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Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work.

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens.

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes.

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.”

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music.

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop.

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught.

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it.

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers.

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm.

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit.

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.”

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?”

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you.

Only for you.

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more.

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place.

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours.

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint.

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin.

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful.

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you.

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air.

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.”

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive.

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack.

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience.

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?”

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #??#papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

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mosneakers · 3 months

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Brick: Ginger… right? Your costume? The Wolf Next Door?

Janie: [Shocked] I… yeah! I mean... wow, I’m surprised you recognized it!

Brick: Why you so surprised, ma? You got every detail of that character just right. —Oh... I see how it is. I don’t seem like a guy who’d read Mulder to you, do I? [straightens waistcoat] I was actually going for some packs and prejudice type shit. You couldn't tell?

Janie: [further shock] No, yeah… the costume adds up now. Looks good...

Brick: You look good…

Janie: [blushes and smiles] Thanks. I tried. [brief silence] You know, I thought I knew the Darling lore, I guess it’s just news to me that you read… books. Like in general.

Brick: [Hearty laugh] Well... what can I say? Ya boi is an enema. Janie: ...You mean an enigma?

Brick: Yo, I don't use that word. I used to not read books that much, but when I moved here to Moonwood Mill, a buddy of mine got me into ‘em. Hey, your last name is Books, right? Janie Books?

Janie: [A single coy laugh] Yes, that’s my name.

Brick swiftly pulls out his phone to send his brother, Charm, a thriving comedian and romantic, a text. Unsure of what he's doing, Janie's eyes awkwardly wander around in confusion. The string of texts read:

Bro I need your help rizzing up this girl

Give me a good line

Smth about books lol

Charm responds almost instantly:

Noticing the lull in conversation and Janie's idle posture, Wolfegang seizes the opportunity to put himself out there and speak to Janie.

Brick: Oh shit! It's my guy! Hey big man. Janie, this is the homie I told you about, who got me into reading, Wolfegang.

Hoping to make the most of his first impression, Wolfegang extends a sincere handshake and maintains direct eye contact, savoring the moment as their hands connect.

Wolfegang: It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I apologize for the interruption, I just wanted to take a moment to mention to you that your costume caught my eye earlier. I have a strong feeling that you embody exactly what the author envisioned when creating Ginger, if not surpassing his expectations.

Janie: [Blushing and smiling] Oh gosh, I don't know what to say... that's so flattering! Brick: Sorry, sometimes he talks like that. Janie: [Blushing and smiling] Thank you, Wolfgang! Vulfgang Mulder is one of my favorite authors. I'm guessing you're pretty familiar with his work, then?

As Wolfegang and Janie continue chatting away, Brick watches intently, slowly coming to the realization that there's no need to test things further with Janie; fate is unfolding before him. Brick wonders to himself, why didn't Wolfie just say so in the first place?

He's down bad.

#ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 gameplay #Red Wolf Fury #RWFseason2 #MD4 #Moonwood Mill #Janie Books #Brick Darling #Charm Darling #Wolfegang Wilde

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mywingsareonwheels · 7 months

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In which I get very feral about Angua von Uberwald, as I sometimes do

(Below is a quote from The Fifth Elephant, it contains some spoilers...)

""Carrot! I've got to know something."

"Yes?"

"That might happen to me. Have you ever thought about that? He was my brother, after all. Being two things at the same time, and never quite being one... we're not the most stable of creatures."

"Gold and muck come out of the same shaft," said Carrot.

"That's just a dwarf saying!"

"It"s true, though. You're not him."

"Well, if it happened... if it did... would you do what Vimes did? Carrot? Would it be you who picked up a weapon and came after me? I know you won't lie. I've got to know. Would it be you?"

A little snow slid down from the trees. The wolves watched. Carrot looked up for a moment at the grey sky and then nodded.

"Yes."

She sighed. "Promise?" she said." * * * * * * * * * * *

PRATCHETT HOW ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU.

How am I supposed to be normal about Angua, the most all-round competent pretty much of all the Watch (and definitely the most alarming fighter), cynical and self-aware and judgemental and brilliant and passionately loyal and very compassionate at times, saying that to her boyfriend. An intensely idealistic and kind and simple and terrifyingly (no, truly terrifyingly) good man. It's implied that their relationship has an inevitable slight d/s-y element, because anything halfway between a human and a wolf is rather a dog, and she is absolutely aware that when he calls, she will come running. Even while she is continually the only person (other than Vimes) who gets seriously snarky about him and isn't easily influenced by his extreme levels of charisma.

And her sheer damn relief in this scene. They've just buried her other love interest, who died trying to save Carrot from Angua's horrifying brother Wolfgang. And Carrot's the only person she trusts this much. This is just the absolute classic monster x human relationship, there is so much going on with them over the course of the several books in which they both appear (though this is the one in which they are both the most in focus) and I am still waiting for any adaptation to do it full justice.

I do not usually get this intense about any m/f relationship, but FUCK.

I also note: we learn in The Fifth Elephant that Angua has another brother who is unable to change shape to looking like a human, and who got out of the family (and away from Wolfgang) too, to work as a sheepdog in Borogravia, where he wins prizes at agricultural shows. Carrot is clearly deeply proud of potentially having a prize-winning sheepdog brother-in-law. Angua finds this extremely irritating. :D

But Vimes and Angua are based in Borogravia in Monstrous Regiment, only a few books later, so I am working on the assumption that Angua visited Andreyi while she was there. :) :) :) I hope they had a good time together. I also wonder whether his human shepherd boss has any idea of his species. :D (I bet Granny Aching would have worked it out, but Granny Aching doesn't live in Borogravia. ;-) )

#gnu terry pratchett #the fifth elephant #angua x carrot #angua von uberwald #carrot ironfoundersson #carrot x angua #andreyi von uberwald #wolfgang von uberwald #sam vimes #tw d/s mention #d/s mention

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city-of-ladies · 2 months

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You have probably already heard of the famous composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. But did you know that he had an equally talented sister who was sidelined?

This is her story.

A child prodigy

Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart (1751-1829) was born in Salzburg, Austria, to Anna Maria Mozart (née Perti) and composer Leopold Mozart. She was thus immersed in a musical environment from early on.

She began learning music at the age of 8. Like her little brother, Nannerl was a child prodigy and excelled at playing the harpsichord. But she wasn’t supposed to make a living out of it. Her musical education only aimed at increasing her value in the marriage market.

Between 1763 and 1766, she toured Europe with her brother. Nannerl was 12 and Wolfgang 7. They gave concerts in no less than eighty cities. Contemporary praised Nannerl’s musical abilities, calling her a “wonder”, “prodigy” or “virtuoso”. She could indeed play the most difficult pieces “with precision, incredible lightness, with perfect taste”. She was sometimes even billed first.

End of an artistic career

Nannerl helped write down some of her brother's compositions and wrote her own as well. Wolfgang was supportive and encouraged her. He frequently asked for her opinions on his work. She sent him at least one piece and he called it “beautiful”. Her father said nothing of it.

A musicologist made the hypothesis that Nannerl could have written two of Wolgang’s concertos for violin. Sadly, as far as we know, none of her music survived.

Nannerl, who referred to herself as an "obedient daughter", stopped touring and performing in public at 16. It was now time to prepare for marriage and her father now focused only on Wolfgang's musical talent.

A loveless marriage

Nannerl was 33 when she ultimately married an older aristocrat who already had five children from previous marriages and whom she didn't love. She had three children with him. She didn't completely give up on music and kept giving piano lessons.

After her father’s death, Nannerl managed to garner all of his estate. Her relationship with her brother became strained and their correspondence ceased after 1788.

Preserving her brother’s memory

Wolfgang died in 1791. Nannerl later encountered Franz Xaver Niemetschek’s biography of him and was deeply moved by it, learning of the difficult conditions he spent the end of his life:

“Herr Prof. Niemetschek's biography so completely reanimated my sisterly feelings toward my so ardently beloved brother that I was often dissolved in tears since it is only now that I became acquainted with the sad condition in which my brother found himself.”

She later helped Georg Niklaus von Nissen (who had married her brother’s widow, Constance) in writing a biography of Wolfgang by lending him an important collection of letters.

Nannerl became blind at the end of her life and died in 1829 at the age of 78.

Her fate leaves us wondering what she could have become in a more supportive environment and what her music could have sounded like.

Feel free to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to support me!

Further reading:

Gault Philippe, "Mozart : Sa soeur Maria Anna, dite Nannerl, a-t-elle composé certaines œuvres signées Wolfgang ?"

Laleu Aliette de, Mozart était une femme : histoire de la musique classique au féminin

Melograni Piero, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A biography

Milo Sylvia, "The lost genius of Mozart's sister"

Solomon Maynard, Mozart: A life

#nannerl mozart #mozart #wolfgang amadeus mozart #18th century #history #women in history #women's history #artists #composers #female artists #female composers #austria #classical music #maria anna mozart

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incorrect-skylanders-quotes · 12 days

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Wolfgang: I’m sorry kid, you want me to what?

High Five: Well, Wolfy- Wait, am I allowed to call you ‘Wolfy’?

Wolfgang: 'Wolfgang' is fine, kid.

High Five: Right, I guess that would be kinda weird what with the whole ‘exile’ thing…

Wolfgang: Look, kid, I’m getting arrested here. You mind getting to the point?

High Five: Oh, right, yes, I guess you would be in kind of a rush considering your circumstances. Uh, look, I just have this music studies 101 paper that’s due like, eugh, tomorrow and, as you can imagine, music’s not really my forte, I’m more into aeronautics and that’s beside the point- Look, your dossier on the cultural impact of rock is revolutionary and, honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re a wanted terrorist, you’d be one of the biggest faces in the field, so I was wondering if I could leverage you for some…. uncredited help?

Wolfgang: ….

High Five: …Please?

Wolfgang: (tearing up) ...You think my work is revolutionary?

High Five: Is that a yes? Cause I can see the Trap Masters coming with the paddy wagon.

Wolfgang: (openly crying) Y-Yeah, sure kid, whatever…

----

Blades: (punches Golden Queen in the face)

Golden Queen: Gah!! Damn it!!

Blades: Answer the question, Goldie!

Golden Queen: You little brat, you’ll pay for this!

Blades: (starts choking Golden Queen out) If you know what is good for your health you will not make me ask again, now answer the question!

Golden Queen: Alright, alright!! …The three branches of government are legislative, executive, and judicial.

Blades: (letting go) Damn it! I knew I got that question wrong…

Golden Queen: (struggling to breathe) Wait a minute, you already took the test?!

Blades: Man, shut up! The fuck are you still doing conscious?! (punches Golden Queen’s lights out)

----

Dr. Krankcase: (mixing an alchemical brew) Hmm, yes, an interesting reaction.

Echo: …Bro, did you just mix oil and water and call it an ‘interesting reaction’?

Dr. Krankcase: You?! How did you get here?! How did you find my lair?!

Echo: I’m smart, and you’re basic.

Dr. Krankcase: I am not bas- What do you want?!

Echo: Well, I got a chemistry paper due tomorrow and Mags told me you’re apparently a great alchemist but, from what I’ve seen, I already know more than you. I’m out of here.

Dr. Krankcase: I’m a great alchemist! I know things! Where are you going?!

Echo: To go talk to- Get off me, man- To go talk to Pop Fizz or Bad Juju or any of the other ten million potion experts in Skylands.

Dr. Krankcase: But I know thi-!! Okay, I guess, just… forget I was here. Don’t tell Eon about us!

#skylanders #incorrect quotes #incorrect skylanders quotes #source: pandaredd #Blades #Dr. Krankcase #Echo #Golden Queen #High Five #Wolfgang #admin post

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lunefuforu · 8 months

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I've been making a long list of funfacts I've came up with for my lackaocs, I decided that I may as well share these publicly now tho just so you guys can get to know them better.

It's a lotta word vomit so be prepared for that lmao

I will be continuing to add more over time whenever I think of new things, or if anyone has any suggestions that I like enough to add n make canon. If you have questions then shoot me an ask to my inbox.

⸻⸻⸻

Gale: Trans and Bisexual

Matilda: Bisexual

Marie: Trans and Asexual Demiromantic

Tony: Gay

Riley: Pansexual Demiromantic

⸻

Gale 6'0

Matilda 5'8

Marie 5'11

Dot 2'9

Tony 6'0

Riley 7'2

⸻

Gale's voiceclaim: John Mulaney

Matilda's voiceclaim: Jessica Rabbit

Dot's voiceclaim: Shirley Temple

Riley's voiceclaim: Geoff Castellucci

Marie's voiceclaim: Jennifer Tilly

Tony's voiceclaim: Aizawa Shouta [English]

⸻⸻⸻

Gale's nicknames for the others;

Matilda: May, May dear, Darling, Love, My Beloved, Honey, Sweetheart, Belle, Muffin, Sugarplum, Baby, Babe, Beautiful, Amour

Riley: Big guy, Buddy, Bud, Cousin, Sully

Marie: No nicknames for her, he just calls her Marie. Or Ms. Brooke formally.

Antonio: Tony (casually, most of the time), Antonio (formally, usually), and Mr. Brooke (more formality). Though sometimes he may call him Sheik.

Dorothy: Dot, Sweetie, Peanut, Button, Princess

⸻

Matilda's nicknames for the others;

Gale: Darling, Honey, Babe, Baby

Antonio: Tony, Old man, Menace (these are of endearment)

Marie: Angel Eyes, Daisy

Dorothy: Dot, Small one, Sweet pea

Riley: Big one, Brooder, Dove

⸻

Marie's nicknames for the others;

Matilda: Hilda, Dear, Blossom, Sister

Antonio: Tony, Dear, Dimples, Daffodil, Brother

Dorothy: Dot, Dear, Sweetheart, Rosebud, Babydoll, My Angel, Little lamb, Ladybug

Gale: Gale (most of the time), Mr. Wolfgang (formally), Dear, Smiles, Sunflower

Riley: Riley (most of the time), Mr. Sullivan (formally), Dear, Honey, Wallflower

⸻

Tony's nicknames for the others;

Matilda: Tilly, Matty, Baby sister, Sourpuss, Bitsy

Marie: MarMar, Lil sister, Sunshine, Angel Face

Dorothy: Dot, Dotty, Kiddo, Shortie, Little one, Thumbelina

Gale: Wolfgang, Bright eyes, Wonder boy, Screwball

Riley: Sullivan, Big man, Mac, Chap, Goliath

⸻

Riley's nicknames for the others;

Gale: Cousin, Little man

Matilda: No nicknames for her, he just calls her Matilda. Or Mrs. Wolfgang formally.

