“ – voulez-vous.

steve mosshart, 35, mechanic

[takkeirorleaveit]

“ – hello. ♡

* ✕ ｡ • — você não ficou sabendo? Steve Mosshart acabou de chegar em SG, vamos ser sinceros ele se parece muito com o Garrett Hedlund. você sabe, aquele que tem 35 anos e é conhecida por ser mecânico? eu fiquei sabendo que ele pode ser extrovertido, companheiro e gentil confiável mas também intolerante, orgulhoso e rancoroso. só me pergunto o que o futuro reserva para ele.

biography.

Irmão mais novo de Samuel Mosshart, teve um começo de vida normal e sem grandes absurdos. Porém, tudo mudou nos últimos anos de sua adolescência, quando ele começou a frequentar cassinos e apostar o dinheiro que tinham nas apostas de pôquer, seu vício estava tornando-se tão grande que chegou apostar até a própria poupança. Quando perdeu todo o dinheiro da aposta, ficou desesperado, mas o seu vício estava tão grande que o único fato que realmente importava era que precisa arrumar dinheiro para poder jogar mais, e não para pagar sua dívida. Isso durou até a morte da sua mãe, sempre foi muito próximo a ela e sentiu a perda profundamente. A última promessa que fez foi que seria uma pessoa melhor e largaria o vício e assim o fez. Abriu uma oficina e trabalha como mecânico e desde então não teve uma recaída.

headcanons.

xxxx

connections.

Roxy e Cherry - Sobrinhas.

Samuel - irmão.

Persephone - ex namorada.

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

series masterlist

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

i started this with only a few parts in mind, but i’ve decided to turn this into a whole series bc i’m having way too much fun. i’ll be updating this when i drop new parts! enjoy lovelies :)

part 1: texting chapter

part 2: texting chapter

part 3: texting chapter

part 4: texting chapter

part 5: teasing

part 6: texting chapter

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

teasing / part 5

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

series masterlist

the street was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the porch light at seonghwa’s house. music thumped faintly from inside, heavy enough to make the walls vibrate, but distant enough that it didn’t completely drown out the night. you stood on the driveway, hesitating for a moment, your bag clutched a little too tightly under your arm.

a group of people were already standing around the front, laughing and holding drinks, but your eyes immediately found seonghwa. he was near the door, leaning casually against the frame, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that made your stomach do an involuntary flip.

“finally decided to come?” he called out, his voice carrying just enough to reach you over the music.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “you know i’d come,” you teased, stepping closer.

seonghwa’s gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, his eyes drifting down observing your outfit. looking at how the corset hugged you perfectly. and for a second, it felt like the crowd around didn’t exist. “let me guess, vampire?” he laughed.

you nodded, “correct.” moving closer with a smile. “there’s a lot of people.”

he looked around, “need some space already?”

you stared into his eyes. “just not used to this.”

“i might have a little plan to get you away from all these people.”

your heart sped up at the implication, shooting him a questioning look. he smirked, pushing off from the door. “come on, i’ll show you.”

before you could respond, he threaded his hand through yours and tugged you toward the side of the house, where the music was muffled, and the chaos of the party seemed miles away. your pulse quickened, not just from being pulled along— but from the quiet promise in his voice, the subtle heat in his touch.

seonghwa led you around to the side yard, where fairy lights strung between trees cast a soft, golden glow over the grass. the sounds of the party were distant now— a muffled laughter, the clink of glasses. but here it was quiet, intimate.

“good you followed.” he said, letting go of your hand just long enough to brush a stray hair from your face. his fingers lingered a moment, grazing your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

“well you were holding my hand, couldn’t really ‘not follow’” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

seonghwa chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “alright smartass.”

“so what’s the plan?” you teased, drifting closer.

“my plan… is to make sure you don’t leave my side tonight.” he stepped a little closer, the heat from his body warming you from just a few feet away.

you swallowed, feeling the tension coil tighter between each other. “is that… your plan for everyone at this party, or just me?” you asked, a teasing tilt in your voice.

he smirked, and there it was— the look you had come to recognize, the one that made your knees go weak. “just you.” he said simply, then leaned down slightly, so both of your faces were just inches apart. “i don’t need anyone else here when i have you.”

your breath caught. “seonghwa…” you whispered, partly warning, partly question, as if asking him what he meant by that.

he tilted his head, eyes locking with yours, dark and intent. “i mean exactly what i said. i want you. just you tonight.”

you felt your heart leap and your pulse thrum wildly under his gaze. the temptation to lean in, to close that tiny space between you both, was almost unbearable. yet the thrill of being in this bubble, hidden from the chaos of the party, made everything feel sharper… more dangerous.

seonghwa’s hand brushed yours again, slower this time, almost possessively. “but,” he murmured, voice low, “if you want to survive this party without me driving you completely crazy…” his lips curved into that irresistible smirk. “you might need to stay close.”

you bit your lip, trying to hide your grin, but failed. “i think i can manage that.” you said softly.

and just like that, the quiet side yard turned into its own little world, a world where it was just the two of you. and seonghwa made sure you knew he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

seonghwa’s gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate, feeling like he was undressing you with his eyes. “you know,” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, “i’ve been thinking about this all day… about being alone with you.”

your stomach flipped. “oh really? and what exactly have you been thinking?” you asked, your voice teasing, but your hands betrayed your nerves, fidgeting slightly with the strap of the purse.

he smiled that dangerous, slow smirk that made your pulse spike. “that i might not be able to keep my hands to myself.” he admitted, brushing his thumb lightly along the back of yours. the contact was electric, making your fingers tingle.

you swallowed hard, trying to play it cool. “that’s a bold plan for a party, don’t you think?”

“bold? maybe,” he said, leaning closer so your noses almost touched. “but it’s not a plan if it’s not a little reckless, right?”

your breath hitched. every inch he closed, every subtle brush of his hand, pulled you further into a tension you could feel building with every heartbeat. “seonghwa…” you breathed, and the sound of your own voice seemed to hang in the warm night air between you both.

he tilted his head, just enough to let his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “shh… don’t make me wait any longer than i have to.” he whispered, low and teasing, and you felt the heat of his lips linger just a fraction too long.

you shivered, torn between wanting to pull closer and the thrill of holding back. “and what if someone finds us? san? hongjoong?” you asked, though you knew it was more an excuse to hear him say something more daring.

seonghwa’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “then they’ll just have to deal with it… but i doubt anyone’s coming this far to ruin my night with you.” he gently pressed his forehead against yours, and the quiet space around you both seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you.

your heart was racing, your mind spinning, and yet you found yourself smiling against the tension. “you’re impossible.” you said, almost laughing, almost groaning.

“and yet… you’re still here.” he countered, eyes dark with something unspoken, something that made your knees weak and your thoughts messy in the best way possible.

just as the space between you both seemed ready to vanish entirely, a loud crash came from inside the house— the unmistakable sound of someone knocking over a bottle and the spell broke.

seonghwa pulled back slightly, though the teasing smirk never left his face. “i gotta go see what happened, don’t need my house getting destroyed.” he murmured, his voice heavy with promise. “but don’t worry… i’ll get you alone again. tonight’s far from over.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head, but couldn’t hide the heat in your cheeks. “i’ll hold you to that.” you said.

he walked away to follow the sound you both heard, leaving you there taking in all you just encountered. thrill pounding in your chest.

masterlist

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

part 4

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

series masterlist

masterlist

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

part 3

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

series masterlist

masterlist

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

part 2

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

series masterlist

masterlist

[agustmari]

teez + 1 🏴‍☠️

part 1

synopsis: randomly one late night you were added to the ateez group chat during a truth or dare game. at first it was weird, but soon turned into the best decision ever. friendships bloom, love grows— twists and turns occur. will it end well?

multiple part series— enjoy the ride!

series masterlist

masterlist

[velvetdolor]

𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙮 | i.

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: Forbidden romance, angst, eventual hard smut, semi-slow burn, enemies/lovers/manipulative counterparts, vampires 18+ (read the warnings please!)

Pureblood! Stepbrother Wooyoung x Pureblood! Reader, Pureblood Childhood Friend! Hongjoong x Pureblood! Reader

—synopsis: Pure bloods are a dying breed in vampyr society—coveted, revered, and feared. When your father suddenly weds the widowed matriarch of the influential Jung family, the union is meant to strengthen alliances. But behind the flawless image of your new blended family festers something far more twisted: an illicit entanglement with your enigmatic stepbrother, Wooyoung.

He’s possessive, sharp, and impossible to predict. You're the only one who can sate his bloodlust, and he knows it. What begins as an unspoken dependency spirals into a brutal game of dominance, jealousy, and seduction. In a house ruled by secrets and power, love is just another weapon—and you’re both armed to the teeth.

WC: 3k (unedited)

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: stepcest (they were not raised together) , blood, rough sex, light gore, biting, and everything under the sun. this is filthy so if u don’t like it…don’t read. chapter specific warnings will be provided.

series masterlist

part ii->

Wooyoung feels your eyes before he even sees you, running a silken tongue over his sharp incisors. His hand drapes lazily over the shoulder of a visiting Pureblood’s daughter—eyes gleaming with performative hunger, sharp and deliberate. He was a good liar and a disgusting churning filled his stomach, carrying the threat of vomiting under the dishonesty of his pointed want.

