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wondernus · 1 year

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x yn #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios

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sintiva · 10 months

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cw: eren has bad anxiety and anger issues, a little angst, penetrative sex, nipple play, grinding, cowgirl, lmk if i missed anything !

notes: the first request i’ve done in ages, i hope it’s not too long (it is), and it’s definitely written differently compared to other things, but do enjoy, (the ending was rushed shoot me )🫰🏽 feedback appreciated!

connie threw thee biggest and best parties known to man. they were always a vibe, and if you weren’t in attendance, you were missing everything that went on, on campus. hookups, new faces, more drama, and the best weed to float around campus. connie made sure everything was in order, and most important to him besides his friends, good drinks and pretty girls, was weed.

“yo, where’s eren at?” connie asked as he smoked on a roach. he was nearly out of weed, and his party had only just begun, and per usual eren was late as fuck. the roach burnt his fingers and lips, but he was desperate and he held on to what little he had left.

“probably out with some other bitch.” you snapped. connie chuckled and fixed his hand around your waist. you sat on his lap, and he fondled every inch of you. your thighs, your tits, your ass. he wouldn’t admit it, but connie springer, was fucking sprung when it came to you, and the one time you let him tap, he came… too quick.

his eyes were extremely low, he was faded, slowly treading the line of being cross faded, and you looked too damn good. “why’d you say it like that, ma?”

“hmmm, no reason. it’s just what i’m thinkin’, and we both know it’s the truth. that’s your friend ain’t it? ” you tick your tongue, and lower your gaze to the fiend who just won’t quit stroking your skin; hand skimming freely under your dress, fingers grazing so closely to your panties! down to your slit, thumb poking at it.

n-not out here.

he smirks and lowers the tempo; it was all just to make you squirm on his lap. he’s trying to hint at you — let you know that their is something lingering. your nips perk up and and like thin air, the topic of eren evaporated. just like that.

just that quickly, he was forgotten. so there you were in the back of this party, so close to being fingered on a couch as you straddled connie’s lap. so far in the back, so drunk. not even aware of how quickly you straddled connie’s thighs. how quicky he tossed the roach aside, focused on your dress, pulling the neck of it down, so he could sit up and suck on your tits in the back of the party.

“c-connie, someone — he might see us.”

connie heard he, and instantly didn’t give a fuck. he, was eren, who was somehow appearing as a fuzzy hue in the back of your mind.

“and? when’s that ever stopped us, mamas?” his lips found purchase in your skin. the sweetness, the butteriness; his lips tracking your skin made his dick leak ad throb in his sweats, and you practically straddled the tip of it anyway.

what started as innocent playing and kisses turned into you full on grinding on him in the back — his hands were cupping your ass, and he was carrying you back and fourth on his dick; through the cloth it was more than enough. you both knew were things were going, but neither of you wanted to stop, nor had the intentions to.

until… connie felt you levitate off the couch, his lap still cold, and loud arguing, waking him up from whatever delusions were running through his head. he blinked a couple of times, smacked his cheeks, shook his head to clear any and all thoughts that he just had of you. the weed and drinks have long settled in his system. he was totally unaware of the mini altercation that was occurring between you and…

“eren, what the fuck.”

“what the fuck my ass, you don’t see how he’s staring at you right now? he’s practically eye fucking you and you like that stupid shit?”

“first off, i don’t know who you’re yelling at like you’re someone’s father. second of all, you be out all day and when i text you, you don’t respond to nothing and now you pop up like a fucking lunatic. i don’t owe you anything eren.”

“you’re joking right?” you scoff, completely baffled.

“i will tell you time and time again, i don’t care how big you think you are, you will calm the fuck down when it comes to me.”

and there he goes. blunt in between his fingers, faded, eyes red and low. all black fit, hair down those silver rings <3. “i leave you alone for one da—“

“and that’s the problem, we had plans today and you forget about them.”

“y/n, i texted you three hours ago telling you that something popped up and we’d have to push it to tonight or tomorrow evening.”

“when?”

“at around 4 o’clock.”

your nails tapped at your phone screen, and the moment your palms tightened around your sage green bubble case, you were met with the same text you were sure you sent three hours earlier with nothing after. no confirmations or anything.

“not a single text, reaction, or call, and to make it worse, it was for our anniversary.”

it was eren who looked dumb now, coming to the party causing a scene, forcing yet another stupid, pointless fight. another headache, another upset you and you walked away before he could get a word in, but your got yours in.

“you want me to be your partner, i do everything to make sure we’re good — always — but you can never be a decent human.”

wait y/n… baby—“ he throws his arm out to reach you.

i don’t care anymore. do what you want that’s what you always do anyways.

“it was an honest mistake.”

fuck!

you fixed your dress and simply walked away. with a couple twitches you were gone as quickly as he pulled you in. time and time again, he proves to fuck everything up.

it would seem as though he had countless things on his mind, but you were always at the back of it. and when i say always, you were always the one putting in more effort it seemed.

he flicked his blunt out his fingers and stepped on it. the flame died under the tip of his shoe, and beneath it a black circle of ash. “my floor??” connie’s mouth stretched; his arms flew up in the air, “i don’t give a fuck, stay away from y/n and we won’t have an issue.”

“like i’m the problem? when you figure your shit out you’ll realize i’m not the problem.” connie stood up rolled his eyes and held his hand out. “you’re not getting shit from me.”

the thing eren hated the most was a lecture; how big or small didn’t matter. getting told about himself was a total bust, and fucking things up with you was a consequence he’d always have to face.

the next few weeks were dreadful. eren felt like and looked like shit, but businesses was business. he had customers, deliveries and a shit ton of other things that filled his schedule. internally, he was collapsing, it was all too much. he couldn’t think clearly and he was just working and smoking himself to exhaustion.

but his delivery after the party, after watching you disappear in the crowd, fell through the floor.

nothing could stop him, not armin, not looking at pictures of you. standing outside of your door hoping you’d come downstairs to hop into his car to accompany him for his deliveries. eren’s anger was bubbling over, and the prime suspect was nobody but himself.

he had planned to deliver to connie the day after his party, because you wrote it into his calendar. you had his entire day written out in the calendar, to pick you up, go find somewhere to eat so y’all could have brunch, then you’d take your rightful position as his passenger princess; he’d drive a little ways out the city to go and deliver to connie.

for starters he was late, he didn’t have the usual brunch and he was strongly irritable. he didn’t get to sleep with you, or wake up to you, and all that anger was being channeled towards the wrong person.

305-245-6755

come outside to get your shit.

another thing that eren didn’t do was communicate with his clients, because he knew he’d lose his cool with them. for some reason they would all hit on you in awkward ways, so eren just lets you text them on his behalf. you would always draft a mass message to send out, it’d be all cute, typed with courtesy and delivered like a real business. today there was none of that.

eren sat in his car, wasteland on repeat, arm flung over his eyes to curb his headache. then came tapping against his window, courtesy of connie.

“about fucking time.”

eren rolled his window down and flung a plastic baggy filled with a scarce looking zip being the contents.

“what is this?”

“what you asked for?” eren shrugged his shoulders, and put his seatbelt on. “don’t play eren, this looks like a half at most.”

“i’m surprised you know that much.” eren reached for a blunt out of his pocket and lit it. he blew the smoke right in connie’s face. “since you know so much, use that brain of yours to not piss me off right now.”

there relationship has always been rocky. eren still hasn’t gotten over the fact that you two were once a thing, and whenever he sees y’all together it irks his nerves real bad. even after you tell him time and time again, your feelings for connie are long gone, but his still linger and tug at his heart.

“if this is about y/n, you can grow up. whatever shit y’all got going on, ain’t got nothing to do with me.”

“i know you still like them, and it’s not up for debate. you can either stay away from ‘em or find out.”

even put out his blunt because for some reason it wasn’t working to calm his nerves. it was getting him hotter than when he arrived the longer the conversation persisted.

the more connie countered, it triggered fight instead of resisting. he reached for his door handle, seething and as soon as be was about to pull it open connie’s friend came outside to see what all the commotion was.

“what’s going on?”

nothing eren snapped, vexed that he was really letting connie of all people get up under him like that. of course, it pleased him knowing that he got under eren’s skin, but that was all he had on him.

he rarely spoke to you anymore, and when you too would interact; the exchange’s would be short, inauthentic, almost scripted like you were never really interested.

“i’m out. don’t ask me for shit else.”

connie turned to his friend and shook that baggie in his face, “he’s delusional.”

eren sped home, tapping his fingers against the wheel, biting his lip, things were dreadful without you like experiencing a tropical storm with no shelter. he was thinking of stopping by your place, just to see it, just to make sure your car was there, and maybe your blinds would he open and he’d see you laid up in bed. so he swung by, but only for a short while, and it’s like he expected. peace.

he finally drove back to his place, car boxed, and his head banging. just a nagging feeling of ‘i fucked up and i need to talk to somebody’. the person he resorted to was none other than his best friend, armin. he gave him the whole run down, he told him everything from what happened last night at the party to what happened today. eren articulate ld his feelings perfectly, and at the end of it all armin gave him a simple answer, “you two just need space, it could be for a day, five, two weeks, a month.”

“if the love is there things will fix itself, if trust is reciprocated you both will come back to the other. y’all are both just hard headed and constantly clash.”

that’s all he could say and it seemed like it helped. there was a hint of worry. considering the fact that you two may give the other space, waiting for the moment the other would reach out first made him anxious. he didn’t like to wait, he was impatient.

which lead to him cracking first. he showed up to your door, severely high, psyched out and sweaty. it was afternoon time and you had just woken up. it’d been two weeks and the reality was you missed your boyfriend so much so that you just slept your days away to ease the thoughts, until he started visiting you in your dreams.

the next day was awkward for eren. he thought about what armin told him and figured it was time to visit you. when he pulled up to your place it still carried that same aura.

to say the least. you woke up with tissues around your bed, 16 text, 20 missed calls and the faint sound of someone calling your name and knocking on your door.

just like how it was a couple weeks ago. you saw eren in your notifications, in your dreams and on your ring doorbell app. ‘go away’ you mumble into your phones microphone.

his face lights up and he walks up straight into the camera’s frame, “don’t be like that, baby.” it were his first words he’s heard from you in weeks— he needed i. that evil man can pout once and place those pretty eyes right into the camera and it feels like you were ovulating.

i know you miss me, cause i’ve missed you.

and he wants you to know that, so he sings it like a sweet ballad, when you decide to let him in, like always. a sweet hug, wet kisses on your cheeks two big bouquets of your favorite flowers (apology notes written within each, your favorite m&ms, and some sweet talking secured himself into your place.

‘you know i wouldn’t do anything intentional to you. it was an honest mistake, trust me… let me make it up to you.”

“i planned a trip… just for the both of us — we can go anywhere you want.”

he holds your face in his hands, and gives you the softest look he could muster. he brings your face closer, tilts his head to the side and just licks your your lips with the tip of his tongue till you open up.

“let me kiss you, princess, pleaseeee.” he whines.

you kiss him back gently as if he did no wrong. hands thrown over his shoulders, fingers running through his air. through the kiss you could feel the smirk teasing at his lips, cause the both of you knew arguments fail each time. they never hold weight, and eren was already paying back his debt.

he pulled away nearly out of breath and lips glossed from saliva. “i sent you money already did you get it? for some clothes to get your hair done, nails and a little extra for whatever you need to get.”

“i didn’t see it — cause i blocked you and i know you had armin call my phone on your behalf.”

while you spoke he held onto you so tight. his lips were soft and smooth from the chapstick that transferred from his lips to yours.

“i know,” he chuckled and settled his hands behind your back. “you’ve always been like that.”

“ i have, but you can send me a little more to get unblocked though, and for almost fighting connie; min told me.”

his cheeks grew red out of sheer embarrassment, he knew armin would talk, but he didn’t think it’d be to that extent.

“of course he did. he can never keep his mouth shut.”

“it’s your fault, you can’t blame anybody else and you know better.”

he sighed and took out his phone, went to your name in his messages (the first and only pinned :)) , clicked the apple pay button and sent you an extra 900 on top of the 1,500 he sent you.

he showed you, his phone screen illuminated against your face and you immediately brightened up some more, that smile, those lips, everything he loved to see.

“see — happy now?”

“yes, but you seem happier than me.” he is, his stomach is bubbling with anticipation. he’s been a nervous wreck for the past two weeks.

you feel him straining against your thigh, “and you smoked before you came here, you don’t do that a lot, were you nervous to see me?” he squeezes tighter.

“i-it calmed me down.” he cleared his throat and squished your thighs. it would have to work since he didn’t have anything else to squeeze.

you switch your seating, over to his left thigh, you stroke his head, his pants. familiarizing yourself with his outline, applying enough pressure to his tip to make his thigh jump. “why are you so nervous ‘ren?”

“cause you’ve been the only thing on my mind for the past two weeks, and now my body just feels like super stimulated or whatever shit it is that you talk about…” an innocent blush creeps up his cheeks.

“i’ve been seeing you in my dreams and shit, i thought i would die if didn’t see you sooner.”

it would take you forever to admit that he too was in your dreams, cause they weren’t the most innocent one’s.

“you can be a real sweetheart when you let things out, you know, and when you’re being honest.”

he rolled his eyes, and fondled your skin. “it’s only cause of you, i don’t want to lose someone that makes me so happy.”

here he was making it up to you, with gifts and pleasure: a cocktail that never failed.

his words only made him dreamier, “you’re forgiven, just don’t leave me wondering again.” you place a soft peck on his forehead and flash a smile.

those dreams and longing lights guided your lips together again. they made you strip down to to nothing. he needed to see every inch of you cause two weeks was torture. he craved to feel how warm you got when you were on top. the two of you were so pent up, all that bundled up energy was spewing everywhere.

leading to his fingers circling your clit. slow circles that made you grind against them for more. your legs were spread over his thighs. he looked in your eyes to let you know he meant every word that he breathed, and he meant every action acted upon.

the longer you two twiddled your thumbs, the more he teased, the harder it got to resist. “i know you want to.” he whispered.

you did. you really did. this whole time you could feel him poking at your ass. and you just needed to. you raised up off his lap and he made everything easier. you could feel all the stress leaving his body once you sunk down on him. every single inch throbbing the deeper he got.

“you want all of it?” he grabs your hips and gives you all of it. he bites his lip and winces.

“yesss,” you whisper in defeat, his plan worked he has you nipping at his lips. fingers stretching along your ass to get a nice, full grab, to hold onto you, to spread your cheeks so he can help you take every inch. “wait wait, let me do it.” you sigh into his mouth, twitching from feeling him in your guts. “too much?” he smiles and takes a nice hand-full of your ass and jiggles it.

“it’s enough for me.”

“cause you’re greedy.” you suck your teeth and giggle, “can you blame me?” he tilts his head; eyes roaming your face and body.

but he adjust his hands and lets you take control. your arms feel light around his neck, you take charge with slow bounces; it’s more of a grinding motion cause you just wanna cum, and feeling his hands roam all over your body encourages you on.