Antonio: Tony (casually, usually), Antonio (formally, most of the time), and Mr. Brooke (more formality)

Marie: No nicknames for her, he just calls her Marie. Or Ms. Brooke formally. Though sometimes he calls her Ma'am.

Dorothy: Dot, Little one, Sweetheart, Pumpkin, Precious

⸻⸻⸻

Gale is that malewife ken-coded husband to his wife he will do anything for.

Matilda is the girlboss wife, she wants to become a detective, though it's very difficult. Sometimes she has to do dirty work in order to get what she wants.

Gale may or may not be willing to do the same, though not in the way Matilda does it. She does things methodically and quietly. Taking advantage of word, minds and weaknesses.

Gale on the other hand, does things more hands-on. He's worked on railroads for many years before his current journalist job, so he's extremely physically fit.

On off days, the pair like to dance together, while Gale sings to his wife. It brings her immense joy.

Matilda has many plants, she's not a gardener like her sister, but she shares a similar green thumb interest. Though hers are more towards ferns, ficus, and other such greens than flowery plants.

Gale and his cousin Riley don't talk much, Riley still wonders why Gale left all of a sudden because Gale never gave a reason why. But Gale does mail to him, and well as to his mother, who is sick in a hospital. Gale's father left a long time ago.

Matilda, Marie, and Tony's parents are both still alive and around, just two old folks living peacefully at home.

⸻⸻⸻

Marie will give you a flower nickname once she gets to know you well. Being a florist, she just loves flower symbolism.

She also calls everyone dear on default. She has that sweet motherly energy to her that warms the heart.

Despite how unconditionally sweet she is, if she senses any of her loved ones are in danger, she will use physical force if necessary. She is far from a pushover.

She's lactose intolerant, but she still can't help but consume dairy products sometimes.

⸻⸻⸻

Because Tony feels indifferent to words, he's more of an "action speak louder than words" kind of guy. You want to impress him? Show him, don't tell him, otherwise he doesn't give a damn. You want him to know how much you like him? "I love you" isn't going to cut it on a first date, how is he supposed to know how genuine you are? You absolutely despise him? Attack him. He doesn't care about your mean little words, you better show him how much you hate him.

He has a knack for ice skating and ballet, two skills that were crammed into him when he was younger, but he doesn't mind them that much. Though he likes his piano skill more.

Because of his knowledge on medical procedures when he was working to become a surgeon before quitting, he is a great help if you need some assistance fast but don't want or can't afford a hospital. Just don't tell anyone because he doesn't technically have a medical license.

Tony has hyperopia (farsightedness), meaning things up close are blurry for him. Which is why he has glasses, but usually he doesn't need to wear them all the time doing regular stuff, he mainly uses them for work so he can see what he's doing precisely and clearly.

⸻⸻⸻

People often mistake Riley for being scary because he's big and doesn't talk much if not at all, but in actuality he is just socially inept and would rather give you a pat on the back than punch you in the face.

If he's at a party, a place with a lot of people mingling, he would not talk at all. Complete silence. All you would get from him are nods, headshakes, facial expressions, and grunts.

The bigger the crowd the less he speaks.

The only exception of this is if he's on the job. Lots of people could be around or in a burning building, but he still has to give orders, call out to victims, etc.

He has a pet dove named Petunia.

Since Riley lives up north, his fur is usually always very fluffy all the time, especially during the winter. If he goes down south and stays for a while, he's going to shed a LOT. Expect clumps of fur in shower drains.

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(I got bored one day and decided to plan out Dot's future so yea)

After 18 years pass from 1927 into 1945, when Dot is 23, she begins her career as a singer/musician. She plays several popular genres at the time throughout the 40s, like country, jazz, etc. Trying to find her footing. She has a few song that are received really well, but nothing big. Yet.

Years pass and it's 1954, rockabilly starts and is growing. Dot is 32 at this point and she goes into rockabilly which evolves into rock and roll and Dot evolves with it, that's when she started to become a big hit. She specializes in rock music, becoming one of the most popular female singers, even at age 50 in 1972 she's putting on shows and cameoing with other singers/bands. She's not one who retires as she ages, she wants to make music til the day she dies.

Until at age 61, 1983, she has a big vocal chord injury which stops her from singing for some years, something she was warned about in her 50s after she experienced some vocal strain back then. Though despite the damage done to her voice, 7 years later after some rest and surgery, age 68 in 1990, she come back to record some more original songs and features in others, but less bombastic and more mellow since her voice was a bit deeper and raspy. Which was a good move since she couldn't sing rock anymore, and her new voice went well with the genre shift.

She did so for 10 years until her voice forced her to quit singing altogether age 78, 2000. Though she didn't stop playing guitar, her main instrument of choice since she was young, making a few instrumental tracks and cameoing in other songs, until her death in 2008 at age 86. Playing music until the end just like she wanted to.After 18 years pass from 1927 into 1945, when Dot is 23, she begins her career as a singer/musician. She plays several popular genres at the time throughout the 40s, like country, jazz, etc. Trying to find her footing. She has a few song that are received really well, but nothing big. Yet.

Years pass and it's 1954, rockabilly starts and is growing. Dot is 32 at this point and she goes into rockabilly, which evolves into rock and roll, and Dot evolves with it. That's when she started to become a big hit. She specializes in rock music, becoming one of the most popular female singers, even at age 50 in 1972 she's putting on shows and cameoing with other singers/bands. She's not one who retires as she ages, she wants to make music til the day she dies.

Until at age 61, 1983, she has a big vocal chord injury which stops her from singing for some years, something she was warned about in her 50s after she experienced some vocal strain back then. But she did still make music with her guitar, her main instrument of choice since she was young, like instrumental tracks and cameoing in other songs. Just because she couldn't sing didn't mean she couldn't still make music.

Though despite the damage done to her voice, 7 years later after some rest and surgery, age 68 in 1990, she come back to record some more original songs and features in others, but less bombastic and more mellow since her voice was a bit deeper and raspy. Which was a good move since she couldn't sing rock anymore, and her new voice went well with the genre shift.

She did so for 10 years until her voice forced her to quit singing altogether age 78, 2000. Though she just went back to what she did when she lost her voice last time, making instrumental tracks and cameos. Until her death in 2008 at age 86, playing music to the end just like she wanted.

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I started to like Marie and Walter the drummer getting together. Marie doesn't mind being on the sidelines she just wants a happy quiet life, then there's this guy who is always on the sidelines ignored all the time. I imagined Marie giving him flowers, making him feel special, but also helping him feel content in being an average joe that's not caught up in a lotta things. I just think it's pretty cute

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Just like his cousin, Gale is also good with kids! But not in the way Riley does it. Riley is tender and nurturing, Gale is fun and silly. But that doesn't mean he's irresponsible, he wouldn't go give a child a knife. In fact, someday in the future, Gale and Matilda become parents. The amount of children they have are unknown yet since I haven't decided.

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Like it says in Gale's bio, he is partially deaf. It's his left ear that cannot hear anything at all, the most would probably be faint muffling if you get up real close to it, but that's weird so don't do that.

He's had several instances where people mistake him for being completely deaf in both ears, sometimes it caused some people to scream directly in his face, thinking that if they are loud enough he could hear. He's had to correct that he can hear you loud and clear from his right ear, right after it stops ringing-

Sometimes they think they can say whatever they want as clear as day right next to him. It got awkward when Gale turned to look at them.

Sometimes he's even had a couple cases of people mistaking him for being blind, not deaf. Those were very awkward instances.

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Riley doesn't respect cops. He despises people who take advantage of their position of power. Considering his own job and what he's lost and the many other things he's witnessed on the job, it's no brainer.

Riley still lives in Rochester Minnesota, he can't uproot his job to leave. If he's ever downstate, he's just visiting his cousin, but he won't stay.

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If you recall that one short comic where Mitzi was getting pictures of Mordecai with her camera, then commented on his baggy clothes to get a silly pic of him, she also mentioned getting him some fitted clothes. Well, I had an idea that Tony was actually the tailor that made Mordecai his new fitted and symmetrical clothing. I presume this was back in 1920-1921 cuz that's the years Mordecai worked with lackadaisy, making him 21-22 at the time. Tony was 24-25 at that time, and already had a tailor shop going, he started it when he was only 18. Risky move starting his own business as a young man, but it paid off because he made a name for himself with his work. That's why he was recommended to Mordecai, and ever since then Mordecai goes to him for his tailor needs.

Also if you look at Tony's design, he's pretty symmetrical, which I think would give Mordecai a lil incisive to trust him with the clothing lmao

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[TW HEAVY HEALTH STUFF ABOUT GALE'S MOM]

The sickness that is debilitating Gale's mom to have to live in a hospital for 24 hour care is cancer. The doctors don't predict she'll live much longer. She was diagnosed a year before Gale left the state, after years of feeling weak and unable to do most tasks. Gale wishes he could be by her side, but he can't go back. He's made mistakes.

The moment at the beginning of the guardians of the galaxy movie where Peter doesn't take his mom's hand then runs away, I imagine it went down like that for Gale. After a year of her being in the hospital, and the day after Gale makes his big mistake, he goes to see his mom one last time. She reaches out to him, asking him to take her hand. Time feels like it moves slow, Gale has so many thoughts going through his mind. The pain he feels looking at her is immense, the look in his eyes says it all…if he takes her hand, he'll never want to let her go. He runs the other way, running out of the hospital, then fleeing the state.

That inspired this doodle here

A big part of Gale is he's trying to run away from the past, run away from pain, running forever and ever. He does things for his wife to help her dreams, but also because he's convinced himself this is just how it's meant to be for him. He's a man stuck in the past and doesn't believe he deserves a second chance. He doesn't want that on to his family, which is why he ran out the hospital, and why he never told Riley he left until after he was already gone. Riley actually had to track him down himself. The letters Gale sent to him and his mother were not sent through mail but by more secret means, so his address were never on the letters. And it's also why he's never told Matilda what he does for her, she doesn't know a thing he does. She is only aware of her deeds, and she doesn't want to tell him about them because she wants to protect him (even though he is aware), but she's unaware he's doing much worse things than she is doing.

Gale's a good man in his heart, at his core. But he doesn't think that. He believes his kindness is an act to hide what he really does, even though he truly is kind, he just thinks he's acting.

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The Brooke siblings do love their parents and their parents aren't bad people per say, but they do have personal issues they've never worked on that do strain their relationship with their kids sometimes because the parents are not aware of their own problems and how they're acting it out. (But even if it's pointed out, they ignore it or flat out deny it.) Especially to Tony, being the eldest he's been dealt the brunt of it. If it's something not directed towards him, he makes it directed towards him so his little sisters don't deal with it. Their family is complicated, it's not all black and white on who's the bad guy and who's the good guy. It's just parents who have repressed issues from their past that they are too stubborn on getting help for. Which is another reason why Tony deals with it the most, because he's the oldest, they want him to lead an example.

Just a lil more deeper explanation on why Tony is so laid-back and unphased by things, as said in his character bio.

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Tony was the first one Marie came out to, when she was little. She told him she wanted him to call her Marie, and he did so no questions asked.

Marie's softness back then was more of a timid soft than her current kind yet firm softness, so she was too quiet and scared to stand up for herself. But if she got bullied, Tony would scare them away. Matilda although youngest, would do the same, though her threats were more visceral than Tony's which made her scarier than Tony to some.

As Marie aged she learned to be more stern and unyielding, but she kept her gentle nature, believing she doesn't have to be mean to be strong.

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Because of Tony's experience in medical practices and sewing/knitting, he's skilled with sharp objects, as mentioned in his bio. He's very quick with them, so quick that he could thwip a needle straight at your throat, puncturing an artery, without you even processing what just happened. He likes too keep needles in his pockets just in case, plus they're easier to hide than a gun tbh, not just cuz he's skilled with em.

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Gale is very skilled with a large hammer because of his previous railroad job.

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Thinking about Gale's backstory, I'm gonna change up his attitude when he disposes of someone.

I used to have him be like "I'll do anything for my wife I will get her anything she wants by any means necessary" and then kindly kill someone like yor does in spy x family "May I take your life?" But thinking more on it, he wouldn't really be like that tbh-

Again like I mentioned some messages above, he thinks he is a bad person so he thinks it's in his nature, even though it's not. Deep down he feels guilt, but masks it by believing he deserves it.

SO he would only dispose of someone if they are an actual threat to his wife, not just like- some guy who declined a deal she proposed. He'll just try to convice them to change their mind, sometimes using scare tactics if it calls for it, but not with the intent to kill. And even when he does kill someone he is vocally apologetic to them.

Mind you he's still a "I love my wife I will do anything for her" but now with less mindless following and more of a morale and motivations lmao

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The situation to cause Gale to leave the north without a word was a train accident that he believes to be his fault since there was no indication given it to be otherwise at the time, which scared him so much on going to jail and how the situation would affect his family that he left in a panic. Little does he know there was ulterior motives behind the accident, and he was just a scapegoat since he was a railroad worker at the time. The work he did had been tampered with, but he just thinks he did the work wrong.

Gale is very new at this whole "running from the law" thing since he's never really done anything wrong, which means of course there are slip ups in his attempts. Like he hasn't changed his name, that's the first thing you do when you wanna hide is get a new name, but he didn't like the thought of abandoning a name given to him by his mother. The second is the letters he sends to his mom and cousin. He does his best to keep them a secret through his sending strategies, but sending a letter at all is not hiding yourself well. It just goes to show that ultimately he has no idea what he's doing at all despite how secretive he can come across.

