper's ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You doing alright, love?"

Harper nodded. She wasn't, really. Not completely. But for the first time in weeks, the knot in her chest eased just slightly.

Oscar slipped his hand into hers. "Told you," he murmured.

And Harper — still clutching the scarf, still blinking like she wasn't sure what just happened — smiled. "Yeah," she whispered back. "You did."

—

The library windows were sweating — misted over from the inside, the radiator below doing its very best to boil Harper's ankles.

She sat cross-legged on the floor between the Philosophy and Biology sections, highlighters scattered across her lap, a mechanical pencil in her hair like a knitting needle. Her bump — barely visible unless you were looking for it — had finally made zipping up her skirt an Olympic event. She'd given up and worn leggings today, after Oscar talked her out of rage-quitting school entirely at 8:07 that morning.

Oscar was lying beside her, flipping through flashcards with the glazed look of someone being slowly crushed by the weight of the AQA specification.

"So," he said, tapping one against her knee. "Harper Whiatt. Mother of child. Knows what meiosis is. Who knew?"

"Shut up."

"Proud of you."

"You're not even revising that subject."

"Still proud."

She rolled her eyes. "You're annoying."

"Admit it," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "You'd miss me if I died in the corridor during your chemistry mock."

She snorted. "Only because you're the one who carries all my pens."

A few steps away, Sam sat at a table doing absolutely no work whatsoever. He had one wired earbud in, a can of Monster open, and a singular page of notes he'd spent forty-five minutes underlining in different colours.

"Oi," he said suddenly. "Osc. Your mum messaged me on Facebook earlier."

Harper looked up. "She what?"

"She sent me a meme of a baby wearing sunglasses and a fake moustache. Told me to show you. Said you'd been ignoring her messages again."

Oscar groaned. "She's unbelievable."

Harper glanced at him. "You're ignoring her messages?" She asked.

"Only the annoying ones." He winced.

There was a pause. It started to rain outside.

Harper let out a breath and pressed a hand lightly to her belly, almost without thinking.

Oscar watched her.

"You okay?" He asked softly.

She nodded. "Just... feel a bit sick. And I'm thinking."

"About?"

"Mock exams. Labour. Stretch marks. My mum. My future. What I want to do with my life."

He reached over and squeezed her knee. "I'll fail chemistry with you, if it helps."

She smiled faintly. "That's nice of you."

"It is," he said. "We'll be dumb together."

Sam looked up from his Monster. "Can't wait for the baby shower. Gonna bring a banner that says 'Congratulations on your accidental offspring.'"

"I'm not having a baby shower," Harper muttered, cheeks pink.

Sam grinned. "Tell Jane that."

Oscar groaned. "God, don't let Jane plan any kind of party. Please. Not after the last time."

Somewhere behind them, Miss Patel coughed loudly and glared.

They lowered their voices after that.

Sort of.

—

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and lemon floor cleaner. The chairs were plastic and uncomfortable. The kind of place where the ceiling tiles always looked slightly damp and the magazines were six months out of date.

Harper sat with her coat bunched up around her, school uniform replaced by a pair of leggings and one of Oscar's hoodies. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. She hadn't spoken much in the car.

Oscar sat next to her, elbows on his knees, trainers scuffed from too many track walks. He kept glancing at the wall-mounted TV, where an animated diagram of a growing foetus looped every five minutes.

Chris was across from them, flicking through the appointment letter on his phone again, as if it might change.

"You alright?" Oscar asked, his voice quiet.

Harper nodded without looking at him. "Yeah."

"You don't have to be brave."

"I know." She paused. "I'm scared."

He leaned over, shoulder bumping hers. "Me too."

The door opened. A midwife popped her head around. "Harper Whiatt?"

Harper stood, legs stiff. Oscar got up with her.

The midwife smiled warmly. "You can both come in. You're her... partner?"

Oscar flushed. "Um. Yeah."

Chris made a small movement to stand but Harper looked back. "Can you wait here?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Course, kid. Whatever you prefer."

Inside, the room was small but warm. The ultrasound machine beeped quietly. A little cot of sterile supplies sat in the corner. It was more clinical than cosy.

"Alright, pop yourself up there," she said gently, gesturing to the bed.

Harper lay back, pulling her top up and the waistband of her leggings down just enough to expose her bump. She could feel Oscar's eyes on her — not gawking, just wide. Soft.

"This'll be a little cold," she warned, squeezing the gel onto Harper's belly.

Harper flinched. "Yup. Still gross."

The midwife smiled. "Won't last long. Let's see if this little one's cooperating today..."

She moved the probe over Harper's stomach, eyes fixed on the monitor. For a moment there was just static and shadows, and then — there it was. The unmistakable curve of a head. A little nose. Limbs.

Harper blinked.

Oscar made a sound like he'd just been punched in the chest. "Holy shit."

"Language," the midwife said mildly.

"Sorry. Just—" He reached for Harper's hand, gripped it. "That's... that's an actual baby."

She nodded slowly, her throat tight. "It is."

"Everything's measuring just right," the midwife said. "Spine's looking good. Heartbeat's strong. Want to hear it?"

Harper nodded.

The sound filled the room like drums underwater — a galloping, fast rhythm that didn't feel real.

Oscar was squeezing her hand hard.

She turned her head slightly to look at him. He looked stunned. Teary. And smiling.

The midwife chuckled. "That's the usual reaction."

They finished the scan. She wiped off the gel. Harper sat up, dazed. The midwife printed a few black-and-white images and handed them over.

"Here's your baby," she said softly. "You're around 18 weeks and five days, give or take. You'll be starting to feel more movement soon; those flutters you're feeling? That's your baby."

Harper stared at the picture. The tiny hand. The shape of a face that she somehow already recognised.

"Do you want to know the sex?" The midwife asked. "I can tell you now."

They glanced at each other. Harper opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Not yet," she said finally. "I don't want it to be... no. Just — not yet."

The midwife nodded, as if she understood exactly what she meant. "Alright. We'll leave it a surprise then."

When they left the room, Oscar still had the photo clutched between his fingers like it might disappear if he let go.

Chris stood. "How'd it go?"

Harper handed him one of the pictures.

His expression softened in a way she wasn't used to seeing. "Wow," he said quietly. "That's a baby."

She smiled faintly. "It is."

Chris handed the photo back and opened the car door for her. For once, she didn't protest.

Oscar waited until they were pulling out of the hospital car park to whisper, "I can't believe it, Harp." He said, his finger touching the baby's head on the photo. "I can't — It's so real."

"Yeah." She whispered. She pressed close to him and stared at the picture too.

—

The karting circuit smelled like oil, petrol and old toast — someone had clearly burned something in the staff kitchenette again. Engines buzzed constantly in the background, a low, waspish hum that made Harper's teeth itch.

She was sat on a plastic folding chair just behind the pit barrier, wrapped in hoodie and the scarf Nicole had made for her. Her coat was slung over the back of the chair, long forgotten. It had been cold when they'd arrived, but the sun was out now — faint, watery, but warm enough that she'd started to regret the extra layers.

Oscar had been out on track for nearly an hour. Mark stood nearby with a stopwatch, watching his lines, only occasionally muttering into the walkie-talkie clipped to his jacket.

It was oddly peaceful, in a sensory-overload sort of way. The scent, the noise, the blur of Oscar's kart skimming the corners — all of it had become familiar, almost comforting. Harper liked watching him like this. He looked free out there. Focused.

She shifted slightly in her seat, one hand dropping to rest on the small swell of her stomach. She wasn't huge yet — barely showing in a coat, but it was obvious now in anything fitted. She'd ordered a new school skirt again.

She yawned, stretching a little, fingers absently rubbing across her bump.

And then — something.

Not gas. Not indigestion. Not a cramp.

Something fluttered, just under her palm. Light and strange and soft — like a goldfish brushing against her from the inside. She froze.

There it was again. A nudge, low and quick. Almost like... a hello.

Her breath caught. She stared down at her belly.

Oscar zipped past again — then pulled into the pit lane, helmet tucked under one arm, flushed from the cold and the speed. He'd spotted her smile before he even reached her.

"What?" He asked, dropping down in front of her, a little breathless. "What's that face?"

She blinked at him. Then her hand moved instinctively back to her stomach.

"I think..." she said, eyes wide, voice soft with disbelief, "I think it just moved."

Oscar's eyebrows shot up. "What, really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Like... it was tiny. Like someone flicked me from the inside. It was weird."

His grin was immediate and ridiculous. "That's so cool."

Harper laughed, still a bit stunned. "It's a bit freaky, actually."

"Freaky in a good way?"

"I dunno. I'll tell you when it does it again."

He reached up, gently pressing his hand beside hers. "That's insane," he whispered, like the baby might hear him.

Harper leaned forward. "It feels like there's an alien inside me, Osc."

He snickered. "Alien invasion?"

"Yeah." She giggled. It was ridiculous, but it was true.

Nearby, Mark pretended not to be eavesdropping. But Harper saw the way he smiled slightly to himself before turning back to his stopwatch.

NEXT CHAPTER

[streamsofmoon]

suggestive | v x f!reader

synopsis: pizza delivery guy likes you. then pizza delivery guy sees vi. pizza delivery guy stands no chance.

cw: a creepy-esque dude for the sake of the plot.

the pizza delivery guy is ecstatic when he's given his next order. ecstatic because it was your address, one that he has seen many a time. especially on late nights when you're bone-deep tired, barely managing a smile as he hands you your food.

but goodness, your smile still shines. it's gorgeous and radiant. makes the butterflies flutter violently in his stomach. because your smile and your everything is what he's been looking for.

and he's aware it's odd, bordering on creepy, that he's falling for a customer. knows that this can never cross into anything remotely seriously. but he's allowed to dream and wonder; he's allowed his daydreams where he bumps into you on the street and makes you laugh. where he asks you out, and you say yes, all demure as you peer up at him through those lashes.

he's allowed to think about fucking you and about how sweet you'd sound as you take his—

the imagery is getting too vivid, and he can't make your delivery with a visible tent. Not after the near mishap from a few weeks ago.

he pulls up to your place and goes to ring the buzzer. but luckily, someone's coming out, so he decides not to bother you, making his way onto the elevator and selecting your floor. he's already thinking about seeing your beautiful face; if you'd be tired from today's work or lively from a day of solid rest.

maybe you'll be wearing that tank top that hugs your breasts so nicely, thin enough to showcase your peaked nipples.

fuck, he needs to calm down.

he knocks on your door three times when he arrives, waiting patiently as he hears shuffling from behind it. he quickly fixes his hair, ensures he looks presentable, and plasters on a smile when he hears the door's lock click.

he expects to see you but is surprised when he's shown someone else.

she's strong, is the first thing he notices, with her arms bare with well-toned muscle. she's also beautiful with her pink hair and blue eyes. but most importantly, she looks intimidating; absolutely terrifying.

"thanks," she says, her scarred lips curving into a half smile. she smoothly takes it from his hands, all while he's staring wide-eyed at her. "do i owe you anything?"

his mind scrambles for a response because what is going on? didn't you live here? did you move out suddenly? and now have been replaced by a wonderfully strong and gorgeous woman who can break him in half?

but then all his questions are answered when you hop into the scene. like a ray of sun on a cloudy day, you appear beside the woman and smile happily at him.