It’s a ploy at vacancy even though he was full of you. Visions of your bleeding neck and him saddled above you—your panting mouth. Your beloved beauty. The glazed fever of your eyes and thoughts of you drag him slowly to a dangerous corner of quiet madness, where obsession coils beneath a calm exterior, ready to snap. You belong to him, though no one else sees the storm waiting to break.

The blood in his mouth isn’t yours and he hated that.

A soft tension fills the room. The seemingly transient kind that wafts and reaches forward before putting a hand down after careful, morose consideration. Others are blind to it, but for you and Wooyoung—there’s a spiked line waiting at the edge of something bloody between you two. The air crackled and bared its teeth. The veins on his neck slowly rose to the surface, tongue bleeding under the pressure of his teeth.

Your voice echoes in the room, turning heads at its siren-like cadence. “Where’s father?” He almost shivers when your dark eyes fall on him, naturally sullen under the thick lining of your obsidian lashes.

“Off somewhere making love to mother, probably. I’m not his keeper.” He puts up a poor mask of nonchalance. A distant humor—practiced familiarity, like adults forced to play at being siblings after knowing each other only briefly.

You hum, disregarding him after the dry reply. The waves of your dark hair drape down your back, basking the air with the fragrance of something heated. Anise, pepper, an undetermined sweetness somewhere lost in its notes. But your eyes drift to the arm laying around an unknown woman—a quiet simmering brewing violently under the surface.

You take a seat next to Hongjoong—a mutual childhood friend and another Pureblood, before leaning towards his neck. He doesn’t flinch when you puncture the skin with your teeth and continues flipping through the pages of his book, sighing lightly.

You rarely asked anymore—he’d been your personal blood bag since you were preteens. Even among the elite, you were the unrivaled princess of the purebloods. Wooyoung’s fist clenched minutely as he gazed at the open wounds on Hongjoong’s neck.

“Could’ve sworn I saw you feeding on the son of the head of Southern India’s precinct,” Hongjoong drawled, shooting you a sidelong glance. You say nothing—just lick the remnants of blood from your lips. “You drive me mad with your gluttonous behavior, Y/N.” He finalizes with a quiet mutter.

Opulence surrounds the grand expanse of your manor: Tucked away on the outskirts of New Orleans and cemetery overgrowth, pretentious and lively—wealthy and immortal laughter humming in the backdrop of the gala’s operetta and jazz tunes to fit the changing tastes of the times. Lace curtains, taper candle chandeliers, and opium drunk humans lay naked at the center of the room—billowing red on the previously cream textile. This was staple entertainment, center stage dining.

Their silhouettes cast dull shadows on the fabric, small moans leaving open mouths. Your eyes flash maroon once you take on the sight of a particular human with raven black hair and asymmetrical eyes.

Adjusting the length of your dress, you step forward—each movement deliberate. All eyes follow, drawn to the rare spectacle of you approaching a human to feed. Most days, you kept to your own kind, carrying an innate distaste for lower life forms.

Your cold hand tilts his face upward, fingers brushing against his cheek. He’s half-lucid, drowning beneath the haze of opium and something heavier—dependence, maybe.

“Human,” you say softly, enchanting and elegant. “What’s your name?”

Your deadly seduction didn’t demand much from you. A small touch was enough for his gaze to grow warm and half lidded.

“Aramis.” He whispered, looking less and less like Wooyoung with his submission. You wanted him to die.

You wanted to spit out whatever of his remains you forced yourself to chew.

“Aramis—“ you start, nodding—acknowledging. “Will you die for me?” Wooyoung watched, transfixed—all fabricated nonchalance and coldness fading under the light of your hunt. The room falls silent, pinprick curiosity freezing the air as the partygoers turn with unrestrained interest. Even the musicians pause, resin-rubbed bows slackening in their hands.

He watches you—watches the flicker in your eyes, quick and sharp, as blood-red spills across your irises like ink dropped in water.

That.

That’s what made you even more dangerous among your kind. Your dark gift of compulsion. It’s never failed. Not once.

“Gladly, princess.” There’s something sorrowful in Aramis’s eyes—and you fleetingly recognize that he would’ve said yes even without the usage of your gift. He bows his head, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his neck. What a cruel life—and a cruel, unsurprising end for a man like him. Doomed from the start: young, wretched, and beautiful. So beautiful, he drew the eyes of monsters—creatures who make a habit of destroying anything that dares to rival their own reflection.

You were a vampyr—cold blooded murder was branded instinct. But it was his eyes that beckoned you and the moles on his face—so strikingly similar to the man you will never admit to wanting—that allowed a certain softness to the eventual sinking of your teeth. As if on queue, the soft shrill note of a violin proceeds to play in accompaniment to the moment. Its morose. Heavy. Foreboding and enigmatic in tone. A cello joins shortly, mellow timber carrying a promise of death and slow draining.

Hushed whispers fill the room when you meet Aramis’ lips with yours. It’s deceivingly apologetic and lulling. A slow massage. A parting message.

Both a promise of doom and branding of foolish loyalty.

Wooyoung stills, eyes flashing a shade of cold steel. He flinches when his mother’s soft laughter greets him, her arm wrapping around his in amusement. “It seems that your sister’s ability to hunt rivals your own. How interesting.”

Your father arrives shortly after, not paying your spectacle much mind. “Strange. She doesn’t like human blood.” He utters, mildly appalled before excusing himself to speak with a nearby gentleman.

When your eyes rest on him just as you dug your teeth into Aramis’s jugular, a dark heat poisons Wooyoung’s body. He knows exactly why you chose that human.

You were a cruel, cruel woman.

And he loved that above any sweetness any others had to offer. This is why he damns you.

Aramis’s body goes limp and his beauty proceeds death—his bleeding neck is the only thing giving away that he wasn’t, in fact, sleeping.

And so when you rise slowly, elegantly brushing your hair to drape down one side before leaving the room—Wooyoung waits exactly three minutes before excusing himself and evaporating into dark mist before arriving in your room. Moments like these made him grateful for his gift of teleportation.

You undressed yourself slowly before the fireplace in your room, ivory silk dress falling softly onto the floor—skin molten and flushed from the heat licking at your skin. Wooyoung’s silent entrance carried the weight of a heavy storm—a soft gasp tumbling from your lips when a veiny hand wraps around your throat from behind before his fangs pierce through the skin.

He groans in relief, eyes scrunching from the bitter aftertaste of Aramis’s blood still pulsing through you. “Did you enjoy ingesting filth?” He spits out lowly, sheathing his fangs out with heaving breaths.

Your eyes glisten, but there’s no warmth in it—only something brittle, cracking beneath the gloss. A sharp incisor glints as your lips part into a cold, amused smile.

“And you?” The words drip slow and deliberate. “Didn’t you savor that tiny blonde diplomat just a little too much?”

It’s a jest by form alone—every syllable cut to sting.

“You already know the answer to that,” is all he offers—just a whisper of confession—before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. His arms wind around your waist from behind, fingers pressing slowly into the soft flesh of your stomach, possessive and unhurried.

You shiver unintentionally when his left hand trails to your breast, palming softly as he took in more blood. There’s a lightness that accompanies a vampyr’s bite, and only one kindness nature provided for prey—a friendly delirium injected from jagged edges of teeth to soften the eventual decay.

“Hongjoong’s a good man.” He starts with—flicking at the sensitive tip of your nipple and smiling softly when he feels goosebumps raise under his hand. “—I could already imagine the grandiose wedding your father will start planning once he takes notice of how often you indulge in him.”

Thinly veiled jealousy, as always. Like clockwork, it begins as a play on words—friendly suggestions and table talk whenever he slid his fangs out your throat.

And you’d bite back.

“I suppose if it were anyone, I wouldn’t mind it being Hongjoong.” You sigh out in pleasure, guiding his other hand downwards towards the slick building around gummy flesh. He stills, eyes visibly darkening as the air thickened.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He repeats, tone breaking open—sharp at its edges.

“And who else should I consider?” You snap and pull away from him.

Wooyoung chuckles darkly, undertones of bitterness splotching his words “Ah yes—that’s right. You like power. And none of the other purebloods can match the height of your pedigree with the exception of him.” He hated the acidic envy he began to carry towards his old friend for the nature of his abilities.

Hongjoong was the golden child of a lineage whose lore strongly intertwined with your own—it’s appalling that there weren’t any arrangements made between your families before. His distinct ability to read memories made him a troublesome opponent—thankfully, he rarely drank from you, despite the fact that you treated him like your personal blood bag.

The tension’s so tight it could snap. You were agitated. Flashes of that diplomats daughter laying in his arms—him being already half full by the time he came to your room. It made something ugly burn inside of you.

You turn and slowly wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the way his breathing stills when your bare chest presses against his leather jacket—intimacy and skin contact only separated by a layer of fabric. “I enjoy having power no less than you. But you know what I think?” You whisper softly against his lips. “I think it’s drives you mad that I am the only non-negotiable in your life. You have no jurisdiction over me—not in the ways you truly want to. And you can’t rid yourself of me either, Wooyoung.”