Luckily for him the state ruled it an accident so he has no part in the statement, though investigations are still being looked in to since some investigators believe foul play. Even some not-so-savory people want it to be looked in to, since that train contained some important not-so-savory passengers that perished. At that might catch up to Gale, whether he likes it or not. Not to mention his wife who is working to become an investigator herself, who has a very keen eye on things and probes questions very diligently, he can't really keep secrets forever.

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As stated above, Dot will grow up to mainly be a guitarist and singer, but she does have an appreciation for drummers too because of her mom's partner being a drummer himself. Also she started playing guitar when she was 12 years old.

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Since Riley design changed so much I'd like to update that he is no longer 6'10 tall he is now 7'2 tall, and I will be editing that to the height list at the top. Totally not a nod to him being a werewolf noooo

The bracelet Riley wears is a nod to his girlfriend's color scheme (his gf is a friend's oc)

btw if you notice that I gave Riley an earring as well. In the 1920s it was mainly just sailors that wore [an] earring[s] if it were a man. Sailors believed that if their bodies were recovered at sea the person finding them could take the earring as payment for a proper burial, or they were used as a status symbol for sailing around the globe or just being out at sea for a long time in general. The great lakes in north america are considered "inland seas" and Riley lives in Minnesota. So yea Riley used to be a sailor

He hadn't sailed for too long, just his teens and a bit of early adulthood too. He joined the fire department at age 22, but he still knows his way around a boat, been out sometimes for leisure rather than work now. In fact, he probably would have stayed being a full time sailor in the great lakes if he never experienced his parents perishing in a house fire, that's what gave him the drive. He's had a fascination for the fireman job growing up, but never really thought of it as something he'd do til that happened.

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shotbyacowboy · 10 months

Text

my vision for glacier. im correct

#ninjago #lego ninjago #glaciershipping #glacier shipping #cole ninjago #zane ninjago #zane julien #digital art #drawing #art #wolfgangs wonderful work #casting codependent spells at them

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planetkiimchi · 9 months

Text

people watching | b.c

no. 4 of my song collection

featuring: producer!chan x ceo!reader, and the rest of stray kids in varying positions in the music industry

word count: 12352

warnings: pg13, quite a bit of swearing, vomit, alcohol, rooftops (?), crying if you don't like that, angst

summary — you’re a hurricane, and chan knows this all too well. you’re the one who crashed into his life on a regular afternoon, bringing him into the middle of an industry he’s always been at the edges of. he would never like to fall in love with his boss, but you’re a lovable tornado, and for all your chaos, both of you still love to sit down and take a break. those who know, call it “people watching”.

playlist. people watching by conan gray ; 18 by one direction ; wolfgang by stray kids ; omg by newjeans ; coping by rosie darling ; dna by lany

a/n: there’s a little bit of … smau hints here. i guess. i’m not really sure what to call it. also, 12.5K words ? that’s so crazy. i wanna thank my beloved @blue-jisungs for beta reading this. i know you had a headache n everything but thank you so so much for your comments n feedback, it def feels so much more polished w your help <3 and as always i hope y'all enjoy!

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

prologue.

Y/N’S MOTHER WAS A MUSICIAN. A few years back, she started up her own business producing records, but after a while the company still wasn't doing that great. As her child, Y/n took an interest in the company and began to start promoting it better.

You found several producers that you enjoyed listening to music from, and with some promotion (and help from your brother Jisung), everything went swimmingly.

By some miracle or other, the company, SFX labels, accidentally went viral on TikTok. You had Jisung to thank for that, because he was the one who had found Seungmin to manage the online presence of the company. People started taking an interest in your company, and you built up your brand on finding indie music makers and making them big.

Jisung also helped to find amateur musicians or producers with potential, and trained them, teaching them how to become better at their craft.

However, over time and as the company grew, you found your position growing more and more mundane. Your work was boring at best, soul-sucking at times, and you found yourself wondering how you went from passionately enjoying your work to the place you were at.

Your mother suggested you take a break, and you decided to wander around "Lonely St.". It was a little alleyway near your old residence, and was so fondly called because it was a narrow street where many beginner indie musicians frequented. Shops that sold music albums and instruments lined the street. Often shaded, the street was safe from crowds and human traffic was low.

When you were younger, you had often gone there with your mum on visits to see the producers and musicians there. While she tried to strike a deal with them, you would busy yourself with the gadgets and music paraphernalia. Some were expensive, but that was just how music was.

Everyone there was friendly and as you grew into your early twenties, you used to go there for inspiration, bringing home your ideas and channeling them into music. Sometimes your mother would help you develop it, leading to the songs stored on your laptop for nostalgia.

Seeking to rekindle your passion for music, you headed over to Lonely St. and went into the second shop, one with posters tacked up on the wall.

The store was silent, but not eerily so. Instead of cobwebs and dust covering the room, it was all colourful band posters and stickers, all the records neatly stacked up in piles. You barely had enough space to walk, but it only felt cozy, and not too crowded at all.

The decor reminded you of a gothy teenager's room, instruments hidden in the corners and the soft humming of a song playing through the speakers, lyrics indiscernible. Among the magazines and albums you found a man hidden deep inside his work, frowning in concentration.

You cleared your throat and he looked up; you recognised him vaguely but didn't dare to ask. It had been years since you had come to the store, surely he wouldn't remember you from his time working there.

He didn't recognise you, nor did he know that you were now the CEO of a music producing company.

He greeted you in a friendly manner, but looked clearly agitated as he wanted to get back to his work. You dismissed him with a wave, telling him to concentrate on his music while you browsed through old records of musicians you had grown up listening to.

Time passed differently in places like that. Secluded, detached from the outer world, it was so easy to get lost in the dusty archives of history. Songs told tales people didn't understand, like a language with familiar sounds, yet indiscernible the more one tried to listen to it.

In liberal spaces like that, with light filtering through the cluttered windows, you barely realised that two hours had passed. The labyrinth of songs had you hooked, and you would have stayed there all day if you could. You picked up an old CD of an album you vividly remembered playing at your eighteenth birthday party, and picked it up to ask if the man could put it on for a bit.

However, he looked engrossed in his work and you didn't want to disturb him. He worried his lip and tilted his head, groaning softly in frustration. Clearly what he was doing wasn't working for him. You didn't want to disturb him; you knew he would be annoyed, but you needed to go home soon.

You carefully placed the CD case in your hand back down; startled by the sound he glanced up suddenly, realising how silent the store was without the rustling sound of you browsing through the endless albums.

"How may I help you?"

You were tempted to ask him to play you his song, but that might be like intruding on a private part of his soul. You would know how it felt.

You fumbled in your purse for a business card. Would that be too odd? To go, "Hey, I run a company, I think your music would be great even if I haven't heard it yet"? Because you somehow had the gut feeling that he would be perfect, and you knew your instincts never failed you.

You shook your head and dismissed those thoughts. You didn’t want to make him feel awkward. Instead, you decided to buy the record, and the man proudly showed you that it had been signed by the singer.

“It’s a little more expensive, though, because of that. That’s why it hasn’t been bought yet,” he told you sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t mind spending a bit more.”

He clearly expected you to change your mind when he showed you the price, although you knew from experience that signed records tended to sell for much more, so you were already prepared.

It was, after all, a small price to pay for the discovery of the man himself.

HE FREQUENTED YOUR THOUGHTS for the next week. Even buried in work, with papers piling up for you to sign, projects waiting to be approved, people looking to sign with your label, and managers looking to clear the policies on dating for the singers under them, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The mysterious song producer who made music on the side while he ran a music store along Lonely St. had caught your eye, and was not likely to leave your mind anytime soon.

You really wanted to get to know him better, but you had no time. Besides, people didn’t often go to stores with strangers to buy expensive items. Usually, they would go once they’d established a rapport with the people there. Lonely St. was there for the community, not just the things they sold and the treasure trove of advice and ideas the people harboured.

You tapped your fingers against the table impatiently as someone knocked on your door. You glanced at the clock and sighed. If you could, you would have liked to get off work early, but it was still two hours before your official working hours ended.

“Come in,” you called.

Your assistant, Seungmin, entered the room. Looking around at the mess of papers that lay on your table, he sighed loudly and obviously.

“What?” you asked defensively.

“I sent the papers in neatly, organising them by manager and then group or singer in order of importance and urgency. I even had different stacks of folders for projects, people looking to sign with us, and policy issues. And you just leave them strewn around? You really don’t appreciate my effort, do you?”

You scrunched up your nose. “Sorry, Seungmin. Promise I'll get to filing them away later. I'm just not in the mood right now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this because you have too much work? I heard you went to Lonely St. last week. Was the break too short?”

You nod unhappily. “I really want to go back, I think I stumbled across a real gem there. I saw someone making music and I'd love to hear it, he sounds like he’d be great for our label and I want to know what kind of concept he would fit.”

“But?”

“But he’s a stranger! I daren’t ask, you know how I get about these sorts of things.”

“Hm.” Seungmin looked through his phone, then smiled at you. “Well, I think you’re in luck. Jisung just texted me about going to Lonely St. to ‘run some errands’. He said he’d go with Minho-hyung, but he’s busy with work too. I could fit it in your schedule if you get all of this organised for me to return to everyone who’s waiting for it.”

You nod. “That sounds good. So, is tomorrow too soon?”

“No,” Seungmin said, taking it down. “Enjoy yourself, Y/n-ssi.”

“Thanks, Seungminie.”

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED where Jisung got his upbeat personality from. Personally, you were a very chill person, and both you and Jisung were introverts, like your mother. Your father was more outgoing, but none of you were particularly high in energy besides Jisung.

It was quite intriguing, you mused to yourself, humming quietly as you waited for Jisung to arrive. You were early, but you couldn’t disguise your excitement. You’d finally get to meet the man again! Hopefully, he would be there and not somewhere else. Many of the shop owners took turns hiring different part-timers looking for a side job to make a bit of money while they sought an agent or company willing to take them.

Fortunately for you, Jisung was a lucky charm. You went with him to pick up a few magazines for him to decorate his room. Ever since he was a teenager, he’d been a collector of photos, and whenever a magazine cover featured his favourite artists, he couldn’t help but to buy it to add it to his collection.

His room was filled with posters and magazines, but somehow it hadn’t turned away any of his friends or lovers.

Once you’d picked up what Jisung wanted, you dragged him by his wrist to the store named ‘St(r)ay Away’. You loved the play on words, and that was what had drawn your mother in as well when you first went there.

Behind the counter was the man you’d been looking for. He was tapping away at his computer, mouth pursed in concentration. He glanced up when the ringing bell sound signalled your entrance, and smiled at both of you, eyes lighting up when he caught sight of Jisung.

“Ah, Jisung, hello! Good to see you again. I see you’ve got new magazine covers?”

Jisung grinned proudly. “Yep! Look, Twice-sunbaenim even did an interview inside! I can’t wait to read it when I get back.”

The man nodded. “And this is…?”

“My sibling, Y/n! they brought me here, actually. Y/n, are you looking for something?”

“You,” you blurted out, staring incredulously at the man. Seriously, what was it with Jisung and his charm? You could never have made friends with someone the way Jisung did.

“Chan?” Jisung asked you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing. I was just surprised to see him again. I came here last week, and spoke with him when getting my album. I was particularly interested in what song he was arranging.”

“Oh, that. I was just working on a few songs for myself. I'm looking to release them, but I haven’t found anyone to help me with that yet,” Chan explained.

“You know you can always sign with us, hyung.”

“I don’t know if I'd fit your concept. And your label is so big! I might be overshadowed and I wouldn’t like that.”

“Jisung’s right,” you interject. “You’re welcome to sign with us, if you’d like. here’s my business card, in case you’d like to speak with me instead of—” you looked Jisung up and down— “this fool.”

Chan stifled a laugh, taking the card from your hands with a slight bow of his head. “I'll consider it.”

“And send me a song or two! I'd love to listen to what concept you have going on so I can match you with someone who understands your creative vision.”

Chan bowed his head again. “Nice meeting you, Y/n. And thanks for dropping by, Jisung. See y’all next time!”

SEUNGMIN RAPPED IMPATIENTLY on the door. He didn’t even wait for you to invite him in, which was odd because on normal days Seungmin did at least have the manners and the dignity to wait for your reply before barging in. He might have had a tongue that was quick to lash out and a well-hidden sailor’s mouth, but he wasn’t often rude in terms of entering.

“It’s Minho-hyung,” he managed breathlessly. “I had to run up because the lift wasn’t working, but that’s the message I got downstairs. Minho-hyung’s back in town.”

You swiveled around in your chair and raised an eyebrow skeptically, gesturing for Seungmin to sit and catch his breath, all the while humming as you thought about what this could mean.

Minho was your and Jisung’s childhood best friend. You grew up together, and your fathers played music together on the weekends, while you kids got together for a marshmallow-roasting by the fire. You knew everything about Minho that there was to know about him, and one thing about him was that he simply could not settle down.

He had spent five or six years as a dance teacher by now, having started out young. He was always restless, and it had been you who had suggested he go to a dance lesson with you. Ballet had left a terrible impression on him but a couple years later he did pick up contemporary in school.

He later expanded his repertoire to street jazz and hip hop, and more specific skills like popping and waacking. Two years back, Jisung had invited him to join SFX labels as a choreographer, and each one of his dances had outdone the previous one.

But the thing was… Minho never grew out of his restlessness. Even as a young adult, he itched to move about – not just in a physical manner like dancing but on a larger scale, like travelling around. It was lucky for him that he was tall enough and looked good, so you could sign a contract with him as a model under SFX labels. He then had the opportunities to fly around the world and sightsee, all the while earning money and enjoying himself.

It was a really good deal, if you could say so yourself. Perhaps not something that would suit your taste, but to each their own.

Since he had signed on as a model and you stayed in Korea to manage SFX labels, you hadn’t been able to meet up with Minho at all. So him coming back to Korea? That was quite the news.

Besides, Minho knew how to make an entrance. He wasn’t one for blitzy and glammed up spectacles, but he knew how to do just enough to make heads turn and subtly draw the attention of everyone in the room to himself. He brought his own spotlight wherever he went, and this instance was no exception.