"oh hey, nice to see you!" you greet genuinely, and he would have eagerly gobbled that up if it wasn't for the state of you.

you're beautiful as always, but there's something different. your hair's a little messy, you look a little flustered, and there's a slight tremble to your frame. you're covered, almost teasingly, by an oversized shirt, which reveals one of your shoulders. a rounded shoulder that holds bite marks and lead up to the curve of your neck that is covered in similar markings and hickeys and—

oh.

oh.

"vi, i'm hungry," you whine cutely, tugging at her arm to pull her inside. "gimme the pizza." you grab at the box, gifting the man a glorious split second where your shirt raises up to show off your thighs.

your slightly slick thighs.

oh.

"coming, baby," vi coos, smiling softly as she watches you disappear into the apartment. she then turns back to him and that soft smile turns sharp and deadly.

"watch your eyes next time." vi says, clearly a threat before she's closing the door in his face.

pizza delivery guy stares at the door, dejected and, very much, frightened.

[hereghostslive]

The phone rings one night a few weeks after Bobby's funeral. The sound startles him, extra loud in the silence of his house and the self-imposed, though unintentional, weeks-long isolation.

He doesn't bother flipping on a light, as if the cover of darkness can hide him from whoever's on the other line.

"hello?" He answers, forgetting to check the caller ID.

There's a silence on the other end, except for a quiet breathing that he'd recognize anywhere. He starts to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Hi," he says, and this time it's not a question.

And without missing a beat, he gets a response.

"hi," Evan says.

The last time Evan called him it was to request a helicopter ride from the roof of a pharmaceutical building. Lucky he had been tinkering with the chopper when the call came through, all suited up, like he'd been waiting to offer his assistance.

He's not exactly in a state to defy the orders of the U.S. military again, under the covers of his bed and still half asleep. But he's slowly waking up.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Evan asks.

"Only a little," Tommy admits, but he doesn't mind.

Evan huffs a little laugh. "I forgot you usually work the night shift on Sundays."

It's barely 9 p.m. on a Monday night but Tommy understands Evan's assumption, though it's misplaced this time.

Tommy hums in answer, not wanting to admit he's taken a mandatory leave of absence, not by choice.

"is everything okay?" He asks instead, because while it's nice to hear Evan's voice, it's been a quiet few weeks since Bobby's death and the image of Evan in the hallway outside the lab has been haunting every waking moment and every dreamless sleep. He should have called.

This time, Evan hums. But instead of answering Tommy's question with an assurance that everything is okay and that no, Tommy doesn't need to be suiting up and getting a chopper ready for another adventure only the 118 can conjure up, he just says, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

And Tommy has just awoken so he's a little slow in responding but he does get out a probably rude "But you hate movies."

"I never said I hated movies," Evan scoffs. Tommy laughs. "I just haven't seen a lot of them."

"And you want to watch one right now?"

"Yeah," Evan sighs. And then, "Come over. Watch a movie with me."

And it's not a helicopter request for a dangerous situation with lives hanging in the balance but there is life here, happening right now. A request that's so simple and so complicated at the same time.

The darkness of his room surrounds him and he stares right back, into the void he threw himself into in the weeks following a funeral he felt he had no right to be there for.

He can do a movie.

"I'm on my way."

--

tbc

[girllblogging777]

thinking about living with spencer reid

spencer, who’d never in his life been able to spend too much time with someone without feeling trapped or uncomfortable.

spencer, who, as much as he loved his job, needed silence and alone time at the end of the day, to “recharge his social battery” as he liked to call it.

spencer, whose entire life had shifted when he started dating you. because you saw him, and never made him feel different or weird. because you loved him.

spencer, who discovered what it felt like to share his space with someone. his books neatly placed next to yours on the shelf. his purple toothbrush next to your pink one above the bathroom sink. it all fit together perfectly.

spencer, who needed a bit of time to adjust. you respected when he needed to be alone, and you understood the moments when he didn’t feel like talking. after all, you knew him better than anyone.

spencer, who did everything to make you understand that despite his behaviour, he loved being the one to see you like this. with tangled hair in the morning and wearing his clothes while chilling around.

spencer, whose questionable diet you tried to fix. instead of his usual granola bars as dinner, you welcomed him with a warm meal every night. and he would eat anything you’d bake or cook, never without thanking you.

spencer, who would force you to stay in my bed “five more minutes” in the morning because now that he got to sleep with you every night, he was going to make the most of it. and his coworkers definitely noticed when he started showing up late at work.

spencer, who would cherish the moments he got to spend with you while he was off. he’d let you sleep in and attempt making pancakes, preparing your coffee just the way you like it.

spencer, who would also show his love for you in the smallest things. he’d stick post-its with cute “this made me think of you” quotes on the mirror before heading to work, and leave you messages on the fridge with the poetry magnets he’d bought when you moved in.

spencer, who did everything to be the best partner for you. doing the dishes, cleaning around and making the bed to relieve you because as comfortable as living with you was, he still felt like a burden sometimes.

spencer, who found himself looking forward to coming back to your shared apartment after a rough case. or anytime, really. because it was more that that. it was home.

[nalyra-dreaming]

And a SAM interview, too!!

(With GLASSES GUYS!! :))

Sam usually has a lot of questions

He thinks that Lestat would be very encouraging of Louis trying to be an artist

There is a level of unbreakable trust between Louis and Dreamstat, Louis thinks Dreamstat is the only one who would give him the truth

It's a very complex things to show this deep love between these characters and be supportive and to use Lestat as a very specific device - the framework that Louis needs to discover more about himself

There's a lot of hyperbolic descriptions in the first book and he needs to feel extreme, on the fringes of what's acceptable, because he's processed through the stories of people that he's hurt

It allows the show to the perimeters, and Lestat is used at this device that pushes (for example in the scene with Armand and his backstory)

Louis knows he is in another bullshit relationship (which is what Dreamstat vocalizes)

They are always operating on a higher meta level

They all have trauma

Them being vampires makes it easier to explore the dark parts (and makes them fun to explore)

Armand making Lestat a "Harlequin" was a very pointed choice within the tale - Armand sees Lestat as this hypersexual being which is also the superficial level of Lestat's trauma as well

Lestat is an object of desire to a lot of people and creatures, and through that he finds himself in a lot of shit situations

Lestat played this part (Harlequin) (in Armand's tale) that he never did (in the actual events (surmised))

"you are the thing you're pretending to be by saying you're not"

The theatre is a prison they created because the vampires are too extreme for society

Lots of parallels to society (doing the same)

Hannah Moscovitch gave Sam the original trial script(!!!) so it could be very clear to him

You don't always see all the hints, because it "would play the rug away from the deception", though Sam played it and it was edited

Alan Taylor said "do what you serves the story"

He realized he had to start feeding it what really happened

"Maybe he wasn't able to fully stand up, maybe there was something else going on"

You have to remember to give the characters agency

You want to make sure that Louis isn't just a "liar", you cannot go "everything he said was a lie"

The older "monsters" have a level of intensity and necessity for those they love to them - that is what he worked in with Emma Freeman as to the "why" Lestat was there at the trial - he just HAD to be there because of his love for his family

"That sparkly thing" that keeps Louis and Lestat together

After looking at Louis Lestat was improvising, because any previous negotiations with Armand flew out the window

Lestat had been told that Claudia was too young to turn

Lestat has experiences with turnings turn out badly

That is why he says what he says in the turning scene

"A vampire fledgling is not a puppy just for Christmas, it's eternal"

Claudia is actually the best vampire that could be

Lestat realizes on her death that he's messed up judging her

Because Claudia is the perfect vampire

Lestat apologizes in the trial, but not really in the reunion

Stuff happened when Lestat came back to NOLA that we don't know about yet(!!)

There's a vagrant part of the character that this turns up in the later books that they're bringing in there

Lestat is living in his personal ghost era

Lestat loves to feel, he is decadent in his feelings

There's some very fundamental "fucked up" things that happened to him, and that is why he cannot truly believe that he can be loved for who he is - and he was turned (into this monster) before he could actually learn to believe that

And Lestat tried to hide those parts of himself (from Louis), and they come out at these unfortunate moments

[delilahsturniolo]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 💌 everything but goodbye . . . c.s

in which . . . you can’t help but keep living in denial

warnings . . . grief, loss, hallucinations due to trauma, heavy and emotional distress & angst, death of a partner, mentions of a car crash, mental health struggles, slight panic attack, no happy ending, plot twist. please read with discretion and remember this is only fiction. i am in absolutely no way romanticizing any of these topics, this is simply for writing purposes, please scroll if you are uncomfortable.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

you don’t remember the first time he came back, only that one day you were alone, and the next, chris was there. he’d always been gentle with you. hands warm, voice quieter than usual. you thought it was because of how broken you were, because of the panic attacks, the way you woke up crying without knowing why, the long silences where your chest ached and your heart pounded and you couldn’t breathe.

but chris never made you feel ashamed. he’d stroke your hair, press kisses to your knuckles. whisper, “it’s okay. i’ve got you.” and you believed him, you always do. even when you couldn’t remember the last time he texted you first. even when his calls never showed up in your logs.

you told yourself, grief messes with time. trauma makes memory fuzzy. maybe you’re just healing slowly. he was here now. that’s what mattered.

every day, you woke up just after sunrise and found his hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. he always left before you opened your eyes, something about “early meetings,” but his scent lingered on your pillow. sometimes he’d show up at night, knocking softly, eyes tired, rain dripping from his hair.

you never asked questions. you were just so glad he kept coming back to you. you have a box of keepsakes you don’t open anymore. photos. love notes. polaroids of the two of you from that summer in hawaii, your legs over his lap, sand in your hair, sunburn on his nose.

you don’t open the box because it hurts. but more than that, you don’t open it because you don’t need to. because he’s still here.

the day everything unravels, you wake up with a strange feeling in your chest. like static. like something important is shifting, and your body knows before your mind catches up. it’s storming outside. thunder rolls low and heavy, and the windows rattle with wind. you wrap yourself in a blanket and pad into the kitchen, hoping chris left a note or a cup of coffee warming in the pot.

there’s nothing. your stomach sinks.

you try calling him, something you haven’t done in a while, because he always just…shows up. but the number doesn’t ring. disconnected. you frown, try again. same thing.

you check his socials. haven’t been updated in almost a year.

weird.

weird.

weird.

your fingers tremble as you open the box you swore you’d never touch again.

inside, everything’s just as you left it, except now you’re seeing it like it’s brand new. a photo, creased down the middle. chris’s handwriting on the back.

our last beach trip. best weekend of my life.

you turn it over. you’re in his arms. his lips on your cheek. but there’s a date written in the corner. almost a year ago.

almost exactly the same week the dreams started. no. you flip through the stack. ticket stubs. a dried flower from the bouquet he gave you on your birthday. a ripped envelope.