His face is immaculate—porcelain and a professional layer of casual, unphased coolness—staring down at you stiffly. Poker faced.

“You may be right—“ voice unreadable, sweet cadence filling the air. “But don’t fool yourself into thinking you have any power, little fang. I hear you call for me in your sleep. I feel your eyes on me each time you have to drink from someone else.

You can’t control yourself around me and that’s what scares you the most.”

The air is an electric hum, throbbing. Full.

Pointed eyes refusing to relent and bodies refusing to part. Your eyes fall on the blood on his lips before reaching up to drag your tongue across the flesh.

Two singular heartbeats pass before he kisses you fiercely, breaking the silence with a gasp—hands cup your cheeks and pull you towards him to deepen it. You sift through the kiss—finding traces of the blonde in it and sink your teeth into his bottom lip, reprimanding. He tears himself away, rawness in his gaze and lips. Bleeding.

He looks like the air between you hurt him.

Like he wanted more of you even if it ended up with you in a coffin.

And then a sudden black mist, perfuming the air—like he was never there and both the blood in your mouth wasn’t his and on your neck wasn’t yours.

Exhaling shakily, you sit in front of your antique vanity, combing your hair with a boar’s brush. Fingers dragging over the sealing wound his teeth left behind.

It’s in a vampyr’s nature to desire power. To be above all things. And loving Wooyoung meant wanting to see him in tatters beneath you. You’d only admit it if he finally submitted to you.

But you weren’t the only Pureblood in the equation and his teeth on your neck promised possession and murder.

This was the dance—the very game you’d been playing since your parents’ sudden marriage two years ago. By the time you and Wooyoung officially met, it already felt too late: you were both too old, too distant, and burdened by a tension no one dared to name. His name had floated through your social circles for years, a familiar echo from your youth that you had to piece together to visualize. His father’s unexpected passing, just as he turned seventeen, only deepened the gap between your worlds. It was as if fate tried its best to delay your meeting—until the night of your 25th gala, when he arrived without warning.

Raven black hair falling into distinctly shaped eyes, sharp features, and beauty marked like the stars laid claim on him. A hypnotic clinking of silver earrings with each step he took. He arrived in mist. Cloud. Smoke. Without notice or heralding.

Although his gift wasn’t particularly notable—Wooyoung’s ability to hunt with ease proceeded him. It was his effortless charm, uncanny seduction, and silver tongue when needed be. It was strange to see the man you’ve heard of all your childhood stand before you after being a phantom in your life.

You remember first feeling the weight of his gaze—a small click in your diaphragm as you digested it. Neither of you said anything for a minute. No room for pleasantries or etiquette when a strange carnal rawness rose to the surface of a room upon first meeting.

The two of you found out about your parents involvement only a week later—but the week served enough of its dues. Prolonged glances, grazed fingers over dinner plates, a drunken confession of confused allure from Wooyoung’s end.

And when you found out, you tried your best to stifle it. For a time, it worked—with Wooyoung growing colder by design, keeping a distance, and your ability to perform disinterest. Together, you looked the part of a regal family. Flawless. Untouchable. Ink and ivory.

Cold.

No ties of blood, but a shared experience of unadulterated bloodlust pulsing through you. The lot of you stood above all others—even the greatest of your society, with your parents alliance.

But the crash was inevitable. And once Wooyoung had a taste of you, he couldn’t let you go.

“My dearest, has no Vampyr bitten your heart yet? Still?” The tone in your father’s voice is careful. Like there are eggshells under his feet he couldn’t afford to break. Wooyoung pauses briefly from cutting into his steak, knife clinking against the porcelain plate.

He saw this one coming.

Nonetheless, you carried on. “Hm, not that I recall— sorry father.” Nonchalant, elegantly apologetic. Clearly disinterested in the conversation that you only entertain out of respect for your father.

“What of the Kim’s son?” Ah. He must’ve finally aught on to your closeness.

You were a hard woman to please. Distant—as if constantly daydreaming and living vicariously through a song only you knew how to play. Eccentric. Strange. Hard to keep up with and rarely held any interest for interpersonal relationships—thus, the only suitors your father could deem having a chance were among the few friends you had.

And the fact you even drank from one source regularly was a feat on its own—to a boy of his stature no less? He doesn’t know how he’s missed it, but your father’s jumping on the chance.

Your chewing slowed, deliberating. Glancing briefly at Wooyoung with a curious fire to your eyes. “I suppose I don’t hate him. He’s one of the very few men I could say that about.” You turn towards him, playful—covert intentions and jealousy poking at the bear.

“Oh, but what of Wooyoung? Did you see the daughter of the Russian Diplomat curled in his lap?” Your voice rang like a bell—sweet, bright, and edged. “He so rarely lets them stay after drinking.”

His mother perked up at that, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest.

“Is that so? In all my days—my boy’s all grown up now.” She dabbed delicately at her mouth, beautiful and radiant. Even as a Vampyr—a race carved in shadows—she was the sun incarnate. Brilliant, impossible.

Wooyoung’s unreadable, calm, and collected. “She was a well behaved girl— I have little to no complaints.”

The tension in your heart could slice like a heated knife. “She looked lovely with your teeth in her throat.” You smile teasingly, but your eyes don’t hold the same gleam. “—good catch, brother.”

Your own teeth catch and scrape at your fork as he watches you swallow slowly. Refined wit wrapped in quiet cunning.

Internally, Wooyoung was seething. You knew he hated the rare occasions you called him that—and every time you did, it was deliberate. A bratty little jab that practically screamed: Well, go on then. Fuck off if you want her so badly.

And so he played the game with bitter precision—inviting her over, leaving the door just ajar enough for the sounds of her bliss to spill into the hallway. He made sure to catch your eye as you passed, your expression unreadable. Each time he rocked into her, building up intensity until it bordered on frenzied violence—he thought of you under him. Of your open mouth and curls splaying on his red silk sheets.

Your gasps and delighted humming in his ear, legs wrapped around his waist in hazed want. You were his opium flower—and no one, in all the wide, wretched expanse of your cursed universe—would ever truly possess you. No wedding will break the forbidden union already festered between you. What encompassed the secret and wretched bond between you two wouldn’t be ruined by the sweet candor of politics and light hearted love.

He wasn’t surprised that in response to his bitter agenda, you tripled the stakes by inviting Hongjoong into your room, where he gave into you as he always did, and indulged in his servitude for seemingly hours. The house wreaked of blood and incense.

When Hongjoong emerged, he only gazed at Wooyoung with a certain knowing. He knew your secrets now.

Your body.

Your blood.

And most of all—by ingesting you, he knows Wooyoung and one of your most well kept secrets.

This is what truly got under his skin.

You allowed Hongjoong to know the most profound parts of you when you let him drink from you—and in their world, society knew that act was rare for someone like you. Sacred, even. You were above all else—exclusive, hard to reach. While others willingly offered themselves to you, the action was never reciprocated in full. To drink from you was almost a promise: of seclusion, of vulnerability. The Princess of the Vampyr and the Golden son of the Kim’s lineage, tied together in their hushed whispers

When your father asks if Hongjoong had your heart now, you only smile—calculating gaze cracking onto Wooyoung’s form, and choose to remain silent to maintain enough mystery to keep them all suspended.

You offered him a slow, knowing grin as you mouthed the word checkmate—no sound, just intent. And then you left without another glance, your perfume the only proof you’d ever been there at all.

Wooyoung takes a slow sip, eyes trained onto the door you just disappeared through. Brooding. Planning.

Authors note: spicy, spicyyyyy~

[to-the-beginning--the-end-waits]

Unexpected Delivery

Summary: When a simple lunch delivery to the royal palace goes hilariously wrong. You, a baker’s daughter find yourself accidentally hired as the Crown Prince’s personal assistant.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: Royal AU, Fluff, Comedy, Romance

Word count: 4.2k~

Warnings: None. Fluff and romantic tension

A/N: I prefer General!Seonghwa over Prince!Seonghwa anyday but the thought of silver haired prince seonghwa is so yum 🤤 Also I noticed that I made a plot hole while re-checking today and nearly got aneurysm trying to correct it if there is a mistake blame it on that 😔✊

“No- Your Highness, there must have been a mistake. I’m just here to drop off the royal tailor’s lunch.”

Seonghwa blinks at you over a stack of letters that towers precariously on his mahogany desk. There’s something suspiciously relieved in his expression when he sees your face. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his usually pristine hair has a rebellious strand falling across his forehead. “Excellent. I urgently need someone who knows how to say ‘no’ to me.” he smirked.

You clutch the wrapped lunch tighter, taking a cautious step backward. The Crown Prince’s study is intimidatingly grand; floor to ceiling bookshelves, oil paintings of stern ancestors, and enough gold trim to fund a small village. You definitely don’t belong here.

“I… what?”

“My assistant quit yesterday,” Seonghwa continues, quite aware to your growing panic but acting oblivious. He gestures at the chaos surrounding him. Scrolls unfurled across every surface, inkwells precariously balanced on stacks of documents, and what appears to a half eaten scone that might be older than some of the treaties on his desk.