“ ‘rennn.” he’s infatuated. hands gliding all over you. playing with your tits, rolling your nipples in between his fingertips the hastier your pace becomes. “make yourself feel good.” he groans over and over then wraps his lips around your nipples and sucks. with every slurp around your chest he groans and tightens his grips on your hips. everything melts onto his tongue, your taste forever lasting. “oooh, erennn, ‘m gonna cum.” his head falls back as you squeeze him tight; your nipples and clit thumping from stimulation. the stimulation you get from your clit grazing against his stomach makes you desperately chase after your orgasm.

“me too.” he strains, his thighs dance around; head bobbing from side to side. being so pent up and high depleted his stamina.

you feel him throbbing harder in you as your grinding becomes more desperate and sloppy. he thrusts his hips up, your eyebrows knit and thighs tremble as you cum over and over on his dick, bringing him to his own, “good fucking pussy, baby.”

the steady rhythm of your ass clapping against his thighs felt like heaven. the constant squeezes to your ass boost your ego. his fingers sink into your ass cheeks to gain leverage to pound his self into you as your legs tremble from cumming.

after sex you two showered together, which led to more sex, and decided to watch a movie and order takeout. eren ended up falling asleep, so you decided to do his makeup and post it on twitter for your followers to see. the caption being, “ p***** his ass to sleep, now he calling my nyquil”, corny but it got the job done. that was a whole nother story when he woke up, but you decided you two were even, and the glam made him look even prettier.

#eren x black reader smut #eren x black reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader smut

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in-class-daydreams · 5 months

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My One and Only (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader (Established relationship) Synopsis: It's seventh year and you're exceedingly happy with your loving boyfriend, Sebastian. Having had enough excitement for the rest of your time at Hogwarts, you both were happy to sit idly by and spectate the Triwizard Tournament. Only, that's not what the universe has in store for you. Notes/TW: Another installment in the Headmaster's Kid MC universe, because I love the drama. MC sort of has PTSD from the Ranrok thing, but it's not described in detail nor is it called such in the story.

You were in the Slytherin common room, leafing through Goblets, Goblins, and Gobstones: An Anthology of Magical Folklore. It was a gift from Sebastian from before either of you realized you loved each other. Back then, he couldn’t name the warmth in his chest whenever he saw you, but his regard for you was so great, he gave you a treasure from his childhood, the book of stories his mother used to read to him and his sister as children. Even though you were now utterly devoted to one another, you still liked to bring it out from time to time. It was as if his mother’s love extended to you, who never had anyone who felt like real family. The House of Black was not the most hospitable of bloodlines.

“She’d have loved you,” you remembered Sebastian saying. “You’re clever and funny and your brand of love is so similar to hers.” You liked to think that in your love for Sebastian, you returned a piece of his mother to him.

“Black!” Imelda shouted from the front door. “Your boyfriend’s gotten himself into another fight!”

You looked up, more than a bit confused. Since things had quieted down, neither you nor Sebastian had been getting into brawls of any sort. If there was one thing you’d learned about him over the years is that he always had a reason for doing things. You might not have realized that, considering you met him during arguably the worst year of his life, but now that it was over and Anne was cured, he was his affable, happy self. Even more so when he found out you loved him back.

Tucking the tome beneath your arm, you rushed over to Imelda, who led you a short distance to a hallway where a small crowd had gathered and Professor Weasley was already marching your boyfriend away from the scene.

You hurried to follow at her side.

“What happened?” you asked.

Professor Weasley sighed. “Yet another physical altercation. I thought you were done with these, Sebastian.”

Sebastian, face still red with rage, looked stubbornly forward. You noted his split brow and darkening bruise on his cheek with a frown.

“He normally is,” you insisted. “Please, professor, can we hear him out in private first?”

Professor Weasley was a reasonable woman, and she knew it was true that you and Sebastian both had been on your best behaviors since Anne was cured. The two of you had a happy, quiet peace together without goblin rebellions and cursed sisters, and the most exciting thing you did nowadays was play highly competitive games of Summoner’s Court. Some people wondered if you ever missed the excitement, and you’d reply that while you enjoyed a good challenge, you’d gladly give up being in constant peril for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.

Weasley relented and led you into a spare room away from prying eyes. You sat Sebastian down and set to work patching his wounds in a practiced routine.

“Sebastian. Lovey.” His hard stare softened at the endearment. “Tell us what’s wrong, please?” you asked gently.

Sebastian took a deep breath and it became apparent that he wasn’t withholding the information, he was previously too enraged to explain.

“Yaxley and his band of idiots put your name in the Goblet of Fire,” he said through gritted teeth.

You let the information sink in, only for your blood to drain from your face entirely. With your luck, you had a highly likely chance of being selected to represent Hogwarts.

Since you’d accepted Isadora’s power to cure Anne, your magic had been permanently altered. You had returned to the Keepers, apologizing profusely and insisting that you were willing to return the power to keep it contained away from anyone. Given the fact that you were integral to stopping Ranrok and you surprised them by being willing to relinquish such power so easily, the Keepers tentatively forgave you. Though, you suspected that Professors Fitzgerald and Bakar were particularly softened by how you only took the power at all for Sebastian’s sake. One did not simply cast the Killing Curse in defense of a mere friend. You would know.

But even after the dark magic left your body, your own magic had become altered. More lethal, more sinister. You managed it just fine in the day-to-day since you yourself had no sinister intentions, but if the tournament put you in danger, you could not promise that your magic would stifle its lethality.

Professor Weasley was just as enraged as Sebastian.

“They what?” she raised her voice. “Did they succeed? Or was it only an idea?”

Sebastian’s head hung low and he rested his elbows on his knees. “It’s already been done. I didn’t act fast enough. I’m sorry.”

Disregarding your own panic, you hugged him close.

“Oh, Sebastian, don’t be,” you assured him. “I’ll manage. I always do.”

Sebastian looked like he wanted to say more, but you turned to address Professor Weasley.

“I don’t suppose we can get my name out of the Goblet, can we?” you asked.

The professor shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not. The contract is magically-binding. We simply have to hope that someone who actually volunteered is chosen, not you,” she replied.

It was concluded that Sebastian would get an obligatory detention for starting a physical fight, but it would be short, and he’d be allowed his books, so it wasn’t much of a punishment. It was highly generous of her, and you noted as much. On her way out the door, Weasley smiled over her shoulder, stating that, “Had I been in your position when I was a student, I might have done the same.”

Afterwards, you helped Sebastian back to the dormitory. One of Yaxley’s group had gotten in a lucky shot to his leg and left him limping slightly.

“Sebastian,” you said before you parted ways. He turned towards you and you took his face in your hands. You pressed a butterfly kiss to his nose. “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

He furrowed his brow. “Trying isn’t good enough,” he stated.

“It is for me,” you replied gently. “No one’s ever been behind me one hundred percent until I met you. I grew up so alone and I always felt so unwanted.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb. “The fact that you care is plenty enough for me. So, don’t worry. Even if the Goblet of Fire spits my name out, I will manage, because I have you.”

You pressed a goodnight kiss to his lips and headed to bed. You thought Sebastian’s weak kiss back was because he was tired and distracted and, well, you were half right.

Several days later, you gripped your boyfriend’s hand as you all sat in Beauxbatons’s equivalent of the Great Hall, impatiently waiting for the Headmistress to draw a name. The large room was lavishly decorated, like a dining room in the Palace of Versailles.

Anne, Imelda, and Natty sat in front of you while Ominis and Poppy sat to your left. They looked at you with worry, having been updated on the situation. You all knew full well that the universe greatly enjoyed putting you at the center stage of great peril, and while you were honest with Sebastian that you’d manage, you were exhausted. Dueling was fun for a challenge, fighting for your life was tiresome.

You squeezed Sebastian’s hand under the table. He gave you three pulses back, eyes never leaving the Goblet. He was more tense than usual, and you assumed it was out of concern for you.

The Beauxbatons Headmistress went onstage with great ceremony, giving a spiel about the history of the Triwizard Tournament and what an honor it was to represent the school in such a rich tradition of joint relations between the three schools. She had a heavy, lilting French accent and had a stately aura about her not unlike Professor Weasley.

The Goblet’s blue flame turned red and spit out a singed piece of parchment, which the Headmistress caught and read aloud.

“The Durmstrang Champion is…” she paused for effect. “Sava Peycheva!”

Their student body erupted in cheers and applause as a tall, powerfully-built girl with long dark hair shook the Headmistress’s hand and waved to the crowd. Unlike you’d have been, she seemed completely at ease, as if her victory was guaranteed. You could respect someone confident in her abilities to that degree.

Sava took her seat and the Goblet’s flame turned red once more. Taking the parchment, the Headmistress announced the next champion.

“The Hogwarts Champion is…”

The darker part of your magic sang, eager to be put through its paces, but you felt a lump in your throat. You had been willing to use lethal force once, but only because of what was at stake. The idea of harming anyone now was enough to make you sick to your stomach.

You white-knuckled Sebastian’s hand and you all held your breath when the Headmistress spoke, loud and clear.

“Sebastian Sallow!”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian x mc

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angelasscribbles · 2 months

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Character Development

Here's the summary of today's live discussion.

What is it?

Character development can refer to initial character creation, but when I say character development, I'm usually talking about how the character grows and evolves over the course of the story.

We will talk about both.

Character Creation

Creating a character is much more than just what they look like. So many things play into their personality, beliefs, feelings, etc. Their ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, what kind of upbringing they had, past traumas, general inborn temperament traits, etc.

Character Types

Static v dynamic: refers to how much the character changes throughout the story.

Static characters stay the same and do not change at all during the course of a story.

Dynamic characters change and grow in many different directions. This character will develop and change throughout the story, sometimes to the point where it surprises the reader. Sometimes they surprise themselves and the other characters.

Flat v Round: refers to how much depth the character has.

Flat: A flat character is pretty one-dimensional, and that doesn’t change throughout the story. It is a static character with little to no depth. Maybe one or two identifying traits.

Round: A round character is more developed and has some depth and layers. They are interesting. They do not necessarily change throughout. (Unless they are also dynamic).

Character-driven story v Plot-driven stories: A plot-driven story is one where the plot moves the characters, while a character-driven story is one where the characters drive the plot.

The key difference between a plot-driven story and a character-driven one is that in a character-led narrative, the focus is more on the thoughts and feelings of the protagonist and the decisions that they make. Whereas, in plot-driven narratives, the action and occurrences that unfold will be the main point of focus.

Plot Driven examples:

Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton.

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch.

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.

Character Driven examples:

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman.

Some Definitions

Main Character: The character through whose POV we get the story. Often the same as the protagonist, but not always.

Protagonist: Prime mover of the plot. And in the vast majority of cases, the main character.

False protagonist: A character that seems to be the protagonist until a twist tells the reader otherwise. Think Ned Stark in Game of Thrones. This is why his death was such a shock, because most readers assumed he was the main character. This is often done exactly for that reason. Plot twists and shock value.

Antagonist: Opposing force who stands in the way of the protagonist’s goals.

Grey/morally ambiguous character: Just as it sounds. A character who is not all good nor all bad. They have complex motives and can sometimes be a loose cannon. Their actions are not always clear-cut in terms of morality.

Unreliable Narrator: An unreliable narrator is an untrustworthy storyteller, most often used in narratives with a first-person point of view. The unreliable narrator is either deliberately deceptive or unintentionally misguided, forcing the reader to question their credibility as a storyteller.

Character Arc

The character arc is the full extent of how the character's inner world - thoughts and emotions - transforms from the beginning to the end of a narrative.

Things we will discuss in a future session:

Character motivation

Inciting incident

drivers of character growth

Random recommendations from today:

Lovecraft Country: an American horror drama television series developed by Misha Green based on and serving as a continuation of the 2016 novel of the same name by Matt Ruff. Lovecraft Country follows Atticus Freeman as he joins up with his friend Letitia and his Uncle George to embark on a road trip across 1950s Jim Crow America in search of his missing father. This begins a struggle to survive and overcome both the racist terrors of white America and the terrifying monsters that could be ripped from a Lovecraft paperback.

Otherworld series by Kelley Armstrong. A good example of using the same characters but shifting who is the main character from book to book. The series began in 2001 with Bitten, featuring werewolf Elena Michaels. It continued for thirteen novels, introducing other supernatural characters–witches, ghosts, necromancers, half-demons–and spinning off to their stories, and expanding the series into a multi-narrator fantasy world. Past characters continued to appear in guest roles and often returned to narrate new novels or short fiction.

Ya'll, I'm sure there were more recs from both myself and others but I'm drawing a blank and once the live stage ends, I can't see the chat anymore, so please comment or DM me if you remember a rec that I didn't.

Please, if I've missed anything at all, mention it in the comments and I'll add it!

Also, check out these articles:

Character Development

April Event:

TBD pending voting.

Word Warriors:

@karahalloway @aussiegurl1234 @harleybeaumont @alj4890 @peonierose @petiteboheme @twinkleallnight @lizzybeth1986 @noesapphic @thedistantshoresproject @welcometotheweirdplqce

@ryns-ramblings @tate-lin @nestledonthaveone

@aallotarenunelma @kristinamae093 @coffeeheartaddict2 @memorias-depresivas

@jerzwriter

#word warriors #writing tips #writing advice #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #character development

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wonderfulwonderrful · 6 months

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Season of Love (2/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you told Toto, "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That was the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong. Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader team principal. Genre: Romance, comedy, and some good drama. Author's note: Thank you for reading and supporting my delulu fic!

Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 2: Lights out, and away your feelings go!

Australia By mere luck, Toto had one of those sponsors' events in the afternoon, and he was wearing a Tom Ford tan suit with a white shirt, a classic ensemble, instead of his usual Mercedes kit.

And you, well, you looked so chic wearing a romantic Saint Laurent satin mini dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline paired with ribbon bowtie Jimmy Choo stilettos up to the occasion.

You wave Sam goodbye as she enters the car and returns to the hotel. And then Toto and you stay standing there, not knowing what to do next.

—So, at what time is the reservation? —Toto asks you.

—In two hours, it is downtown.

—Good. We are getting there on time, right?

—Oh yeah, we can go on my c... —You look at the empty space where your Lambo was parked - well, where Michael parked it, now empty and immediately take out your phone, shit! You left it on airplane mode. All messages and missed calls start to appear, red dots everywhere. Your assistant asked if you needed the car or if they had moved it to the hotel hours ago. Later, she sent the chauffeur to pick you up, but he couldn't reach you. He waited for you a long time and left.

—My team took my car, so...

—No worries. I can take us there.

"For sure you can!" you thought. Jesus, why were you so horny lately?

Toto then texts his chauffeur, and on your way, you two go; it was a quiet ride for a bit.

—So...

You both laugh at the back of the car.

—So our minds are connected, huh? —you joke, referring to your tendency to talk at the same time.

—It's becoming a bad habit, yes —Smiles. —I was going to ask you where have you been existing. Everyone close to me seems to know you, but they never mentioned it before; I feel left out; somehow, I have no idea who you are —Toto tells you.

—First of all, I take serious offense that neither Niki nor Sam mentioned me before; how dare they? And to answer your question in Belgium. I met Niki recently and Sam forever ago but she is pretty private so I guess that's why.

—Umh, I thought Sam and I had something special, but I'm calling it quits —Toto says. —She keeps secrets from me —putting on a fake sad face.

—Welcome to da' club. She's all Lewis's now.

Then, at the restaurant.