and then, at the very bottom, a folded piece of paper you don’t remember ever seeing before. it has your name on it. in his handwriting.

hey love,

i’m writing this because sometimes words spoken aren’t enough. sometimes, life feels too heavy, too unpredictable. i don’t know if i’ll get to say all of this out loud again, so here it is

you are everything. every quiet moment, every laugh we shared, they’re all pieces of my heart.

if tonight is the last time i get to come home to you, please don’t carry any blame.

this isn’t on you. it’s on fate, on chance, on something neither of us could control.

promise me you’ll keep fighting, keep living in color, for the both of us.

i’ll be watching, in every breeze, every shadow that dances with you.

and i’ll be loving you, forever.

so don’t give up on yourself. don’t give up on us.

please.

all my love,

chris.

your vision blurs. your whole body goes cold.

you drop the letter.

and then it all comes back at once.

the sirens.

the hospital call.

his car getting flipped over, all because the rain was too heavy, he went off the road. the letter…he had a feeling of what was going to happen. he knew, his gut told him to write that letter. and that’s why he gave you an extra long hug, and deeper kiss before he left. he only wrote the letter just in case he didn’t come back, little did you both know, he didn’t come back.

all because he was in a rush, picking up flowers for you because you were upset that day. the moment doctors pulled you into a sterile room with shaking hands and quiet eyes and said, “we’re so sorry…we did the best we could..”

you fell apart. and then…you forgot. you forced yourself to forget. and your mind, aching for him, started stitching together pieces of what used to be. it pulled his voice from voicemails. it built his silhouette out of shadows and old clothes. it conjured the ghost of a boy who’d never let you cry alone.

you didn’t heal. you hallucinated love.

and now, now that you remember, he’s gone. really gone. no more footsteps in the hallway. no more kisses to your shoulder. no more “i’ll be back soon.” just silence. you sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, as the storm crashes against the windows. and for the first time in almost a year, you truly cry for him.

not a ghost. not a dream. just the boy you loved. and lost. you sit up, frantically shaking your head, dusting yourself off. no no no, what are you thinking!? he’s not gone, he’s still here, obviously.

right…?

© delilahsturniolo

💌: i was afraid to post this

[4ranghaes]

in their recent live, jaehyun & leehan talked about how they both have naturally curly hair but have no idea how to take care of it, and leehan asked onedoors how to care for curly hair. as someone with curly hair myself that made me think about how cute it would be to wash leehans hair and do some hair care for him <3

kim leehan x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader, kinda curly haired!reader but the mention is very minimal]

a/n: this is so cute😭😭 also as someone who has only recently discovered/starting care of their curly hair i love it !!

19:29 - “ah leave me alone!”

“donghyun,” you sighed, “you need to start doing this otherwise your hair is always gonna look like shit.”

leehan sighed dramatically as you laughed, rolling your eyes. your boyfriend was sat on the floor, drinking coke out of a bowl with a long swirly straw as he watched the tv: his favourite youtube channel, a guy who took care of exotic fish.

you were sat behind him on the sofa, carding your fingers through his hair.

“please can you just go and wash it for me, baby,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning over his head so you could see his face, and he could see you. leehan sighed, you could see he was sulking as he often did.

“you need to shower anyway. go and do it quickly then i’ll sit behind you and do everything. we do this once a week for a while, and your curls will be beautiful. i promise.”

“they’re already too ruined,” he cried, though he was already stood up, walking to the bathroom.

you smiled, following after him and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, continuing to talk to him as he showered. it was a small, domestic act the two of you often did (though more often than not it was leehan sitting while you showered).

“thank you, baby,” you cooed as he wrapped a towel around his waist, stepping out the shower. you sat on the side of the sink, watching as he applied some creams to his face.

“i need to shave,” he muttered, looking at his face side to side in the mirror. you placed a hand on his cheek and he looked to you, putting on a dopey smile.

“you’re so handsome,” you smiled, leaning in and kissing his lips. a genuine smile graced leehan’s features as he kissed you back, his hand going to your waist.

“go and get dressed,” you instructed, tapping his chest as you pulled away, “i’ll be waiting on the sofa.”

leehan just whined before nodding his head, continuing to do so as he walked out the bathroom and to your bedroom, where his overnight clothes were packed for the weekend at your place. when he returned to the living room, you were sat on the sofa and a bag of jellies had appeared on the coffee table.

“just sit here,” you sat, patting at the side of the sofa between your legs, “i’ll do all the work, i promise.”

your boyfriend still had a towel draped over his hair, which you removed as he sat down, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. you got to work on his hair, glancing up at the tv every now and then.

you adjusted his head’s position with two hands. “what’s that one, baby? that purple one, she’s pretty.”

“that’s a betta,” he answered, arms curled up so his hands were resting on your thighs as you started to brush out his hair while it was still wet. after there were no tangles left, you applied some curl cream into your hands and started scrunching his mid-length, tri-coloured hair. “they’re super beautiful, right? but also very territorial, so if we wanted to raise some they’d have to live in their own tank.”

“oh, that’s annoying,” you hummed, absentmindedly scrunching and scrunching, “i like seeing the different types of fish get on.”

leehan hummed in agreement, leaning down to drink some coke. you started curling individual pieces round your fingers next, holding them in position so they’d stay. leehan stayed fixated on the tv.

“it’s like seeing a big dog with a small dog,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. you hummed in question, and he expanded, “it’s nice to see them get along. cause technically they’re all the same, but they look so different.”

you chuckled, nodding, “yeah, no, exactly.”

it fell silent again, except for the odd rustling of the jelly packet, until leehan spoke.

“what are you doing?”

“i’m curling it round my finger, baby,” you said, softly, “cause sometimes there are some random strands that aren’t very curly, so to make it more even, you have to manually curl them. plus for others it just makes it more defined.”

leehan hummed, nodding at your explanation, “what’s the product?”

“i put a curl cream on, this one,” you said, showing him the pot, “and then after i’m gonna put this gel on.” he took the products, reading the labels. “then after that, we’re gonna diffuse your hair and put some oil on. mine doesn’t take very well to diffusing and oil, but you have very frizzy hair, so it might work? i don’t know, but we’ll try it today.” you took the gel, squeezing some onto your hands before scrunching, and scrunching some more.

“also you have to do this,” you said, bringing it forward more so he could see the motion, “this is the most important.” he nodded diligently.

you finally stopped, wiping the product off your hands with the towel, before picking up the hairdryer you’d plugged in beside you. leehan screwed up his face, wincing as the loud sound began just beside his ear. he leaned forward to drink some more coke as you started massaging the diffuser all around his head.

when it was mostly dry, you put the hairdryer down, leehan leaning back and resting his head on your lap as you began to scrunch at his hair again.

“come on, get up. just one last step,” you said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

leehan sighed as he got up, deciding to change his position to sit beside you on the sofa. he sat cross-legged, facing your body as you reached to put some oil just on the ends, helping the chronic poofy frizziness of your boyfriend’s hair.

“okay, done,” you smiled, as he got out his phone to look at the finished result. it looked very similar to when the stylists curled his hair for performances and schedules, but this time he could run his hand through it and it felt healthy, not full of product or crunchy.

he smiled, putting his phone down and staring at you. you’d already sat back against the sofa after chucking all the products on the coffee table, sipping your drink while watching the man feed the fish. leehan continued staring.

you hummed, opening your arm for him to fall into, which he did, cuddling up to your side.

“thank you for taking care of me,” he whispered, turning so he was laying on his back, staring up at you. “no one’s ever done this for me before.”

you looked down at him and smiled, “it’s my job, baby. to take care of you.”

“i think it’s my job to take care of you, actually,” he said, pulling your arm around his body.

“yeah, whatever,” you teased, leaning down and kissing his shoulder, “we look after each other, hmm? my curly boy.”

[elodieunderglass]

Ok, so Bren’n’Blaw have been riding shotgun with me at work this morning and I’ve got questions.

What did they think when Bill married Helena? Did they like her? Do they think she’s good for him? Bad for him? TOO good for him?

Not that she would ever need help making or disposing of a body, but I assume they would help her, if only for her family’s sake. But does Helena like them?? Does she know about the mutual murder pact between the B’s?

Also, I assume they’re versatile fixers. In the normal course of things I wouldn’t think a dead body would turn up more than once every other year or so. In the offseason, do they help fudge financing at tax time? Do they hunt down deadbeat dads and encourage child support? Are they the scary but competent but no you were right the first time actually unnervingly scary people at the horse auctions you never try to scam?

Oh dear, I’m so sorry, what a pair of shifty hitchhikers!

When Bill was courting Helena, she set him some quests. Sure, he made her feel safe, and she fancied him in a weird way that grew on her, and it all represented a massive two fingers up to her parents; but she was still lowering herself to marry him, and figured she might as well get some errands done. Helena does not mind about the crime. She thought this was a relevant perk.

Bren’n’Blaw helped with the quests. They have very little sense of what is normal, and at the time, were painfully loyal to Bill. They knew Bill wanted to marry and raise a brood of champions, so they buckled up and trotted off to slay Helena’s dragons for her. That’s probably what women like. Who knows. Despite their fascinating personal lives they are not romantic themselves.

They did not like Helena being English. They were unfazed by her snobbery. They admitted that she is very pretty. I don’t know if Helena converted to Catholicism or was an outlier for her time and place and class who already was, but surprisingly, that wasn’t something Bren’n’Blaw actually cared much about.

She, in turn, understood their utility, but disliked everything else.

When the twins arrived, and Helena discovered she didn’t like them, and Bill was working two jobs across two countries before fully retiring from being a jockey, he naturally deputised his henchmen to look after the babies. Blaw and the Saint were simultaneously very good and very bad babysitters (“baby want smoko” / “put baby in pelican mouth” level of bonkers, but physically surprisingly capable of keeping babies alive, and cheerfully interested in doing so) and they pressed the rest of the family into service. Helena kept having kids, and not liking them, and Bren’n’Blaw kept throwing them loosely into the back of the Land Rover and feeding them on horse vitamins, and potty training by letting them run wild with nothing on the bottom. Everyone liked this state of affairs, and Helena got to pick towering magnificent quarrels about the PEASANTS STEALING HER CHILDREN, without having to wipe any snotty noses or pack any lunches. Perfect!

Bren’n’Blaw were furious about the loss of Charlie and spent a lot of time looking for him - never stopping, really. It became a kind of quest in itself, and obviously was always doomed to be fruitless. This schism started sending major cracks through a family that would otherwise be clannish.

In theory, on Albert’s death, Blaw and the Saint inherit the stud operation up the driveway and the old house, with Bill’s stronghold always having been the training yard. I think the stud operation has to close down, though - they’re all fading in influence and cash.

These days they’re getting on in years, and there are a lot of competing tensions - Bill’s spinal injury, the lack of succession planning - and they spend a lot of time on horsey errands. I think they disappear quite a lot of unwanted horses, which are always a problem, and in addition to training racehorses and doing a thousand all-consuming horsey chores, they probably practice a certain amount of weird DIY vet stuff and quasi-farrier work. There are vague disputes around the territories of other racing dynasties that I intend to fictionalise heavily. They do a surprisingly good line in looming, for ex-jockeys, and can do menacing for a discount.