“Something about ‘excessive pressure’ and ‘inhuman expectations.’ Quite dramatic, really.”

“Your Highness, I think you have me mistaken with someone else-”

“No way. Mistake is something I don't need right now.” He stands abruptly, and you’re struck by how tall he is, how his shoulders seem to carry the weight of the entire kingdom. “The Council expects a response to the Trade Agreement by noon, I have a ceremonial sword blessing at two, and somewhere in this mess is a very important letter from the Northern Duchy that I absolutely cannot lose.”

You stare at him. He stares back with an expression of such hopeful desperation that your heart does a tiny, traitorous flutter.

“I’m- I don't think I am qualified for this,” you say weakly.

“Neither am I, most days.” Seonghwa’s smile is tired but genuine. “What’s your name?”

You tell him, and the way he repeats it, carefully, like he’s memorizing the syllables makes your cheeks warm.

“Well then,” he says, “shall we pretend we both know what we’re doing?”

Somehow, you find yourself seated at a smaller desk that’s been hastily cleared of its mountain of correspondence. The lunch sits forgotten on a side table, probably wondering why it’s been abandoned for royal bureaucracy.

“The trick,” Seonghwa explains, settling back into his chair with considerably more grace than anyone dealing with governmental chaos should possess, “is to look confident while having absolutely no idea what’s happening.”

“Is that how you’ve been managing this whole prince thing?”

The question slips out before you can stop it, and you immediately want to crawl under the desk. You just essentially insulted the Crown Prince. They probably have dungeons for this sort of thing.

But Seonghwa laughs. A sincere laugh, not the polite chuckle used in ceremonies. “You catch on quickly. No wonder they sent you.”

“They didn’t send me, I’m just-”

“Could you help me with something?” He interrupts, and there’s something almost shy in his expression. “I have this ceremony in an hour or so, but I can never tell if my crown is sitting properly. The royal mirror is positioned terribly, and my last assistant always said it looked fine even when it was practically sliding off my head.”

Your heart hammers as he retrieves an elegant gold crown from its velvet case. It’s beautiful, delicate engravings of stars and moons, small gems that catch the light like captured starfire.

“I feel ridiculous asking,” he admits, “but could you…?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. When he places the crown on his head and turns toward you, you forget how to breathe. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows catches in his silver hair, and his eyes hold a vulnerability you never expected to see.

The crown is indeed crooked, tilted slightly to the left.

“May I?” you whisper.

He nods.

Your fingers are trembling as you reach up to adjust it. You have to step closer, close enough to catch the subtle scent of patchouli and something uniquely him. His breath hitches slightly when your knuckles brush against his hair.

“There,” you murmur, your hands lingering perhaps a moment too long. “Perfect.”

When you meet his eyes, the world seems to slow. He’s looking at you like you’ve just solved every problem in the kingdom, like you’re something precious and unexpected. His lips part slightly, and for a single moment, you think-

A knock at the door shatters the moment. You spring backward so quickly you nearly knock over an inkwell.

“Your Highness?” A voice calls. “The Council is ready for your response regarding the trade agreement.”

Seonghwa blinks, seemingly dazed. “Yes, of course. One moment.”

He turns to you, and there’s something different in his expression now, warmer and softer. “Would you… would you mind staying? Just until I sort through this mess. I know you weren’t planning on this, but-”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself. “I’ll stay.”

His smile could power the entire palace.

After a while, you’ve somehow helped organize half his correspondence, located the missing Northern Duchy letter -it was being used as a bookmark in a poetry collection book-, and discovered that the Crown Prince has an alarming tendency to forget to eat when stressed.

“When did you last have a proper meal, Your Highness?” you ask, watching him squint at a particularly dense diplomatic document.

“Tuesday?” he ventures.

“It’s Thursday.”

“Ah.” He has the grace to look sheepish. “Time becomes rather fluid when you’re reading seventeen different proposals for grain taxation reform.”

You retrieve the forgotten lunch from the side table. “Here. The tailor will understand.”

“I can’t take someone else’s meal-”

“Your Highness.” You use your sternest voice, the one usually reserved for stubborn customers at your family’s bakery. “Eat.”

He blinks at you in surprise, then obediently unwraps the lunch. You try not to stare at the way his face lights up at the simple meal of bread, cheese, and fruit.

“No one’s spoken to me like that in years,” he says between bites.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a person instead of a title.”

Your heart does that fluttering thing again. “Well, you are a person. A person who needs to eat regularly and sleep more than four hours a night.”

“How did you-”

“Your Highness, you have ink stains on three different fingers, your tie has been tied incorrectly all day, and you’ve been unconsciously rubbing your temples every few minutes. You’re exhausted.”

Seonghwa stares at you with something like wonder. “You notice things.”

“It’s hard not to when you’re-” You catch yourself before you can say something embarrassing like ‘when you’re incredibly, amazingly pretty and I've been admiring you from afar.’

“When I’m what?”

“When you’re… very obvious about it,” you finish lamely.

He grins, and it transforms his entire face. “I’ll have to work on my royal ambiguity.”

“Please don’t. It’s refreshing, actually. The honesty.”

Something shifts in his expression, becomes more intent. “Is it?”

Before you can analyze the weight in his voice, another knock interrupts. This time, it’s his valet.

“Your Highness, the ceremonial sword blessing-”

“Right.” Seonghwa sighs, straightening his shoulders as he transforms back into Crown Prince mode. But when he looks at you, the mask slips slightly. “Will you… that is, would you be willing to continue this arrangement? Temporarily, of course. Just until I can find a proper replacement.”

You should say no. You should explain the misunderstanding, return to your normal life, and pretend this strange, wonderful afternoon never happened.

Instead, you nod.

“Excellent.” His smile is radiant. “I’ll have a room prepared for you immediately.”

“Room? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Nonsense. If you’re to be my assistant, you’ll need to be available for early morning briefings and late evening correspondence reviews. It’s only practical.”

Your mouth opens and closes soundlessly. You’ve somehow gone from a bakery worker to living in the palace in the span of a single afternoon by simply delivering lunch for a favor.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Seonghwa says gently. “I promise the dungeons are only for people who steal the good dinner rolls.”

Despite everything, you laugh. “How did you know I was thinking about dungeons?”

“Lucky guess..?” He pauses at the door, crown now perfectly straight and posture regally composed. But his eyes are warm when they meet yours. “Thank you. For today. For… staying.”

After he leaves, you sink into the chair and stare at the organized desk, the neat stacks of correspondence, the empty lunch wrapping.

What have you gotten yourself into?

After waiting for your background check to be finished, you're finally escorted to your room.

Your assigned quarters are roughly the size of your family’s entire bakery. The bed alone could fit four people comfortably, and there’s a sitting area with windows overlooking the palace gardens. It’s beautiful and terrifying and completely surreal.

A soft knock interrupts your attempts to process the day’s events.

“Come in?”

To your surprise, it’s Seonghwa. He’s changed from his formal attire into simpler clothes. Dark trousers and a white shirt that somehow makes him look younger, more approachable even though his looks come not from his clothing but his regal beauty.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “I rather steamrolled you into this arrangement. If you’re uncomfortable-”

“It’s not that.” You gesture for him to come in, and he perches carefully on the edge of a chair like he’s afraid of imposing. “I just… I’m not actually qualified to be anyone’s assistant, let alone yours. I work at my family’s bakery. I have no training in diplomacy or protocol or any of the things you probably need.”

“Can you read?”

“Yes, but-”

“Can you write legibly?”

“Well, yes-”

“Do you have opinions about things?”

You blink. “Opinions?”

“Everyone in the palace agrees with everything I say,” Seonghwa explains, running a hand through his hair. “It’s maddening. I could declare that purple should be the official color of vegetables and they’d all nod sagely and praise my innovative thinking.”

“You cannot assign vegetables a color. Even if you did it would be definitely green, not purple.” you say scrunching your face.

“Exactly!” His face lights up. “You see? Perfect assistant material.”

You can’t help but smile. “This is insane.”

“Most of the best things are.” He pauses, and something vulnerable flickers in his expression. “Will you... try it? Just for a few days. If you hate it, I’ll personally escort you back to your bakery with a formal apology and enough gold to make up for the inconvenience.”

The smart thing would be to decline politely and leave now, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Before you fall any harder for a prince who’s completely out of your reach.

But when you look at him -really look at him- you see past the crown and the title to the person underneath. Someone who’s lonely and overworked and genuinely grateful for the smallest kindness.

Someone who laughed at your terrible jokes and trusted you to fix his crown.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. “I’ll try.”

You can bet on anything that his smile is brighter than any jewel in the royal treasury.

The next morning arrives with a gentle knock and a maid carrying what appears to be enough breakfast to feed a small army.

“Compliments of His Highness,” she explains, setting the elaborate spread on your sitting room table. “He thought you might prefer to eat privately while you settle in.”

Thoughtful. You’re beginning to understand that beneath all the royal protocol, Seonghwa is simply… considerate.

You’re attempting to decide between three different types of pastry when another knock sounds. This time, it’s the man himself, looking impeccable despite the early hour.

“Good morning,” he says, and there’s something almost shy about it. “I hope you slept well.”