Toto and you were greeted by a blond supermodel-looking hostess who took you to your booked table. You entered the historical building - big old brown bricked walls, high ceilings with restored wooden beams, and dark marble tile floors - barely lit with just a couple of lights strategically placed reflected on the walls. The tables were small and intimate, and all the furniture was statement pieces - wooden carved and expensive textiles - the silverware and china were spectacular. The place was a printery back in the day, and it ended up in the middle of downtown and has now turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

The hostess acted extra caring with Toto, taking all the time to tenderly adjust his blindfold and explain every single step and detail of the dining experience. Since he couldn't see her, she went all handsy, relying on touch a bit much, and for obvious reasons, she tied your blindfold too tight. Really, girl?! Sorority like in where?

—So it's crucial for the experience when you give the food to each other, slowly savor the flavors and then start a conversation about each dish, what it made you feel, what reminded you of, what you thought it was, taking turns —she tells you two as she takes each your hand and makes you feel the space where a single plate full of finger food where to be placed - on top of a marble "lazy susan." —Please let me know if you need me —a lot of emphasis on "need me" and more addressed to Toto than you.

Wait, what?! Give each other the food?! What on earth?! You are so glad Toto isn't able to see you because, for sure, you are tomato red. Then you hear the hostess walk away.

—I frequent high-cuisine restaurants all over the world, yet I haven't dared with this one. It has so many mixed reviews —Toto tells you.

—I met the Chef at an auction gala for charity. He sat at our table and sold us the idea, which sounded exciting and intrigued me, so I told him I would stop by when in Melbourn —you add. He never mentioned that we had to feed each other during the experience.

A moment later, the dish arrived, and the experience began. Your hands were shaking a little bit. Your days went from ignoring Toto's bare existence to placing food into his mouth now.

—By all means, you go first —He offers you. Why did he have to be a gentleman?!

—Sure, thanks —You don't know where to start, so you pick a bite and stay there frozen when Toto notices it softly grabs your hand to guide you to his mouth to avoid you pocking him an eye with the food. Many "Oh god, oh god" fill your mind. You could sense him slowly biting the food from your fingers, his warm breaths on your skin, while hearing soft crunch noises.

He munches. And you wait, hand now resting on the table.

—Soft skin —he says.

—That is what it tasted you like?!

—No, of course not —Toto softly chuckles. —You have soft skin. The bite tasted like, amh, some sort of Gnocchi, but it wasn't. I'm not a big fan of this one and its flavor.

—So you like Italian cuisine?

—Everyone likes Italian cuisine, duh.

—Excuse you? That attitude, Sir! —you flirt, I mean, joke with him.

—Yes! I used to spend the summers in Italy with my family. It is a country that reminds me of my father. Cinque Terre has a special place in my heart.

—You miss your dad —You say before thinking, shit! Now he will assume that Sam and you gossip about him or think you Googled him. Shit! You are supposed to not know anything about him. Lol, if he knew. —It must be hard being away from family all the time with this busy schedule —Smart girl... Good save..?

He looks at you, a bit confused. —Ahm, yes. I miss my dad.

—Okay, it's my turn! —you shift topics quickly and naturally.

Toto picks up a small bite, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding him to your mouth. Your thumb finger could feel his pulse, which weirdly relaxes you. You bite the food slowly, and your lips make a bit of contact, brushing the skin of his fingers.

—What does it taste you like? —he asks you. You try your best not to have dirty thoughts.

—Feet? God, this is awful —you answer while trying to chew the fucker.

Toto almost chokes on his water. Who calls feet a signature Michelin-star dish?

—I'm so hating this! I can't with pretentious places, to be honest. Uptight people are the worst!

—You tell me I live surrounded by those, but you will be fine. Why did you mention the uptight people?

—Send tips. Because there is no way an average person could have come up with this idea and this type of food! What are these flavors, honestly?!

—You are hilarious.

—Aw, thanks. What am I to you, a clown? Well, every circus needs one... I'm glad to help! Why do you keep laughing, stop!

—You are so right; F1 can be a circus! —Toto admits.

—So, what's your job at the F1 circus? No, seriously, don't laugh. TOTO STOP. Do you juggle or what? —You two keep reaching closer over and under the small table, knees now touching.

—Highly accurate! Or I could be that one guy on the tightrope! —He waves his arms.

—So meta. Listen, for us girls being the ones stereotypically called "catfight-ty," you guys...

—You have no idea! And it is just starting...

—Does the drama get too good? You are getting me excited! Don't play with my heart, Torger.

—I won't —Somehow, it sounds more profound and meaningful. Silence.

—Can we go back to the food, please? We are getting distracted from its delicious flavors —you say amidst giggles. —What? Don't you believe me? This dish is so good, "Latifi good".

Chuckles. Then you notice Toto left his right hand on top of yours this whole time.

With your free one, you pick up another portion. —Oh, you are going to love this one. Smells, uhm, so good. Wait for my soft hands to come closer —you tease Toto.

He loses it. People around you start judging you two; you are being "noisy."

—Why suddenly I don't want to open my mouth? I'm not helping you get there anymore. Find your way; if you miss it, then I'm so sorry.

—Oh, don't you worry, "Tots". I can always ask for more of these.

—Oh god, no.

The dining experience ended on the sixth small bite, thank Jesus. You two never walked out of a restaurant that fast, and none of you felt like staying to experience the drinks part, judging by the food.

But were in desperate need of refreshers. The night was now fully set, and the air was fresh. You two walk almost hand in hand on the sidewalk under the clear skies, choosing to explore the city, looking in the surroundings for a pub. You were lured by a very busy one - with live music - three drunk girls burst out of the door in a great mood, and it looked packed; then it must be good!

It was. —Do I ask to pour you a pint, too? Or are you on a diet or something? —Toto offers you on his way to get drinks. A great cover of "Your Love by The Outfield" played in the background. The singer had great vocals, and the guitarist was so talented.

—On a diet? God, no. I'm not that fit! Who gives that excuse? Who's that picky?

—There are people —Toto answers, a bit sad. You wonder if Sussie behaved like that. Of course, you don't dig.

While he goes on his mission, you find the last free table for yourselves. The place was what you pictured when someone said "pub". A classic, extensive wooden bar, tap beer, and tons of bottles on display. Small round tables, bar stools, and many empty frames hanging on the wooden panel walls mixed with art deco posters. It's nothing fancy but eclectic and cool.

As time passed, you two got drunk and the beers, too. You talked and talked and talked about everything. At least what you two wanted to share, obvious subjects were avoided. Toto didn't mention Sussie the whole time, and you chose not to reveal much about your "situation." The two of you formed a bond and had such chemistry none could explain. You were feeling so comfy with each other. He looked so happy and having a blast, and you were, too.

Then, the drinking contest started, and you sent your best knight to battle. You ended up sitting cross-legged on top of the bar with your short dress going up with your every move, surrounded by a group of people watching the spectacle - as well as the other couples of contestants - with Toto on his feet right next to you, resting one of his hands on your thighs. At the same time, you poured the beers directly into his mouth. The first one to finish a row of four pints with no pauses and successfully do "the loaded twirl" - four fast spins - then walk to ring the bell at the end of the counter - without falling - could leave not paying a penny, and win a cool metal medal too.

Toto sounded the bell first. And the place went fucking nuts.

By the end of your night out, you two couldn't even walk straight as you were being playful on the sidewalk on your way to meet your driver. At some point, you lost a heel while dancing, you knew how to move and rhythm was natural to you. Toto carried you around until a good soul gifted you his flip-flops; the poor unknown hero was so into you. Fantastic pubs and guys on flip-flops, thank you, Australia.

While rocking the stranger's flip-flops with your Saint Laurent mini dress, you were singing and throwing some moves on the street at the sound of "Notorious by Duran Duran" - it was the last song you heard the band played before leaving and got stuck in your head - it was around 4 a.m. by then.

Toto had his medal wrapped around his head, looking all stupid and hot. There is no sight of his suit jacket. He must have lost it when you took him to the bathroom - of course, you waited for him outside. He was too drunk to get there alone - or when you two started dancing, burning some of the alcohol in your systems.

There is something about him that makes you feel so many things, and you don't want the night to end. And you wanted to spend more time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his laugh, looking at his eyes, having his body near yours. You find him so attractive.

—I don't remember the last time I had this much fun; it must have been ages ago! —he says, way too loud and drunk.

—Me too! We should do this again! Are you sure it's here? —you reply, looking around. No cars in sight.

—Yes! I'm not that drunk. Here is where the pin marks —he says, looking too closely into his phone. His nose almost touched the screen, looking at the map.

—Let me see.

—Nein —He raises his phone, extending his arm, placing it out of your reach. You jump to grab it, failing miserably. You ended up bumping him instead. Balance isn't a thing for any of you at the moment. And you both get closer. At some point in the night, you two started to behave like magnets, unable to keep away from each other, all handsy. Toto places a hand on your lower back to steady you.

You aren't sure if the sensation you are feeling is the alcohol in your system or the butterflies in your stomach.

—You are so carefree. Zero pretentious. So fun. So captivating, so... —Toto says in such a dangerous voice, staring at your lips with his fingers, placing your hair behind your ear.

You two get closer.

—So..? —You beg him to continue, staring at his lips too. You take the lead and start closing the distance between you.

It's been a while since either of you had sex in your lives.

Or love.

He looks at you with desire and affection but without moving an inch. Then Toto decides to take a step back.

That distance feels like miles, and the car arrives. Ending an almost perfect night.

You feel ashamed since you overstepped and carried yourself away. None of you mentioned what just happened on the ride back to the hotel.

Spending time with you starts to feel like a necessity to him now.

Toto is standing there, left shoulder leaning against the bar wall near where the band is playing, sipping his beer, watching you dance with some strangers, glowing and smiling, and having fun among those girls while he admires your curves and body movements. You have the magic to make him forget about the rest of the world, its people, and its problems. Going out with you tonight felt like healing, like self-care.

After days of being heartbroken, Toto called things off with Sussie, which was not an easy choice. She was the love of his life, or so he thought, and after spending a significant portion of your life with someone, saying goodbye to that person is never easy.

Even if tonight was great and felt like a lucid dream, he couldn't escape reality forever. This Cinderella story had an end.

Of course, he notices the way you look at him. The attention you pay to his every word, your excitement every time you make him smile, or how you lean closer to his touch whenever the two of you make accidental - or not - contact.

But he wasn't ready for you. Of course, he would love to make a move and enjoy the whole of you, explore your every corner, trace your hips with his hands, and feel your body beneath his, making you release sounds he would love to hear. He wanted to fuck you badly, but you weren't just for a one-night stand.

You deserved someone who could fully admire you. That worshiped you. And Toto wasn't able to be that guy at the moment. He felt wounded and needed time for himself.

So, when you had the courage he lacked to make the move, knowing that if he accepted that kiss, you would wake up tangled in his sheets, he stepped back.

Seeing your surprised, embarrassed, and hurt reaction spiraled him into coming days of somber mood and turned into a quiet ride back to the hotel.

Once you reach your destination, the driver opens the car door for you, and you step out of it, praying your balance has returned. After that fiasco ending of the night, all the alcohol in your system seems to have evaporated thanks to that emotional gut punch Toto gave. You glimpse Toto catching your step, walking now as normal as you.

You two may be walking seemly normal now but your looks scream drunks, loud and clear! - messy hair and clothes, not to mention your flip flops, a thing that made you smile as you remembered the now distant memory - as you passed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way to the elevators.

The bellboy pushes the buttons to open the elevator doors for you.

—On which floor is your room? —he asks.

—Oh, no, we aren't...

—Eleven —you answer a little deadpan, interrupting Toto.

—Fourteen —he mumbles.

As you two go up, you start saying goodbye, also wanting to cut the tension a bit. —It was a fun night, "Tots"! My liver may disagree, but we'll see —you smile.

—Yeah, yeah, it was, except for that horrid food —he replies.

—Let's not, let's bury that part.

He nods with a small smile. The door opens on your floor. You smile at him one last time and head out.

Toto wants to say, "Wait!" or follow you down that corridor, inviting himself to your room and bed, but instead, he remains just standing there, and the elevator goes up.

You take your time to walk down the corridor, hoping there is still a chance, till you hear the sound of the elevator's doors closing and following it, total silence, no footsteps, no movement. So you let out a sigh and get inside your room.

You are left facing a feeling of emptiness and solitude as you walk across the empty and dark suite with your surviving heel in hand, and then you toss it across the room on the carpet. You enter the shower and start washing your make-up and body off, letting your mind wander to the idea that the two of you could be there right now.

So, a bit defeated by not having Toto's naked and wet body before you, you send yourself to bed, struggling to fall asleep and shut down your brain; after a while, you feel yourself drifting away in the arms of Morfeo - and sadly not Toto's.

—He thinks I'm captivating and have soft hands —you say while giggling like a teenager, adding sugar to your Chai at the end of the counter. Already in a better mood, trying to look at the bright side of things.

—Soft hands??? —Sam replies, making a silly face and grabbing a napkin.

You two meet on your way to get Starbucks, located two buildings away from the hotel. You are still hungover and need fuel before stepping into the paddock.

—You know, never mind. I don't want to know —Sam adds, biting her bagel.

—Oh, wait. No. Nothing like that happened —you wave your hands in concern.

—Calm down; you know he and Sussie are in the middle of a time-off. Nothing wrong if it had happened. He has been in such awful moods lately that I think he needs it to happen. This time, their breakup seems real.

—Really!?

—Can you at least don't sound that excited? Oh god, you are smiling. I hate love —Sam sips her black coffee, rolling her eyes at you.

—Leave me live my fantasy, alright? —praying sign, you joke.

—Now you will be all weird around him, won't you?

—Nooo, well, maybe a little. What? Like you don't ship us.

—Puff —Sam lets out.

—Oh, you fed me way too many details about him for years and set us up last night just because, huh?

—Okay. Fair. I sold you the idea. Am I clever, or what? Listen, I care about you two a lot, and frankly, I think you are great for each other.

—Ooh, so Sam Dobrev has a heart.

—Shut up! Please don't make me regret it —she replies, all done with life.

—Hi, big guy —Sam pops her head inside Toto's office, simultaneously knocking on the open door.

—You owe me one —Toto answers deadpan. Concentrated, looking straight at his iPad, not bothering to look at her.

—Why?

—That restaurant you made me go to was horrible.

—Well, I didn't pick the place, so no whines to me, but at least the company was fantastic, right?

—Umhju —Toto mutters, still looking at the screen. Then silence.

Sam interprets that answer as I'm not telling you anything else.

—Since you are here trying to gossip. Aren't you busy? If you have free time, you could help me with several things.

—Jeez, that mood. I'm not here to gossip. Here, sign this. Niki needs it.

Toto reads the paper Sam just gave him and picks up his phone. —I need to make a call. Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Thank you.

—Okay —Sam answers slowly and exaggerates the "O" while doing what was asked. Even she knows messing with a somber Toto wasn't a good idea.

Unfortunately for you, no gossip or insights of your night out were obtained from Toto.

It was a Grand Prix victory for Lewis. And a third place for Mick, but since it was his first podium, you guys celebrated as if he had just won the race. Sadly, Millie got pulled out of the track for a technical issue with the car.