They are not very nice people, mostly because of the lack of moral compass, but they are devoted to Killie.

They sound like a loopy pair of unadoptable bonded rescue cats who are also comedy Arthurian knights. Sorry.

[perfectlyoongi]

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who spends your first week on the job helping you settle in. with a smile on his face and joy at having the opportunity to make a new friend, Jimin passed on all his knowledge through playful words and cordial gestures. during the first week, Jimin managed to give you all the information you needed to survive that job without overwhelming you — it was a gift from him, to calm you down and leave permanent marks on your soul with just his simple words. when you arrived at the office in the second week, nothing seemed as big as you imagined; you already knew that the elevator on the left didn't go higher than the third floor and that the coffee maker on the second floor made the best coffee; you already knew how to understand your bosses' mood and who to trust in the office. all the big things, all the small things — Jimin made sure you were a part of the company before you even devoted yourself to it. “you can go eat at the bar, they serve good salads and sandwiches. but here's my advice: at the end of the street there's a restaurant that sells good, fast and cheap food. i'll take you there later. oh! about the emergency stairs…”

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who can perfectly make that drink that recharges your energy. Jimin almost instantly learned your preferences when it came to work breaks; not only did he know when you took your breaks, he also quickly learned what you did on each break. and, although they are all necessary and well distributed, your first break, when you are still trying to wake your brain to reality, was the most important for you. it was this break that made you work the rest of the day. it was that pause that grabbed you with all its strength and carry you for the rest of the day. and Jimin knew that it was during this break that you had that drink that automatically made you ready to face the day. “good morning and good work! here's your drink and a coupon for a free drink with your next purchase. what do you say? do you want to go for a coffee with me after work?”

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who leans against you when he gets lost in laughter. Jimin thought everyone should have a relationship like yours at work — it was so much easier to get through the day when you had someone who not only understood you, but tried to understand you. you were the perfect coworker and Jimin couldn't let go of you. every moment was important to Jimin; all the stories you told were engraved in his heart; all the laughs shared with you, especially the ones that make your stomach hurt, fed his soul. it was just fantastic to share one of the best feelings with you. eyes closed, mouths open almost without making a sound and hands and arms reaching out to each other for support and strength to recompose yourselves — this was the best reason to live.

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who blushes slightly whenever the two of you make eye contact. there were times when you were bored or procrastinating and you would start looking around waiting for that divine energy that would force you to work. and in those moments, when you saw tables and lights, shoes and computers, there were a few seconds when you looked at Jimin and saw him looking at you. you wanted to smile, wave, show him that that split second was something you liked, but before you could even process what you saw, Jimin had already gone back to looking at his work with a light pink tint painting his cheeks and ears. it was just a second — you thought it was too short, but Jimin swore it was infinite.

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who asks you the most random things just to have a conversation with you. you thought Jimin had already asked you everything. what groceries did you like to shop the most; what was your favorite vegetable; did you have twin cousins? what color was the letter 'a' and what did the number 45 smell like? the list was extensive, almost as long as the seconds shared between the two of you, but it was something so fun that you went into work every day excited to find out what question he was going to ask you now. every day was a surprise created by Jimin. and each day was lighter with Jimin's effort. “yesterday i was preparing dinner and i was curious about something. forks, right? do you think the ones with 4 prongs bully the ones with 3 prongs? what do you think? yea, i confess i spent a long time pondering the hierarchy of forks.”

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who discovers the compliments your colleagues exchange behind your back and can't keep it a secret. when Jimin walked through the hallways and heard whispers that contained your name, he automatically focused on what might be being said. Jimin's smile widened when he realized that only compliments were exchanged between your colleagues, all directed at you. “they talked about your effort and dedication,” you would swear Jimin was going to tear his face from smiling so much. “how you grew so fast and keep improving. the chief of the other division has already asked about you here at the office. and i think he wants to talk to you to bring you to his department!”

CO-WORKER!JIMIN who asks why it wouldn't work. if until now you and Jimin have danced in sync on the lines of relationships, swinging between friendship and love with every smile exchanged; if until now you and Jimin have confessed all the shame and fear and kept them in the grooves of each other's souls; if until now you and Jimin have worked out as friends, best friends, coworkers, accomplices in pranks, fake couples and so many other things; if until now you and Jimin were happy together, why wouldn't it work? “are you saying we're wrong? both of us. wrong? no. impossible. do you really think you came into my life just to say hi to me and then leave after eight hours? be honest. if our souls weren't meant to intertwine in the threads of destinies and create their own story, why would we be in each other's lives? if not to love you, why was i made?”

[honorhearted]

"As a former schoolteacher, I can attest to practice being the best method," Benjamin quipped, attempting to calm his shallow breaths. "Positive reinforcement works, too." With a shy little grin, he nodded down at their discarded book. "Perhaps I shouldn't have paired this with one of my favorite pastimes...there's no need to distract myself, as well."

Fantine nuzzled into his palm then, soft and sweet, and much like a summer bloom seeking sunlight. Her frailty and strength touched his heart, and nudging his nose into hers, Benjamin accepted her kiss with a buoyant leap in his chest.

"I... I've never... Never felt like that before— even with Cosette's father."

Eyes opening anew, Benjamin peered back at her from across the pillow, his heart beating in a steady staccato rhythm. "Her father was a fool," he whispered. Even though Benjamin didn't know the entire story, he was certain of this conviction. Swallowing low in his throat, he reached down and entwined their fingers, fondly squeezing. "You don't have to thank me for what I gladly give." Here, Benjamin lifted her hand to his lips. "If you'll allow it, I hope to 'give you such pleasure' for a long, long time."

To his surprise, Fantine turned the question around on himself -- she asked if he regretted it -- and with an incredulous smile, he was quick to shake his head. "No," Benjamin vowed. "Never. I have many regrets in this life, but you will never be one of them." With an impish smile, he added, "Most especially if all our nights can end on such a high note."

Fondly, he traced the thumb from his free hand over her cheek. "I want to take you everywhere...show you everything you've ever wanted. I don't have much, but I vow to be whatever you need from now until the rest of our lives."

His fingers were a surprise, but she made quick work to start sucking them, her tongue travelling around his digits and showing him exactly what she could do with her tongue. Another time, one she found herself wanting in the near future.

If he didn't want her to be so loud, he'd have to make sure that his cock didn't feel so good.

As soon as his fingers left her worshipping mouth and gripped the bedframe, Fantine knew he was close. Having him spill between her, the warmth of his seed decorating her thighs was enough for her to shudder in response, crazed by the way she had caused him to not only come undone, but become so animalistic.

He had been nothing but the perfect gentleman, his apparent concern for purity a source of amusement for Fantine. Hearing him curse, seeing him take her with such primal want, the way his hair fell across his eyes. God, she was drunk on that side of him; a side she didn't get to see until now.

Her own chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, her head following him as he pulled out of her and collapsed to her side. In the moment, she'd entirely forgotten that they were in fact sailing across the ocean. Her sickness was long since forgotten, and what better way to celebrate...

"Mm, but I'm sure we can practice for that in the meantime," she joked, her smile reflecting his own.

His concern was a contrast to the moment they had just shared. For a moment she watched the flames flickering in his eyes, her chest finally easing as her body calmed next to his. She pushed into his touch slightly, allowing his hand to rest against her cheek. "I'm sure I'll feel it tomorrow." Her lips curved into a grin and she laughed, both at her quip and in disbelief that she had allowed herself to be so carnal, so forward. "But I'm okay, Ben."

She leaned forward to press her lips against his briefly, pushing herself up so she could settle against his chest.

"I... I've never... Never felt like that before— even with Cosette's father." Fantine stared at the ceiling, her eyes tracing patterns in the shadows cast against it. "I— thank you. For listening to me and caring. I've never had the pleasure of such."

She paused, her hand finding his own as she tried to ground herself once more. Her body was still trembling with adrenaline, her muscles contracting and releasing despite the act being over. "And you? Was this... was it okay?" she asked, immediately expecting his rejection, his disgust. "You... don't regret it?"

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Okay but hear me out on US being a horrifying Yandere for Frank, or literally any other neighbor (besides Wally smh..) Like after all this time of the puppets hearing about human strength, resilience, silence, ect ect, it'd kind of be a horror movie no?

You didn't specify what relationship this is (platonic or romantic) so I wrote it as platonic.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Platonic yandere Reader

Frank

★ At first, Frank really didn't think much of it. You were always an active listener. Paying close attention to whatever he was saying. And asking questions that never seemed to end. He could tell you liked listening to him. But it never struck him as odd.

★ You remember every little thing he says. And have learned to anticipate his needs or wants before he mentions it. You adjust things exactly how he would. Making everything just so. It's nice, but not if you do this in your own home.

★ Sometimes, playing with you can be off putting. “Neighbor… you’re scaring me.” Not once does he think you'll hurt anybody. He sees the Reader as harmless. That, even if you wanted to, you wouldn't hurt somebody. Thought the truth is much darker than that.

Sally

★ She's always loved a good drama. But this is real life. And now that she's living in it, she's going to make the best of it. Treating you a bit like an assistant. Seeing as your so eager to help. "Oh, it's surely just admiration! From their fine taste in theater. No doubt!"

★ Still, the way you look at her, your gaze lingers. It's slightly unsettling. Sally wants to call it paranoia. She tells herself 'I'm overreacting' as you watch her every move. She wouldn't know, but your actually stalking her.

★ The hardest part is that you're so kind. You never ask for anything in return. Never make her feel unsafe. You just exist. Always ready to help and happy to do so. This isn't a role she chose. You did, and now she cant tell who's the director.

Eddie

★ It's almost funny how often he sees you! He goes to turn a corner and you're already there. Little does he know, you've memorized his schedule. “You’re always around, huh?” He tries to laugh it off, you were there first. If anything he's the weird one for always running into you.

★ Eddie feels guilty over being scared of you. Even if its just for a brief second. You would never do anything to hurt him. You've been nothing but kind to him! So why does he feel this way? Something in his stomach twists when he thinks about it too much.

[sly-s-n0nfusion]

🏳️‍🌈 Travelers sexualities headcanons 🏳️‍🌈

Since we’re officially in pride month I felt like writing a little post where I share my lgbtq+ headcanons for the travelers :) please keep in mind that this is just for fun and it's okay to disagree with me. If you wanna share your headcanons under my post please do because I'm also curious to hear everyone's thoughts!