It was interesting that Minho had chosen now to come back, because in two weeks’ time, your company was having a party to celebrate its 5-year anniversary. Your entire family would be there, of course, and even your father, who liked to keep a low profile, would probably have to clean up and make appearances. Just to keep up the reputation.

You hummed away, lost in your thoughts. Seungmin’s breathing eased and you turned to him. “Is he free?”

Seungmin shook his head regretfully. “I’ve already asked Minho when he arrived. He said he was busy, but he would definitely meet you at the company event. Specifically, Minho wanted to be your plus-one.”

You tilted your head to the side. Minho as your plus-one? That was funny. Usually that would imply that you had some sort of higher rank than him, and although you technically did, he was still older than you by a year and had held that over you throughout your entire life. Besides, Minho had his own invitation. In fact, he should be bringing someone you hadn’t met before as his plus-one.

You and Jisung usually went as each other’s plus-ones, that way you couldn’t get into any dating rumours but you also wouldn’t look like lonely old people with no friends. You were each other’s best friends… or at least that’s what you thought.

If Minho wanted to change things up, you weren’t going to object. It was time Jisung got an official date, anyway. Wasn’t he sick of only ever having lovers for a month? This would be a good change for everyone.

You nodded at Seungmin, right before a notification flashed on your screen. Seungmin excused himself while you clicked on the notification curiously.

You immediately clicked on the files, regretting it only a little. Sure, you had more work to do, but they wouldn’t be as interesting as what Chan had sent you.

As expected, Chan’s demo-style sample got you engaged and hooked right from the start. He was very intentional in his use of unconventional sounds (did you just hear someone growl? You hoped not), and it was something refreshingly new from the constant lull of K-pop producers chasing trends.

It was raw, and clearly written just for him. It wasn’t really polished the way one cleaned up their works when they wanted to send them to someone. It felt like a first draft, something that definitely had potential but was still in the works.

You couldn’t tell if the lyrics were meant to be changed later on but you didn’t want him to tweak it much. You enjoyed the use of both English and Korean (though you had to admit, your English wasn’t very good, so you had to search up some of the words he used) and the style of the rhyming. His vocals were good, but not polished-strong. It sounded a bit husky, but he could definitely carry a tune and hit the notes he wanted to.

And the rapping definitely caught your attention. Of course you had heard good rappers before, but Chan just stood out somehow. Maybe it was the tone of his voice or his flow, but something was just… different. And you liked that.

You didn’t know if you had anyone available who could match his style, though, and you told Chan that.

You immediately dialed Seungmin to let him know how things had turned out, and asked him to send your apologies to Minho, and ask him to go with Jisung instead. It was definitely going to be an eventful party.

YOU NEEDED SEUNGMIN. Or Jisung. Or even Minho. Just someone to keep you grounded. The party was too busy and too noisy and you were finally starting to understand why your father preferred to stay at home and chill, because it was absolutely suffocating.

Conversations were happening everywhere, and polite greetings streamed out of your mouth without a second thought. You had to bow to many people but you could barely remember their names, even though you had seen them plenty of times before.

You breathed heavily in and out and your eyes scanned the crowd for Jisung. Where was he? How was he? Would he be able to take over for you while you found somewhere to rest for a bit?

A hand tapped your shoulder and you whirled around, catching sight of a familiar face. Chan. A wave of relief washed over you, and you grabbed his extended hand for support and shook it.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” he replied. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”

You shook your head. “No, I need to get away from here. But first, I need to find Jisung.”

Good things must come in series, because you finally spotted Jisung in the crowd, chatting happily away. Your social energy was drained but considering Jisung’s wasn’t, you should be okay to leave the scene for a bit.

“Ji,” you told him softly in his ear. “I need some fresh air, I’ll pop out for a bit.” He nodded absently and you caught sight of his jacket on a chair. “And if you’re not using this, can I borrow it? I’ll return it to you later.” He nodded and waved you off, his conversation never pausing for even a second.

You slid your hands in the jacket, grateful that you and Jisung were of about the same size. It fit like a glove, and was warm enough for you to head outside with Chan, onto the balcony.

The balcony was empty save for one person, gazing out across the wide expanse of Seoul onto the streets, brightly lit by streetlights. A whoosh of cool air hit your face, a breeze whistling past your ears. You quickly shut the door behind Chan, and he hovered behind you, unsure what to do.

The person in question turned, and your eyes met Minho’s. He was as tall as you remembered, gaze as clear and sharp as it was in your memories. He held his arms out and you collapsed into his embrace, warm and inviting around you. “I missed you,” you murmured.

“Me too.” He got down from the ledge and pulled out a chair for you to sit, finally seeming to notice Chan’s presence.

“Oh. Minho, meet Chan. Chan, meet Minho.” You stretched your lips in a nervous smile as Minho gave Chan a once over. You had seen Minho do that before, and it was the most nerve-wracking thing ever. He would slowly trail his eyes down your figure, analysing every piece of clothing you owned, your jewellery, your makeup if you had any, your smile, your eyes, your hands, even the shoes you were wearing.

And, if he deemed you worthy, he would nod. You would sigh in relief, of course. That was only polite.

Chan, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. He cocked his head as Minho swept his gaze over him and smiled when Minho nodded, proffering his hand for Minho to shake. Minho took it, and you—of all people—sighed in relief.

You gestured for Chan to sit opposite you, and Minho drew himself a chair next to you, crossing one ankle over his knee and leaning back languidly. It almost looked like a challenge to you, but Chan didn’t take the bait.

“Soo…”

You quickly became engrossed in your discussion with Chan, who, to his credit, ignored Minho for the most part and stayed completely focussed on what you were saying. You managed to discuss a price he was willing to work for, and agreed that he would release a mini album by the end of four months, with the help of one of the agents whom you’d convinced to clear her schedule.

Chan was very agreeable, only offering a different opinion when it came to his work style. He said he preferred to work in “St(r)ay Away” rather than in the studios you had, claiming that the “people watching” was good for inspiration.

You always wanted to give your artists creative freedom and control over their work environment as far as possible, so you promised to make the necessary arrangements.

Tapping on the glass interrupted you, and you turned your head at the same time as Minho to see an eager Jisung waving excitedly at both of you. Minho got up, engulfing you in another hug.

“Don’t drink too much,” he murmured. “Try not to do stupid shit. Yes, you’re a consenting adult, and no, that doesn’t make you immune to the influence of alcohol.” You nodded obediently and patted him on the back before he hurried off, anxious to catch Jisung before he got lost among the crowd again.

You sat back down and watched Chan out of the corner of your eye. As you talked with Minho, he had watched you carefully as well, noting the soft, protective tone that Minho spoke with and the ease with which you agreed. He had pulled his phone out of his pocket and began furiously typing away, humming to himself as he did so.

Curious, you thought. That was what you did when you got inspiration as well.

The lights inside seemed to get brighter as the night sky darkened, the stark contrast drawing your attention to it. You noticed Changbin, your ex, who was dancing with Jeongin, Hyunjin and Felix on the dance floor. They were having the time of their lives, finally having some freedom under your label after transferring.

The freedom in question was demonstrated when the first thing Changbin had done was to ask you to be his significant other. You probably shouldn’t have agreed but you were young, stupid and in love.

He was handsome and a good rapper but most importantly, he was kind and respectful towards women. He was also funny when he wanted to be, and all in all it had really sealed the deal for you. Only after the rumours and scandals started to threaten both of your careers, had you given in to the pressure and broken up. There were no hard feelings, but residual attraction remained.

You bid goodbye to Chan, who was already engrossed in his own thing again. He followed you back into the warmth of the building, only to settle down in one of the comfortable chairs and busy himself with his own things.

Hesitantly, you made your way towards Changbin. Although it was a company event, it wasn’t very uptight and controlled, so there were drinks being served and music being played. It was almost midnight and the mood had clearly shifted towards a more energetic, crazy mood, and Changbin was very much at home.

When he finally saw you, the world fell silent. Your breath hitched in your throat as you waited nervously for his response. Everything else had fallen away, and for a moment it was just the two of you existing in the continuum of time.

“Y/n!” He called, hugging you tightly. “It’s so good to see you again.” You greeted each of the members politely, and Hyunjin stared at you, mouth agape.

“And here I was thinking the Biny/n crumbs twitter account was the only way I could see the two of you interact again.” You rolled your eyes at Hyunjin’s sassy remark, inwardly comforted by his (however backhanded) welcoming words.

“Let’s get some drinks and talk,” Changbin suggested, and you followed mindlessly as he ordered drinks for both of you—a margarita on the rocks for you—and you sat down, amazed that he still remembered what you liked after all that time.

It was so easy to fall back into step with Changbin, it almost felt like no time had passed at all. He was still the same cheerful, positive person who had so much going on in his life. You, on the other hand, were still the one who lent a listening ear, shaking your head exasperatedly when he told you of the shenanigans he had been up to.

Of course, the two of you drank, and drank, and drank. He told you a funny story, and you drank out of a need for your hands to be occupied. You told him of your troubles, and you drank to drown your negative thoughts, he drank out of solidarity. He told you of the injuries he had sustained, you told him to be more careful. He laughed. “Yolo!” Both of you drank.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? It must have been true because you would not have been able to catch up with Changbin for so long if you had been sober. The conversation would have dwindled when it came to a sensitive topic, and the atmosphere would have grown awkward.

But it was easier when you were drunk. Everything seemed to spill out of you like the liquid courage you were consuming, and no barriers remained to hold anything back. It flowed and it flowed, words that you would never had uttered if you still possessed any form of sobriety.

Changbin must not have noticed, because he did not comment. You were both too flushed and too drunk to form any kind of coherent thought, and the only thing you wanted when the world started spinning was to get away from everything. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and Changbin stumbled after you.

However, he was too drunk to walk straight, and was quickly taken away by Hyunjin with an apologetic smile towards you. You didn’t see it, consumed only by the bile in your throat and the swimming of your vision.

You went to the bathroom, only making it as far as the one meant for wheelchair-bound persons when you collapsed over the toilet bowl, unvoluntarily regurgitating your previous meal.

The taste of mushed up food remained in your mouth, the acid burning your throat. You looked at yourself in the mirror and you sighed, rinsing whatever was left out of your mouth and washing your face. You also removed any of the minimal makeup you had applied to make yourself look presentable.

Your eyes looked smaller, and you could now see the imperfections on your face, but at least you were authentic. Right?

You pushed the door open (it had closed by itself) and almost slammed it in Chan’s face.

There he stood, arms hanging awkwardly by his side, watching you with concern. You wobbled, and his arms subconsciously stretched out to catch you. You leaned onto him for support and he tried to help you walk away from the toilet.

“Where do you want to go?” Chan asked you worriedly. “You really don’t look good, Y/n-ssi. I think you should go home.”

“Mm… Can’t. Need to find… Jisung. He’ll know what to do,” was all you managed before you passed out, slumped in Chan’s arms.

Fuck. Chan stared at you, completely flabbergasted. What should he do? He had never had to deal with drunk bosses before. Sure, he had dealt with his fair share of drunk friends, but never someone who was superior to him in rank, much less a stranger whom he had just met a few weeks ago.

He decided to bring you back to Jisung, when Minho spotted him.

Minho’s eyes hardened and his smile disappeared into a thin line when he spotted Chan holding your body, leading you away from the gender-neutral bathroom meant for wheelchair-bound people.

He had been talking to Jisung and catching up with Jeongin and Felix, finally loosening up as the evening progressed, and Chan just happened to be in his line of sight.

And, of course, you. Of course you had ignored what he had told you and gotten drunk and blacked out. Of course you ended up in the arms of a man he didn’t know, whom you had been talking to when the night was still young. And best of all, of course you had to be dragged out, unconscious, from a bathroom. Who knew what could have happened to you inside the bathroom?

“Ji,” he called once, loud enough for Jisung to hear, before he made his way over to you, all but snatching you from Chan’s arms.

He shifted you in his arms so he could comfortably carry you, bridal style, glaring at Chan. “I don’t really know who you are, but if I find out you’ve done anything to Y/n, you’re a dead man.”

Jisung rushed over to his side, his smile falling off his face when he saw what was happening. “Chan-hyung? Minho-hyung? Anyone would like to fill me in?”

“I saw him with Y/n, dragging their unconscious ass out of a toilet. Who knows what he’s done to them,” Minho replied viciously before Chan had a chance to answer.

“Chan-hyung… seriously? I thought you and them were just friends,” Jisung said disappointedly. Chan tried to defend himself, but both Minho and Jisung turned their backs on him, Minho pressing his forehead to yours as he carried you out to Jisung’s car.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up to natural light streaming in through the windows, and the delicious smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. You hurriedly dressed and got out of the room, spotting Minho and Jisung whispering to each other urgently as they sat at the table, clearly waiting for you to make an appearance.

“Morning.”

“Morning. I tried to tell Minho-hyung you were old enough to deal with a hangover yourself, but he just wouldn’t listen.” You looked carefully at Minho: at his disheveled hair, his bloodshot eyes, and the messy creases in his suit from the night before. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

As if reading your mind, Jisung explained, “He sat by your bed all night, afraid you would wake up and have some horror story to tell about last night. He didn’t sleep at all.”

Poor Minho. He definitely needed his beauty sleep, but it was alright because he was pretty either way. You checked your phone; luckily Jisung had had the presence of mind to help you charge it and you had received several messages. A couple were from your parents, telling you to sleep well and let them know if anything had happened, and from Seungmin, Hyunjin and Changbin, in that order, asking if you were okay. Seungmin also asked if you were coming for work or calling in sick. The last one was from Chan. He asked if you were okay, if Minho was mad at him, and if you were going to reconsider the deal. He’d understand if things had changed, he said.

You told him it was still on and Seungmin would deal with the logistics. You replied to everyone, explaining that you were fine and thanking them for their worry. You told Seungmin you’d be late but not to any meetings. You’d be there in an hour, you said.

You told Jisung that you needed a lift. He told you to take your things and he’d meet you in the car once he took his keys.