You were hoping to chitchat with Toto at the podium ceremony, make him laugh a little, and watch his beautiful smile. Well, you hoped that the entire day, actually. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you spotted him in the distance, there was no casual way to start a conversation with him that way, and you didn't want to be perceived as pushy or desperate going straight to him. So you let the idea die. There was no rush.

If something was meant to be, it will happen without forcing things.

Right?

Azerbaijan

On the paddock in Baku, Toto chose to behave the opposite of that night in Melbourne. Serious, professional, and borderline unfriendly - but still polite.

That caught you off guard, and it was so confusing. After spending that great time together, you thought you two were on your path to becoming friends or more if luck was on your side. You didn't get the sudden change, and it was a bit hurtful when you went to say hi to him - all warm and smiling - and he gave the cold shoulder with a blunt "Good morning" and kept on walking.

You stood there looking a bit stupid, wondering if you did something to bother him or if he was acting Austrian. Maybe Toto was feeling really uncomfortable by how you approached him at the end of that night. Damn, drunk you!

But then, a couple of hours later:

"Unknown" is typing...

—Darci told me you left your office to have lunch. But I'm here outside your hospitality and don't see you - Toto.

Your assistant gave him your number. —Hi!!! Yes, I'm here having lunch.

—Where? I'm wearing my good glasses, and I'm sure you are not that bald guy eating a salad.

—Sandro is a very nice guy. Look up, grandpa!

—The rooftop? What are you, a pigeon?

No joke in reply, just an honest: —I like the view from here. It's peaceful! Bonus points for being private. No one bothers me here or intrudes. It's my secret special place. Do you want to join?

Toto finishes climbing the ladder and goes to greet you, kissing you on the cheek. As he does so, a crazy thought crosses your mind: What if you turn your head? Is stealing a kiss considered harassment? But you don't.

You two share your homemade Yakimeshi - you love cooking even if you have a private Chef, and you are damn good at it, well, according to everyone that has eaten your food, so you ask the hotel to get you the fresh ingredients you need - while talking about the day, sharing ideas, throwing shade, and enjoying each other's presence.

—What a diva! —you reply, grabbing a portion with your chopsticks.

—I know. I expected better, but engineers... you know —Toto shrugs.

—Ye! —you agree. Sometimes, they acted, well, a little bit challenging.

Toto was acting so relaxed and casual as you expected him to be, and not what was going on in the morning. You wonder so badly why there is a change in ways, but you don't dare to ask.

"What if he has bipolar disorder?" a question that came to your mind at some desperate point during your day. Not that there was something wrong with that.

The sun is setting, and you two enjoy the view, sitting next to each other - no space in between - He places his arm around you, palm resting next to your left hand, but without making physical contact.

This becomes a routine for you two, lunching together on the rooftop of the W hospitality, away from the rest of the world, in your private little bubble. It becomes your favorite moment of the day. And Toto's, too, even if he swore he would never like routine.

Miami

—Excuse me, excuse me, how did the tire taste you like? —you tease a very solemn Lewis walking past you on the paddock while you pretend to hold an invisible mic at his face, acting like a reporter. An instant smile forms on his lips.

—Roscoe attack! —Lewis commands.

Roscoe stares at him for a second and then wanders to sniff a palm tree, not caring.

—I think your trick didn't work —you get closer to greet him with a hug.

—He is too lazy for that —he tells you while embracing you.

—You are too cute; don't listen to that man! —you say with a silly voice, addressing Roscoe, letting Lewis go, and flexing to pet the dog, rubbing around his ears, which Roscoe seems to enjoy.

It was a Qualy of hell for Mercedes. Lewis's car's back tire flew out into the air before bouncing on a safety barrier at speed, almost hitting him back. Plus, George's car ended up in the gravel after losing power.

In contrast, Williams did great. Mick was one with the car, achieving the day's fastest lap.

—Feeling better, sweetie? —you ask Lewis with honest concern, after seeing the incident unfold and how he made it out of the car really distraught.

Although you must admit that even though that whole thing wasn't funny, the memes were pure gold, so you texted Toto your pick: the one where the tire hit the space station with a photoshopped explosion, the one with Lewis's face photoshopped on a baseball player hitting a home run, but instead of the ball it was the tire and your favorite, the one with photoshopped Toto, Lewis, and George riding the tire to the sky.

—Yeah. I'm good. A positive mindset always helps, thanks.

—I think I just saw you kicking, crying, and screaming in the bathroom, Mr. Positive Mind Set —Sam joins the conversation, teasing him.

—HA HA

—So, what's the plan for tonight-A? —she asks.

—Noone human says tonight like that. Not even Michael Jackson on drugs —you tell Sam.

—We are in Miami, chica! Aren't we clubbing?! —she replies.

—Are you high?

—I will if we go out...

—You realize we are here for work, right? —Lewis asks her.

—Like we haven't done it before. What's the worst that could happen? Toto finding out? You losing the race? Toto, finding out you lost the race because you went out clubbing with us?

—Yes! —you all answer at the same time. —To all of that —you add.

—Well, not if Toto comes with us...

Lewis starts laughing like a madman. —Sam, are you suggesting convincing Toto to go clubbing with us the night before the race so he doesn't get mad if he finds out we went clubbing?

—I got lost, mate —George arrives, earing that last part, trying to figure out what the hell.

—Well, I'll not be convincing him. Y/N is.

—ME?!

—If you really love me, you will —Sam pushes you toward the Mercedes' motorhome.

Gaslighting a bit much?

How am I supposed to do this? I'm going to sound so unprofessional. Although, technically, you two went out pub-ing?? and got drunk the night before the race in Australia. Okay, that made-up word sounds terrible; let's never use it again, so there may be a slight chance to relive that.

At least you needed to practice your words before going in there since "Hi, Toto, wanna go clubbing?" wasn't an option but destiny was a bitch; you two crossed paths before you had the opportunity to rehearse. Toto was on his way back to his office; he left his badge access on his desk. He seemed surprised to see you there; you were far away from the Williams' grounds. So you are forced to improvise.

—Are you looking for Sam?

—No, not really, not this time.

—Oh. Niki?

—Nope.

—Lewis?

—You.

Toto was now standing right before you with his hands in his pockets, all tall and handsome. You liked him even more when he wore his reading glasses.

You start a bit shy; Toto has a powerful presence. —I heard Miami has excellent places, and because last time I made you join me for that awful dining experience, I thought maybe we could go out and have a good time but in a better establishment.

—Tonight?

He sounds slightly judgy. You go on: —I was talking with the guys, and they mentioned "Floyd." It sounds great...

—The guys?

—Sam and Lewis, and George...

—Ooh, they sent you? Sam!

Oh boy.

—The cocktails sound goo...

—I'm not taking my drivers drinking or to a nightclub before the race or allowing it. It's ridiculous —Toto interrupts you again.

You look at him, now slightly nervous and bummed out.

—None of us is going; it's not happening —Toto adds firmly.

Yeah... He was a pro at the top of his game. Of course, he cared about discipline, mindsets, and winning races and titles; what were you thinking?!

You nod apologetically. Your eyes look a bit sad, well, because... You don't need to explain why. Just start turning around to head back and tell them the news.

—Wait! We could go to "Basement", which has a bowling alley and a DJ. But no drinking! Not even a drop for anyone; we must return to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Do you like that? That makes you happy?

—Sounds perfect to me —your smile is big and bright. Did Toto change his mind to please me?

To make things even, you end up bringing Millie and Mick. You wanted to make clear you weren't playing unfair tactics with your opponents. You earnestly desired to spend a good time with the people you began to care about.

The place was all for yourselves. It was a club slash bowling alley with colorful neon lights reflecting on the lanes, varying intensities and colors to the DJ's beats. It was a dope place.

Lewis invites Seb. They two took bowling seriously and had a years-long competition. They show you a list of their scores on Lewis's iPhone going back to the dark ages.

Bono also shows up, and Carlos and Lando, too, God knows how.

Lando starts stretching right in front of you, warming up, and making eye contact with you while doing his poses in a bit too sexual and exaggerated way. Samanta and you start laughing at him for acting all idiot. You two sit on the bowling benches while drinking Coke and eating popcorn.

—Every group needs a slut —you tell Lando.

—I don't think you are impressing her, man —Carlos joins, watching the spectacle, on his feet.

—It reminds me of when little children warm up before jumping into the pool —you kill Lando with your words.

—You have never seen legs like this —he tells you, overconfident. All of you laugh. —But, I will fight for your heart, malady. Is there another knight brave enough to face me in a bowling fight to the death?

—But what's the prize?! —Seb screams across all lanes.

—A NIGHT with the princess —Lando claims.

—Keep dreaming, sweetie —you reply.

—A KISS from the princess —he backtracks.

—Fine! Everyone, write your names here! —Sam takes a Post-it and a pen out of her purse - an assistant's habit - and passes them around.

—WHAT?! What are you doing?

Sam starts folding the papers and mixing them up. —The council calls Sir Hamilton to the pit!! Please choose your horse and weapon for the fight (lane and bowling ball) —Sam reads Lewis's name from the paper she picks up, and then she selects another one. —Warrior Dobrev to the fight! —cheers are heard, and Mick and Carlos pat Millie on the arm and back; Vettel massages her shoulders when she stands by her approach area. —Knight Wolff to the pit! And last but not least, Warrior Bonnington, too! —there were only five lanes. —You all brave souls are to fight buffoon Norris for a kiss of the Lady. Lord Vettel and I will oversee the combat.

—Hey! —Lando complains, pouting. Then, George starts motivating him, and they start making stupid grunts and jumps before the bowling round begins.

—The battle commences now! —Sam calls.

—You really need to stop watching House of the Dragon —you tell her.

—It's official: Bono is the worst player I have seen —Vettel interrupts, watching Bono be the first to get disqualified. —Is it okay if I leave you a second? If I don't go and bother Lewis every time to time, I get anxious —Sebastian sweetly tells you.

—Go, honey —You pat his hand and let him go. You two were watching the competition unfold together.

Lando, Lewis, and Toto were really good at it, but Millie was in a league of her own.

—How can someone so tiny have such a steady grip? —Lewis tells her she was in the lane next to his.

—Lew, I gladly would share with you all my secrets if I wasn't determined to win this —Millie replies.

—So you really want to kiss her? —he is curious, and a little smile forms on his lips.

—Look at Y/N, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want to. I think all five of us here hate losing... or love winning. Well, except for Lando, I believe he truly wants to kiss her.

"Not just him," Lewis thinks, looking in Toto's direction. After years of being teammates, he could read him like a book. It isn't just Sussie who has him shifting moods. Since you appeared, Toto began to act all weird. When Lewis noticed the looks you both exchanged, everything made sense to him.

And another fantastic strike from Lando.

Millie was almost right. Lewis loves winning and hates losing, but not when friends or feelings are in the middle. A lesson Sebastian taught him. So Lewis prepares and throws the worst shot he has ever made. His bowling ball bounces, hits the gutters, and invades the next lane, instantly disqualifying him.

Hisses and laughs fill the room. Lewis turns around, shrugs, smiles, and goes to take a seat. A minute later, he feels a thumb rubs his neck, caressing it. —Sir Hamilton, my good Sir, you sure are an honorable and respectable fellow —Sebastian tells him with his best Shakespearean voice.

—Stop talking like that, please.

—It doesn't please you how this low-grade peasant talks, good Sir?

The face Lewis gives him is priceless. Vettel laughs, and Lewis slides closer to him on the bench.

A loud "AAARGGH" comes from Lando as he dramatically throws himself to the floor. Wooff, what an awful shot.

—Luck next time, Lando! —Sam teases him as Carlos and George pass by, carrying him to the benches, one grabbing him by the legs and the other by the arms. Out of the competition, he was.

Now, it was a Dobrev vs. Wolff clash.

—Make our house name proud, niece! —Sam yells at her.

—You are having too much fun, aren't you? —you tell her.

—Sorry —Sam covers her face with her hands, monkey emoji-like. —Your knight made it to the final. Good for you, girl, but Millie is ruthless, so...

—I know! I can't watch any more. I'm too nervous! I feel like I will puke if Toto wins or if he loses.

—...she misses.

—WHAT?!

Okay, okay, this wasn't happening. Oh God. Sam turns to you and gives you a smile The Grinch will envy.

—Knight Wolff wins the battle! And takes the princess! —Sam announces. You shoot her a dead glare. —...'s kiss

Cheers are heard. Then everyone gets on their feet and starts chatting and bowling. Laughs and mocktails fill the room.

You pass Lando, still lying on the bench, on your way to get a drink. Now you need tequila in your system. —Oh, I'm so wounded! Only a kiss on the lips would heal me —he tries, offering his arms to you. The kid has the material to be an actor.

—Carlos!! Lando needs you!! —you joke back in answer, smiling at him. Lando gets on his feet in less than a second. —All good, I feel better! —he tells you, chuckling.

Toto is there when you reach the bar, sipping a whiskey on the rocks. —Not a drop of alcohol, you said? —you mock him.

—And you are here to ask for a Coke, right? —he teases you.

—A Paloma, please —you ask the bartender. —You could be a professional bowling player —Please let that become a meme, you think, and an image of a Toto in a complete bowling outfit surrounded by a group of senior citizens with white hair comes to mind.

—You picture it; that's why you are smiling.

—Nooo...

He arches an eyebrow.

—Fine. I admit it! —you sit on the bar stool next to him and rest an elbow on the bar counter, smiling like an idiot and gazing at Toto until he notices it and gets on his feet.

—I haven't seen you play, let's go! —he tells you.

—Oh, if this really were the old ages and it was me who had to fight for your hand, consider yourself single for the rest of your life...

You all arrive together at the hotel and walk inside the lobby, making a lot of noise.

—Shuusshh!! Zack doesn't know I'm not in my room! —Lando whispers, looking around.

—Sure, he is hiding behind that plant, Lando. That old fart is so fucking asleep in his bed, mate! Calm down! —Vettel adds.

—Hey! You haven't kissed Toto yet —Lewis recalls and addresses you.

—Right! Give him his prize! —Mick adds.

You feel your cheeks turning red. —Are you all going to stare and make it all weird?

—YES! —everyone answers.

—You guys suck! —you complain, pretending to be annoyed at them.

—Not as much as I would like to. WHO SAID THAT?! —Millie dirty jokes, looking around.

—Millie Alexandria Dobrev! —Sam shouts, shocked. —I can't believe you...

Between giggles and two Croatians fighting in the background, you kiss Toto for the first time.

With your left hand, wrap Toto's bicep and rest your right on his chest as you reach his lips on your tiptoes. The kiss is brief, delicate, more like a brush of lips, but it is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild and to still be on cloud nine when you reach your room.

Monaco

You were so excited to be officially living in Monaco. It was your first week there, and you had never lived on your own before. And since Sam also resided there, you spent lots of time together. You two were enjoying the break and touring the city around.

Miami went terrific, and that kiss still made rounds on your head.

Sam and you were walking in the area close to your new place when you turned the corner and were greeted by this scene: A furious Monegasque girl screaming at the top of her lungs in French words that did not sound nice at all and throwing objects out the window while a man on the street was trying to picking them up and reason with said girl. Some people were staring, and others were rushing to pass by.

—Is that Charles?! —Samanta asks you, stunned, pointing to the guy crouched and picking up what looked like a pair of Jordan's.