Ot1

H'aanit - Lesbian

I think she likes women who are stronger than her (ref intended) looking at how flustered she becomes at Primrose’s question… yeah. She also has some really cute dialogues with Eliza and the rest of the girls in the party

Therion - Bisexual

I like to think Therion swings both ways. I ship him hard with Alfyn so I think he’s into boys but that might be like, his second boy crush after Darius. The idea of him also liking girls though is too entertaining to me to ignore (he also makes a really good pair with Tressa) and you can bet girls find him hot cute

Alfyn - Bisexual

Similarly to Therion, I like to think Zeph was his first boy crush and we do have several canon moments in the game that show that Alfyn is attracted to girls so bisexual king it is

Primrose - Lesbian

I like to think Primrose liked boys too, before… well, working at Helgenish’s tavern. I refuse to believe the girl still wants to be around men sexually/romantically after what she’s gone through. Yusufa might have been the one who made her realize that she loves women a lot more than men

Olberic - Bisexual, homoromantic

I debated for so long in my own head about whether Olberic is bisexual or he’s just gay but when I look at him and think about some interactions with women he has in the game I always think “yeah he is also attracted to women”. BUT I also think he is only capable of loving men romantically since he’s probably spent a great part of his life being in men-dominated military environments since childhood and never really got the chance to experience life alongside women who weren’t his mother

Tressa - Bisexual

Little bisexual gremlin. Her relationship with Ali and Noa. I don’t think I need to say anything else

Cyrus - Gay, demisexual

I played ch1 of his story and it was clear to me that he is not attracted to women in any way. I like to believe his tastes in romance are very specific and this narrows his partner choice down to very few people who can make Cyrus Albright fall in love. I like to think that other than being a man, it has to be someone he looks up to, someone he can trust, someone he’s spent a significant amount of time with and someone who shares his view of making the world a better place (it’s Olberic. I hc that Olberic is literally the only person in the game Cyrus can fall in love with lol)

Ophilia - Straight

Last but not least! I know Ophilia has a lot of queer ™️ coded travel banters. I just. I just think she prefers boys, or that she can be homoromantic at most. It was mainly the travel banter “for women’s ears only”, she was a little bit too specific when it came to describe her ideal man. I like to ship her with Miles of the knights ardante and I also think she’d want (many) children of her own

Ot2

Osvald - Straight

He’s the only traveler who’s had a canon relationship and it was with a woman. I find it adorable. I also think he’s really emotionally unavailable after what happened to his wife so he doesn’t think much about romance in general so I think he’s just straight

Castti - Sad lesbian

Everything about Castti just screams homosexuality to me. I am convinced her and Malaya had something going on. She never seem to show interest in men throughout the game, especially in the all-women banter. Honestly I stan a lesbian queen

Temenos - Aromantic, asexual

First aroace hc of mine! He just gives off a strong “aroace dude who flirts with people for fun” vibe to me and I like that a lot. I might also be influenced by the fact that I live in a place that is mainly catholic and priests must make a celibacy vow so like. It just feels right to see him as aroace when he likes to tease Crick and basically everyone so much, I think it makes a nice, funny contrast

Partitio - Bisexual

We stan another bisexual king. His story is full of men and what does he do? He asks if they want him to take off his shirt. That’s kinda queer if you ask me! But I also like some of his banters with Throné and Agnea and I find both pairings very cute.

Ochette - Asexual

Now this was a hard one because of the (quite annoying) childish characterization they gave Ochette in the game. She only seems to love jerky but I know she’s capable of loving others romantically.

Agnea - Straight

This girl likes boys to me! Might be because of her cute flirt with Hikari in the game, but she doesn’t strikes me as someone who’s interested in girls. I really liked her moments with Gus and Gil. After all there’s already a lesbian power couple in her story and it’s Dolcinaea and Veronica /j

Throné - Bisexual, homoromantic

Now I had a hard time with Throné but the main reason why I think she’d only be capable of loving girls is the conflicting relationships she has with male figures in her life. She’s got Father. She’s got Pirro and Scaracci. She’s got Claude who did that. Everytime she tried to trust the men in her life it went bad. So I think that while she can still be attracted to men, her heart only trusts girls

Hikari - Straight

Same as Agnea basically. He doesn’t really give me a reason in his story to believe he also likes boys

Wow the straight travelers percentage is a lot higher in ot2 than it is in ot1 to me lol

Please share your hcs as well if you want, I’m happy to hear them :) peace!

[luxiemylove]

Coffee Smell & Lilac Skin

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female!reader

Summary: You get jealous watching a love scene between Pedro and his co-star, so he shows you who he belongs to.

A/n: This is inspired by ‘Everybody Here Wants You’ by Jeff Buckley, enjoy!

Warnings: foul language, jealousy, overstimulation, oral fem!recieving, face sitting and face riding.

WC: 2k

“How come you don’t ever kiss me like that?” You complained, glaring up at him with your chin on his shoulder. You were referring to the passionate scene of him kissing a girl against the wall in his new movie.

Pedro lets out a huff and shakes his head. “First of all, yes I do and second of all, I didn’t ask to, it was in the script!”

He’s right, but you still can’t push down the feeling of jealousy surging through you. You’re jealous that another person gets to feel his lips on theirs, gets to feel his arms wrapped around her and the way his eyes flutter closed. It’s all exactly how he looks like when he does that stuff with you. So, watching your boyfriend do that stuff with someone that isn’t you is so jarring to say the least, but at the end of the day you know it’s still just acting, and that after the cameras are turned off for the night and the crew goes home, he’s doing all of that for real with you and only you. But even though you’re not really angry with him, you still don’t feel like doing anything else but pouting.

You stay quiet, focusing on the screen in front of you in the living area of your house, not giving Pedro the pleasure of looking at him. The movie then paused, forcing you to look at him. “Baby, if it really has you so worked up, how about I just show you?”

His question catches you off guard and you shift off his shoulder to look at him properly. “Show me? Show me what?”

But as soon as the question leaves your mouth, Pedro’s lips are on yours and he is flipping you down so your body is underneath him on the couch. Everything happens so fast that you barely comprehend what’s happening until he’s caging you in with his arms on either side of your head, legs either side of your hips. Your heart races when you look up and see that familiar look in his eyes.

You don’t even try to stop the whine that escapes you and Pedro just grins in satisfaction as he leans down, his face hovering mere centimetres away from yours. “Show you what it’s like being under me, no cameras, just us.”

God his words went straight to your core, your stomach doing a front flip. But you didn’t wanna give in that easily. Give him the pleasure of knowing how much he can get to you, how well he knows your wants and needs. You keep the pout on your lips and turn your cheek away from him.

He sighs, his hot breath fanning your face as he did so, but your refusal made him even more determined to make you fold. “Come on baby, don’t act like that. It isn’t real, this- this is real and I know you know the difference.”

He presses his lips against the sweet spot on your neck, feeling the way your pulse jumps under the kiss at the action. You let out a sigh of satisfaction at the feeling despite yourself and turned your face back to him. He looked up at you as he sucked his way down your neck, leaving marks there like a goddamn teenager.

The familiar feeling of his hands wandering around your sides and stomach made your skin feel hot and you did your best to ignore the traitorous rush of arousal between your thighs. You can only pretend to be mad at him for so long until you snapped. You gave in. It was hard not to when he worked up your body in ways only he knew how to do.

You still wanted to drag your fake annoyance out a little longer. “I don’t know.. you looked like you were enjoying yourself- kissing that gi-“ You cut yourself off with a whine when he sucked on a sensitive spot on your neck, causing Pedro to chuckle against your skin.

Dick.

“Are you being a brat on purpose or are you really mad?” He said against your neck, his voice damn near a rumble.

“Mm- yes.. I am- very mad.” You said, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle your gasps.

“Oh yeah?” He said, trailing his hand down your stomach between your thighs. His hand slipped under your sweatpants and under your underwear, slipping through your folds.

You gave up.

A whine escaped your lips at the feeling of two of Pedro’s meaty fingers slipping through your folds. “Because I think if you were really mad at me.. this pussy wouldn’t be so wet.” He mumbled.

“Okay.. you win- now please just fuck me.” You whimpered out pathetically. You were done pretending you didn’t want him, because fuck, you did. Pedro smiled to himself and crawled down your body and situated himself between your thighs. He tugged down both your panties and sweatpants at the same time in one smooth motion.

“Oh baby.” He sighed as he saw exactly how desperate you were for him, two of his fingers dragged through your folds. “This all for me?”

You whined and gripped onto his curls. “Well who else would it be for?” You said in frustration, just needing to feel his lips on your.. other ones.

He chuckled softly, his breath fanning your glistening pussy. You placed your legs over his broad shoulders. Pedro sat up and removed his shirt, tossing it away beside the bundle of your clothes on the floor. His hand drifted up his stomach and cupped your breast through your small crop top. His lips pressed to your inner thighs in wet, hot kisses, making you even more desperate to feel his mouth latched onto your clit.

“Oh- please Pedro.. please I’m sorry for being bratty- I just- I need you..” You babbled out, brain scrambled from the way he was teasing you.

“Oh I know, I know. Can you spread these legs a little more for me?”

Pedro was on a little bit of a power trip when you started to respond to him so quickly. He wouldn’t judge, but it was amazing to him how easy you were to crack open. He rubbed a small circle into your clit to feel how ready you were and god, were you ready for him.

Even the smallest of movements on your pussy was making you feel your impending orgasm bubbling up in your stomach. “Fuck Pedro,” You moaned out, biting your bottom lip.

“You know, you’re not the only one who gets jealous baby.” He started, leaning down to lap at your pussy, tasting you on his tongue. “When we go out, people stare- at you. Everybody wants you.” He said, sucking your clit in between his lips.

“That’s not- oh fuck.. true.” You gasped out, eyes rolling dumbly as he pleasured your pussy. “They’re looking at you because your famous dumbass..”

“Oh I’m not talking about fans baby. I’m talking about other guys.” He said, sliding two fingers into your warm cunt and curling them expertly to hit that spot, causing you to cry out. “You think I don’t notice how other guys look at you when we’re out?”

“Just.. just want you though- I don’t want them..” At that he groaned and pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss. He moved his mouth down to your cunt, replacing his fingers with his tongue.

“I know you do, that’s why I don’t get jealous baby girl.” He said, his voice muffled against your pussy. Lewd, wet noises filled the room alongside your cries. He flattened his tongue against your dripping pussy and lapped upward so very tenderly that it had you twitching and squirming above him.

You pant heavily, hips grinding over the wet, pink muscle below for more friction in a needy manner. Pedro’s thick fingers slid up to your waist and before you knew it, he was flipping you up onto his lap, sitting back on the couch. “Come here and ride my face baby.”

You blinked. Everything happened so fast that what he said didn’t even register. “What?”

“Ride my face, honey.”

“Are you-“

Before you could answer he had gripped your hips and placed you down to sit on his face. The direct contact of his mouth was almost too much. His fingers dug almost painfully into your hips, forcing you to ride his face. Fast.

Although you couldn’t see it, Pedro was lifting his hips up and down as he feasted on your pussy like a starved man, his cock pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, giving him a decent amount of friction. A sticky bit of precum was wetting up his boxers where his tip was, his cock so very desperate for you. But, he’d force himself to wait. Your pleasure was more important at the minute.

His lips cupped your cunt, slurping at your juices, some slipping out of his mouth and dribbling down his face. Not that he actually cared.

“Fuck, baby that f-feels so good- nghh-ah!” You whine desperately above him. He’s been at it for a minute now but his tongue is so fucking skilful that you couldn’t be sure of the timeframe.