Minho watched you blankly, too tired to function. You tilted his chin up to get a good look at him, sighed when you saw the bags under his eyes, pressed a kiss to his forehead and thanked him for bringing you home; for noticing you passed out even when there were so many other people there blocking you from his sight.

He returned your smile tiredly. “I’ll always be there for you. We agreed, remember?”

You did.

WORK WAS SO DRAINING, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. You would give anything to leave the room and the discussion, and the meeting being about the most mundane things ever was not helping. Obviously you understood the importance of market share and dealing with your competitors, but you were not in the mood to listen to the board’s insistence on rebranding or some other form of expanding your target audience.

Was this what corporate life was like? Because you definitely weren’t cut out for it. Your eyelids were drooping and you were dangerously close to collapsing on the table if it weren’t for the caffeine running through your veins.

Seungmin had greeted you with coffee that morning, “under Minho’s orders” to make sure you weren’t too hungover and also to keep you awake. It helped keep the headache at bay, and you thanked Minho.

He hadn’t replied yet, so you assumed that he had finally gone to get his beauty sleep, glad that you hadn’t asked him to drive you that morning.

One of the board directors was talking your ear off, and you had almost forgotten about Chan. At least, until he clocked in for work, claiming to have “reached his studio”. It was accompanied with a goofy selfie of him at St(r)ay Away.

You were confused by how comfortable he seemed to be with texting you and also his excitement to get to know you, which showed through his messages. But it was cute, and you were starting to warm up to him.

Chan was insane. He sent you a picture of the progress he had made and you were glad you could be there to keep him accountable. You ran a company and you couldn’t do that for everyone. But then again, you didn’t personally recruit everyone, and not everybody helped get you out of a creative slump. So you supposed you could make exceptions when it came to Chan.

He shot you a quick text, saying “going home now! you should too 🥱” and the corners of your lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. It was only something small, but the gentle reminder to take a break and not to overwork yourself made your day.

Still grinning like a fool, you dialed Seungmin’s desk and told him to go home as well, a skip in your step as you made your way to Minho’s car. Since the company event, he said he wanted to drop you off at work and pick you up to keep you safe. (How crazy that he cared for you more than Jisung did; Jisung didn’t give enough fucks to give you a lift to and from work.) In return, you offered for him to stay at your and Jisung’s place, and he took up residence in the guest room.

He opened the door for you, asking you about your day. You told him of all the boring administrative things, keeping to yourself the texts that Chan had sent you. They were just a one-time thing, you thought to yourself. Sooner or later, the novelty of texting you would be lost, and Chan would not check in with you anymore.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

Chan continued to text you about your day every day for the time period leading up to the release date for his album, for which a name was pending. He didn’t seem to send you any more songs after that, which you sorely missed.

He probably didn’t dare to overstep his boundaries, which you understood. But you didn’t want him walking on eggshells every time he interacted with you. So one day, you impulsively told Chan that you could be a beta listener for his songs if he wanted to send them to you. You didn’t do that for everyone, because you’d be a very busy person, but Chan’s music style appealed to you. Plus, you were constantly intrigued by what was going on in that head of his.

When Chan sent you four songs that he was planning to put in his album, you were pleasantly shocked by how he seemed to be outdoing himself. Having a purpose and a cohesive theme across several songs allowed him to express himself better, and when giving him feedback, you found that you were genuinely excited for his release.

You checked your email for any updates from his agent or his manager, and entered the release date on your calendar. You wanted to be free on that day so you could congratulate him in person.

You were thinking about this as you exited your car from the passenger side, Minho coming out from the driver’s side. For the month that he had been in town so far, he had consistently driven you to work every single day. You joked that not only was that the longest amount of time he’d ever spent in one place, it was also the commitment that he’d stuck to for the longest time.

Sleepily, you laid your head on Minho’s shoulder and sighed tiredly. You really wanted to go home. The real reason that you were hanging on through all those boring meetings was that you were looking forward to Chan’s release, and you had to keep the company going for that to happen.

It was funny. Ever since you had visited “St(r)ay Away”, you felt like something was missing. It had been a brief but much-needed reprieve and without that feeling of “wow, this is what music is supposed to sound like”, you felt a sense of emptiness.

The sense of emptiness continued throughout the entire day, only intensifying when you were in the presence of Jisung’s “partners” (whom you greatly disagreed with). Their creative vision of the company was going to absolutely destroy all your morals and everything you stood for as a CEO. You wanted to promote small groups, give artists freedom in their music and emphasise on uniqueness, not follow the same concepts that were “trending”.

You didn’t care if it wasn’t as financially beneficial as the marketing gimmicks the partners had thought up, you wanted to stay true to your family and your own ideas. Besides, in the long run, were they really going to priorities their monetary gains over the mental health and the passion of the artists?

Clearly, they had no qualms about squashing the creative ideas that their artists had. “They’re i-doll-s for a reason,” one of them even joked. Jisung looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t speak out.

Annoyed with your brother and everyone in the room, you looked down at your watch and found that it was time to go home. Telling Jisung to deal with it but not make any decisions yet, you took your leave.

The door swung open and somebody stumbled back. You quickly stepped out and shut the door, coming face to face with Minho and Chan.

“Oh. Hi,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you looked at Chan. You hadn’t gotten your daily selfie that day, and you’d texted Chan about it, but he hadn’t read your text for the whole day.

When you turned to Minho, you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch ever so slightly. His tell. “Minho? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to casually brush it off. But you knew him better than that, and you weren’t just going to let it slide. Recalling the way he had been looking at Chan when you first turned to him, you deduced that it must have been related to Chan.

Speaking of which, why was Chan in the building? You and he had already agreed to let him work in his store, why had he specially come down to SFX Labels, and why today of all days?

As if reading your mind, Chan rushed to explain, “For some reason, my agent disagrees with your idea for me to release a solo album. He wanted me to produce music for I.O.U. because he and the manager are friends. I had to set up a meeting with the managers and producers, which wasn’t great. The members were friendly, but the producers were terrible. They couldn’t agree on whether they liked the music or not and constantly bickered the whole time I was there. The concept, style, and even the lyrics of their previous songs were completely different from mine, so I really wonder whose idea it was to invite me.”

You shrugged. “Stupid people are everywhere. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t be responsible for the actions of every individual under the label.”

The muscle in Minho’s jaw loosened, and he let out a snort. “You’re pretty stupid sometimes, too.”

“Not as stupid as Jisung, hopefully.”

Minho grinned. “Not as stupid as Jisung.”

CHAN KEPT HIS DISTANCE from you and Minho, close enough to keep you in his sight but far enough not to hear your conversations. Leaning tiredly on a wall, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

He hadn’t told you, but he thought Jisung had driven you to work in the morning when he spotted you getting out of the car. He was just about to go over and say hi to his favourite Han siblings, but got cold feet when he saw you resting your head on Minho’s shoulder. He was half thrown off by Minho’s constant affection towards you, half thrown off by how cold Minho was towards him.

Remembering Minho’s glare and his hug to you and how upset he had been finding Chan carrying your drunk self away from a public restroom, Chan had hesitated, finally deciding to just go in and not greet the two of you.

When he left the studio that evening, he was both exasperated and frustrated. He had wanted a creative, collaborative experience, not an argument he felt the need to mediate. That was why he preferred to work alone in a (mostly) quiet place and he regretted listening to his agent instead of consulting you.

He had been engrossed in his unhappiness, not watching where he was going. He hadn’t texted you that morning because of the Minho incident, and you had asked him about it. Chan had just been about to reply with two selfies (one to make up for it and one for the end of work) when he crashed into Minho. Minho and Chan both immediately apologised, Chan bowing in greeting to his senior, when Minho recognised him.

It was difficult to ignore the daggers Minho was sending his way, especially when Chan got the idea Minho didn’t have the best impression of him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Chan grimaced. “It’s me.” Minho didn’t look too happy. He would probably have given Chan a piece of his mind. Chan was readying himself for a “stay away from Y/n, you don’t deserve her” kind of spiel when, luckily for Chan, you walked out of the door, almost crashing into him. Again.

He kept quiet while you laughed with Minho, pressing his lips together and trying not to think about how it would feel if you were to have that kind of banter with him. Would he even be able to say something funny like that to you or would he turn into a stammering, blushing mess?

It was hard to tell.

But one thing was for sure. You and Minho had a dynamic that was hard to replicate, and he didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Even if they weren’t set in stone or clearly spelt out, he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had going on with Minho. He decided to remain civil with you, continuing to text you but never making a move.

After all, he didn’t stand a chance against Minho.

IT HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS. Three months since Minho’s arrival in Seoul and he was still there. You couldn’t believe it.

Every morning, you awoke from your bed (trying not to wake Jisung up on his side of the room, he had moved in to make space for Minho), and you tiptoed over to Minho’s room, fully expecting it to be empty.

You would have been less surprised to see an empty, cleaned out room with no evidence that Minho had ever been there, with maybe a short note that said “Goodbye. Don’t miss me too much” than what was happening.

It was early in the morning and Minho was still fast asleep, but still very much there. Physically present. It was such a shock to you and it was probably the longest time that Minho had ever been in one place, besides when he was too young to travel.

He must have had a sixth sense, because after about a minute or so of you staring at him to confirm that he wasn’t going to disappear magically, he sleepily blinked his eyes open and caught sight of you.

“Morning,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips lifting up into a smile.

“Good morning. Do you want me to make ramyeon or are you content with just the bread from yesterday?”

“Ramyeon sounds good,” he replied.

As Minho changed his clothes, you headed to the kitchen to make ramyeon. You were still half asleep, barely going through the actions, and when you set the bowl of noodles onto the dining table, you were caught off guard by Minho’s excited smile.

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously. Knowing Minho, he only smiled like that before he was about to play a prank on you, or when he was up to something sneaky.

“I think we should go to an open class,” Minho said, face impassive. He fought to keep his composure as he watched the struggle of emotions flashing across your face.

“What, like learn a dance? Together with a bunch of strangers?”

“Basically, yeah. I found this place and I’ve already booked it a while back. It’s pretty crowded sometimes so I decided to ask you later and just cancel if you didn’t want to go. I’d pay and everything.”

You would probably have said no, but you felt bad after all that Minho had done. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a complete disaster, right? You could only make so much of a fool out of yourself. Surely it would be fine.

It was not fine. Minho was not lying when he said that it would be crowded and if the morning hadn’t made your day, you would never have gone for another open class in your life.

The two of you had left a note for Jisung, telling him that you’d be gone for the day, and headed to a coffee shop to get a cup of coffee. The weather was lovely, a breeze gusting past as you sat outside the shop, precariously balanced on the metal stools, blowing on your coffee to cool it down. As you sipped your drink gingerly, Minho told you all about his adventures.

He told you about Italy and their delicious pizza, how there everyone’s mother was a cook and he was always invited for a meal at a different person’s house after each dance session. He had even bought a piece of art from one of the painters there and proudly kept it in one of his luggages to bring on future trips.

He told you about Taiwan and their night markets, how he’d made new friends with the dancers there and gone to get bubble tea and scallion pancakes together. He told you about the competition he won there, even speaking a few words of their language to convince you.

He told you about America and Turkey and Spain, and how every country’s culture and way of life was different.

He was a time chaser, if you thought about it. He wanted to experience everything that the world could offer him in the shortest time possible. When you were younger, he had come so close to dropping out of school that his parents said they would stop paying for his dance classes and competition fees if he didn’t buckle down and study.

You couldn’t understand him at the time. Why would anyone want to sacrifice the security of an education paid for by your parents to go jump into the great unknown that was the world?

But now, looking back, you understood why he was that way. Hearing his tales of his travels made you wonder if you were living life as vicariously as you could, or if you were living through the other people you saw.

And if you weren’t living, when would you start?

9.54pm

YOU PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN. Minho was spread out on the couch, facing you but not paying attention to you. You looked back down at your screen and the messages Chan had sent you and tapped Minho’s ankle with your knee.

“Yah, Lee Minho.”

“Yes, Han Y/n?”

“Chan asked me out.” This sentence caught Minho’s attention and he stiffened, head lifting up to look at you. His brows furrowed slightly and the muscle in his jaw twitched. He set his phone down, looked at you properly and gestured for you to go on.

“Do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he probably likes me, right? So I shouldn’t break his heart, right?”

Softer, until you almost didn’t catch it, Minho mumbled, “But the real question is, do you like him back?”

Then it was your turn to knit your eyebrows together in confusion. Did you? You had never been very good with feelings. When you were fifteen, Jisung had a crush on a girl and so did you. Naturally, Jisung acted like himself and you just hyped him up as best as he could to get him to ask her out. When she rejected him, you had been sad for Jisung but also slightly relieved. You had never told Jisung about the incident, because even when you were in your twenties, you couldn’t for the life of you think of what to say.

You couldn’t identify feelings very well and were too socially anxious to have the guts to confess. Luckily for you, Chan did. The confession had you thinking that you might have something with him. You probably liked him. And at the very least, you would have liked to start something with him.

You told Minho that, but all he had to say was, “Hmm.” What was that tone supposed to mean?

“Is there something you need to tell me, Lee Minho?”

Minho was quiet, which was not unusual. He wasn’t smiling, which was a bit unusual but not completely weird. His jaw was twitching, which was not unusual but definitely meant that there was something going on.

“I need to tell you something.”

Patiently, you waited in silence as you watched him struggle inwardly with his thoughts. His mouth opened and shut as he fought to find the right words to express himself.

“Han Y/n, I have loved you for all the time I've known you. I really, really like you and that realisation was probably what grounded me and led me to come back to this place I hate. I want to travel the world but only with you by my side and I've been searching for so long and I think I've found what i’m looking for. You.”

You must have been so stupid for not realising because of course you were the reason that Minho had stayed in Korea for so long. You remembered that morning when you had just been thinking of the very same thing. You were such a fool not to have noticed that the common factor in all of Minho’s happy stories was always you.

Didn’t you see the framed picture of you, Jisung and Minho as kids that Minho propped up at his bedside table when he first unpacked?

Didn’t you realise that Minho couldn’t—or shouldn’t—be able to drop you off because he had other commitments, but he did it anyway because his feelings for you ran deeper than just your friendship?