Yeah, that was Charles Leclerc. You two look at each other concerned and rush to help.

—Hi —Sam shouts among the screams in French.

—Oh, hey, Sam —Charles looks pretty embarrassed.

You quickly offer him the almost empty tote bag you were carrying and speed walk to grab an open, worn-out cardboard box from the greengrocery next door. The three of you start getting his things inside while avoiding getting hit by the last objects thrown out.

—Thank you —he says to you. —My girlfriend went mental.

All of you hear a loud bang and look up; she shuts the windows dramatically. "More like ex-girlfriend now" you think.

—Merde —you hear Charles say. —My keys and wallet are inside there, fuck!

You can't avoid feeling bad for the guy. He looks so done with life right now.

—Ahm, Charles, if you want to join us, we are grabbing lunch. We can grab some cocktails, too; I'll treat you guys. You seem in desperate need of alcohol and a chat.

—You're right, I need alcohol, thank you. I would love to.

The three of you walk your way to a restaurant Charles loves. It was pricey, but you agreed to let him pick the place since you were spoiling him and trying to lift his spirits.

—Huff, why are all the streets in Monaco inclined? —you complain after climbing the fourth hundred stairs of the day. —On the bright side, tho, I just need to live here to skip leg day at the gym.

Charles laughs. That's good!

The face the hostess makes when you three arrive and place the second-hand cardboard box with Charles's things on the fancy counter - clothes, some books, sneakers, a Funko Pop of Charles himself for some reason, and what looks like Xbox controllers, a man's most prized possession - makes it worth it almost losing your legs to get there.

—Good evening. Table for three? Right this way. Terrace, as usual, Mr. Leclerc? —she asks.

—Yes, please.

You are led to your table. It was a sea-inspired high-cuisine restaurant. The ceiling of the place had a breathtaking art installation: A whale made from bamboo wind chimes. —The waiter is on his way; here is the food and mixology carte —she offers you. It takes you a long time to read the entire selection.

—Ask for whatever you guys want; the check is on me. Don't hold back —you offer them.

—Great, then! It would be two spritzes instead of one, please! —Sam gestures with her fingers at the waiter, who is already taking your order. Sam seems so happy and excited; for someone who grew up that rich, she loves getting stuff for free.

—I would like a Tequila and Tonic with two tequila shots, please —you finally choose.

—A margarita and two shots of tequila for me. To start —Charles orders.

The drinks arrive quickly. At the same time, you hear everything about Charles' toxic relationship, giving him the space to spit it all out; as more alcohol makes it to the table, the more details you get.

After a good couple of hours of free therapy, high cuisine, drinks, relationship advice, and tragic love stories, it got dark.

—Well, it was a damn good chat! I'm glad we were able to help you, my friend. But we better go —Sam says to Charles. —I'm walking you back to your place —she addresses you. —I have to wake up early tomorrow. Toto wants me to join the Mercedes' Zoom call at 7 a.m., and I don't want to see his annoying, angry face at me.

The thought of an angry Toto makes you bite hard the tiny chocolate cake you are eating as dessert.

—Oh, no worries! It's just all the way down the street; I will get there without problems —you say while savoring the remains of your cake.

—Are you sure? —She inquires. You forgot how protective of you Samanta was, even if she was younger than you.

—Yeah, go, go. It's never a good idea to make an Austrian guy angry —You joke.

Charles choked on his drink, laughing. —Sweet Lord.

Sam giggles, hugs you two goodbye and waits for her Uber.

—It's late, I'll walk you. There are plenty of good hotels near your building and the marina; since I'm not going home, I need to book a room —Charles mentions.

—If you don't mind, you can crash at my place; there's not much furniture yet, but you are welcome to stay —you tell Charles. He seems relieved.

Charles sees what you meant with "not much" - just a small table with no chairs, one kitchen counter stool, a mattress in the bedroom, another on the living room floor, and some boxes, making the place look way bigger - as you two enter your apartment.

—I just got the keys —you excuse yourself.

—Oh wow, this view reminds me of my grandparents' apartment view from growing up —He reaches the balcony fast. —Oh, look, you can see the old side of Monaco from here! Good memories! —He ignores your comment, not caring much about the furniture or decor.

He seems in a better mood than before.

—Well, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well! —you say, on your way to your bedroom.

—Thank you, good night!

You hear noises outside your bedroom's open doors a few minutes later. Charles moves his mattress nearer the plug on the wall and connects the charger you lent him to his phone. With that change in the arrangement, you are both placed facing each other in different rooms and with distance in between.

Since none of you seemed able to fall asleep that night, you better keep chatting, each of you resting your back against the wall, relaxing, and him crossing his arms behind his head.

—So you are besties with Sam?

—Yes, she was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Belgium —you answer and look out of your bedroom's massive floor-to-ceiling window to the beautiful sea and the tiny-looking lights of Monaco. He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

—So, how was growing up here? —You ask him and were sincerely curious but also want to switch the subject of conversation from you to him.

He tells many anecdotes of his childhood and buzz about some of the high society Monegasque families. He seems to enjoy gossip, and you are here for it.

Until you feel your eyes shutting down and fall asleep with the sound of his voice.

Two weeks later, Charles was still staying at your place; there was no furniture yet, however. By the third week, you arrive home, and all of Charles' things are filling the space. He moved "his bed" to one of the guest bedrooms and packed the living room with boxes. His piano starts serving you two at your dining "table." You always ate there, sitting, standing, taking turns: breakfast, Charles, lunch, you, etc.

He is just one box away from officially becoming your roommate. Of course, you don't mind. After many years of feeling alone, you desperately needed a friend and its company.

Charles' wireless speaker is the most significant addition to the apartment; it was never turned off, both of you being obsessive music maniacs, constantly introducing new music and artists to each other.

It is your turn to pick a song, and you want to lift the spirits while unpacking boxes and arranging things, so you turn the volume all up and hit play. Bad Bunny's "Yo perreo sola" started blasting.

You start singing and dancing to the beat, shaking it, and then Charles joins you in the chorus, singing the lyrics perfectly and throwing some great dance moves. You two start twerking.

—You know this song? Wait, you speak Spanish?! —you ask loudly, almost screaming. The music is so loud.

—My mom is Colombian. Didn't I mention that? My dad is the Monegasque one. I know my reggaeton and merengues by heart —he screams back. —I know all the good clubs in the city with this type of music, we should go and dance our asses off.

—Oh, for sure we are!

Another level of friendship is unlocked.

The three of you are inseparable. It is the weekend, and Charles took you and Sam on his boat sailing to an excellent spot to take a swim. Coronas, good music, sun, and fresh water fill your day.

You came up with a competition to see who jumped out of the boat the funniest way because you three were dumb. Charles wins by jumping and agitating his arms and legs like an old cartoon falling or very Gaga at the Super Bowl. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and your face from smiling.

After that, you all lay flat on your stomachs like iguanas under the sun, getting tan atop the boat; you don't remember a day nearby when you felt so happy. You felt at home with those two by your side.

It was around 4 a.m. and pitch black when Charles was suddenly awakened by sorrowful sounds coming from your bedroom.

He rushes and quickly opens the door, not caring to knock. He finds you crying, curled in your bed; you look like a total mess with red eyes, messy hair, and softly shaking, and Charles reacts like a headless chicken, pacing frantically around the room before getting to his senses and starting supporting a very troubled you.

—I got an idea that could help you feel better! —he tells you.

—Yeah?

—You trust me?

You nod.

—Let's go! —he offers you his hand and leads you out.

You take the lift to the basement parking lot, where Charles' Ferrari is all poorly and crocked parked outside lines of your apartment's parking spaces - that man was a great driver but terrible at parking - next to it is his powerful Ducati Panigale black motorbike is waiting for you.

Soon, you two are on his bike, crossing the streets of Monaco at full speed. Getting further away from the city and into the road. You tightly wrap your arms around him as he tells you you are entering the highway, and he begins to speed, pushing the bike's engine.

You could feel the fresh nightly ocean breeze hitting your body and entering your pores, every time more violently as you moved and Charles kept speeding up. You could see the full moon reflecting on the ocean waters. It was a clear night, with no stars in sight.

You love the rush and adrenaline of this speed ride. Charles speeds even more, and you hear the violent roar of the motor, the bike reaching its maximum. Then, in that brief moment, you get why all drivers are passionate about F1. Now you get it. Your sad tears become happy ones. You have never experienced something like this before, and it makes you feel so alive. The air feels so cold and harsh at the speed you are going that you almost feel it cutting your skin. It is a sensational feeling.

Charles then starts to slow down till he parks the bike and turns the engine off, helping you get on your feet, and you two lay on the grass after arriving at the destination.

—What a view! —you let out. The two of you are far away from the city, and you can see Monaco at the distance from the cliff you are on top of.

—This is my secret spot. I have been coming here since I was young when I felt I needed to clear my mind or wanted to escape everything. This view humbles you and calms you down at the same time —Charles confesses.

—Thanks for sharing it with me —you say to him, extremely grateful.

—It's the least I can do.

You can hear the waves hitting the cliff rock below you, and you admire the infinite ocean in front of you. The two of you sat there for a long time.

—Whenever you feel ready to talk about it. To open up about your past, who you are, or why you cried tonight, I will be here to listen —Charles offers you, breaking the comfortable silence. He is a kind and sweet person, a good person. And you aren't used to that.

He places his hand on top of yours just briefly, and you feel so happy to have a friend, to have him, no love feelings, no desire in between, just genuine friendship and honest support.

He deserves the truth, and you want to let him know, but you are afraid of the repercussions. You don't want to get judged or, worse, to lose him.

Charles has been paying attention to you these past weeks and has noticed how you avoid or change subjects whenever your past or private life gets mentioned.

Every day that passes, he gets to know you more. It is just a matter of time before the truth comes out.

To be continued... - Masterlist | Next Chapter

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strawberri-uyu · 9 months

Text

seventeen x gn!reader as spanish music i adore hyung line ver!

genre: fluff, angst, some idol!svt and reader, and some college and highschool au

warnings: miscommunication, situationships, suggestive? bad relationships, mentions of food/drink, breakups and implied relationships.

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: THE FIRST SONG PAINS ME (WE FREAKING MISS YOU ROSALÍA Y RAUW) , anyyyyywayss some of this music grew up with while some are still new! also sorry if the translation is ROUGH like literally i can understand the meaning no issue in spanish but then trying to translate something to hold the same meaning is hard!! p.s I'M SORRY TO JUNHUI, AND JIHOON STANS!! also a big big thank you to @fairybinie i love you vallie for helping me throughout this process!! ♡

hyung line | maknae line

seungcheol: beso by rosalía y rauw alejandro ♪ ༘⋆ “ya yo necesito otro beso, uno de esos que tú me da” -> “i need another kiss, one of those that you give to me”

if you guys weren’t in the idol industry together, you and seungcheol would definitely be the classic high school sweethearts! you two met at an award show and embarrassingly you got caught staring at seungcheol on the big screen.. afterwards you two lovebirds just kept bumping into each other and eventually he asked you out! it wasn’t at the company, nor through a direct message.. this man went the extra mile to write a song about you for seventeen’s upcoming album.. the sentiment was sweet and it was discrete enough to leave some mystery about who seungcheol dedicated the track to. while you two do make a nice couple everyone’s wishing on your downfall. not cause they hate you guys or anything but the pda and your loveliness is a bit much…

“hehe, cheolie one more.. before you go.. pleaseeee? ” you plead as the two of you are outside of the dance studio.

“yn sweetie i have to get to practice.” he tries to let you down and with all his strength pull off a restrictive look on his face

“choi seungcheol! i thought we had something special?!?” you respond pretending to be annoyed at the latter, adding a pout and crossed arms to enhance your effect on him

he looks around at his rehearsing members who are a bit busy messing around. before he shares a glance with you, finally giving in. “fine fine, one more then i'm leaving.”

“hyung, get a room please!” you two hear as you peck each other on the lips, smiling throughout the exchange.

“aigoo, don't get jealous dino!!!” seungcheol argued back with the youngest member before rushing off to practice

jeonghan: el chico del apartamento 512 by selena ⋆🎧✮⋆ “el chico del apartamento 512, es el quien me hace tartamuda y más” -> “the boy from apartment 512, is the one who causes me to stutter or worse”

yoon jeonghan, your next door neighbor and secret crush. well it's not that much of a secret apparently everyone knows about your little crush except for the man himself! someone please help jeonghan connect the dots. your crush first started when you moved in and seungkwan and jeonghan decided to come help you with your boxes. it happened like it was yesterday, you had a stack of boxes in your hands and with the luck you had, led you to bump into somebody. that somebody is your new neighbor seungkwan. after he nagged at you for not paying attention and jeonghan’s noisy ass came outside to see all the drama. you managed to get your items unpacked, and make some new friends over some dinner and some apologies for the incident earlier. since that day every time you’d bump into jeonghan it was just nerves and butterflies. you couldn’t form sentences, nothing could out of your mouth. all you could do is stand and get teased by him, and in his typical jeonghan manner. he still doesn’t know you like him but any chance he sees someone fumbling and acting funny, he takes it. even with seungkwan’s help, there's only so much he can do as your “wingman”.

“jeonghan-hyung doesn't yn look cute today?!” seungkwan whispers as he pulls jeonghan aside during a barbeque party the residents are hosting.

“ehh you think so seungkwan, why don’t you say something?!” jeonghan teases him. typical to seungkwan’s innocent manner, he can't tell if his hyung is joking or not.

“ACTUALLY why don't you!?” the younger male presses further with a forced smile and pushy tone in his voice.

“i think it would be nice hearing something from you for once?” (as if kwannie isn’t the one always talking at 2304940 words per minute /j)

as you make your rounds greeting everyone at the event your head pops up at the sound of a familiar voice “yah! yn you look cute today….. seungkwan told me hehehe”

“erm.. thank you kwannie” you replied with an awkward smile at the pair

“you're welcome yn!” seungkwan told you as he’s mouthing “im sorry”

joshua: darte un beso by prince royce ⤹˚˖♬୭ “yo solo quiero darte un beso, y regalarte mis mañanas” -> “i just want to give you a kiss, and to gift you all my tomorrows”

joshua hong, commonly known as the “gentlemen'' in a class of more than one hundred people. can be still remembered as the guy with a down to earth personality, with heavenly looks in the mix. while he has this aura surrounding him, he just so happened to spill his americano on you as he was trying to get to his seat. he’s lucky it was iced… anywaysss after you two managed to laugh it off with some napkins and a new jacket. he made it a routine to bring you both a drink for lecture. you and shua bonded over your music tastes and he invited you to an open-mic event happening at his friend soonyoung’s cafe. the “date” went well, the natural chemistry between you two really just kept the energy there. of course you two hit it off as friends, but as the day went by you couldn’t help but notice his glances looking away in embarrassment when you caught him. you figured you two could be something more but you didn’t have that reassurance just yet. but towards the end of the event you snapped out of your little daze to see joshua on stage himself “for a very special someone”.