“Like a rock. That bed is magic.”

“Wait until you try the library chairs. I’ve lost entire afternoons to their evil comfort.” He glances at the breakfast spread and frowns. “This is excessive. I specifically asked for something simple.”

“The kitchen staff might have a different definition of ‘simple’ than normal people.”

“Normal people,” he repeats thoughtfully. “I like that phrase. May I join you? My own breakfast is a formal affair in the dining hall, and I’d much rather have a normal person breakfast.”

You gesture to the abundance of food. “There’s certainly enough.”

He settles across from you with visible relief, immediately reaching for what appears to be a perfectly ordinary piece of toast. The domesticity of it, sharing breakfast and watching him relax, feels dangerously intimate.

“So,” you say, searching for safe conversation, “what disasters await us today?”

“Oh, the usual. Three diplomatic meetings, a review of the royal gardens’ budget, and a very tense discussion about whether the autumn festival should feature dancing or theatrical performances.”

“Both?”

“I suggested that yesterday. Apparently, it would ‘set a concerning precedent for future festivals.’” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I think they create problems just to have something to debate.”

“What do you want the festival to have?”

He pauses, piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “What do I want?”

“It’s your kingdom, isn’t it? What would make you happy?”

Seonghwa stares at you like you’ve asked him to solve an ancient riddle. “I… no one’s ever asked me that before. About what would make me happy.”

Your heart clenches. “Well, I’m asking now.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can practically see him thinking through possibilities he’s never been allowed to consider.

“Music,” he says finally. “I’d want music. Not just the formal court musicians, but… street performers, local bands, anyone who wanted to play. And food stalls run by actual families from the kingdom, not the palace kitchens. And games for children, and dancing for anyone who felt like it, not just the nobility.”

His eyes are bright with enthusiasm, and you find yourself smiling. “That sounds wonderful.”

“It sounds chaos to the Council.”

“Sometimes chaos is exactly what people need.”

“Is that your professional assistant opinion?”

“That’s my normal person opinion.” You lean forward slightly. “Your Highness, what if we presented it differently? Not as chaos, but as… connecting with your people. Understanding their culture. Being a prince who cares about everyone in the kingdom, not just the nobles.”

Seonghwa sets down his toast entirely, giving you his full attention. “Go on.”

“Well, festivals are about celebration, right? Joy. What better way to show strong leadership than by creating something that brings genuine happiness to your people? The Council can debate protocol all they want, but it’s hard to argue against joy.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. Then he starts to laugh. That real, unguarded sound you heard yesterday.

“You’re brilliant,” he says, and the warm admiration in his voice makes your stomach flip. “Absolutely brilliant. Will you come with me to the Council meeting?”

“Oh no. No, no, no. I can offer opinions over breakfast, but I can’t face the royal Council-”

“Please.” He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I need someone in that room who remembers that I’m supposed to serve the people, not just manage them. I'll handle the council.”

The touch of his hand sends electricity up your arm, and when you meet his eyes, there’s something there that makes your breath catch. Something warm and wondering and impossibly fond.

“Okay,” you whisper, because apparently you’re incapable of saying no to anything when he looks at you like that.

His smile could outshine the sun.

The Council meeting is every bit as intimidating as you expected. Twelve stern faced advisors seated around a massive oak table, all of whom seem personally offended by your presence.

“Your Highness,” the head councilor says with barely concealed disdain, “perhaps your… assistant… would be more comfortable waiting outside.”

“She stays,” Seonghwa says firmly, and the quiet authority in his voice makes something flutter in your chest. “Her insights have been invaluable.”

You try to make yourself invisible in your chair beside his, taking notes and pretending you can’t feel the councilors’ disapproving stares.

The festival debate unfolds exactly as Seonghwa predicted; lots of discussion about precedent and protocol, very little about what might actually benefit the kingdom. When he presents his vision using the framework you suggested, you can see several councilors wavering.

“It’s… unconventional,” admits the Minister of Cultural Affairs.

“Unconventional isn’t necessarily problematic,” Seonghwa replies smoothly. “Some of our most beloved traditions started as innovations.”

“But the security concerns-”

“Can be managed with proper planning.”

“And the budget-”

“Will likely be offset by increased merchant participation and tourism.”

You watch him navigate each objection with growing admiration. He’s brilliant at this, when he’s passionate about something. When he’s fighting for what he believes in rather than just managing what’s expected.

The head councilor drums his fingers on the table. The Council only agreed after a tense hours long debate.

"We’ll need a detailed proposal.”

“Of course.” Seonghwa glances at you, something almost playful in his expression. “My assistant and I will have it ready by tomorrow.”

After the meeting, you practically float back to his study.

“Did we just win that?” you ask.

“We did indeed.” Seonghwa grins, loosening his formal jacket with obvious relief. “Though now we actually have to create a detailed proposal by tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Well, it was your idea. Brilliant strategy, by the way, framing it as connection rather than chaos.”

You feel yourself blushing. “I just said what made sense.”

“Exactly. You cut through all the political posturing and found the heart of it.” He pauses, studying your face with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “You’re remarkable, you know that?”

The compliment hits you like a physical thing, warm and overwhelming. “I’m really not-”

“You are.” He steps closer, and suddenly the study feels much smaller. “You see possibilities where others see problems. You remind me why I wanted to do this job in the first place.”

Your heart is hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Seonghwa-”

The use of his name without the title makes him go very still. For a moment, you think you’ve overstepped, broken some crucial protocol.

Then he smiles, soft and wondering. “Say it again.”

“Your Highness-”

“No. My name.”

“Seonghwa,” you whisper, and his eyes flutter closed like you’ve given him something precious.

When he opens them again, there’s something raw and hopeful in his expression. He takes another step closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“I should tell you,” he says quietly, “that I’ve never enjoyed anyone’s company the way I enjoy yours.”

Your breath catches. “Seonghwa…”

“And I should probably also tell you that I’ve been thinking about yesterday afternoon. About when you fixed my crown.” His voice drops even lower. “About how you looked at me like I was just… me.”

The space between you feels charged, electric. You can see the exact moment he decides to be brave, can see him start to lean forward-

And then the door bursts open.

“Your Highness, there’s been a development with the Northern- Oh.” The secretary stops short, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “I… should I return later?”

Seonghwa steps back so quickly he nearly trips over his own feet. “No, that’s… what’s the development?”

You use the interruption to retreat to your desk, heart still racing. But when you glance up, Seonghwa is looking at you with such soft longing that your breath catches all over again.

This is getting dangerous. Wonderfully, terrifyingly dangerous.

The festival proposal takes shape over the next several hours, with the two of you working in surprisingly seamless collaboration. Seonghwa handles the diplomatic language and budget considerations while you focus on logistics and community engagement.

“What about here?” you suggest, pointing to a section about local artisan participation. “We could create a special showcase area for traditional crafts.”

“Perfect.” He leans over to see what you’re indicating, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “You have lovely handwriting, by the way.”

Such a simple comment shouldn’t make you feel like you’re glowing, but somehow it does. “Thank you.”

“No, really. It’s… graceful. Like you.”

You look up sharply, and he’s right there, closer than you realized. Close enough to see the way his pupils dilate slightly, close enough to catch the subtle hitch in his breathing.

“Seonghwa,” you whisper, not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation.

He reaches up slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is feather-light, reverent.

“Is this all right?” he asks softly.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone, and you let your eyes flutter closed. This is madness. You’re a baker’s daughter and he’s the Crown Prince, but in this moment, with his gentle touch and the afternoon light streaming around you both, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I should tell you something,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“I knew.”

Your eyes snap open. “Knew what?”

“When you came to deliver lunch.” His smile is soft, almost shy. “I knew you weren’t the new assistant. The real candidate wasn’t supposed to arrive until next week.”

Your mouth falls open. “You knew? Then why did you-?”

“Because you were the first person in months to look at me like I was human instead of a title. Because when I made that ridiculous comment about needing someone to say no to me, you looked like you might actually be brave enough to do it.” His thumb is still tracing gentle patterns on your cheek. “And because I’ve been watching you at events for the better part of a year, hoping for an excuse to talk to you.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Trying to work up the courage to approach you, more like. Do you know how many times I’ve walked past your family’s booth at the market? How many excuses I’ve invented to attend events where you might be helping with the catering?”

Your heart is doing something complicated and wonderful in your chest. “Seonghwa…”

“I know this is complicated,” he says quickly. “I know there are protocols and expectations and a dozen reasons why this is probably a terrible idea. But I-”

You silence him by rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

It’s soft and sweet and perfect, tasting like the tea you’ve been sharing and the promise of something extraordinary. When you pull back, he’s staring at you with such wonder that you feel like you could conquer kingdoms.

“For someone who is supposed to be good with words,” you murmur, “you certainly talk too much sometimes.”

He laughs, bright and joyful, and kisses you again.

The festival proposal is a complete success. The Council approves it unanimously, the people are thrilled, and somehow you’ve managed to revolutionize royal event planning while falling completely in love with a prince.

Three weeks later, you’re standing in the gardens at sunset, watching Seonghwa practice his opening speech for the festival. He’s nervous -adorably so- running his hands through his hair and muttering about crowd expectations.