Didn’t you see the way his jaw twitched when he saw you speaking to Chan?

There were so many telltale signs but you were blind. He gave you signal after signal after signal but you chose to drown instead, swerving off the bridge into the deeper waters of denial.

“Then why’d you just sit there and tell me and Jisung to go for our crush when we were fifteen? You never told me you liked me your whole life. I couldn’t possibly have known.”

Minho smiled sadly. “I thought you knew when I told you I loved you that I meant it as more than friends. When I said I’d be there for you, always, I didn’t mean it lightly. You just never read into it and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But I had to get it off my chest before I left you, again. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back after this, Y/n.”

You tripped over yourself trying to hug Minho, but when you did, he held you so tightly that you could barely breathe. It felt as if he was trying to make up for lost time, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Oh, Minho.”

It was just like the first hug you had given him when he was in Korea again, when you saw him at the company event. His embrace was still just as warm, only that he was shaking, and you didn’t think it was from the cold.

You hugged him back just as tightly, squeezing as much comfort into your hug as you could, trying to hold him in your arms like he used to do to you.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered hoarsely. “I don’t think- I don’t think I could live without you.”

Minho only responded by hugging you tighter before he finally let you go, laughing as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. For both of us. I hope- I hope you enjoy your date. And I’ll stay a while longer. From there, we’ll see where the wind takes me, yeah? And maybe one day, you’ll come to visit me instead.”

Although Minho was playing it off and acting all nonchalant about it, you knew Minho liked to bottle up his feelings and never talk about it. In fact, he probably had a ton of bottled-up trauma he needed to talk about at some point in time.

However, for that moment, you were content not to speak about it. You would simply keep an eye out for your best friend, whom you still loved regardless.

The tension swells up Are you listening? Paddling and clambering onto your surfboards In anticipation of a wave You’re ready to ride

And all of a sudden there is quiet The peace before a storm

The raging sound of the winds And the moving ocean are lost Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas?

You must not have been a very good listener The rules try to cage a roaring beast The restrictions, limitations are pressing in.

The darkness is imminent All that is on the surface Is inconsequential The water hugs me tightly It drags me down

The silence in my ears is deafening My lungs scream for oxygen And everything goes dark

Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas? You must not have been a very good listener

I won’t be tamed Won’t be broken Won’t fall to your stupidity Try to cage me, hold me back You don’t know what I’m capable of

(Grr wolfgang)

Dark blue overshadows, You think you can stop me? You might be the king of the jungle But here, I am the leader of the pack

(SCREECH-)

YOU COULDN’T TELL IF the last screech was from the song or from the abrupt stop that Jisung had come to. Next time, you weren’t going to let him drive. You didn’t want to lose your life going on a date.

Chan’s album had just been released and though it was unconventional to release it early on in the morning, you had requested that it be so. You wanted to listen to it on the way to the pottery-making class that Chan had booked, but you also knew that it would attract more people to listen to it if they were actually awake when it was released.

The mall wasn’t far from your apartment, but Minho and Jisung had insisted on coming with you, obviously. They just couldn’t leave you alone. Minho had been hyping you up the entire ride over, telling you not to be anxious and that he and Jisung had your back if you decided to bail at any one point in time. Jisung was just there to chaperone, or so he claimed. You personally thought that he just wanted to poke his nose in your business because he didn’t have a love life of his own.

They flanked you like bodyguards, and Minho was dressed in black from head to toe, which really sealed the deal. Jisung pulled Minho away to the other side of the pottery studio, both of them sneaking glances at you every once in a while in between making fun of each other’s creations.

You, on the other hand, were feeling rather jittery. You rushed to congratulate Chan’s release and compliment him on his work. “It was stunning,” you told him. “I’m always impressed by your arrangements of beats.”

He smiled back shyly at you, blushing furiously. He had to look away for a second to compose himself before thanking you for the compliment.

With all the nerves and anxious energy in the air, it took a while for both of you to calm down. Then, you could finally start enjoying each other’s company without being overly conscious of your own breathing and your hair and everything else.

Chan turned out to have a natural affinity for pottery. Even the lady teaching the class asked if he had made anything out of clay before, because he seemed so experienced and talented at it.

You, however, couldn’t say the same. Your cup was looking a little wonky halfway through the process of making it and it was precariously lopsided. Chan reached out to help you straighten it, but not before snapping a photo of your stunned face with the mug.

“Hey!”

“I’m making that my contact picture for you,” he grinned mischievously. Oh, right. He was referring to that one time that you told him to use one of the corporate pictures on the internet for your contact picture. You’d almost forgotten it until he brought it up.

You could hardly believe how long it had been since that day. Your and Chan’s relationship had grown so much since then and you’d grown less uptight and stiff around him, additionally his sense of humour had started to show more.

You were so happy to have Chan in your life.

Especially when he handed you a mini flower bouquet after you had cleaned up and sent your pottery creations off for baking and glazing. You took it, slightly confused, until Chan excitedly asked you to untie the ribbon. The bouquet unfolded into a little coaster and it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

Chan even brought you window shopping at the IKEA opposite the mall, nodding with you as you criticised the room decor and agreed when you liked the aesthetic. If you didn’t know any better, it might have felt like shopping for an apartment.

Afterwards you went to get ice cream together, passing by a couple of plushies hanging on a rack. Unable to resist, you grabbed the wolf plushie keychain and waved it at Chan. “Grr, wolfgang.”

You couldn’t help yourself, collapsing into a heap of giggles.

Chan sighed like an old man, looking between the keychain in your hands and your face. The glee on your face must have been enough to convince him, because he took it into his hand, and reaching out with his free hand, he took a quokka off.

“That’s you,” he grinned.

You cocked your head. “Really?” You’d always told Jisung he looked like a quokka, and obviously the two of you looked alike since you were siblings, but you had never had anyone attribute your looks to that of a quokka’s before.

But Chan was looking at you so tenderly and you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you took it from your hands and smiled at him.

“Let’s go get these, then.”

YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN dreams never lasted before you woke up in cold sweat, clammy palms gripping your blanket. You had had an awful nightmare about Minho leaving, a manifestation of your fears since he had arrived. It wasn’t a recurring nightmare but it still hit you hard.

Still in shock, you got up to go to the bathroom to splash your face and calm yourself down. It was dark outside, but the room that Minho had been sleeping in seemed eerily empty to you.

When you walked past it again, you did a double take. Minho had been packing his bags for a while and you had been anticipating his departure during that time. However, he had never actually told you when he was leaving Korea, and if he really meant it when he said he might never come back.

Full of questions, you went over to Jisung’s bed to wake him up. You were concerned but mostly confused, and you wanted assurance that Minho was safe.

Little did you expect that Minho had already informed Jisung in advance that he was leaving. The two had even booked Minho’s tickets together, strategically arranging it at night so that you wouldn’t have time to cry and make a big fuss of it all.

“The real reason he had to wake up in the middle of the night to get to the airport for a flight at the most inconvenient hours of the day is so that you wouldn’t make a big fuss out of it,” Jisung hissed. “Yet, even after all that planning, it still seems to backfire. All because you’re so fucking emotionally attached to Minho-hyung.”

You sucked in your breath sharply, but Jisung was relentless. “Have you ever considered my feelings? In our little trio, it’s always felt like Miny/n and Jisung who third-wheeled everywhere you two went. You’re always so caring towards Minho-hyung but never to me. You prioritise him at every stage of life. You idolise him. Maybe you’ve never stopped to think that he doesn’t want you next to him all the fucking time and that’s why he left.”

“I don’t prioritise Minho over you, Ji. I pay so much attention to him whenever he’s here because I never know when he might up and leave. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. And maybe you know, so you’re not worried, but sometimes he ghosts me for days on end and I don’t know whether to be anxious or to attribute it to his busy schedule. You don’t know what that’s like, do you?” You scoffed bitterly, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“No,” he sneered. “You’re right, I don’t. Because I don’t stick to him like glue and he’s okay with telling me things he knows you can’t handle. You’re acting so damn immature right now and that’s probably why he never talks to you about important things.”

You couldn’t help yourself. The tears rolled silently down your cheeks at Jisung’s words. You knew that he was just cranky and upset, and that he said these types of things completely unprovoked when he was tired or mad, but you still hadn’t expected him to say something like that.

It was true, although you were older than Jisung, Minho always treated Jisung like the older one. He was more protective of you, and always delegated work and details to Jisung when you were planning anything together. When you were still in highschool, you remembered Minho had had a project he desperately needed to finish. You had leaped at the opportunity to be useful to him, but he’d rejected you and gone straight to Jisung instead.

Thoughts were spinning in your head as you remembered all the conversations where Minho had dismissed your thoughts because you were not “ready to talk about those sorts of things” or so he claimed.

Even now, when you were already an adult, Minho and Jisung still treated you like a child.

Frustrated, you changed out of your clothes and grabbed a coat to keep you warm as you left the house. Sitting at the doorstep of your apartment, you gave Chan a call, fully aware that Jisung was extremely close to kicking you out of the house if you didn’t leave him alone.

To your surprise, Chan picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey. Can I, um, crash at your place? I kind of got into an argument with my brother.”

There was the slightest of pauses. “Sure. Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up. I don’t want you to catch a cold trying to get to my place.”

You rattled off the address, and you could almost feel Chan’s nod over the phone. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Chan held true to his word, reaching your apartment in exactly fifteen minutes, even coming up to your apartment door and gazing down at you as you sulked at the door, lips pouted and eyebrows scrunched together.

“Chan,” was all you managed out before he was hugging you, and you felt like melting right there and dissolving into a puddle of tears. “Jisung would have kicked me out if I didn’t shut up but I really needed someone to talk to because—hic—I miss him already,” you hiccuped, tears interspersing your words.

“It’s okay,” Chan whispered, stroking your back comfortingly. “It’s okay to let it out.”

You nodded and wiped your tears, hiccuping and leaning on Chan as he led you down to his car, driving you back to his house.

His house wasn’t much but when he brought you up to his roof, you were amazed by the view. You could almost ignore the city lights from up there, the only thing separating you from the stars being the vast expanse of the night sky between you and the constellations.

Chan brought out two bottles of champagne and glasses, while you snuggled under the blankets he had prepared. For a dirty rooftop in the middle of the city, it certainly was awfully comfortable.

It was also terribly romantic.

Chan wasn’t even settled in by the time you burst into tears, outright sobbing as you told him about how much you missed Minho. The softness of the air mattress under you didn’t make your heart ache any less, and the tears flowed from an endless reservoir, never seeming to run dry.

Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, giving you just enough space to feel sad but not lonely.

He listened to you while you told him of Minho’s tendencies to up and leave, your struggles with your friendship and how vulnerability looked different on Minho with you and Jisung and you didn’t understand why humans were so complicated.

He listened as you told him Minho’s life story and your history with him, why you would miss him so much and how much of your heart he happily occupied, wrenching it away from you each time he left. As your heart slowly grew smaller and scarred, you were sure it was becoming more closed off to others.

You? Emotional? Of course not.

But even your impressive gaslighting skills couldn’t convince you that you weren’t emotional, especially after all you had told Chan.

“Y/n?” was the first thing out of Chan’s mouth after a good minute of silence on your part. The void of noise was punctuated only by your hiccups every once in a while as you fought back a fresh wave of tears.

“I think you need to let some of him go,” he said hesitantly. “It’s okay for him to live his life, and you yours. It’s okay that you’re set on two different paths that only cross once in a blue moon. I promise you, you won’t drift apart just because he likes to wander. You will still be okay and whole without one person and you can still be really good friends.”

Smiling, he pointed to the sky. “Do you see Orion’s belt? Similar to you mourning Minho’s departure, it’s a huge waist of time.”

You laughed involuntarily, eyes shimmering but no longer crying. “Thanks. I think… I needed that.” You gazed at the stars, in awe of their beauty and how vast the universe was. So many things were there for you to be grateful for, you couldn’t afford to squander the gift of time longing for the past. After all, you had the present to be grateful for.

Sensing that you didn’t want to talk anymore, Chan guided your hand out from under the blanket and pointed your finger at the stars. “Do you see that constellation right there? It’s one of my favourites. Sirius.”

“Three guesses why,” you said sarcastically.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little cliché and like the dog constellation because it’s the closest to a wolf. What’re you going to do about it, huh?”

You only responded by pressing a kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“While you’re in a good mood… I also wanted to tell you that it’s okay to be emotionally attached to people and need a while to get over things.”

“And to get into fights with our loved ones?”

“That. Human relations are complicated. You should know that, you people-watcher. I see how your eyes dart in public from one couple to another, scouring the world for any form of humanity to include in your music.”

You felt called out but Chan had a point. “You do it too. Is it my fault that living vicariously through others hurts less than doing it ourselves?”

Chan smiles fondly. “You know everything will work out, right? Hurting out of love is better than not feeling love at all.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you reply, tears blurring your vision. Your hand in Chan’s tightened its grip on him, your rib cage aching as if your heart was really and truly broken.

Chan tilted your chin so you were looking at him, eyes meeting yours as you nodded, just the slightest of motions before his lips were on yours, kissing the pain and the tears away, brushing his thumb over your cheeks to wipe away the traces of your hurt.