“joshua.. i didn’t know you could sing?!?” you exclaim in awe once you see him settle in his chair. “i think there are still some surprises left.” joshua hinted at, but you’re not quite sure what he meant by that

“and you even sang my favorite song, i didn’t think you’d remember” you couldn’t hide the excitement in your voice as you moved a bit closer to him.

he pauses and stretches his words out to agree “offff ccooourssse i remembered yn” (he didn’t )

“ahem..yn i really.. really like you and i was wondering if we could be official and that i totally wish i could kis-” he blurts out all at once as a voice cuts off the last of his confession.

“HEY JOSH DID YN REJECT YOU OR WHAT??!!??”

junhui: no me queda mas by selena ⋆🎧✮⋆ “no me queda más, si tu regreso hoy sería, una imposibilidad.” -> “ i have nothing left. your return today would be an impossibility.”

dating an idol is difficult. although you weren’t an idol yourself, you understood the challenges and responsibilities that came with his job. there weren't always cameras in your face and it wasn’t as dramatic as the rumors claimed. that all passed as the time went on, but what was theatrical was seeing another message on your screen being stood up like you have been for the past few months accompanied with overused apologies and “i love you”. junhui started filming for his drama, which meant less time for the relationship and at first you were understanding, but over time you couldn’t help but miss your boyfriend immensely. you thought you could handle the stress and loneliness of separation. if you could do it during the tour season you could handle the distance, well that was until you got a message from him.. it was the last straw..

“yn.. my love we need to talk”

“about what junnie? about you not being able to see me as much anymore?”

“yn.. don't be like that you know i'm busy over here!!”

“i know that junnie, i just don't know how much more i can take of being away from you…”

“i can’t do this .. anymore junnie… it hurts”

“yn, we can make this work i promise”

beep

“yn??!??!?”

ring ring ring ring

“ynnie answer me… please..”

wonwoo: cuando me enamoro by enrique iglesias y juan luis guerra ⋆｡°✩♬ ♪ “Cuando me enamoro, cuando menos me lo espero, me enamoro, se detiene el tiempo.” -> “when i least expect it, i'm falling in love… time stopping”

jeon wonwoo, the cute boy next door. quite literally being your bestie since diaper days which followed into high school. you two got closer as you got older and were practically inseparable since. the only difference was wonwoo, he was so awkward with you the last few days of senior year… he wouldn’t make eye contact, he’d stop getting so close with you, he said he was busy with mingyu and couldn’t hangout with you anymore, and you couldn’t figure out why. he didn’t even know himself what made him act like this. it wasn’t until mingyu had to spell it out for him. and that’s when he decided to do something.. well before somebody else could steal you from him.

after hearing the few soft knocks at your door, you're greeted to a drenched wonwoo.. with a broken umbrella in his right hand and his left behind his back. “there you are…you’re completely soaked.. what’s going on wonu talk to me” you ask him softly as he stands outside your door.

“please don’t leave me after i tell you this…” he mustered as his insecurities ate at him with his head low.

as his anxiety peaked in this moment your voice broke his worries “i could never, leave you wonwoo.. ” you reassure him reaching a hand out to pat his head.

he steps a bit back before opening his mouth again.“yn.. we have been friends for a while now.. but.. i think i’m falling in love with you and i don’t know what to do” he admits, as he still avoids your gaze.

“we’re going to figure it out together, because i like you too jeon wonwoo"

"now let's get you inside .. you look like a wet kitten!!” you joked as you pulled him into your home and slammed the door shut.

soonyoung: ahora te puedes marchar by luis miguel ⊹♡🎶 “contigo yo perdí, ya tengo con quien ganar” -> “I have lost with you, but now I have someone to win with.”

heartbroken soonie coming to your house, for the twentieth time after another breakup and with food ready and some movies in the background. there you are, nursing him back to health once again.. as he can’t help himself and wraps his arms around you and cries on your shoulder. you were always there for him and seeing him like this was a bit cruel. he was such a sweet guy and didn’t deserve the heartbreak. after he gets his energy back he’s the life of the party you once knew.. and then realization hits him!! fast forward a few weeks later and you have a face full of flowers and a stuffed tiger in the form of a confession. that you were the one who was right there all along and he wants to spend his life with you and only you. and while you appreciate the gesture you just want soonie ot heal up a little bit before rushing into things. but little did he know you share the same sentiment as him for a while now. and you were ready to admit it when the time was right.

it’s now some time after soonyoung first confessed to you, he texts you that he’s waiting by the swing set at the park near your apartment. “y/n what are you doing?” he questions when you greet him with his favorite flowers and a different tiger plushie.

“guess what? i like you too soonie, and i can’t keep losing you to other people '' you reveal after the several months went by and your feelings for soonyoung didn’t fade away. as you squeezed the items held in your hands.

“yn, i didn’t know you felt this way” he admits as he slowly takes the flowers and stuffed animal from you. beaming with a smile as he focuses between you and the plush doll.

“i know, i just felt there was never a good time to show it” you shrug your shoulders while trying your best to maintain eye contact.

“well there’s no time other than the present.” he replies “now that you confessed, it’s you and i always and forever” he accepts and wraps you around in his embrace, nuzzling his head in your hair.

jihoon: mientes by camila ⤹˚˖♬୭ “mientes, me haces daño y luego te arrepientes, ya no tiene caso que lo intentes” -> “you lie, you hurt me and later regret it. there 's no point in you trying anymore.”

jihoon just needed a little coping mechanism, something with no strings attached. he’s been hurt one too many times and he couldn’t afford it happening again, so that’s why he came to you.. and that was the agreement at the time. between the both of you. he told himself wouldn’t get attached at least that’s what claimed. but the problem with these kinds of relationships is that there aren’t any boundaries, there are misunderstandings and there feelings are present when they shouldn’t be involved.. it was hard for the both of you to end whatever this was.. especially when people lie to themselves.. but you wouldn’t dare fall for each other, it would ruin the purpose, it would ruin everything. and of course there are always problems with relationships, nobody is perfect and you can't read each other's minds. nonetheless, was calling it off the best thing to do? no i don’t think it was , and neither do the both of you but what are you guys supposed to do but run away from it all. but what if someone wanted to run towards the other.

ring… ring… ring… ring…

“pickup yn.. my yn.. please” jihoon chokes out. as he nearly sobs on the phone, contemplating your relationship.

beeeeppp

“hello!” the familiarity of your voice made him lose all rationality.

“yn please it’s jihoon i’m sorry please come ho-”

“you have reached, ynnie!! and i’m not home at the moment but just leave a message and i’m sure i’ll get back to you soon!” the sound of your voicemail ran through his ears in a loop as he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

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mintymarabell · 1 year

Text

Sfw alphabet with elder yautja

Warning: there is implied suicide at W.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He’s a clingy puppy, he always wants to be touching you. If it’s not holding your hand then he’s pressed up on you. He loves any and all affection you give him. Kiss his face and he’s gone..

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Honestly, he’d probably find you on earth and maybe you invite him in, from there he comes to your house and you spill all the drama about your ooman life. He listens intently and even adds in what he would’ve done.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves cuddling with you, he isn’t used to being touched in this kind of way, when you first introduced cuddling he was a little stiff but as time passed he became more comfortable with hugging up on you..

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He’s old, he’s retired most likely, he’s settled down.. He's not really good at cooking but will learn if you want him too, he’s the type to wake you up in the morning with breakfast in bed that’s halfway burnt.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Unless you're unfaithful, he’ll never leave nor break up with you. He loves you and is loyal to you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

You’d most likely have to tell him what marriage and all that is but as soon as he finds out he’s getting down on one knee right then and there. He’ll have everything planned to get married in the next month, the wedding would be perfect and you might even see him sniffle as you walk down the aisle.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

So very gentle with you.. You’ve most likely seen him in battle or in a fight, this man can be a lean mean killing machine. But with you, he’s careful. He once scratched your side with his claw and never forgave himself, he now keeps his nails dulled. He treats you as if you are a glass figurine.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

His hugs are warm and welcoming. He hugs you as a greeting, on occasion he’ll pick you up but most of the time he just gets down on his knees so he can be eye level or lower than you. (Depends how low he’s slouching)

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Probably isn’t a word in yautja, you’d have to explain it to him. Butttt as soon as he knows the meaning he’ll say it all the time, “goodbye ooman, love you” or “I love you ooman, stay safe for me.”

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s only jealous when your around male humans, he doesn’t like the thought of them having a better chance with you only because they are more ‘handsome’

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He can’t kiss… but he does rub his cheek on your face or body very often.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s a little awkward, he’s never raised his own as the mothers always kicked him out. Though he’s open to having a kid or two with you..

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

They are mostly depending if he has something going on. If he does you almost never gonna wake up with him still in bed. Though if he doesn’t have anything going on then it will be a lazy morning, he’ll have you on his chest while he rubs your back and legs, waiting for his sweet little ooman to wake up to give him kisses. (He enjoys morning kisses)

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He usually massages your body before bed. When you both are in bed he is big spoon, subtly rubbing your sides.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s an open book. You're his mate, he will tell you anything you want to know.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It’s impossible to make him angry, he has tons of patience. If however he does get mad it’s almost never at you, if you're in the room when it happens he almost immediately walks out. He never wants you to see him like that..

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything about you, every detail, every word said. He would get a 100 on all quizzes about you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When it was early in the morning, he walked out to the kitchen only to see his ooman in one of his coats making him breakfast.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is so very protective of you, he would die if it meant you were safe. Anytime you both are in public he always has a arm around you or is holding you hand.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He almost goes too all out, know what I mean? Like he once took you to an exotic planet all because you had wanted some fish. He had speared a fish and cooked it for you. On your one year anniversary he went out and bought that whole market you both went shopping at. He bought every single thing, even the things he didn’t need

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s possessive, anywhere you go without him he’ll ask a million questions, where’d you go? Who’d you go with? And so on. Another trait of his is that he sometimes expects you to lift heavier things that shouldn’t be lifted by an ooman. He’ll just say “oh you can do it just put your back into it.”

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Only when you both are visiting earth. He doesn’t have a handsome man face and sometimes he feels like you want a human face that can actually kiss you back.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Depression. That’s all. He’d pull his quills and rip at his tendrils. He would stop eating and doing any basic care. He would lay in bed clutching your pillow and just smelling it. Anything around the house that subtly reminds him of you will just break him down, falling onto the floor clutching the item and just curling in on himself. He’ll eventually just end it, just so he can be with you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He likes making you those cute little beaded necklaces and other jewelry pieces. When he can’t go out hunting it’s his only hope..

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t want a soulmate that’s rude or rough. He’s had to deal with female yautja his whole life, he doesn’t want to deal with another one.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He sometimes puts you in a choke hold, he doesn’t squeeze but at the same time he doesn’t let you go. So if you have to go use the restroom in the middle of the night you’ll have to find a way to wake him up. (Blow on his face)

#yautja #yautja x reader #elder yautja #monster #monster boyfriend #so cute #yautja boyfriend

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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

Note

HI i love ur writings for minho so much oh my god they keep me thriving. i was wondering if you’d be up for doing like a modern highschool au with minho where he keeps trying to ask the reader out, and she keeps saying no because she thinks it’s joke, until she confronts him and he gets all serious and tells her it’s not a joke and then there’s a little bit (a lot) of spice at the end🤭🤭

Ooo okay okay, my first AU story, this is definitely going to be a bit different.

Again, assuming fem!reader because pronouns used in the request.

HIGH SCHOOL NOT-SO-SWEETHEARTS

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Fem! Studious! High-school! Reader x Popular! High-school! Minho.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, the American education system which I simply do not understand or what is taught in American classrooms, spicy content, terrible teenage flirting, kinda of insecure reader, guilty pleasure high school drama tropes, I do not condone Minho's constant questioning of the reader- no means no, guys. No Glader slang here, folks- they ain't stuck in the Maze now.

You are not a popular person.

Not that you mind. You have your small circle of friends and staying out of the typical teenage drama really is a blessing, especially during your Senior year.

It's not like you're disliked, you're just not someone most people pay attention to, and you like it that way.

You get to focus on your studies, your family and your close friends, which is more than enough to keep you happy.

Well, it would be if you weren't kind of a hopeless romantic. No matter how many times you tell yourself you don't want a boyfriend and that you don't need one, you spend a lot of time fantasing about what it would be like to be in a relationship. Like going on dates, having cute inside jokes, meeting your partners parents, and... other things.

In typical horny teenage fashion, you do spend a lot of time thinking about the more intimate parts of your desired relationship. But, alas, you simply do not have anyone interested in you, nor do you have the time.

(You totally do have the time; you're way ahead of your classes and are passing with flying colours- but you tell yourself that.)

Except that's actually not quite right.

"Dude, I am totally fucking up this titration, are you gonna help me or not?" Gally mumbles from behind the desk of the chemistry lab. How Gally and Minho got into AP chemistry is beyond me, and the teacher, and the whole entire class.

Probably to do with them cheating on their mid-terms. But that's irrelevant.

"Minho, dude," he shoves his friend, who has been casually leaning on the desk staring off into space, as per usual.

Well, not into space exactly.

"What? Huh? Oh, right, yeah." He clears his throat. "Acid in the... tube thing and we put that in the base and bang, shit changes colour- it ain't that hard."

"It's an acid-base titration."

"So?"

"So, we're seeing how much base it takes to neutralise the acid- the acid goes in the beaker!"

"What's the damn difference?"

Gally pauses.

He does not know.

"Whatever, the titrate is already in the shitty tube and now we gotta drip feed it in."

"Sounds like you know what you're doin', then." Gally frowns at the boy.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea for them to both cheat when the only thing they have in common is being friends with Siggy (aka Frypan, the groups best, and only, cook.)

"Yanno, maybe if you didn't spend half your time staring at your nerd crush, then we might actually get past this with a C."

Minho glares at his friend. His crush on you is very much a teasing point in his friend group.

It started when he was struggling with an equation in Sophmore year. He'd just sprained his ankle after a training session with the Track-and-Sprint team and was particularly stressed about it. So, anything remotely out of his academic field was bound to make his day worse.

It's not like Minho is dumb. He's actually incredibly intelligent. He has a great memory and can understand people with little to no effort- anything scientific really isn't his thing though.

So, when you felt bad for him, watching him anxiously tap his good foot and spin his pen in his hand, you slipped him your answer sheet. He was stunned, especially since you'd never spoken before. But, when you smiled at him, giving him a reassuring nod, he never really got over it.

"Shut up, man."

"You know, actually, that's not a bad idea."

"What?"

"Yo, (Y/N)!" You perk your head up, flashing a concerned look at Harriet, your lab partner, as Gally shouts you. "Could you help us out? You're like smart, right?"

"Gally! Dude-" Minho whisper-yells at the boy, ducking into himself when you respond.

"Uh, sure," you walk away from your perfect set up to the chaos of the boys'. "What's up?"

You stand with your hands behind your back, looking between them. "Minho," he nudges his friend, "tell the girl what's wrong."

Minho blinks. "Well, uh, I don't know- you're the one who said there's a problem."

Gally scoffs. "The fucking thing won't change colour- ain't it meant to go pink?"

You glance between them, suddenly feeling very small.

You're not popular, which means guys like these have often teased you or do things like this because they think it's funny. It's gotten better over time with age, but you still feel like the scared little freshman that would get teased by older boys.

"Well, did you put the phenolphthalein in the beaker?"