“You know,” you say, stepping closer, “you could always just speak from the heart.”

“The heart doesn’t follow protocol.”

“Because it doesn’t need to.” You reach up to straighten his collar, smiling at the way he immediately relaxes under your touch. “Your people love you, Seonghwa. Not because you’re perfect, but because you care about them. Let them see that.”

He catches your hands, pressing them flat against his chest. “How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?”

“Lucky guess..?”

“I love you,” he says suddenly, the words tumbling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “I know it’s complicated and probably terrifying and definitely against several royal protocols, but I love you. I love your terrible jokes and your practical solutions and the way you make me remember who I am underneath all the expectations.”

Your heart swells until you think it might burst. “I love you too. Even if you do have a concerning habit of making impulsive royal decisions.”

“Only the good kind of impulsive decisions.”

“Is that what I am? A good impulsive decision?”

He suddenly picks you up and spins you around, laughing as your feet leave the ground. “You’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”

When he sets you down, you’re both breathless and grinning.

“So,” you say, straightening his crown with familiar ease, “what happens now?”

“Now we revolutionize the kingdom one festival at a time,” Seonghwa says, leaning down to kiss you softly. “And maybe figure out how to explain to the Council that their prince has fallen in love with his wonderfully unqualified assistant.”

“Fake assistant,” you correct.

“Best fake assistant in the kingdom.”

You laugh, and he spins you around again, and in the golden light of the setting sun, with the promise of tomorrow’s festival and a lifetime of adventures ahead, everything feels perfect.

The End

[vent-stink]

Breaking Point (1)

Summary: Wooyoung loved kids, but after having one of his own, especially this early in his career, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be... and unintentionally, he took it out on you... and your son did, too.

pairings: idol!dad!wooyoung x ceo!mom!reader, wooyoung x oc!son warnings: blatant descriptions of eating disorder, self-consciousness and insults to reader's weight, angst w/c: 2.4k a/n: I am not having a great time in life rn so MORE ANGST FOR YOUUUUU (I'll add a graphic later) net: @mirohs-aurora-society

When you first got pregnant, Wooyoung thought he would be ecstatic.

He'd wanted a girl, mostly becaues he'd basically had experience raising a boy already, and Arin and Ayun from one of his promotion activities from Bouncy era really sold him on having daughters.

But the more time that passed, he realized that even taking care of you during pregnancy... was kind of exhausting.

It wasn't that he felt like he shouldn't have to do these things. You were his wife after all, it was a privilege to take care of you as you carried his child. He knew, objectively, that was true. He loved you.

He just loved you and the baby simultaneously to the feeling of dread that filled his bones as he realized that his life as an idol would have to take second place.

And he didn't want that.

Obviously, having a child was his dream after becoming an idol, but not this soon.

And he knew he couldn't tell you that.

But he let that resentment fester inside of him.

When he held his Beomwoo, in his arms for the first time, he thought everything would be okay, especially when his first cry stopped the moment that he made skin to skin contact with him. He felt a fulfillment that he thought would keep that void of dread filled so that he wouldn't disappoint you.

But then the crying wouldn't stop.

It was normal, his mom told him, for babies to cry incessantly. It would get better with time. The first few months were always the hardest.

But then you went back to work.

Both of you discussed it before. He'd have to do most of the parenting for at least a little while until you got back into the swing of things at work.

...Did he mention that you were a CEO?

You weren't a chaebol or anything, but to be honest you were the one making more money between the two of you. Objectively, your job was more important than his for the sake of your marriage finances. Wooyoung had to be practical. He had to suck it up for at least a couple of months just so that you could find a rhythm at work that you could comfortably incorporate Jiwoo so that he could go back to being an idol full time like he always had.

It was a good plan, and you promised you were going to make sure that he'd be okay going forward. You were going to follow through.

But one day it all rose to the surface.

You walked in, ready to greet your husband after a long day of work. The smile on your face when you saw him was nothing but relief.

Little did he know that this was the last time you'd look at him like this for a very long time.

"Hi, Woo-"

"This has to stop, y/n."

You froze, your blood stilling in your body. "I'm sorry," You said instinctively, though you didn't know what you were apologizing for. "Wh-what needs to stop?" The question slipped reluctantly from your lips as if you were afraid that he would consider questioning him as an act of defiance.

"I can't keep taking care of Beomwoo," he said, running his hand down his face, "I know I'm good at it, and I reassured you that I wouldn't let you take on all of the work, but now I'm taking on all of the work."

You took a tentative step toward him, putting your hands on his face, "I- I know, but we agreed that once I got into a rhythm at work then I'd-"

"When is that going to be, y/n?" Wooyoung asked tightly, taking her hands off of his face, "I love Beomwoo, I do, but sitting at home idly like this is torture for me. I'm an idol, I have an active career. While you- you've gained weight-"

That was not what you were expecting to come out of his mouth. Truthfully, he didn't mean it like that it was more just word vomit while trying to convey that your job was stationary compared to his, but it didn't hit you that way.

"O-oh," you said, feeling small. You tried to pacify him but he shook his head.

"I can't do this anymore, y/n. I'm missing so many things and this is such a vital time in my career, don't you see that!?"

"I do! I do see that," you said, softly, calming him down, "Okay. I'll take him to work with me. You can go back to being a full-time idol. I didn't- I didn't mean to burden you."

But Wooyoung couldn't stop while he was ahead.

"I love you, y/n. You knew I didn't want to get married so young, but I did it for you, so that you could get away from your family and be this great CEO that you always wanted to be. We had a baby even though I wasn't ready for one, but I love kids, so you've been taking advantage of that, so that you could keep doing your job knowing fully well that I would never abandon Beomwoo the way you've been doing."

"H-hey, Wooyoung, that's not-" Your eyes were furrowed with confusion, a bit heartbroken at his words. "Don't you care about us, y/n? Or did you really just marry me for your career? It's like you don't even see me anymore," He spat despite it being nowhere near the truth.

"I couldn't work for months, Wooyoung," You said softly, "With my maternity leave, the interim CEO took on way more than they were prepared to, my company was just- there was a huge mess and-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses. I just want action, y/n. I just need action. I'm tired of this."

"Okay," you said softly, "I'll work it out. You just go back to KQ, alright? I'm sorry for troubling you. P-please don't yell at me, okay? I'll take care of it."

Wooyoung softened for just a moment before shaking himself out of it. You always did this. At the slightest feeling on tension you retreated into yourself and he wasn't allowed to get mad at you. But he was angry. Why couldn't he be allowed to feel angry?

You wouldn't have been so angry if you had just talked to me sooner. That was what you believed.

The next morning, Wooyoung was gone from bed before you woke up. Beomwoo was crying, and you instantly shot up to check on him.

To your surprise, he was dressed appropriately and had just dropped his pacifier.

Even though Wooyoung was angry with you, he was still taking care of you in his own way... you supposed.

You gave Beomwoo his pacifier and he instantly stopped, looking up at you curiously. You smiled at him, caressing his head until you looked at the time.

"Shit!" You were so late.

The night before had taken a toll on you. Your body responded by sleeping the stress away, and that made you wake up an hour later than you normally would have. Your phone, usually on silent during your sleep, was blowing up with soundless notifications.

You got ready quickly, packing the baby bag while you brushed your teeth.

It wasn't until you looked in the mirror, half dressed with a toothbrush in your mouth that you remembered what Wooyoung said yesterday.

"You- you're gaining weight-"

You cringed, staring at yourself in the mirror. Pregnancy had not been kind to you. You hadn't really had time to exercise nor did you think you would have time considering that now you had Beomwoo to think about.

Once upon a time, you wouldn't have thought of that as an issue. Wooyoung told you that he thought your body was beautiful during your pregnancy, that there was nothing your body could look like that he wouldn't be attracted to.

But if he noticed that you'd gained weight... he must have found it an issue. Wooyoung wasn't attracted anymore. What other conclusion could your mind come to?

You took a deep breath as you pinched the loose skin around your stomach, tears pricking your eyes.

You wore a looser fitted business outfit today.

"You brought the baby with you!?" your assistant whispered loudly as you stalked in through your office doors.

"Wooyoung didn't- he needed a break, so I took care of it for him. It's fine." "But you didn't hire the babysitter, yet!" "I said it's fine! What's on the agenda for today?"

That's how you ended up in a board meeting with your wailing son in your arms as you tried to give a Powerpoint presentation.

The head of the board stood up, a brow raised as he looked at you who was trying your best not to break down in front of them.

"I think you're a bit overwhelmed today. Maybe we should have this meeting another time."

Beomwoo conveniently decided to stop crying the moment that all the board members were out of the room. You let out a breath, trying so hard not to cry.

Over the next week, you tried so hard to find the right babysitter, but Beomwoo had attachment anxiety, and he refused to be in anyone's arms but yours.

He did not take after his father, clearly, considering that Wooyoung was usually the friendliest person in the world.

But maybe he did, considering that Wooyoung could steep to the lowest forms of mean if he wanted to.

All the while, Wooyoung was practicing choreo until late hours of the night, trying to get back in step with his members.