“Hey, Y/n. It’s really going to work itself out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then crying is alright. It’s not a sign of weakness and you’ll let it all out. And from there, I’ll hold you through it all while you mend your broken heart.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

FIN.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

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rainymoodlet · 10 months

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i couldn’t do it, y’all. i spent the time to age up and adjust ivory’s save, because playing her in a world where dallas didn’t exist just felt wrong 🥺 that’s one dinner party of five down! (which i missed, bc i left my computer running dhdhs)

catch up with the kruegers below! ⛓️

for those of you who don’t know, dallas (sixth pic, they/them!) was a nameless sim i’d created with the idea of playing through the joy of life legacy with! they became much larger in-game than the confines of the challenge, though, and while they were working on starting their own 🌿 bakery, dallas was also working as a stripper and a sex worker at “the flamingo” in del sol valley.

dallas wasn’t on any protection when they successfully seduced mayor ted roswell at the club and freak-a-leeked the next month’s rent payment out of him. when they found out they were pregnant, they resolved to raise their daughter as best as they could.

little ivory was born maybe three in-game weeks into the game, i’m not kidding.

though she was a major upset in the course of the challenge, ivory has been a delightful sim to watch grow up! dallas did a wonderful job raising her - but their fate was never to be a simple legacy founder!! so while dallas is freed of mantle of “tjol gen one”, ivory gets to don the “tjol+ gen two” crown 💛 i did a timeskip in-save and now we catch up with her fresh off of her graduation from ubrite 😌

i hope this can help explain a little bit of what’s happened and why the legacy has been all over the place! we’re sticking with ivory from here on out, who has a much more streamlined gen dhdh

morgan fyres, wolfgang munch, savannah price, cassandra goth, and gemma charm are ivory’s best friends since highschool. she used to date cass when they were still teens, but they cooled things off before going to college. now, ivory’s crush on savannah has been popping up in her mind from time to time… 👀 shingo sasaki (fifth pic) was ivory’s nanny from the moment she was born to the moment she grew into a teen! he was there since day one, and over the course of the years has woven his way into the kruegers’ lil unit of two. he’s wearing a ring because dallas proposed to him, not the other way around 🥹 he’s also the reason our girl is level 5 in komorebigo, and they exclusively gossip together in this language. (shingo has never learned simlish dhdhd he’s like level 4 and we love that for him) ivory calls him “toji” or “otoji” — basically “grandpa-dad”. cliff kiser (by @gothoffspring) and anaya jang (third pic) are dallas’ best friends and the first two sims outside of her parent and nanny that ivory ever made friends with! they’re solid figures in her life, and ivory views cliff as the fun-uncle-slash-father that she never had in ted!

(ivory has been thinking a lot about ted in-game, though: she’s been calling him to chat every day bc her “think about family member” dialogue is always him. i’m imagining that the motherfucker didn’t exactly go to any of her graduations 🙄 ted still doesn’t recognize ivory as legitimate, even if he was paying her child support and even if she’s met her half-sisters and they adore her!)

also like??? my baby dallas did so good, look at ivory’s traits 🥹 none of these were cheated in: dallas was just an absolute super parent!

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 screenshots #ts4 legacy #the joy of life legacy challenge #;tjol+#sim: ivory #sim: dallas #sim: shingo #cliff kiser by gothoffspring #||#wolfie is always so absolutely miserable fjshdj he hates and loves his friends sm #i also changed my eyes back to the non-defaults bc i’m inconsistent 😎#welcome to the joy of life+!! fhdjd same as kmik #i am nothing if not a fan of the reboot #ivory is our protag now~ phew #it was impossible to do anything with dallas bc y’all thought they were so hot if im honest fhshhdd i was like #i cannot lock them into some… relationship… or career… they must be Effervescent Always #so even though they’re going to be living out their life in this save #dallas is definitely becoming an Icon Sim like bee or blue 😌 my ageless babies #so ivory’s goals are: (1) completing the master chef aspiration (2) reaching level 10 of the chef career #(3) buying her own restaurant at 2 celebrity stars #(4) acheive 3 star celebrity status #and (5) acheive a 3 star rating on her eventual restaurant #and have a kid and a controversial relationship throughout it all mwahaHA #this will be posting in-between kmik and - once i’m on hiatus - sporadically as i play when i have the time!!#its been fun playing with a sim i’ve watched grow up though like 🥹 its been so long since i had a sim world that developed beyond a gen dhdh #more kmik today!! just one post ~

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humunanunga · 1 year

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Project: Eden’s Garden prologue just dropped and here’s my thoughts on the cast so far 👀

Damon: Oh, so we finally get to play as a tool. Just a total trashman. It’s almost like if we went into the first Danganronpa playing as Byakuya LMAO. Can’t wait to watch his guy slowly figure out he was being a gatekeeping prick just to feel self-important and not have to think about having an identity apart from his talent.

Eva: I love her. I already liked her design when the voice cast was announced, which I also really like, and now I’m really looking forward to how her arc pans out. I like how a lot of her dialogue consists of questions/guesses, directives, or observations you wouldn’t need to take her word for. I also like that, assuming it’s true-- and so far, I’m willing to bet it is-- that, while hesitant, she was honest about being the Ultimate Liar. Imagine how that’d blow up in her face later if she tried lying about what kind of Ultimate she was. She knows it’s a lot to ask for with her talent, but she definitely acts like she wants to be trusted. I already said this in Youtube comments, but the contrast against Kokichi really makes a point for why she’s the Ultimate Liar: a good liar knows when not to lie. For one, a bad liar tells lies they can’t get away with, and for another, if your reputation precedes you, all it takes to deceive everyone is to tell the truth and let their suspicion do all the work.

Grace: Uncalled for, but Damon kinda earns it later.

Wolfgang: A polite boy. A lad, even. Save for how riled up that “demo” got him. Wondering whether he’ll be Damon’s Kaito or his Kokichi... Right now, it seems like Damon’s set himself up to be Wolfgang’s Kokichi. Yikes.

Toshiko: We haven’t seen her mouth yet... curious. Could mean nothing... but if this fangame also includes a plant among the killing game participants, she’s my first guess. Danganronpa loves red herrings, so I don’t think it’d be Eva, but Toshiko? Her color scheme would also fit, everyone woke up in pairs, and a lot of those pairs seem to work well together or at least balance each other out.

Eloise: Hello, so you have red eyes, huh? Is there something you’re not telling us? What was that about analyzing your opponent and predicting their next move, almost like you would in chess? Sorry, you seem very sweet, I just know how these games go.

Desmond: Oh no, you’re gonna get a lotta heat for your talent later, aren’t’cha. I am so sorry, you seem like a real chill dude.

Jean: idk, guys, he's jacked and reliable, and beefcakes with integrity tend to strike out on the fourth case in this series...

Ulysses: Another design I loved from the get-go. I get the impression his habit of note-keeping could be important later... I’m rooting for his survival, but that journal could easily be evidence later.

Ingrid: We love a beefsteak.

Kai: I could see the Ultimate Influencer being a traitor or mastermind and using their talent to gather an audience for their killing game, cuz the games are always streamed and he has a lot more black and white in his outfit than Cassidy, but I... kinda doubt it’ll be him unless they’re all revealed to play roles as the mastermind.

Diana: tbh I’m really hoping she’ll be one of the killers. There’s a lot of potential for a makeup artist to cover their crime, like concealing or faking injuries. They did say she’s done makeup for cinema, I’m just saying. I’m just saying! At the very least, even if she’s cleared, I really hope she’ll be a suspect.

Jett: Don’t know what I expected, but I’m loving his energy. He is doing his best.

Mark: What was with that leer on the train? Did he recognize Damon?

Cassidy: Ohhh boy, are she and Wenona gonna duke it out at some point?

Wenona: Damon... my guy... I woulda thought you’d get along with her. You are a certifiable hypocrite if you’re gonna judge her for being an Ultimate elitist.

Cara: Oh, this wasn’t Eden’s first killing game, was it. I’m surprised none of them pointed out after the practice trial how Cara was an Ultimate too... Wolfgang was right. Asking why would’ve been just as important as asking how. We’re gonna circle back to this case later, aren’t we-- hold on... was... was the point of doing this... did... could Cara’s killer have won a class trial?

Tozu: Did... did he sound like Dr. Frank-N-Furter to anyone else or is that just me? Great voice either way, interesting that it looks like he’s wearing a grey body suit under that coat that'd make him look more like an unnamed Danganronpa culprit. Interesting.

Mara: idk, she yoked tho.

#project: eden's garden #project eden's garden #fanganronpa #danganronpa #tldr #etc

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ifthiswingscouldfly · 2 years

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How they act around their crush?

Napoleon Bonaparte

Act like a hero in front of his crush.

Uses all his charisma around his crush.

Can be a teaser too.

He usually show off his muscles to impress his crush.

And this always work.

Protective and genuine.

Have no shame towards his feelings for you.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

When he have a crush on someone nothing really changes.

He act the same around them especially if one of the suitors are around.

But expect him to be more soft when you both are alone.

Like he will try to reassure you and have his sweet talk with you.

Leonardo Da Vinci

There's A LOT of teasing about you kissing him.

Some of his jokes goes to the fact the you really like him.

Also he is going to show off his skills.

He will fix things that doesn't really need to be fixed just to impress you.

Will throw a horny joke just to make you a blushing mess.

It is so frustrating to be around him when he is crushing on you.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Throws so much compliments towards their crush.

Always talking about how wonderful you are.

Have no shame to talk about how he feel when he is around his crush.

Probably he is the one that would get drunk and sing how much he love you under your balcony.

Can be a dick sometimes causing you problems including himself too.

Love to tease omg.

Vincent Van Gogh

Baby sunflower boy is so shy and indecisive around his crush.

He would try to pick up his courage to hang out with her.

Will send her letters with sebastian telling her he want to spend time with her.

Very obliging and genuine around his crush.

He is ready to throw himself at her feet if she needed help.

Theodorus Van Gogh

Omg he is meaner around his crush.

Like not the mean Theo in the normal situation but the meaner.

Would talk to Arthur about how much he like her.

And Arthur would tease him.

The only way he show that he care is when he give you advice.

Like he would say "work hard hondje!".

Also you'll know if he like you if you ask Arthur, he wouldn't hesitate telling you.

Dazai Osamu

It's complicated to know if he likes you or not.

But at this point he can send mixed signals.

You'll probably find him a good listener when you're talking so he can know what you like or dislike exactly.

He always have a story to tell and he know how to keep you entertained for a while unless you were curious about him and his past he will ignore your curiosity so he don't open up.

One of the dumbest suitors when it comes to his own feelings.

Can't face the fact the he really did like you.

Isaac Newton

He isn't the one to fall in love from the first sight.

Shy around his crush and he would try to make a space between both of you.

You'll find him staring at you from a distance.

Wouldn't take the first step obviously, that's why he need an extroverted girl.

He would invite you to star gazing with him.

While doing that he would listen carefully to every word that come out your mouth so he can analyze them later by himself.

Jean D'arc

This man is shy too.

Would hide his feelings and bottle them up.

He wouldn't hate being around you but the main problem is warning you.

Yeah he will warn you that he is a monster and he would talk badly about himself.

Need someone who is kind and patient to reach him.

Protective when it comes to you.

William Shakespeare

When he have a crush on someone oh God here we go again.

Would make excuses to be around them.

He will stalk his crush knowing every movement she make and who is the people she is dealing with.

Would invite her to dinner after collecting A LOT of information about her.

And she would be surprised about how much he guessed her favorite stuff, of course he knew because he was stalking her.

Seriously he is afraid of being close to her and being far away from her, but when she realized he cares about her.

She can reassure him that it is okay if they're together.

Le Comte De Saint Germain

Okay he is very friendly with everyone so when he have a crush on someone it might be difficult to know.

He would act more cold and serious around her.

His feelings or mask will fall off the moment he sense there's a danger around his crush.

Protective and obliging towards his crush.

He is good when it comes to mind games but if his crush isn't the type for mind games he would be straight forward.

Will ask her if it is okay to spend more time with him.

Sebastian/ Akihiko satou

He is caring in general.

But when it comes to him having a crush on a girl it is a different story.

He is still acting secretive and mysterious around his crush.

Would take her on a date but is it a real date? She'll never know.

Ask her politely if it is okay to spend time with each other.

He is really into slow burn relationships and prefer them because he can get to know the other partner on a slow realistic level.

Can't be honest with his feelings and would never show them to anyone especially his crush.

Vlad's mansion

Vlad

When he have a crush on someone they will never know.

A lot of eye contact with their crush.

You wouldn't realize he is into you.

Same as comte he is into mind games.

If his crush is an innocent girl she wouldn't realize he is having a crush on her.

Would give her flowers and here's the game.

He is sending messages with flowers.

It is kind of interesting how he make you solve a puzzle using only flowers.

Charles Henri-Sanson

He can't really realize whether it is just a crush or he have a real feelings for her.

Can be really desperate for attention.

But not in a bad way, you need just to teach him what is the difference between love and like.

Being with Charles is a full time job.

He love to touch you and give you all he have but all of this because of the fact that he need someone to love him for who he is.

After teaching him what a healthy relationship and boundaries is you'll find him realizing his own feelings.

Johann Georg Faust

He is cold and sadistic in general.

Dealing with his feelings isn't his job.

He prefer to keep everything for himself.

You wouldn't really know if he have a crush on you.

But in fact he would say some creepy lines like "you have a beautiful skeleton", "your flesh smell amazing".

Probably he will creep his crush out.

Reaching deep down he is feeling a sweet and warm sensation in his heart.

Looking at his crush he know now what is the reason behind that sweet sensation.

⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰~•~⁰

Post date: 3/9/2022

Day: Saturday

《Note》:

I hope you liked my work and thank you for reading it.

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jackiequick · 8 months

Text

Meet The Wells - Harry Wells Fic

Tv Show: The Flash

Setting: Season 4

Pairing: Harrison ‘Harry’ Wells x Leanna ‘Lea’ O’Conner

Featuring: One of the best characters on the show, Cisco Ramon!

—-

The morning everything pretty well. Team Flash was doing their usual work at S.T.A.R LABS. Discussing lunch breaks, new metas they possibly discovered, new experiments to create and plans for the weekend. That was until Harry mentioned friends.

Cisco sat up, “No he’s delusional. That’s because the lack of sleep he’s has been having. Uh, Harry friends are in here!”

Caitlin looked at Barry, who stood there confused, guessing that he’s being sarcastic.

“I got friends other than you guys! You will meet them.” Harry respond, siping his morning coffee.

Cisco gave his second girl a look and asked, “Lea help.”

“I-i know nothing about this.” Lea admitted with her hands up in defense.

“Ramon, believes i don’t got any friends. When i clearly do.” Harry yelled and sighed, typing away on his keyboard, “You told me to go make some friends, right?”

Cisco yelled back, “Yeah but last time i checked, you don’t have any friends besides us!”