They both blankly look at you. So, you pick up the small, dark bottle. Shaking it at them, you open the bottle, letting the liquid fall from the dripper and into the clear acid, which immediately turns a bright fusia.

You pull your lips into a thin line as they both stare at the beaker, no thoughts behind the eyes.

"Ah." Gally says after a couple of seconds.

"Yeah." You respond.

"Uh, thanks," Minho awkwardly stands up properly from his leaning position over the lab table.

"No problem."

You turn to walk away, but as Gally makes shifty eyes at his friend, Minho finally takes the hint. He's been crushing on you forever, he might aswell do something about it.

"Uh, wait, hold on," you turn to face him as he walks around the desk. "I gotta ask you somethin'."

"I'm sure your titration's fine, just don't pour it too quick or the results will be wrong."

"No, uh, not that." Gally snorts, not at you but at Minho's awkwardness, but it still makes you feel very insecure. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out maybe, sometime?"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah," Gally laughs, covering his mouth and turning away, "Gally, shut up, bro." Minho is quick to snap at him. "Like... a date, maybe?"

You scoff, anger swelling inside of you. This isn't the first times it's happened, but probably the worst because you actually like Minho.

Sure, he hangs out with douchebags like Gally, but you thought he was cool. Say, you may even have a slight crush on him. He's handsome, funny, and, for the most part, kind.

Well, you thought he was at least.

"Real funny, asshole."

You walk away, returning to a very confused Harriet.

Minho stands in stunned silence. He's never been rejected before- nevermind like that.

Gally bursts out laughing.

"What just happened?" Minho asks no one in particular, visible confusion washing over him.

"You just got fuckin' rejected, bro! Ha!"

"No, that was weird." He's never heard of anyone being rejected like that before.

"Well, try again, then, pretty boy- it's nice to see someone knock your ego down a peg." Minho gives a sarcastic grin to Gally before shoving him. "You gonna help me with this damn titration, now, or what?"

"Dude, what was that about?" Harriet whispers as you immediately go back to your third reading.

"Minho just asked me out." You state, matter-of-factly.

"What?" She says a bit too loud, making multiple heads look at her. "What?" She repeats, quieter.

"It was a joke- Gally was laughing the whole time. I hate guys like that."

"Are you sure?" You glare at her. "I'm just sayin', I didn't think Minho was that typa guy, that's all."

"Yeah, neither did I."

"Pricks."

You scoff before she smiles at you.

You finish up the lab session, and you're quick to leave, meeting Sonya and Aris at the door as you all share history together.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" You keep walking, ignoring Minho's voice from behind you. "Yo! Hey! Wait!"

"What?" You snap, turning around suddenly to face him, making him jump as Sonya and Aris exchange glances.

"Did I, uh, did I do something? 'Cause back there you-"

"You think you're funny, huh?" Harriet butts in, defending you. "That's a sick joke, yanno; give it up now before you become even more of a dick. C'mon." She grabs your wrist, pulling you away from him, your other friends left even more confused.

Later, in the cafeteria, Minho sits with his friends, silently picking at his food.

"Okay," Newt finally breaks the tension, "what's going on? Why are you sulking?"

"He got rejected by his long-term crush," Gally sneers, earning a glare from Minho.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)?" Teresa leans forward in her seat. "You actually asked her?"

"Yeah, and he got completely rejected."

"What? Why?" Thomas pipes up.

Minho shrugs. "She called me an asshole and walked away. Tried to talk to her after, and Harriet dragged her away."

"What?" At least three people ask.

"Yeah, so, that's three years of my romantic life wasted."

"Nah, man, you gotta ask again," Frypan says between mouthfuls of his homemade pasta, which is worlds better than the cafeteria food.

"What?"

"Keep askin', you'll either get an explanation or she'll say yes."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Teresa mumbles.

"Yeah, me neither," Newt mutters, and Frypan shushes them.

"Trust me, bro, chicks dig a guy that doesn't give up- ain't that right, Gally?"

"Oh, yeah," Gally agrees, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "That'll work."

And, for some God forsaken reason, Minho actually listens to this.

So, every day, for the next two weeks, Minho asks you out.

You think it's some kind of unruly on-going inside joke, and Harriet is practically frothing at the mouth, ready to rip Minho to shreads the first chance she gets. Minho, at the point, would just like a reason.

Not that he's owed one. But, Teresa and Newt's voices of reason keep getting drowned out by the other dumb boys, so he's still going.

That is until you have literally the worst day ever.

First, your Mom's car broke down, and she normally drops you off at school on her commute to work, so you arrived at your first period late. It also means she can't pick you up, it's not like you can't drive, but you don't have your own car, and now she doesn't have a car either.

And now it's throwing it down.

You then dropped a whole beaker of hydrochloric acid down your leg in chemistry. Which meant you had to borrow Sonya's PE shorts because you can't wear dangerous chemicals all day.

Then you left school- forgot you were tutoring Winston for extra credit, and had to run back to school, soaked, to spend another hour there.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho has extracurricular activities being captain of the Track team- which is taking place inside the hall because of the weather.

So, when you're walking through the parking lot, dressed like a drowned-rat and Minho pulls up beside you, you've just about had enough.

"(Y/N)?"

"Piss off, Minho! I won't tell you again!"

He slowly drives alongside you from his beat-up, old range rover, the window rolled down but he still has to shout.

"Okay! Okay! Dude, you're drenched, wearing shorts, okay? I'll give you a lift home-"

"No way- I'll walk."

"You're gonna get sick, man- I'll shut up and just take you home, alright? I'm not letting you walk in this- I'll feel like a dick."

"You don't already feel like a dick?"

He groans, tapping on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable- I didn't mean to. But the weather's shit, and you can't play top-student if you're off 'cause you're ill."

You pause. He makes a good point. You turn to look at him, sighing. He puts the hand break on when you start to walk around the side of his car, dumping your bag at your feet as you open the door.

"What's your-"

"I'll give you directions."

"Okay..."

The ride is mainly in silent, with some old-school songs playing on the radio. Minho taps the steering wheel to the beat of "Eye of the Tiger" to try and distract himself from the awkwardness.

Your phone buzzes; it's Harriet calling you.

"Shit," you mumble.

"You good?" Minho asks you.

"Yeah, Harriet's calling me- we're meant to be figuring out our history project tonight but I forget to tell her I was tutoring."

You swipe across, pressing the phone to your ear. "Hey, man."

"Dude, you were meant to call me half an hour ago- we gotta brainstorm."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm just on my way home, now."

"Did your Mom sort her car then? Doesn't sound like you're walking through a storm."

"No, I, uh..." You trail off. "I got offered a lift, I'm fine, I'll be home in like five minutes."

"A lift? Off who? Sonya has work so she couldn't of?" You hesitate. "Dude?"

"Uh, Minho, he caught me in the rain and offered to take me home."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know-"

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Look, it's fine, I'll call you when I get home."

"You better." You hang up the phone, taking a deep breath.

"Sounds like she doesn't like me," Minho attempts to say.

"Yeah, I wonder why."

"Do you have a problem with me, or some shit? 'Cause I thought we were cool and then you just started acting like I was a dick."

"Because you are a dick!"

"What?" He looks at you for a second before returning his eyes to the road.

"Doesn't matter; pull over, it's my house on the left."

He does as he's told. There's no car in the drive so your Mom must've managed to get someone to take care of it- which means you've got an empty house.

Thank God because you're going to need to de-stress after the day you've had.

You immediately get out of the car, slamming the door behind you. But Minho is quick to follow you.

"Hey!" He shouts as you march up your front door steps. "Hey!" He grabs you wrist and you turn around, pushing him.

"What's your problem?" You shout. "I don't get why you think this is so fucking funny! Like, sure, have your one dumb joke where you ask out the freak to make your friend laugh! But why keep going! What's the point? You don't have your little audience now, do you? What? You gonna call them after and tell them how much fun you had pissing me off on our little drive? Or is it the fact I got in your car to begin with? Is that the joke, hm?"

Minho stands there, in the rain, his brows furrowing slightly as he takes in what you've said. It's an expression you've never seen on him before, but you don't plan on sticking around to find out what it means.

You turn, fumbling with your keys to unlock your door, managing to push it open.

"Wait, what?" He stops you in the door, and for some reason, you turn around.

"What?"

"You thought it was a joke?" His voice sounds sincere, almost sad.

"You and Gally were laughing at me-"

"No, Gally was laughing at me," he sighs, dropping his head. "He was laughing at me."

"What? Why would he-?"

"Because I've had a crush on you since I was fifteen. Ever since you gave me those damn notes, a-and I guess I never got over it. I just finally got the courage to say something and Gally thought it was funny- for some reason, I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "But I- shit," he throws his head back, letting the water wash over his face. "I was never joking."

You don't know what to say. It's like your body relaxes, your shoulders dropping as you shuffle forwards.

"I get it, if you don't like me- and I'll leave you alone now. Teresa gave me some lecture on how to treat girls," he lets out a soft chuckle, "Newt sounded like he was gonna rip my head off. But I was never joking, (Y/N)- I really fuckin' like you."

"I don't get it," you mumble. "Why would a guy like you like me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're... popular. Everyone loves you- you're hot and athletic and you could get anyone you want. I don't get it."

He smirks, his shirt is starting to stick to him thanks to the rain and his hair is starting to flatten. "You think I'm hot?" You glare at him. "Right, yeah, not the point, sorry."

He takes in a deep breath. "How could I not like you? You're pretty, and funny, and passionate- and you try so hard and you help people whenever you can. You're... incredible."

"You barely know me."

He scoffs. "Maybe. But I think I've paid more attention to you than I have any of my classes. I know you're good at science, but you hate physics, even though you're good at it. But I know English is your favourite subject. I know that you became friends with Sonya and Aris because Harriet made you after you sat next to her in history. I know the only class you've ever skipped is PE, but I don't know why 'cause you'd actually be pretty decent on the girls' basketball team. And I know you're tutoring Winston after school because he doesn't shut up about it half the time."

He pauses. "I know about you- but I want to know you."

You're completely stunned. The fact that he's paid so much attention to you, and knows all of this makes your stomach flip and your heart rate speed up.

When you don't respond, Minho sighs, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Sorry," he mumbles, "this is dumb; I'll leave you alone."

He steps away, turning around when you step forward. "Minho," you grab his wrist, making him turn around to face you fully. "I, uh, I have a crush on you, too."

He blinks. "What?"

"I thought you were cool, and I think I was only so upset that I thought it was a joke... because I actually like you, too?" It comes out as more of a question as you avoid his gaze. But when he doesn't say anything, you look at him.

He's smiling. It's a genuine and earnest expression. "Yeah, you actully-?"

"Just shut up and kiss me," you don't know where the surge of confidence came from. Maybe you can't take this sappy talk anymore, or that Minho looks too good being soaked wet through.

Stepping closer, he brings his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips as your faces are inches apart. Finally, he leans in, closer the gap and kissing you.

Your hopeless romantic heart can't take it. Kissing the popular hot guy in the rain after what was basically a love confession? It's like something straight out of a movie.

He breaks the kiss for a second, eyes fluttering down at you before his kisses you again. This time, it's hungrier, pushing you back as you grab his shirt. Pulling him back and into your house, he slams the door behind him as you drop your bag on the floor with a heavy thump.

Almost immediately, he grabs you again, pushing you back into the wall of your hallway. You hum into his mouth, his hands coming to your waist, yanking your body closer to his. You're both damp and in uncomfortable clothes, but neither if you could care less as you drip on the floor.

Feeling more bold, you pull on his bottom lip with your teeth, making him grunt slightly before your tongues brush against one another.

Make out session is quick to become more heated as you graze your fingers over his abs through his shirt, which is sticking to him like glue. He senses your want for more, moving one of his hands to lift his shirt (struggling because wet clothes suck) before firmly pressing your hand to his mid-drift.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes flickering as you gently touch his bare skin, your eyes on his chiselled form. He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling.

It's almost like a drug. You're barely doing anything but he's never felt like this before. It's not like Minho is inexperienced due to a few hook-ups at parties. But, this is new.

He's literally getting drunk off of your touch. And you can tell.

Having Minho reduced to putty in your hands sends a flush of heat to your core. Dangerously lowering your hand, you brush against the V line poking out of his tightening trousers.

He mumbles your name, a rasp to his voice, almost like he's in some kind of pain as he speaks into your mouth. He dips towards you, but instead of kissing you, his lips come to your neck.

You exhale, the air shaking at it leaves your lungs. He moves lower, your free hand coming to back of his neck and playing with his wet hair.

When he reaches your collarbone, your phone starts buzzing again.

Harriet, again.

He pulls away, raising an eyebrow at you as you pull your phone out of the baggy pocket of the gym shorts. "Sorry," you mumble, "I gotta..."

He nods. "Yeah, go ahead."

You inwardly cringe as you pick up the phone.

"Bro, are you alive?" She says the second the line connects.

"Yeah, I'm alive, Harry- I'm home now."

"Great, well I was thinking we can do out project of the Battle of the Somme, or maybe-"

"Wait, I'm, uh, I'm a bit busy- can I call you back?" You definitely have to have that interesting conversation with her, but hopefully you don't have to do it in front of Minho.

"What? Why? Why do you sound like you've ran a marathon? What's going on with you?"

"Look, I'm fine. I'll call you back."

"Wha-" you hang up, taking a deep breath as you lean back against the wall.

Minho chuckles. "We should, uh, probably take things a bit slower."

"Yeah," you clear your throat, "you're probably right."

"So, about that date- you down?"

You smile, nodding. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Cool. I should probably get your number, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be smart."

You exchange numbers, making some small and slightly awkward small talk when the door opens.

Your Mom, who looks like she's just had the worst day, freezes. Her eyes flickering between you and Minho.

None of you say anything for a good thirty seconds as your mother takes in the scene of her daughter and this random boy dripping in her hallway, both clearly flustered whilst Minho's shirt is still slightly raised.

And where are your pants?

"Hi, Mrs (L/N)," Minho gives an awkward wave to her.

"I can explain." You say.

"I don't want to know," she brushes past you, going further into the house, leaving you be.

Both you and Minho exchange looks before bursting out laughing.

Maybe Minho wasn't joking, but you have a feeling that this specific moment is definitely going to be in the future.

This was actually very fun to write, and I actually got to use my actual science qualifications to use for a change. It's nice to change up things now and then.

I hope you guys enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho tmr #minho the maze runner #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

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nikofortuna · 9 months

Text

JTTW Chapter 4 Thoughts

Chapter Four for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group! There will be a bit of a rant in this, especially about the first official title Sun Wukong gets.

Anyway we got Horsegirl Wukong in this one! Yippie!

Plus I would like everyone to see the horses from the 1964 Havoc in Heaven movie. Look at them! They are so pretty with their cloud manes and so cute when they frolic about and interact with Sun Wukong!

He puts so much effort into caring for the horses! And is really nice to the other stable workers as well, I don’t think he really cares much about hierarchy outside of actual work perhaps.

However I will forever be salty towards Heaven for messing up so badly in this. They were halfway there as well with giving him the perfect job, something he liked to do and did very well! But they didn’t give him a special title to reflect/acknowledged his actual power.

Nor did they explain how starting of low and ascending through the ranks works, which might have been able to prevent the outrage as well. They know that they can just explain things to Sun Wukong, the Gold Star literally did so at the Gate. And then the Jade Emperor even acknowledged that the Monkey King didn’t know how things worked yet!