"Bro, don't you have a newborn baby?" San asked incredulously as he walked into the practice room.

"Uh, he's 6 months old now, and my wife is handling it," Wooyoung said, not stopping his movements, though it was hard for him since he wasn't as in shape as he usually was from being stationary for so long.

"So suddenly?" San asked doubtfully.

Wooyoung looked at him, annoyed. "What? Are you going to lecture me? Butt out, San." "Okay, okay," San said, raising his arms in surrender, "I was just saying."

San exited the room. He had only been checking in on Wooyoung before planning to leave for the day.

But he decided to make a detour.

San gave you an innocent smile when he appeared at your door with a bag of food.

That smile faded when he saw the state you were in.

"Woah, you look- sick- y/n, are you okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned as you backed up so that he could enter.

"Hello to you, too, San," you chuckled, closing the door behind him, "I'm sorry, Beomwoo is down for a nap, now."

"That's okay, it's not like he can eat this food," he said with a warm smile, going into your kitchen to put it down on the counter, "Wooyoung's been busy so I figured you could use a pick me up. I bet you miss him."

"Ah, yeah," you said softly, "I do miss him, but this is his dream, so... can't hold him back."

San furrowed his brows, "Hold him back?"

You waved your hand dismissively, "Anyway, what brings you here other than that? You can't tell me you just came here to feed me."

"I did," San said proudly, "And to see how you were doing. But clearly, you're not well, though."

"No, I'm fine, but thank you," you chuckled, "for thinking about me."

"Of course," San said, "Now come eat with me."

"A-ah, I gained some weight, though, San, so I've been trying to cut down," You said sheepishly. He furrowed his brows, the information not deterring him from the action of opening all of the containers.

"So? You had a baby like a couple months ago and you're a working mother? Have a little grace for yourself," he said nonchalantly, "You can cheat for today if you're so adamant on dieting."

"I really-" "You really can," San interrupted you, putting a paper plate down in front of you, "For me?"

San pouted at you, pretending to be cute and you shook your head. He was normally a really manly guy, especially around women, but since you and Wooyoung had become "one" in marriage, he lost his shame in acting cute in front of you.

"Fine," you sighed, sitting at the table. You looked up at him with a sincere expression on your face, "Thank you, San. I do appreciate the gesture."

"Of course," He said with a warm smile.

You didn't take much, just enough that San nodded in satisfaction. He put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge for you and Wooyoung instead of taking it home himself. He wondered if the two of you were eating well considering that both of you were so busy.

You felt warm when San left that night. It was the first act of kindness you'd felt in a while. You loved your job, but that environment was so cold. And Wooyoung....

You sighed, rubbing your temples tiredly after you closed the door behind San.

You could feel your gut twisting already. You hated feeling full.

You made the conscious decision to purge.

Crouched over the toilet, you cried, feeling disgusted with yourself to succumbing to this, but you couldn't risk gaining weight. You were already undesirable to Wooyoung. You couldn't risk losing him.

You didn't know how such illogical thoughts began to plague you. But they swirled around until it became dire for you.

Purging hadn't been something you considered until now. Cutting down your portions came naturally so you never felt full enough to feel like you needed to throw it all up. It scared you, the fact that you felt like you needed your stomach to feel empty.

But you pretended that it was all fine.

When Wooyoung came home exhausted that night, he found the leftovers in the fridge, assuming that you'd ordered out, completely unaware that San had been here. He ate, washed up, and went back to your shared room where you were once again faced away from him.

He didn't think anything was wrong. He was busy, you were busy. Obviously there hadn't been much time to be romantic. Things would go back to normal soon.

He took a look at Beomwoo in his crib who was sleeping soundly, a smile on his face as he looked at his beloved son before finally tucking himself into bed.

He felt cold, but it would be fine. Things would be fine. Right?

----------------- Taglist: @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @potatos-on-clouds @intartaruginha @hwasa28 @stacey-stonem @skersey33 @altxrr-ego @sunnyhokyu @sunnysidesins

[koyagifs]

the way

pairing: wooyoung x reader au: 9th member | idol | poly genre: angst with comfort word count: 1.8k synopsis: you release a song for every member on their birthday while they are away in the military warning(s):

You pulled out your earpiece, a wide smile spreading across your face as you looked out at the crowd. It was your last night in the States, and you couldn’t be more excited to perform your new song.

“How are we doing tonight, Mexico!?” you called out, earning a wave of cheers in return.

You laughed, making your way toward the extended stage and taking a deep breath. “Wow, you guys are loud. Let me hear you scream again!”

The roar grew even louder, your grin widening at the response.

“Okay, wow! I love this energy so much,” you said with a playful tone. “I’m sure Wooyoung oppa would love it too… since, you know—it’s his birthday.” You gave a teasing smirk.

The crowd erupted, the energy shifting instantly as the fans realized what that meant. Wooyoung was the last member to receive his own song from you.

You took a small pause, slipping your earpiece back in as the crowd simmered with anticipation.

“Happy birthday, Wooyoung,” you said softly into the mic, your voice laced with warmth.

The lights dimmed, and the beat dropped.

The opening chords of The Way echoed through the stadium, and the crowd went wild—fans screaming as they realized what song it was. The same song that had been a mystery for weeks. You smiled, letting the music carry you as you began to sing:

I love the way you make me feel... I love it, I love it...

Every “I love it” hit deeper for those who knew your history, your bond. Fans clutched their chests, shouted the words back to you, some in tears, some dancing with joy.

You danced through the chorus, light on your feet, radiating the same kind of happiness that Wooyoung always gave you. But even through the playful lyrics and infectious beat, your eyes sparkled with meaning.

As the final chorus echoed through the arena, you made your way back toward the main stage, your voice ringing clear and strong over the crowd’s harmonies.

The music softened, the lights dimmed into a golden hue, and with one last heartfelt line, the song came to an end.

You took a deep bow, hands pressed together as the stadium erupted in cheers and applause. When you stood upright again, you beamed, eyes glassy with emotion.

Waving both hands, you sent flying kisses into the crowd, turning in a slow circle to make sure every corner of the venue felt your gratitude.

“Thank you, Mexico! I love you so much,” you called out, breathless but glowing. “Tonight was unforgettable.”

The fans screamed even louder, some chanting your name, others yelling Wooyoung’s, united in the magic of the moment.

You let out a deep sigh of relief as your body finally melted into the hotel bed, the adrenaline of the night slipping away and leaving exhaustion in its place. The room was quiet, dim, and cool—the perfect contrast to the roaring energy of the stage. Your muscles ached, your throat was dry, but your heart was full.

Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, a knock echoed from the door.

You groaned. “This better be a good—”

The words caught in your throat the second you opened the door.

Standing there, in full military uniform, was Wooyoung.

His cap was tucked under one arm, the other wide open, his signature cheeky smile lighting up his entire face.

“Surprise,” he grinned. “Did you really think I’d miss my song?”

You didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself into his arms, legs wrapping tightly around his torso. A soft grunt escaped him, followed by a laugh that vibrated against your chest as he caught your weight and waddled inside the hotel room.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable, as the door clicked shut behind him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his arms still wrapped firmly around you, and you found yourself straddling his lap—close enough to feel the steady beat of his heart through the thick fabric of his uniform.

“You’re really here,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly.

Wooyoung gently wiped the tear from your cheek, his palm warm as it cradled your face. Then he leaned in, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to your lips—one that spoke more than words ever could.

“You must think I’m crazy if you thought I’d miss my girl singing a song for me,” he murmured against your lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “ and to miss seeing the little one”

You let out a breathy laugh, one hand curling around the collar of his uniform. “You are crazy.”

“For you? Always,” he said, his forehead resting gently against yours.

You laughed softly, the sound catching in your throat as you finally allowed yourself to breathe him in—his familiar scent of clean cotton, faint cologne, and something uniquely him. It filled your lungs and settled the whirlwind inside you.

Still holding you, he waddled further into the room before sitting down on the edge of the bed, your legs still wrapped around his waist. You leaned back slightly, and his eyes took a moment to study your features—the softness in your expression, the glow in your cheeks—before they drifted down to your belly.

His hand moved from your waist to rest gently on your bump.

You beamed, the moment too perfect not to share more. “Wait—stay right there.” You jumped off his lap and rushed to your purse, digging through it until you found the small envelope.

“It’s the latest ultrasound,” you said, holding it out with both hands.

He took it carefully, like it was the most fragile thing in the world. His heart swelled as he stared down at the grainy image, the reality of it hitting him all over again. Then his gaze lifted to you.

You were glowing.

Absolutely radiant.

And fuck, he thought, how badly he wanted to show the others just how stunning you looked pregnant. How proud he was of you—of all of this.

You moved toward him again, slowly, and he hesitated for just a second before gently placing his head against your bump. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Hongjoong-hyung must be thrilled that it’s his,” he murmured.

You hummed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “We think it’s his… but right now, he’s just really happy to be a dad. Are you?”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes wide like you’d asked the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Are you really asking me that?”

You giggled, “You’re right. Pretty sure you’ve been dying to get me pregnant.”

Wooyoung grinned, nodding without shame as he pulled you closer. “Absolutely.”