Leanna who was tinkering with her tools looked up and nodded, “Yup! I did tell you that. Actually I’m curious to meet your friends, but I gotta hand some paperwork over to Joe first.”

She stood up, giving her boyfriend of 3 years now, a quick kiss on the cheek, in which Harry wraps his hand around her waist pulling her in for one more starling kiss. Clearly he was excited for today.

——

Cisco and Harry were in the speed lab being introduced to their scientific ragtag team of friends. But it wasn’t what Cisco suspected Harry’s friends to be. One of them even practically threw Cisco Ramon out of the speed lab for being annoyed and offended. Lea walked in, confused onto why her best friend ran out of there but her confusion came to a pause after what she see saw.

There stood right in front of her brown eyes the doppelgängers of Harrison Wells. Not 1, not 2, but 3 Harrison Wells in the speed lab. And if add Harry, that makes 4! In total stood 4 very different variants of Harrison Wells, going from one with gray hair and a turtleneck to one with war general uniform like he just lost an eyeball for God’s sakes.

She didn’t know to laugh at how insane this is or internally whine about this little endeavor being oddly weird for her. But at the same time she was very much integrated into this new situation. She met versions of Wells beforehand but this was completely different. Before she can even say a word or pull together another set of thoughts, when a voice called out to her. More or less a catcall followed by a cheeky whistle.

“Who is this little beauty queen? She’s finer than a flower on a summer morning!” Yelled out a rusty almost burnt blonde Wells in a red rode and slippers.

Lea didn’t realize they were staring at her that moment, quickly fixing her dark gray shirt with tiny daisies scattered all over and dark jacket she borrowed from her friend, Caitlin Snow, earlier that week. She firstly mouth a small “What the fuck?” to Harry as he jogged over swiftly taking her hand with ease. The man was clearly excited about this.

“Honey, come meet my new friend!” He exclaimed holding a grin, returning back to earlier spot but this time with her next to him, “This is Harrison Wolfgang Wells, H. Lothario Wells and Wells 2.0. Men, this is Leanna O’Conner.”

All 3 of them smiled at the lady. Wolfgang Wells stayed wondering his eyes at the brunette, as if he trying to pin point something in particular.

Lea had to just smile politically for the 3 idiots to go sight seeing on her, if allowed. Without a second later the women dragging Harry out into the hallway for a quick chat.

“Harry, honey, what the hell?!” She whispered yelled.

“What the hell? What do you mean ‘what the hell?’?” He whispered yell back.

“Are you out of your mind? Have you officially lost your marbles?!”

“You asked me to make some friends and that’s exactly what I did!”

“When I told you to make friends, I didn’t mean with yourself!”

“They’re technically NOT me! They’re my double hitting doppelgängers from other earths and one of the biggest baddest brightest mind out there.”

“Again! There’s literally 3 of you in that room, all three of them ready to make goo goo eyes at me and oh yeah, one of you is enough but a friend group of Wells that’s just—”

“Sweetie I can handle this. There is nothing to worry about, they’re just charming and intelligent people with different kinds of backgrounds. It’s gonna go great. I promise.”

“You promise? Cause—”

“Lea it’s fine! I got this.”

————

Once the couple walked back in, Lea announced the plan with Harry, but the second they all heard her voice they looked at her like 3 somewhat trained dogs. Harry had to scuff down a laugh, snorting a smidge.

Sandy hair blonde Wells aka H. Lothario Wells, grinned at her. He found her pretty and said, “Say, gorgeous you got any sisters? Or are you free this Sunday night?”

She blushed chuckling as she shook her head ‘No’ as Harry face them with a glare saying that Lea was HIS girlfriend. So hands off fellas!

Wells 2.0 spoke up, “I had a Lana on my earth…”

“Really? How was I like?” Lea asked, her eyes perked up curious about the answer.

“I wouldn’t know, she died or was it that she left the country? Oh well, i don’t remember! Ladies on my earth aren’t as nice looking as you.”

——————

The four of them kept talking, mainly Harry and his doubles, Lea just stayed sitting back writing on her iPad a few notes on an old equipment and equations. She listened every once in a awhile to their conversation, walking in and out of the lab to other part of the building or heading down to Jitters for some java.

Blowing a kiss to all 3 copies of Wells as she left. All of them stayed with a loopy and cheeky smiles after that. Harry Wells was the lucky one, he actually got a kiss of the cheek.

Returning with a coffee for her boyfriend, after handing one to Caitlin and Cisco she heard it. “Annie..” said the voice. It belongs to Wolfgang Wells, who staying eyeing her for the moment due stepped into the room in the first place. She rarely heard that nickname tossed around but it been said plenty of times beforehand. Only Cisco or Barry will throw that nickname out.

“That’s Leanna, not Annie, can you believe this guy fellas?” Replied Sandy Wells with a chuckling, figuring his doppelgänger was nuts in the head or something.

“No, Annie O’Conner..” Wolfgang Wells said once again with curiosity and confidence in his tone.

“Yeah he’s right.” Lea confirmed his wording, “Did you know a version of me, on your Earth?”

“My wife.”

“We’re married?”

Harry’s eyes darted towards them, mumbling, “You married a verison of her? When?”

“Yeah but I left her. Too much of a handful.” Wolfgang said with a shrug.

Lea gasped, “HANDFUL? I will have you know that I’m not a handful, you guys are. No offense, Harry..”

Wolfgang snickered, “You sound like her too! I left her cause we fell out of love, she was too uptight and I was too busy to care.”

“OUCH!”

“But I think still love her very much. Still, love is love. I think we all got a verison of this lady on our earths, right?”

Sandy Wells chuckled, “Mhmmmm! I do. She’s my 2 A.M bootycall. Speaking of which…”

Just like that, blondie wells was gone saying he got business to take care of. Leanna jaw dropped, meanwhile Harry held back a little smile, grabbing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand.

All 3 men went back to work. But the looks Wolfgang and 2.0 didn’t go unnoticed, glancing at the half Asian brunette every once in a while. Both men saw something in her, and they liked it. Harry had to snap their towards himself instead and looping a hand on his girlfriend’s waist to signify that once again she’s taken!

The men were talking over one another and bickering more often than not about the topic. Honestly it was kinda hilarious.

Cisco walked in soon enough with a smile, “Soo Council Of Wells, how are we doing? Any progress or we just chitchatting about who’s smarter?”

Leanna chuckled at the last part, because half of it was true.

Harry on the other hand groaned in annoyance, “It’s not going anywhere! We can’t even agree on what method to use.”

“What? You had an entire day.”

“I know! I know!”

“Is it cause Lana is distracting them?”

This time Lea spoke up, “HEY! Right here you know?! First we’re complimenting me, then you’re treating me like a diamond in the rough and now you’re insulting me?! What is it? Leanna Day and I didn’t get the memo?!”

“Well welcome to my life, girlfriend! Theses guys love to do the same thing to me! Ain’t so easy, isn’t it?” Cisco repiled back, tossing her a glare.

“Ohhh, so this is the way your framing this, huh?”

“I guess so, Annie!”

“Cisco I swear—!”

“Wait?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Isn’t there a 3rd one? Isn’t there 3 of—”

He pointed out there was only 2 Wells standing there, not the original 3 from the beginning of the day. Harry was about to say something about it but as if on cue, Sandy haired Wells reappeared with a cheeky grin blabbing on about something.

Sandy turned toward the trio with a smile, “Oh sorry! Had to take care of some off camera business—”

“OHH MY GOD!” Cisco shouted holding a hand, covering whatever it was he didn’t want to see.

This Wells had his pants down, showing everything his mother gave him. Harry tried to looked away, his face accidentally saw it. Leanna just blinked, gasping as she turned around burying his face in her boyfriend’s black shirt.

“What?” Asked Sandy Wells softly , confused.

“I can see your Frank and beans.” Said Wolfgang, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Come on, now. Do my best thinkin' commando,” Sandy defends himself with a shrug, “Plus, it ain't like we all haven't seen it before. Especially, you little missy.”

“I haven’t seen it!” Cisco yelled, sounding funny and offended by the fact.

He shoots a wink Leanna’s way and she feel like she can’t help but peek her face towards all the men in the room. She saw so much more than clearly expected today! Like Jesus Christ! She rested her head, still sorta hiding her face in her boyfriends shirt.

She didn’t look confident or heroic in that moment.

Harry placed a comforting hand on her head, holding his lady while smiling at her embraced blushing and embarrassment.

Cisco held back a couple of laughs, “Aww! You’re traumatizing the poor girl! But seriously, dude put that away..please.”

Wolfgang agreed with Cisco for once.

“Ah, you Earth Folks. You are so uptight.” Sandy replied pulling up his pants.

“Ah, alright! Can we get back to the take at hand? We need answers.”

Suddenly all men started throwing out suggestions left and right, speaking over one another not allowing Cisco nor Harry to keep a full sentence in.

Lea’s ears were ringing loudly and she groaned in annoyance, “Okay! That’s enough!”

“Enough? We’re just getting started!” Add 2.0 Wells, in which causing another explosion of words being thrown around.

Clearly Harry was losing it having enough of this shit and yelled, “Guys! Guys! Ga—gentlemen!” Grabbing all their attention he continued, “Clearly this isn’t working. And just for the record, it’s not me, it’s you.”

With a simple push of a button, all three holograms disappeared, leaving the trio to themselves.

“This, was a bad idea.” Harry said walking back, placing his hands on his girlfriend’s shoulders whispering, “You okay?”

“It’s like your junk was burnt into my brain.” Cisco answered instead.

“Your welcome.”

Leanna did not answer or add into the previous statement, just walking out with a hand covering her ears silently. Harry and Cisco shared a tired look, figuring something bothered her..

——

Him and Cisco were talking for a bit, the genius still grumbling about what happened. That he needed to accept the facts and himself, since they are technically his doppelgängers but still. He didn’t truly like it too much.

Until he found her.

Harry found his girlfriend in his lab, scribbling in a notebook wearing her noise canceling headphones, that both him and Cisco carefully crafted her due to her meta human abilities, and playing with her bangs.

He sighed, knowing she was flashed today and practically felt just as insulted as he was. But because Leanna was more of a sensitive soul in the relationship, rather busy lately with Iris’s wedding planning, and helping the team with their issues. Along with the overheating bickering wasn’t probably too pleasant to her ears.

He winced, taking a marker to the whiteboard and tapping it against the clear sided screen. Harry walked over to her, tapping her shoulder and simply asked, “Hey, are you alright?”

“Hm?” She asked, removing her headphone registering what he said and chuckled, “Oh! Yeah honey I’m fine.”

“Isn’t that my line? Lea, honey, what happened? You kinda snapped at them.”

“Yeah well, so did you!…I, uh, umm wasn’t expecting today. Part of me knew something was gonna happen! I felt like I was being pulled left and right. I mean 4 Wells in one room, that’s overwhelmingly surprising and kinda chaotic..no offense.”

“None taken! They are just huge self minded, idiots. Uptight, roughly insulting, snooty and just jerks. I—I didn’t think it would go like that! Hell they flashed you and choose to make eyes at you the whole time. Treated you like you were an prize to be won and be thrown away…no one was paying attention to anything and just talking over one another! Jesus…”

Leanna stayed quiet hearing him rant about how he felt about the situation and the protection his mind created, recognizing things she didn’t notice until now. It made her feel better, knowing that she got the best Wells in the multiverse. All he wanted was to make some more friends and figure out a way to help with his teammates issues.

But instead, he realized that rather became a host and solid choice for a complete conversation than the other guys. He also felt sorta good about himself being one to unlock the door to an O’Conner’s heart unlike his counterpart.

“I uh, don’t take you for granted, you know?” Harry said, with a soft grin.

“I figured as much. You stayed.” She replied with a tired smile.

“Wolfgang had a version of you then lost you, 2.0 Wells was just gah not—the best thing with women and uh, Lothario was something else where uh, you know!”

Lea chuckled and nodded, “Oh I know! I..I know!”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, “But in all seriousness, Leanna I love you and I’m so sorry you had to deal with that—us, today.”

“I’ve been part of Team Flash for so long, where something like that shouldn’t surprise me but it did. It was chaotic chapter for the books, but I really hope that doesn’t happen again!”

“It better not! I can’t take another moment with those guys. They’re one of the most annoying minds of the multiverse!”

“Harry, honey..”

“What?

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She stood up from her chair, wrapped her arms around his middle and looked up at the man gently grinning. He looked down at her, placing a hand on the small of her back, smiled softly confused since she left her second line incomplete.

“For being you! You came to this Earth and took it as it is, trying to help it. And those idiots, didn’t have to FaceTime us but they did. Because you would’ve done the same thing.” She added.

“Of course I’ve would’ve, I kinda like you guys. Especially you and Dr. Snow.” Harry admitted.

“Most importantly, you fell for me. All those other versions of Lea and Wells don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Well, technically, this wasn’t planned. I came to another earth for one goal. But we sorta happened.”

“Do you regret it?”

He leaned down, cupping her cheek a bit, “No.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, leaning in.

“Because it proves my multiverse theory. Every version of you or me, ends up being with an such interesting partner.”

“I love that theory.”

“I know you do.”

Harry closed the space between them, tossing in a few solid pecks of Lea’s waiting lips. A couple of sweet nothings and laughs were thrown into the mix, chatting about getting Big Belly Burger later.

When suddenly..

“Oh come on!”

Came Cisco’s voice, standing at the door with his hands on his hips.

“Seriously? Y’all didn’t need my help making her feel better.” Cisco said.

Lea snorted and smiled, as Harry tossed his friend a playful grin, only ever reserved for Cisco Ramon.

“We’re heading to Big Belly Burger later, you coming?” asked Lea.

“Oh hell yes!” He replied, replacing the frown with a smile, snatched up his friend from Harry into his arms for a hug and yelling, “She was mine first.”

——

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story ⚡️

Please don’t forget to like, share reblog

Tags: @yetanotherwells @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @mandylove1000 @msrochelleromanofffelton @hanlueluver @topgun-imagines @sherloquestea @superspookyjanelle @rooster-84 @bisexual-watermelons @withakindheartx @blackheart-beauty @blueboirick and etc.

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