Honestly at that point the only reason has to be that they wanted to mock him. And given the first official title he receives… not only is it conceived as an insult, but as if that wasn’t enough already the big reason why it is so is a practice that I would definitely deem animal abuse.

Hence why I will never call him that or even spell out the title.

Now factor in that Sun Wukong is a major family guy and it gets even worse with the history behind the title essentially being his kin getting enslaved and mistreated. I don’t think he actually knows this though. I’m just saying the Havoc in Heaven could have happened early.

And for what reason did they do that? He was very nice to the Gold Star inviting him to a banquet right away and at court once he did find out that he should pay respect he did bow.

Later this gets contrasted with the Monkey King appointing the one-horned Demon Kings proper positions. He is arguably displaying how he does a better job being a ruler than the Jade Emperor in this case.

Something to lighten the mood again after this lengthy rant, Sun Wukong sharing the wine after he’s officially given the title of Great Sage Equalling Heaven! He’s such a sweet guy! When he’s treated well.

With how often they mention everyone not daring to get in his way, yet he is still said to “fight his way out” I don’t think he is actually doing much more than waving his weapon around in threat if anything. It definitely can’t be actual fighting since nobody dares to engage in combat with him to begin with.

The German translation is coming in with some interesting trivia once again! The red and yellow robe as it is called in the Anthony C. Yu translation that Sun Wukong gets from the one-horned Demon Kings is actually more of an ochre yellow robe [褐黄袍 hèhuáng páo] or the colour of an Ancient Chinese emperor’s robe! This is also confirmed in the Audio Drama.

#xiyouji #journey to the west #jttw #havoc in heaven 1964 #sun wukong #monkey king #horse #jade emperor #jttw reading group #jttw book club

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royal-confessions · 1 month

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“I used to think William was the most sensible one in his family. It’s turning out he’s the biggest idiot. I can’t wrap my head around this downfall. I used to admire him. Wtf is going on with him? I truly can’t believe this. There must be some explanation. I can’t figure it out. Is it really love for another woman that’s causing him to fuck up so badly? What is the reason? That editorial cartoon of him controlling a cardboard cut-out Kate is so embarrassing. KP being declared by AFP as an unreliable source is so embarrassing. This seriously ruins The Princess Diaries 2 for me (lol). I used to think he was the ultimate Prince Charming. Diana’s two sons turned out to be laughingstocks.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I'm neither British nor American and I'm from a democratic country without a monarchy. I'm a royal watcher though and I've never really liked the british monarchy. At first I supported M&H but as various facts began to surface I shifted back at W&C. Now, however with the recent Kate drama I'm inclined to feel like William might just be the worst amongst all of them. M&H are clout chasers and frankly quite pathetic but William just seems so sinister in a dangerous way.” - Submitted by Anonymous

#Prince William #kate middleton #catherine princess of wales

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moononmyfloor · 5 months

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My Year End C-drama Review (2023)

Last year, I did two Cdrama Wrapped posts for each half of the year. This year, I watched so much stuff right away I got arrogant and was about to do a January-February summary. And then life happened and handed me my entire ass, so here we are right back on the ground zero.

Well, not exactly. I watched lots of dramas I liked this year and would like to give nods to as many as possible, and before I start forgetting details I thought I better go ahead with the entrees that I'm sure of the answers.

My initial Cdrama reviews were inspired by anniedelavoye's this post 2 years ago, I've extrapolated a lot from there but some entrees remain same.

Part 2

1. First drama I finished in 2023

Hi Venus. Modern workplace romcom isn't my go-to-genre, least of all if the ML is a CEO. If not for the unusual-for-the-genre setup of initial few eps and the strong recommendations of my friends, I might not have pressed play at all. And I'm so glad I did because it turned out to be one of the most refreshing takes of the genre, it was funny, the pacing nor the dialogues were ever draggy, the characters were intelligent and pleasant, and down to earth. It never leaned to the tropes of helpless/badass FL or tsundere/beta ML extremes, there was no dramatic villain arcs, down to the supporting characters everyone were so reasonable and mature and simply had the nicest time ever together. Now I put it like that, it sounds boring but trust me, it wasn't. Do give it a try. Your time won't be wasted.

2. An actor who took my breath away

Jing Boran as Lan Jue/Peizhi from The League of Nobleman

I mean

Look at him. Instant KO.

I remember watching this scene (and every scene that followed after, especially when he had his hair down) and being in disbelief about how he's real. He's literally glowing out the screen! His performance as a model scholarly minister, the way he conducted his glance, his steps, his speech and temperament were nothing but enchanting and... look, I can write poetry about him for ages lol.

And then I watched every single work I could find of him and ended up even more in love, because his resume was nothing but diverse. A measured scholar, a bubbling-out-of-his-skin social butterfly, a ballerina in a tutu, a man pregnant with the cutest radish monster ever, there's nothing he cannot play. I'm definitely going to check out every single work of him that'll be coming out in the future as well. Even if the plot fails, his character will surely be interesting.

(Also, I was FINALLY lured into DMBJ fandom thanks to going down his profile as well, and now I'm here to stay🤭)

3. Most relatable character

Bai Moxi from Gone With the Rain

She was street-smart and sassy, but never foolhardy. She wasn't a damsel nor was overly clever. She had her moments of daydreaming, but she knew what was and wasn't reasonable. She had a high sense of self-worth, she also knew when to make herself scarce. Despite being the most outgoing and energetic personality in the room, she didn't make everything to be about herself. In fact, she couldn't have been happier to be a background supporting character of the story, quietly minding her own business in her corner. In summary, she just felt very real, and exactly like how I love my FLs. Every decision she took felt like what I'd also have done in her situation. (Btw I hope noone messages me about loving Moxi but hating her sister because I don't. I think her character also made a lot of sense based on her circumstances even though she was bit more difficult to love than Moxi.)

Most of all, she was played to a tee by Zhang Nan, the young actress was allowed to shine to her true potential in this role, as she used to be quite stereotyped in either bubbly or petty mean girl roles. The drama horribly fell apart in the latter quarter (I'd like to pretend it all ended before that Great Seperation Scene), but I'm going to remember her charaacter for a long time to come.

4. Most inspiring character

Li Lianhua from Mysterious Lotus Casebook

The tumblr tag for MLC is already filled with Grade A+ poetry, prose and analysis dedicated to him and I'm not capable of wording it any better than them. All I can say is he really touched a vulnerable corner of my heart, and gave it strength. He's just so very admirable and represents all I ever want to be, and his entire character design and all its metaphors and philosophy especially resonate with me as a Buddhist. Like Cheng Yi said at the end of MLC concert, "At the end of the day, if you have a lotus flower in your heart that you can call your own, that's what matters."

5. Best Couple of the Year

Lu Zhaoxi and Ye Shilan (Zeng Shunxi and Liang Jie) in Hi Venus, Zhao Jian and Yuan Zhongxin (Zhou Yutong and Zhang Xincheng) in Young Blood 2

Here are two couples who were each others' equal match in every big, small and miscellaneous ways possible. Where their roles in their partnership did not have anything to do with society-determined gender or power dynamics, not about conforming to them nor about beating them. Everything about their relationships simply had to do with what they meant to each other their admiration, respect and love towards the other person, from beginning to end. In Hi Venus, it was never uncomfortable to watch Shilan being Zhaoxi's subordinate, for he always treated her like any good superior should in any healthy professional relationship. In Young Blood 2, Zhongxin would fully trust Zhao Jian with everyone else's and his own life, not because his head was in wishful romantic clouds but because he was 100% confident in her capabilities and would never disrespect her with "girls should be protected, you stay back and let me take the sword for you" nonsense.

I may check out like 50 dramas per year and may never come by such Het pairing dynamics in some years, yknow? I do not hate on any other kind of dynamic (plus I'd have next to nothing to watch in that case lol) but, THIS... this is so rare -for me to not be icked out by not even a single second of a fictional het couple's screentime lol- hence the gushing! (Though I know I'm not doing the greatest job of phrasing what I feel😆).

Following that note, though not a couple, honorable mentions to Chufeng (Bi Wenjun) and Robin (Zhu Zhengting) from Silence of the Monster who took Sui Yi (Sun Yihan) into their home not because they thought it'd be chivalrous to help a girl, but because it's the nice thing to do as a fellow human. For continuing onto integrating her into their world with ease and enthusiasm not because any of them had feelings for her but because they simply found her a good friend to hang out with.

Suffice to say I DIG ANY relationship where gender does not come into play, like, at all (or barely, if you must).

6. Best harem of the year

Orchid and Lotus harems (from League of Nobleman and Mysterious Lotus Casebook)

(Only sharing the pics of Orchid Harem because it was from the earlier quarter of this year, whereas pics of Lotus Harem will be everywhere in the Cdrama scene for quite a while to come lol)

The support group of devout puppies, zhijis, friends-with-benefits and all sorts of other polycule postions, all centered around one precious babygirl enigma of a man is just my jam, and I love it when it happens because it brings forth the fandom's most unhinged high-art. 😌😌😌

(ALSO ME AND WHO WHEN!😭)

7. Best ensemble of the year

Young Blood 2, I Am Nobody

For me a perfect ensemble is where the supporting characters are just or almost nearly as engaging and thoroughly written as the main leads, you'd love every second spent on any character just as much as you love that of any other. The ultimate relaxing experience where your brain doesn't have to pick favorites and you don't have to speed watch or fast forward or be antsy about who's going to appear next because you know it's gonna be enjoyable no matter whom.

And this year, it's Young Blood 2- with its Class 7 members who were all so different but all so compelling and equally contributing to the plot, complimented by the Class 8 and the unnervingly captivating villains.

And I Am Nobody- with its extensive spread of young and old heroes/antiheroes alike, all with dramatic backstories and individual charisma that were not second to another.

8. Favorite posters/promos of the year

Mysterious Lotus Casebook, Young Blood 2, Sunshine By My Side

Really liked what MLC did with positioning the characters on various spots of the titular Lianhua Lou, the wind-sway choices for the wisps of hair and the skirts... idk the exact angles of it all were just right for each character and their vibes and appealed to me a lot.

The blending-into-painting style poster of Young Blood was so pretty too, plus these Suoyi raincoat posters.

The comic strip posters for Sunshine were also super cute, unique and perfect for the drama's themes.

9. Best opening credit sequence

Love You Seven Times

The drama itself was a hot mess but the opening sequence was entirely worthy of being a parallelish-universe story to Love Between Fairy and Devil without a debate. IF ONLY they put the same effort to the story itself.

10. Favorite Prop/Set designs

A League of Nobleman- Lan Jue's Tea Pavilion, Mysterious Lotus Casebook- Lotus House

I wish I could install a fixture in my home where me and my imaginary homies can chat over tea while being seductively separated by an active stream of freshwater, while my not so elegant period-style caravan is waiting outside in the yard for more cozily cramped get-together times. 🤧

11. Favorite lighting/color grading of the year

The Forbidden Flower, My Journey to You

The former, a kaleidoscopic explosion of colors, a celebration of fleeting life, youth, summer and nostalgia. It was a daring drama on so many fronts and nailed each of them as well, and the use of colors represented its bold soul perfectly.

The latter, a marvelous combination of mountains shrouded by mist, dark-toned wood pavilions and fur-lined robes, pale, dusty makeup with rosy lips and plump cheeks; all combined together on screen to bring a palpable ambience of a secluded glamorous hideout in a dystopian world and its ethereal residents. Seriously, how I especially loved to stare at the bride candidates in their white getups, it was like the light bounced off of the fabric to shine on their faces even more, and the skin and hair looked non-oily and baby soft. And it didn't feel over the top but convincing because the camerawork and editing conjured a believable image of an upcountry with dense and dewy forests, waterfalls and rivers, there's no sun, no heat no sweat, only cold air and pregnant humidity. OF COURSE you are going to look like THAT.

12. A drama that taught me new things

Hi Producer

The infuriating thing about Yu Zheng's show-off genre of costume dramas is that the story may be a hit-or-miss, the "historical facts" provided in them may need to be taken with a grain of salt, but they almost always provide me with great entry points to do my own research 🥲. Most niche facts that take me by surprise and things I'd never have thought to look up on my own are randomly sprinkled all over the place and I run around like a headless chicken trying to collect them all.

13. Most exhilarating drama/scene

Three-Body

That scene in ep 5. The entire buildup to it and the resolution. The phenomenal acting bringing forth the exact emotion and exact tension required. The moment you start to understand at least a sliver of why exactly all the characters are making this much of a fuss about what's happening to them.

I cannot spoil, not even a bit. You'd have to see for yourself.

I Am Nobody

(lol Three Body and I Am Nobody. I swear that was an unintentional coincidence!)

The great V-match between certain two characters, I can't elaborate. (See the thing about exhilarating scenes is that you have to see it for yourself what's the big deal is about lol.) I really liked how both their biggest vulnerabilities and yearnings were pulled out mercilessly in public, how they both fought themselves through each other before actualizing the philosophy of what it was all about. It was beautiful to watch visually as well.

14. A drama location I'd love to visit

Yunnan province

I've seen glimpses of the prosperous and both naturally and culturally diverse Yunnan province through Bite of China Documentaries and Dianxi Xiaoge's vlogs, the beautiful bucolic backdrop of Meet Yourself only heightened the wish to experience it all in person.

15. A drama that was a pleasant surprise

I Am Nobody

Perfect casting job, earnest effort from everyone involved to bring out the 2D to live action in the bestest way possible, it was like a dream come true to see a genre that was previously limited into written media like comics and fanfics (modern cultivation) as a drama even if it meant labelling all the cultivators as aliens lol

It had a lil bit of a flavor of western coming-of-age/"teen gets powers and goes on an adventure in search of their origins" stories, a bit of Japanese anime presenting style and the chaotic-gaggle-of-youth-and-veterans-with-different-extreme-powers genre vibe. And then they incorporated Chinese wuxia philosophy into it and made it their own thing. I hope to see more of this in future, and definitely a season 2!

16. An old drama I watched in 2023

Shaolin Wendao (2017)

This is one of the best period dramas I have ever seen, but I don't recommend it unless you have a strong tolerance for angst. Like, worse than Royal Nirvana and Heroes (2022) level of angst.

HOWEVER, unlike those two, Shaolin Wendao will leave you feeling rewarded for your suffering. This drama achieved a number of things that very few other have managed to do, especially for a story with such a heavy and dark premise.

The characters remained true to their selves from beginning to the end. They grew up in various ways, at the same time remained consistent. The story made sure to make all the characters aware of their individual faults and address them.

The characters were put through immense wringer but also provided viewer with the resolution they deserved. It was SO exhilarating at times, I cried. It felt like a detox, sometimes.

They prioritized telling a realistic story about the changing nature of humans. The ending was blissful but not in the idolized, wrapped-in-a-bow-tie way one would imagine. They wanted to tell a story about tribulations and letting go, and did exactly that.

It will ignite the pain but will also make sure to thoroughly quench it. So there's that.

Oh and also, respect to all the actors. All those characters were so layered and had some quite difficult scenes. I do not understand how Guo Xiaoting didn't get any good roles matching of her caliber for years after this. She was magnificent.