He gently lifted your shirt, his hands warm against your skin before his lips met your belly in a soft kiss. Then he rested his forehead there, breathing in the moment.

“You’re going to be so loved, little one,” he whispered. “By your hot mom and your hot dads. Especially me. I’m the hottest.”

You laughed, fingers threading through his hair as he smiled against your skin, completely unbothered and entirely in love—with both of you.

“I want you to know… San and Yeosang cried when we found out,” Wooyoung said softly. “Granted, once the excitement settled in, we all started worrying. You’ve been handling this pregnancy on your own, and… we all just want to say we’re sorry, baby.”

You gently lifted his chin, making sure he met your eyes.

“And I’ll say the same thing to you that I said to Hongjoong,” you murmured. “I’m okay. I promise, Youngie. It sucks sometimes, yeah—but the fact that you guys are already this worried? It means the world to me.”

His eyes softened, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit, your words settling something in him. You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips—lingering just long enough to say all the things words couldn’t.

When you finally pulled away, your fingers slipped into his hair, brushing through it slowly until they rested at the back of his head.

He gently pulled you down with him, wrapping you in his arms as the two of you settled under the blankets. You tucked yourself against his chest, letting out a soft sigh as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

His hand found your stomach again, moving in slow, tender circles as your breathing began to even out. A quiet smile played on his lips, content and full of something deeper than words could express.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, more to your belly than to you now. “We’ve got you.”

And for the first time in a while, sleep came easy.

.

.

.

.

.

extra:

A few days later, when Wooyoung returned to base, he barely had a second to breathe before he was swarmed by the few members who were still there with him—Hongjoong included.

“How is she? Is she taking care of herself?” Hongjoong asked first, eyes sharp but filled with concern.

“Ohh, I bet Seonghwa-hyung’s jealous,” Mingi teased from across the room, tossing a snack into his mouth.

“Nah,” San grinned. “Jongho’s probably the jealous one. He’s not the baby bear anymore.”

Wooyoung chuckled, the sound light but tired, his heart still somewhere back in that hotel room with you. He walked over to his bed and sat down, reaching into his bag as the conversation buzzed around him.

Then he pulled out the ultrasound photo you’d given him.

Instant silence.

The room stilled as all eyes focused on the small black-and-white image in his hands. Wooyoung looked up, gaze landing on Hongjoong, his expression filled with quiet pride.

“She said it’s the latest,” he said softly. “And to tell you all not to fight over it.”

Even Hongjoong cracked a small smile, the emotion flickering in his eyes as he stepped forward to get a better look. Hongjoong reached out and carefully took the ultrasound photo from Wooyoung’s hand. His eyes scanned over it, and almost instantly, they began to glisten. He blinked quickly, but it was no use—the emotion caught up to him.

San and Mingi exchanged a look, their usual teasing grins softening as they watched their leader crumble in the most beautiful way. Without a word, Hongjoong passed the picture to them, his gaze staying fixed on Wooyoung.

“Is she doing okay?” he asked quietly, voice a little rough. “She’s taking her prenatals, right?”

Wooyoung nodded, the weight of the moment pressing gently on his chest. “Yeah. She’s been really good about it. Still stubborn, but… she’s strong, hyung. Stronger than any of us.”

Hongjoong let out a breath, one that sounded almost like a laugh but cracked with emotion.

“She always has been.”

[takkeirorleaveit]

Verdade seja dita, essa não era a primeira vez que seu caminho cruzava com @nncomi​​. Ainda recordava com riqueza em detalhes na primeira vez em que a viu na escola onde a sobrinha estudava. Porém, na ocasião ficou com receio de se aproximar e se apresentar e acabou desperdiçando a oportunidade. Agora com ela ali não cometeria o mesmo erro duas vezes. “Quais são as chances de você acreditar que sou um grande fã do seu trabalho? Minha sobrinha não para de falar que ela tem a melhor professora do mundo.” Deixando o sorriso emergir em seu rosto, Steve tentava ser simpático ao tentar iniciar um diálogo. 

[takkeirorleaveit]

xcharlotex​:

         charlotte estava acostumada a eventos como aquele, afinal aqui e ali, sempre precisava marcar presença em tais com seus ex maridos, para ela era novo apenas estar ali sozinha, e ela amava a liberdade que tinha. ela sorriu levemente para o outro. “é um prazer lhe conhecer steve!“ quem a via assim, tão querida sequer podia imaginar o quanto arrogante ela poderia ser, ela ouviu o elogio do outro então riu levemente. “não seja bobo, o seu figurino elogia bastante a sua aparência.” retrucou antes de se sentar do lado dele.  “mas muito obrigada.” radiante, era assim que ficava quando recebia o que queria, desde de nova era assim, quando algo que desejava era posto em seu caminho ela se tornava outra pessoa.   “um martini, por favor. e você o que faz por aqui tão sozinho?”

Escutava sua companhia com atenção genuína, diferentemente de como havia agindo desde que pusera os pés naquele salão. O que podia dizer em sua defesa? Estava solteiro e não conseguia resistir quando encontrava alguém que despertava seu interesse. “É apenas efeito do terno que estou vestindo, nada de mais.” Com um sorriso nos lábios ajeitou a postura na cadeira, de modo pudesse ter uma visão melhor da mulher ao seu lado. “Esperando a salvadora da noite aparecer e me salvar desse tédio infinito.” Com as sobrancelhas arqueadas, passou rapidamente a língua sobre o lábio inferior. “Agora que finalmente a encontrei, espero que ela não me abandone e quebre meu coração apenas amanhã de manhã.” Solicitou os dois martínis para o garçom, sem nenhum momento tirar o sorriso do rosto. “Então, não lembro de ter visto antes na cidade... “

[vactiontown]

‘ I   JUST   WANTED   TO   DO   SOMETHING   GOOD   FOR   ONCE.   a culpa consumia leon por dentro, era uma tarde com a filha e conseguiu deixá-la cair do balanço. cinco pontos, segundo sua ex-sogra. se @takkeirorleaveit​ queria ouvir seus desabafos não se importava, simplesmente estava despejando tudo.

conexões possíveis: amigos próximos, conhecidos, companheiros de bar, estranhos.

obs: se não servir posso gerar outro.

[takkeirorleaveit]

“Não se culpe, você sabe que tudo é exagero, não sabe?” A verdade era que o incidente havia tomado uma proporção exagerada, tinhas suas dúvidas se realmente teve a necessidade de sua sobrinha levar os pontos ou se foi tudo uma invenção da sua mãe. “Você está no caminho certo, não fique com receio e desista.” Passou as mãos na barba rala por fazer, respirando fundo, sentia meio inútil por ver seu amigo em tais condições e não ter ideia de como consolar ele de maneira efetiva.

[mancandykings]

Garrett Hedlund as Ben Miller TRIPLE FRONTIER (2019) dir. J.C. Chandor

[xcharlotex]

                     charlotte odiava aquela cidadezinha de merda para falar a verdade, as pessoas e o clima, já sentia falta do clima tropical mas bem, não podia viver de férias para sempre, na verdade até poderia, mas de quem ela iria encher o saco nesse caso? a ruiva fitou @takkeirorleaveit​ e estendeu sua mão para que ele a beijasse, adorava atenção masculina para preencher o seu ego. “charlotte, charlotte bay, é um prazer conhecê-lo, and you are very nice to look at.”

[takkeirorleaveit]

Maldita hora em que havia feito a promessa de ir à festa, contava os segundos para começar o leilão e finalmente ir embora para dar um esporro no irmão mais velho por nem sequer ter vindo. Talvez ainda tivesse tempo de fazer com que sua noite não fosse um total desperdício. “Olá Charlotte.” Virou sua total atenção para a companhia ao seu lado, de repente não achando tudo tão ruim assim. “O prazer é todo meu. Sou o Steve.” Em outra situação não teria cedido a ação imposta, porém se tratava de uma exceção se considerar a beleza da outra, depositou um beijo estalado na palma da outra. “Está olhando para um espelho? Deve estar falando de si mesma.” Até o final da noite teria seu coração quebrado em pedacinhos. “Qual seu veneno?” Puxou a cadeira da mesa para ela se sentar, enquanto chamava um dos garçons na direção dos dois.

[thelauriefrey]

starter with @takkeirorleaveit​

- Eu odeio ter que pedir mas… Posso usar seu celular? - Laurie pediu ao homem sentado ao seu lado na mesa. O celular dela havia descarregado, e aquela hora da noite era geralmente o horário em que ela ligava em casa para poder falar com o filho antes dele ser posto para dormir.

[takkeirorleaveit]

Aquela não era sua primeira experiência em um evento de gala, pelo contrário, perdeu as contas de quantos frequentou na sua vida, graças ao fato de ter vindo de uma família influente. Porém, isso não significava que gostava de comparecer a essas festas, sempre aparecia apenas para fazer companhia ao pai e irmãos e apenas isso. “Ah!.. Sim.” Procurou pelo aparelho no bolso do paletó, assim que encontrou, esticou na direção dela. “Só por favor ignore o papel de parede do Batman lego” Talvez seria uma boa ideia mudar a imagem no futuro, apenas para evitar situações constrangedoras.