Pedro retracts his head just a little bit to spit a glob of saliva onto your clit. “So messy honey, you know I love when you get all worked up for me.” Then he’s leaning up again and suckling your clit into his mouth once again. His tongue dashes around the sensitive bundle of nerves, hand dripping down to curl your fingers into his hair as you roll your hips forward.

“Mmm.. yeah ride my face baby.” He encouraged, his words making you impossibly wetter. His tongue sinks back down and slithers back inside of you, searing against your plush walls as he moans into you. Your legs started to close around his head and his fingers dug into your thighs. “F-fuck i’m gonna cum..”

He just nods below you, lidded eyes revealing his zero intent of slowing down. Your taste was so addicting to him, he could eat this pussy for hours and hours and never get tired.

Pedro would have his mouth latched to your pussy until his jaw locked and he would still keep going. You could squirt on his face, beg him to give you a break, or even try pulling away from him, but he’d always drag you back, tell you to take it.

As you cum in his mouth, his cock is throbbing in his sweats, itching to be inside you. When you finally come undone and begin to pant softly above him, he slows down.

“Can you give me one more?”

You shake your head. “I’m tired Pedro..”

He frowns. “Come on, you can’t be that tired. I thought we built your stamina?” He kisses the inside of your thighs.

You pouted. “I’m tired.” You say again.

“Uh huh. And I’m still trying to make you feel good baby.” He tells you with an innocent expression. “C’mon, gimme a few more and then we can cuddle.”

“Baby, you’ll still be begging for some more afterward though, it happens every time.” You huff out as you recall all the last times he’s eaten you out and promised he would want you afterward.

Pedro chuckles. “That’s because you always get needy and beg for my cock after.”

“I.. ,” Heat rushes to your face. “I.. do not..”

“Yeah you do.” He argues. “Shut me up and put that pretty pussy back on my face.”

And you do.

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Hi hi! I hope you're doing well, Lovely, your works are just... UGH‼️ I need them in my VEINS, IMMEDIATELY. You write L so well, I love your fics so much!!

Anywhooo...I've never requested anything before, and I could find a rules post from you about requests, so I don't know if I'm doing this right or anything. I'm so sorry if I do this wrong 😭😭

ANYWAY, Om to the request 😋, I was thinking, you know how when people get mad in fights and give the other person the silent treatment? Wellll, I was wondering how Yan!L would react to that, the reader refusing to acknowledge his presence.

Hope this was okay, and don't forget to eat and drink and all that good stuff!! We love you!! <3

Hii!! Tysm for the request, I should really put up some rules so it's easier for people to ask 😅 this one's short, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

it's been two weeks.

He thought this was a little tiff, nothing serious, but you haven't spoken to him in two weeks.

He really did hurt your feelings, didn't he?

He could make you sit with him, make you lay with him, make you eat with him, but he couldn't make you speak to him.

All because he said he didn't love you.

He doesn't know why he said it. He supposed...he didn't want you to get so comfortable. This method works for him, usually. He strings you along with a lack of affection, and then smothers you with it before you question your purpose with him in the first place.

This time, you had come up behind him when he was working, and hugged his shoulders. "You love me, don't you," you had asked.

he was feeling playful. Or...mean. Or maybe he was annoyed at the interruption. In any case, he had said, "love is a heavy word."

He only wanted to play semantics. He only wanted to pick on you.

You frowned, and stood upright. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mn...To say I love you would be to say I cannot live without you."

you came around the side of the couch, and stood before him. "You...have to love me," you urged.

"I don't have to do anything."

"But you have to do this. You have to-" you were interrupted by the tears welling in your eyes, by the hiccuping in your throat.

He should have stopped when he saw your lip quiver, and your nose twitch. But you hardly ever argue with him...and he wanted to see how far you would go.

"And what would you do if didn't? What could you possibly say to me that would make me do something I don't want to do?"

You sniffled. "You have to love me. If you don't love me, it- it means that everything was for nothing-"

"Everything? Everything that I...provide for you?"

"No! Everything that you-"

That he did.

He could see the pain on your face. The pain of remembering. You turned, and stormed off to the bedroom.

He didn't chase you. He didn't call out to you.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

Forgive me.

He just kept working.

and so, here you were. Seated across from him, picking at a ham sandwich. Your eyes were puffy and red. Your nose was dripping. You looked tired, drained from crying.

"...did you do anything interesting today?"

No answer.

"I found a very compelling lead in my case."

Not a word.

"With any luck, I may be done by the end of the month."

It was like talking to himself.

You were making him lose his appetite, of all things. He thought continuing as usual would snap you out of this. That you would cave, give him an empty "that's nice, dear" and move on with your life. But you just swallowed another sob, and stood to throw out your food.

"...we could...take a trip to Greece." You've mentioned wanting to see the beaches.

you walked back into the bedroom.

He poked at his slice of cake. This wasn't fun at all. He liked to play games with you, but this...this was just sad.

He tossed his cake as well, and followed you. By the time he reached the bedroom, you were already curled on your side, back to the door.

He perched at the edge, and reached to pet your hair. You didn't move, not to shy away or lean into his touch.

"I'm...aware of how you feel."

you couldn't grace him with a look in his direction. He laid down beside you, pressed into your back, and sighed.

"Would you like to go to Greece?" His voice was small. Gentle.

You shiver, and he draws up the blanket. "We could go by the end of this week. I wouldn't mind flying out earlier than anticipated."

His hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, but you're as inviting as a dead body. A ragdoll to toss around. He's broken you like this before, in cells for weeks at a time, but never with his words. Before, those were punishments for attempts at escape. This was a mistake on his part. He was cruel to you, for no reason.

"I realize I've made a mistake."

At your lack of response, he presses his nose to the nape of your neck. "Tell me how to fix this."

You shake your head. You didn't need to tell him.

He knows.

"...I do. And I'm...sorry. For insinuating I don't."

.

.

.

"Do what," you croak.

He closes his eyes.

"I do love you. So much so that I-" he takes a deep breath- "I cannot live without you."

You turn in his arms. He finds his face now pressed to your clavicle. "Take me to greece."

"Okay."

"Tell me you love me again."

"...I love you."

You close your eyes, too. It all made sense again. Everything...made sense again.

[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is (pt. 2) — ldh

      alt title: anything, everything, always

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. best friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, angst if you squint, he fell first and harder wc. 4.8k summary. Donghyuck's stuck dwelling on your drunken confession from the night of the wedding. That is, until he finally puts his foot down and decides that he needs to do something about it (or else he'll go crazy); alternatively, a glimpse into Donghyuck’s feelings for you over the past few years warnings. nothing horrible, just hyuck yearning for 4.8k words if i'm being honest, a drawn out (!!) confession scene (but it's cute), winter cameo, hyuck’s love language is still very much acts of service, ?excessive use of italics and long sentences an. HAPPY EARLY HAECHAN DAY!! aint no way I just wrote a part 2 that’s longer than the first part LMAO—some people asked for part 2 so i said why not (this was so self-indulgent too),,, wrote this all while listening to yearning music (aka laufey and OPM) bc i needed to channel tht mindset ykwim? i think it worked ^‿^—pls enjoy!

read part one!

Donghyuck thinks that it’s utterly ridiculous that he’s losing sleep over this.

But he’s already replayed it a shameful number of times in his head, and he still isn’t sure how he’s supposed to approach it. 

He can’t just act like you didn’t confess what could possibly be the confession he’s been waiting his whole life for. 

But he can’t just bring it up to you so carelessly either. 

Donghyuck’s afraid that if he casually pulls up to your house, drops that bomb that you drunkenly spilled your (maybe) feelings for him, that he’d be putting you in a vulnerable position that would harm your friendship (or worse, you). 

And that’s the last thing he’d want to do. 

But let’s say your feelings were real, and he doesn’t confront you about this? Then, what will happen? What if nothing else happens between the two of you and a game of waiting continues until you’d have to end up with a love you wouldn’t want and you both end up old and die of old age and—

Donghyuck gasps out loud, shooting upright in his bed as he shakes the overthinking out of his head. 

No, he can’t let that happen. Not when he’s in the position to change something.

Donghyuck glances at the clock—3:28am—and he curses under his breath. It’s late, and he remembers you have work later this morning, but there’s no way he’s going to let another night pass without acting on this.

He has already fucked up letting a week pass so, no, another night can’t wait. 

Pulling on the nearest sweater he could find, Donghyuck slips his glasses on, grabs his car keys and leaves the house in his house slippers without a second thought. There’s a little bug in his ear that’s telling him that if he were to pause for even a second, he’d change his mind and turn back.

Should he be warning you that he’s on the way to your place at fuckass o’clock to get things straight? Yes. But in Donghyuck’s mind, his priority is to get to you first and figure it out from there. 

Besides, he knows you. 

You’ll let him in, no questions asked. 

A tune on the radio causes Donghyuck’s head to pulse, and he’s quick to push the button to turn it off. He refrains from playing music on the way there. And instead, his thoughts are plagued by the words you had confessed the night of the wedding.

      “It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding…”

Donghyuck is sure that his lip was bleeding. 

He could taste it, something metallic mixing with the aftertaste of the fruit punch. But he couldn’t care any less when he’s busy watching you and what’s-his-face sway slowly to the cheesy Ed Sheeran song. 

His eyes twitch at the way he’s gripping your hips, as if you’d run away if given the chance. But judging by the look on your face, you were far from uncomfortable, a pretty smile gracing your face. 

Donghyuck wants to hate the sight with every single living cell of his being, but how could he hate a sight if you were a part of it?

“So, do you regret it?” 

Minjeong’s voice cuts through the music, catching Donghyuck’s attention almost instantly. He feels grateful that his friend has come to distract him from his current fixation. He needed it, especially when he could feel that green monster fighting to break out of his chest.

“Regret what?” Donghyuck falls back to chewing his bottom lip, letting his gaze settle to the floor between his and Minjeong’s feet. He already knows where the conversation was going, but Donghyuck feels that choosing to avoid the topic as long as possible would save his heart from harm.

Minjeong turns to look at you and the other guy, “Oh, I don’t know… not asking her to the dance? Not asking her to dance?”

It’s funny because Minjeong doesn’t even feel the need to even ask Donghyuck. Though knowing him, having Donghyuck talk through the problem was the only way for him to process the situation.

“I’m scared to say that I do regret it,” Donghyuck almost winces, frowning.

Regret was the ugliest feeling that a person could feel—a close tie with frustration and nostalgia. They all remind you that time was a bitch and there was absolutely nothing you could do to go back and change the past.

Minjeong sighs, using her thumb and index fingers to pinch Donghyuck’s hand, “Then, why didn’t you?” 

And although Donghyuck truly, genuinely wants to answer Minjeong’s question, understanding that she was just here to help him out, he couldn’t—there’s that frustration. He couldn’t answer even if he was held at gunpoint, not accurately, at least. He could chuck words at Minjeong and hope they’d make sense. 

He figured you’d have more fun like this, anyway, going to prom with someone who wasn’t afraid to cross boundaries. He wanted you to live the night to the fullest, something you were droning on and on about for the past few weeks. 

The way he pieced his thoughts together was odd, but it made sense in the moment. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, and in return, he could keep his own heart safe from jumping out of his chest throughout the entire night, which then means he wasn’t at risk of ruining your friendship.

It was a win-win. 

Well, at least that’s how he wished he could confidently interpret it.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck whispers, “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if you look like you’ve been dragged through dirt, not once, but twice,” Minjeong points out, letting out a short snort. “You need to consider your own feelings, Hyuck. Be selfish for once. I say this for the sake of you and Y/N.” 

Donghyuck takes one more glance at you, your hands now linked with this other boy. Then he blinks down at his own hands, Minjeong having taken the lead because Donghyuck had initially refused to even step foot on the dance floor. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. He was sure that it wasn’t the same as you taking his hand and dragging him through the halls, or him taking yours and guiding you through a busy street. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. When it feels like it’s just the two of you and the music nudging at you both to dance to its tune.

He wonders how it’d feel to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

He wonders if they’d fit like puzzle pieces. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “If she’s okay, then I am too.”

      “If it wasn’t you I was waking up to…”

The first thing that plagues Donghyuck’s head the second he wakes up is the memories of last night’s sleepover and you. 

Just you. 

He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and all he could think about was you. 

He quickly concludes that he’s certainly gone crazy. 

Well, maybe not mentally crazy, but crazy over you. 

He remembers falling asleep, missing your guys’ nightly sleepovers during the summer as kids. The games you’d play in an attempt to go to sleep, only failing because it’d lead you both to tears from trying to hold in your laughs. Midnight snacks tucked under his bed despite his mom’s disapproval. Parents sticking to check up on both, only to find you both wide awake…

He compares it to you guys now and how it’s been rare because of life and how busy it's gotten. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Donghyuck hears you giggle quietly, sun bleeding through the blinds soon covered by the shadow of your figure. He feels a tap on his nose. “I know you’re awake, sleepyhead.”

He draws his eyes open, though slowly, just so it isn’t too obvious that he was already awake. He suppresses a smile at your hyperfixation on his nose, the tip of it burning from making contact with your finger. 

“Good morning, Hyuck,” you squat next to him at his bedside, bringing your face down to his level, “Well, it’s more like late-morning, but still.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes flicker to his clock and reads that it was nearing noon. Then he settles his gaze back on you. You’re smiling down at him, eyes still a bit droopy and a bit puffy from waking up not too long before he did. He watches as they light up at a thought, and you settle comfortably on the floor. “I had a crazy dream last night…”  

And that’s all Donghyuck manages to hear because soon he’s distracted by your messy hair, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, your chapped lips, the sleeve of your shirt hanging loosely off your shoulder, your exposed collarbone, the way you’re somehow so talkative just minutes after you’ve woken up…

How could you be so perfect after waking up? 

Donghyuck doesn’t notice the way his eyes soften, brows relaxing and sinking to a neutral state. His jaw lies slack, but the pillow underneath his cheek holds it closed. And then there’s a familiar flutter in his chest, one that he’s grown accustomed to every time he looks at you.

His mind leaps to a new thought: what would it be like to be able to wake up and see you? You being the first sight he sees when he’s just woken up from a dream or a nightmare or a dreamless sleep? 

God, he would never get tired of that. 

And Donghyuck was a lover of sleep. Knowing he could wake up and see you the second he did? He’d look forward to waking up if that was the case.

But that’s likely something he could only imagine.

“And it’s funny because Renjun… Hyuck?” 

Donghyuck lies there, taking in your appearance. 

One day, he’ll gather up the courage to tell you how beautiful you were—are—a genuine compliment that wasn’t followed by an affectionate insult. 

“Hyuck? You okay?” You question. Holding a hand up, you wave it in front of his face and watch the way he blinks and shakes his head, almost as if you’ve taken him out of a trance. You frown, “Was it that boring?” 

“No, sorry, Princess,” Donghyuck replies, the rarely used nickname slipping out, “I was just… processing everything.” 

“Yeah… shouldn’t have bombarded you like that, huh?” You say sheepishly.

“You didn’t—you never bombard me. I like hearing your crazy dreams,” Donghyuck shakes his head, reassuring you, “I’ll cook us brunch and you tell me what happened? I’m hungry.”

      “If the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The entire room chants, some wedding-goers use the nearest utensil to tap lightly on the wine glasses. The room was buzzing, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the excitement. 

Donghyuck, himself, was cheering along, throwing a fist up as if he were protesting. He feels like it was appropriate at a time like this, the two newlyweds having just shared a heartfelt speech to sum up the day, and ending it with a kiss would tie it together. 

You’re seated at his side, all danced out and far past tipsy. You’ve mentioned to him around once or twice that your head was spinning, your feet were hurting, and that you were thirsty. So he’s dragged you off the dance floor to let you rest and get you hydrated. 

Now you’re clinging onto his arm so you don’t topple over, still aware enough of the situation to chant along with everyone else. You’re giggling, watching as your cousin and her now husband shyly turn to each other before leaning in. 

Donghyuck’s heart swells. He’s known your cousin for so long, and has only been familiar with her partner for a fraction of that time, but he knows how long they’ve been together. He can’t help but admire the idea that two people can still be so in love after so long—he wonders if he can find love like that, too. 

You squeal when the couple shares a kiss, the room erupting in whoops and cheers. They smile into the kiss, eyes lulling shut out of instinct. It was a cute kiss, not one you’d cringe and want to look away at, but one that could shake jealousy out of you. 

Donghyuck turns to look at you amidst all that was happening, eyes melting when he sees you resting your head against his shoulder. You’re unaware that his attention has shifted to you, completely distracted by the stars of the day. The softest look occupies your face, as if you were in a dream state. 

Out of curiosity, his attention stumbles down onto your lips, which look just as plush as he’s imagined. 

Sure, Donghyck’s stolen glances of your lips before, and sometimes he lets his mind wander about what it would be like to press his own against yours. Then he lets his thoughts drift even further, knowing that it’s been long established that he could not for the life of him imagine himself kissing anyone else.

He’s a terrible friend for thinking this about you—at least that’s what he believes. But he can’t help it. Tonight, they look so tempting to just bring his head down and just… 

“Donghyuck?” 

Donghyuck turns to find your mom, “Hi, Auntie.” He fixes a smile on his face and gestures to you, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her from drinking too much.” His cheeks heat up, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to your mom.

Your mom shakes her head and laughs, “Sometimes it’s okay to let go like that. Besides, I trust you watching her. Thank you, by the way.”

Donghyuck nods his head before your mom takes his hand, “Can you please take her home? Knowing her, she'll pass out soon. I need to stay here and help the hosts clean up a bit.”  

He doesn’t hesitate to say yes, gathering all your things before he carefully guides you out of the venue.

      “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…”

“Hyuck? What the hell?!”

You tug Donghyuck into your apartment, brows furrowed because it was just shy of 4 AM and your best friend is standing in your living room, out of breath. Questions are racing through your mind, having absolutely no idea what could be happening. 

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” 

Donghyuck cursed under his breath. He hadn’t gone that far into saying what he had to say. He’s still hung up on your confession, playing in his head like a broken record. 

“Y/N…” There’s a lump in his throat and he feels as though he wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he was overwhelmed, or maybe because he’s scared that his spontaneous decision to show up here could ruin your friendship, and it’d be his fault. “Y/N I…”

Say words goddamnit. 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut, scouring the depths of his mind for the perfect thing to say, something that would work in his favour. His lips part, but only air comes out.

Then you yawn, simply because you’re tired. But you fight fatigue and wait patiently for Donghyuck to say something. The man has always been like this. His actions were always greater than his words. “Do you want tea, Hyuck? I’ll make us so—“

“No,” Donghyuck hastily refuses, “I mean, thank you… but I’m okay…” 

Regret scratches at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck. How could he play out this scenario in his head millions of times but not run through what he was supposed to say to you? How could he bring the problem up without putting you on the spot about what you had said? 

“You know what? I’m sorry for barging in like this, you’re tired and you need sleep and—“ 

“Lee Donghyuck, if you need help with something, then literally fuck sleep,” you scoff, smoothing your bed head out. 

You begin moving to the kitchen, the idea of tea now sounding appealing, but Donghyuck is quick to stop you. “No, Y/N, I’m actually fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you counter, “It’s obviously bothering you if you came here at this hour.” You lean forward and squint at your best friend through the dim lighting of your apartment. It’s easy to make out his eye bags and his beaten-up bottom lip from all the chewing. You know damn well… “And it even looks like you’ve been going through it. You can tell me, you know that, right?”

Donghyuck nods, still at a loss for words. He’s afraid to make eye contact with you for too long, letting his eyes flicker between you and the floor.

“But,” you follow up, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, too. I’ll still be here to listen then.” 

Silence dances in the air while you wait for Donghyuck to say something. He doesn’t know that you can see the way his eyes shift back and forth in deep thought, or the way his teeth cling onto his lip for comfort. 

Then Donghyuck says, “Can I stay over?” 

A tired smile rises onto your lips, “I wasn’t letting you out at this hour, anyway.” 

“Are there blankets and pillows in the extra closet? I’ll grab them—“ 

“Hyuck, you can sleep in my bed like always.” 

Shit. 

Donghyuck nearly panics, eyes growing wide. Sure, it wasn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, but sleeping with you in the same bed with his current state? When the only secret he’s kept from you was waiting to be hacked out after years of lingering in his chest? 

“You have no choice,” you protest, reading his mind. Huffing out a loud sigh, you reach for Donghyuck’s hand, instinctively slipping your fingers in between his before you yank his taller figure to your room. Donghyuck can’t find it in him to protest, words stuffed down and trapped in his throat. 

When you let go, Donghyuck almost reaches back out to keep your hand in his. 

You’re quick to settle back into your bed, letting out another yawn as you watch Donghyuck expectantly. Almost like you were going to start throwing a fit if he didn’t fill the spot next to you.

And that’s how Donghyuck finds him laying right next to you, heart damn near breaking his ribcage and defeaning his ears. He’s thankful that you have your back turned to him, completely oblivious to his state. It feels like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t say anything. 

It was kind of funny—maybe to an audience, but not to him. 

“What would it take for you to stop being my friend?” Donghyuck blurts out. The mattress shifts underneath him, and he feels your body turn to face him, peering at him through the darkness. 

You raise a brow, but it’s hidden in the darkness. You scoff, “What kind of question is that?” 

Donghyuck sighs, “Please, just answer it.” 

Sensing the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, you press your lips together and think, what would it take to stop being friends with Donghyuck?

“Everything,” you say simply, “But even then, I think I’d still forgive you.”

“I call bullshit,” he murmurs, “What if I killed someone and pinned the blame on you? What if I broke something special and irreplaceable to you? What if I purposely broke your leg or… or…”

“Those are all so stupidly unbelievable, Hyuck. You’d do none of that,” you chuckle, “At least make it believable.” 

Donghyuck almost chokes, his heart fighting to escape his chest. It’s like it was pushing up his throat as if he were ready to throw it up. “Or what if… my feelings for you changed and yours didn’t change in the way mine did?”

“Hyuck… you’re scaring me… Did I do something wrong?” you frown, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Fuck, it was when I was drunk wasn’t it? Did I say or do something wrong?”

      “I want you to love me.”

Donghyuck panics. Now he wishes he had worded his last question differently, one that didn’t have you misinterpreting it. 

“N-no!” He hurriedly answers, “No, never. I could never hate you.” Never. 

He nervously swallows the spit pooling in his mouth because now he’s sure that he needs to be upfront about his feelings. There’s no other way he could go now. He’s taken the final path down whatever road this was. 

“What if… I fell in love with you and you didn’t love me back?” He exhales a shaky breath, both out of relief and anxiousness, afraid that he’s ruined everything. There’s silence, and it scares Donghyuck. There really was no telling what you were thinking, whether you were thinking of ways to reject him or dodge the question. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t like it.

Then, through the darkness, he hears you laugh nervously, “Hyuck… Hyuck, I said you have to make it believable.” A pause. “You can’t love me… not like that at least.” 

You finally sit up and go to turn the lamp on. Donghyuck finally sees your expression clearly in the yellow glow. Your brows are furrowed, a look of confusion stuck on your face. It looked as though you were processing what he had just said.  

Donghyuck immediately sits up, almost mirroring you. He’s ready to reach out to you, but he holds back for now. He can’t take anything back now. 

“But I do, Y/N.” His tone is sprinkled with desperation, hoping you’d hear it and understand that he’s being dead serious. 

And when it’s your turn to lack words, Donghyuck quickly musters up what he can, piecing things together under pressure in his head. He doesn’t have much time before you overthink, and he knows it. “Do you remember what you told me the night of the wedding? When I was taking you home?”

You shake your head and your heart skips a beat. Your mind tries to reel back to that night, but all you remember is Donghyuck urging you onto his back. Everything after that was a mess, like a fever dream you’re trying so hard to grasp but can’t for the life of you remember. 

“Well… I do.” Donghyuck isn’t sure if he feels dejected or relieved that you don’t remember your confession. Because if you did forget it, did it mean anything? 

Still, he continues, keeping his head down to avoid your gaze, “You said that…” He’s unsure if he should tell you everything you said, or if he should be straight to the point. He doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it feels like finally bringing this up will help him get to his point. That he really, truly, loves you. 

“You said a bunch of things, and I was reflecting on them and… and even though I’ve known my feelings for you this whole time.” Exhale. “I realized that I was pretty much thinking the same thing.” 

Donghyuck lifts his view in the slightest, enough to put your fidgeting hands in view, before he gently grabs them. He takes them in his, rubbing his finger along the bumps of your knuckles. And though he feels like he’s mainly doing this for himself, he knows that he’s comforting you, too. 

“I can’t imagine myself being with anyone but you,” Donghyuck says carefully, as if the words were fragile on his tongue, “In fact, I think I hate the idea of being with anyone but you.” He squeezes your fingers, chewing his bottom lip out of habit. 

“You told me a bunch of things,” he repeats, “But you ended it all with how you wanted me to love you. How you feel like it’s too much to ask for me to love you back every day…” Donghyuck shakes his head, frustrated when he recalls that last part, “And I hate thinking that I’ve been making you feel like that this whole time.”

“And I’m cringing at what I’m about to say… it’s pretty fucking cheesy… but… you don’t even have to ask me to love you, Y/N,” Donghyuck concludes, nodding his head, “I love you so much and… I’d do anything just to make sure you know it.” 

Donghyuck had not noticed that he was crying until a tear fell right onto his thigh. He looks up to keep more from dripping, but that’s when his eyes finally catch sight of you, eyes drowning in your own tears. 

“Shit,” he’s quick to catch them before they fall off your face, letting your hands go and wiping your cheeks with the heels of his hands, “Shit, Princess, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I—” 

“It’s okay, Hyuck,” you interrupt, shaking your head. Donghyuck continues to frantically wipe your cheeks, frowning. You can’t help but laugh, reaching for his hands and bringing them to your lap, “I’m okay.” 

“Then, why are you crying?” Donghyuck is taken back to your conversation on the night of the wedding. If this wasn’t deja vu, he wonders if there’s another word for it. 

“You’re so annoying,” you sniffle, dropping one hand and lightly hitting his knee, “You say all that and expect me not to cry?” You slip your hand back into his. 

Donghyuck’s gaze drops to your hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles, “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I didn’t know if your confession was real, but after I heard what you said, I couldn’t not do anything about it.” 

There’s a brief pause as you process his response. Then, just above a whisper, cutting through the thick, but comfortable, air in the room, he hears you say, “I love you, too, you know.” 

He feels his heart stutter, almost leaping right out of his chest and straight into your hands, where it belonged. But of course, now, he’d let it if it chose to do so. 

“Hyuck, I—” You let go of his hands, and this time, Donghyuck lets himself reach out back for them, a subtle flash of panic in his eyes. 

And as soon as it came, that frantic feeling dissipates when he feels your hands cup his face. You nudge his head up to look at you.

He’s confused, lips parting to say something in objection, but then he reads a look in your eyes that he’s never seen before. You’re peering at him through your lashes, and Donghyuck swears he sees the glow of your lamp dancing in swirls right in your irises. They grow big, melting into his own, and despite being unfamiliar with the emotion, he immediately understands what you’re trying to say. 

Or, better yet, what you’re trying to do.

Donghyuck’s doe eyes, as red and puffy as yours, flicker to your lips and back to your eyes. A flutter in his chest confirms what he’s feeling. He wants this—he really does. 

So he nods carefully, thoughts of finally kissing you making him dizzy as his hands instinctively travel up to your arms to draw you in… closer and closer and…

Donghyuck’s hands found their way up to cup your face, using his pinkies to angle your head so he could easily press his lips against yours. And then your arms instinctively slide up and around his neck before they fall limp and hang loosely around him. 

The kiss wasn’t passionate. 

But it was tender, and it was perfect. 

It was a kiss that perfectly suited your relationship with Donghyuck, a love that’s gentle and comforting, one that didn’t hit you both like a truck. 

Donghyuck’s head was spinning, lips moving against yours as if he wanted to memorize how they felt on his. And though he’s imagined—dreamed—about how it would be like to kiss you countless times, the raw feeling of having your lips pressed against his was nothing compared to all of that. 

He nudges his nose against yours for one final push before you both finally come up for air. Your foreheads stay connected, eyes still drawn closed and basking in the feeling of finally getting what you wanted. Donghyuck’s hands have slipped down to your waist, forearms resting against your crossed legs. You both were out of breath. You could feel Donghyuck’s air tickling the skin under your nose. 

“You don’t…” Donghyuck sighs, catching his breath, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.” 

You giggle, eyes fluttering open before you steal a peck from his lips and pull away, “Was it worth the wait?”

Donghyuck quickly catches your wrists, tugging you back to repeat your actions. You can’t bite back a smile. 

Of course it was, he thinks. It would have been worth it no matter how long he had to wait. 

It was you, after all. 

And as far as he knew, anything and everything that had to do with you would always be worth it. 

But Donghyuck knows that he’s been cheesy enough for one night. And after noticing your tired, half-lidded eyes, though his mind floods with so many things he wants to tell you, for now, he settles for a simple answer. 

“Always.”

an: ngl i think this was one of my fav fics tht ive written ever :(( i loved writing these two so much,, likes and reblogs and comments are soso appreciated, i wanna know if u guys found this as cute as i did! thank you for reading!

[jynjackets]

you mentioned the sexism but for velcinta specifically t0ny was asked why he killed cinta and he went on and on about how great vel's white actress's acting was. not a single word about cinta's very non white actress who actually had to do the dying or even about cinta's plot arc. it's the racist version of fridging. anyone with more melanin than diego dies in this show

yes sorry anon i didn’t get to that part specifically. in part i think it’s because it’s so blatantly racist that i don’t have many words to say how disgusting and heartbreaking it is. cinta’s death is the crime that i felt was always THE MOST INEVITABLE with the way s1 went. I was prepared and grieved for 2 years. i’m still torn thinking ‘okay i can make cinta and others OCs’ because i still like them, or just forgetting everything about the show because of how they’re treated in the end. idk. But you’re right, the horrors to the context of her death should be discussed.

It’s been my theory since the beginning that varada absolutely changed her schedule based on priority and this pissed tony off. It didn’t matter that her role was smaller here and bigger elsewhere it mattered if she supported tony’s ego. given how much he needs to explain and compensate that it wasn’t because of her schedule, it of course makes it all more suspicious that it likely was. He can kill her off because he’s her boss in real life, and he can justify it in writing because fridging is used for straight couples all the time right? It’s the same thing for this couple and ofc it’s the woc that gets whacked.

So towards what you’re getting at, it’s strange af trying to explain how faye is such a good actress such that vel deserves to be the hero that carries on their dead girlfriend. this argument is ridiculous when varada is literally the new companion and faye has a comparable history of small british productions. tony mentions Adolescence and GoT both of which faye is in for literally 10 minutes. This in itself is fucking stupid as the answer to the question asking why did you kill cinta? Tony would be saving face if he said it was about her schedule but it seems almost like he couldn’t let varada have the satisfaction of having an exciting new role. Why else be so avoidant of the obviously very good news for an actress that you technically helped support? it’s weird.

It’s also said in a way that he literally just ‘liked’ faye more when the conversation was around varada. It’s almost used as a punishment for varada because he was obviously asked about her specifically but answered it with who was given a good story because of their irrelevant work history. I would guess that faye made room for the show as he liked when varada didn’t find it as important. We all know this man is a bitch so it’s not unlikely but we’ll never know for sure.

Even without my theory, his words on his own imply that it is COMPLETELY natural for a south asian woman to die for white women’s stories. The story is racist already just by watching the execution, like that’s already bad. It’s a stray bullet from the supporting side, it’s not poetic or realistic or even tragic, it’s insulting. It’s done with the same tone to how every black character had died before her, unceremonious and nothing worth too much grieving over. A character is perhaps supposed to grieve them, but not you as an audience member.

So to, on top of this, confirm the intent to be a deliberate sacrifice is so fucked beyond belief i don’t know what to say. like this really reaches some sociopathic levels of thinking to say this and find nothing wrong with it. Especially for a guy who writes for a living. I genuinely hope there’s some cosmic punishment for how evil this man and his show is. And to be honest i kinda see it on the horizon with how failed it is and how suicidal and post-binge-drinking puffy all these men involved in the show have looked recently.

Cinta was also killed during lesbian visibility week. idgaf if that was planned or not, this show hates women, hates dykes, and can’t even hate woc enough because they’re not even people in tony’s eyes. that much is clear. I don’t know how to spell out anymore that people should have been angry or worried before this season started. But i’m starting to think that it’s because people do not register the same way the undeniable fact that this world hates women and women of color. For many of us that fact is stuck to us like a crack on our windshield, it’s the thing we know we have to worry about even when we’re not thinking about it. It is reality it is the truth. But it’s been really dawning on me lately that the crack will be there for many people who just can’t see it or will rather choose to pretend it doesn’t exist.