Hi there!

First off, to any avid (or just 'normal' lol) followers of mine – hee – I am in the process of typing up the next parts to Homecoming and Show Me Right, so hopefully I will have an update for you soon – though most likely it'll be of the former rather than the latter, with the ways things are going atm.
Also, I'll explain reasons for my absence when I update.

It's taken me a wee while to finally get this completed, and I'm going to dedicate it to one of my best friend's: Carolyn. She gave me one of the ideas, which enabled me to get back to writing this, and subsequently get it finished. It's also a sort of pre-Happy Birthday gift ;)

Hope you enjoy…

Title: Words
Disclaimer: I own nothing – 'tis a sad affair indeed :'(
A/N: inspired by the C/B 'wife' moment in 2.14 (possible implication of spoilers, but only via one or two sentences and nothing really prominent tbh)
Summary: "All I wanted to do was just, be there, but today when you called me your wife, you made it sound like the ugliest word in the world." He thinks it's absurd that 'wife' could ever be the ugliest word in the world, especially when put in the same context as Blair Waldorf.

"I don't know what you mean by 'glory'," Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't – 'till I tell you. I meant 'there is a nice knock-down argument for you!'"
"But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument'," Alice objected.
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master – that's all."
'Through the Looking Glass', Lewis Carroll


Chocolates mean 'I love you'; flowers mean 'I'm sorry'.

He doesn't think words would ever be enough, no matter what she says; or doesn't, as is presently the case.

But she deserves them.

Deserves to see them from the very depth of his soul to the tips of his fingers and toes when she even so much as glances in his direction.

Deserves to hear them flowing from his lips with every word he graces her with.

Deserves to smell them in the perfect blend of her perfume and his cologne whenever they're within even so much as a hundred feet of one another.

Deserves to taste them on her lips every time he dares kiss her.

Deserves to feel them covering every inch of her with a mere utterance of her name falling from his tongue, and eyes that seek her presence at every turn.

Deserves to sense them in every word he speaks, and everything he does.

She deserves to know how he feels, how she makes him feel.


It's late, and Valentine's Day, when she retires to her room to find it transformed. She knows the source instantly, and it's not the one she sat across from at dinner a few shorts hours earlier.

But it doesn't matter; it really doesn't, because it's beautiful. And the fact that she knows it's from him only serves to further enhance its beauty.

There are petals on every surface, stems trailing across her walls; vines across her headboard that entwine to form a heart at the very centre.

There are chocolates, her favourite, in the buds of flowers, outlining their own meaning in the various spaces of her safe haven.

And on her bed lies something so much more.

A symbol.

On her comforter is a pink floral headband, intertwined with a pink floral bowtie, creating the perfect image of a butterfly.

A single piece of card lies before it, that when read cause the tears to finally spill over.

Because here, in this room, in this moment; if only to her eyes and her heart alone, Chuck Bass has declared his love for her.

She falls asleep to the murmur of a piano lullaby and the scent of a thousand flowers wrapped in cocoa, white card clasped tightly in her hand as it rests across her stomach where a hundred tiny winged creatures fly uncontrollably below the cage of her heart.

They're still fluttering.


He'd thought if he waited till Valentine's Day it would be special; he was wrong. It was generic and worthless, and didn't mean a thing when so many others shared the same sentiment. So, he chooses a day that is more than special; chooses a day that defines them. The day he told her he wouldn't give up on her; the day he asked her for a second chance.





He thinks of the childish adage: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." He didn't put much stock in it, even then; because whoever made up such an insipid rhyme obviously just didn't know the right words, didn't know how to use them either.

He does.

And he doesn't think words should ever have a hold over Blair Waldorf, of all people.

Only one word in his list really matters; and he intends to let her know as such: the Chuck Bass way.


She waits for him to make the first move, waits days and days, but he doesn't. And so when the days become a week, which then drags onto the next week, she decides to move on – at least, partially – and after much deliberation.

It's another three months before she receives any indication of anything further, three months and six days.

And he's there, standing in her doorway, watching her, just watching.

"If I'd said I love you," he speaks after a long moment of nothing but slow, steady breaths and brown on brown; chocolate swirls and deep mahogany. "Would it have changed anything?"

Her mask crumbles instantly at this; autumn leaves crackling more than a season too early as she stares back at him. "You really have to ask?"

"It wouldn't have made it better, any more bearable," he states it like it is; the truth; and she hates him for it.

"Get out," she grinds the words from clenched fists and strong jaw.

"If I'd said I love you," he continues, ignoring her demand and moving toward her instead, growing more emphatic as he does. "It would have been meaningless, in the face of everything else."

"If I'd said I love you," he's standing so close to her now she can feel the words tingling her lips. "It wouldn't mean anything now."

"So you love me then?" her voice cracks, and it's another thing to despise in that moment; especially when his lips split into a smirk.

"You know what the question should be, of course," and his eyes crease at the edges, pupils reacting, softening.

He leans in and his lips brush against hers. "When have I not?"

"Love you?" he releases, foreplay to his musical laughter, as his head dips and he shakes it in mild disbelief.

And then his eyes are on hers again, their intensity mesmerising, and he's speaking like wings have opened up within him and set him free, "I've always loved you."


She opens her eyes to find that they're standing in Victrola; opens her mouth to say something, but there's a soft murmur in the air around them and a cool breeze wraps them in a delicate cocoon.

Spinning on her heel, she turns to face him, only to find him entranced by something else entirely.

There may be butterflies everywhere, swooping and soaring all around them, but he only has eyes for one thing.


"You said that I made wife sound like the ugliest word in the world," he remarks.

"That's right," is all she replies to that.

He nods, mulling over this.

"In union with you," he adds.

"That's right," she reiterates.

He shakes his head, and when he raises it and meets her eyes once more, a faint smile plays across his lips as he utters, "Impossible."

He notes her eyes flash like firewood amid the scorching flames and decides it's time to regulate the present blaze.

"Even if that were true, the only way wife could ever be described as ugly next to you; would be if it were all it described you as."

"Wife is much too common a word for you, Blair. And if it was because you held it alongside me that you felt it to be this ugly, this demeaning; the title wife doesn't even begin to describe what you would be to me."

"Oh, really?" she asks, scathingly. "And what would that be exactly?"

She takes a resolute step toward him, baiting him with her stare and her stance.

"What do I mean to Chuck Bass?"

She's finally asking him.

"Everything," he breathes out.

He's finally answering her.

And suddenly his lips are on hers, and his hands are everywhere all at once; and it's consuming. And then her own join his; fingers threading greedily through his hair, tongue caressing his with equal fervour; and it's consuming.

They finally break apart, breathing torn in the small space between them, and she can feel his heart beneath her palm as it hammers against his ribcage.

His hands frame her face, and his eyes are dark, and deep, and so entrancing as they look into hers that she just can't look away; knows she doesn't ever want to. Looking into his eyes now is beautiful: it's seeing him for what he truly is, looking into his soul in the truest sense, and finding what she's always wanted reflected back.

Because he really does love her and he really is beautiful.

"Blair," he says her name likes it's his last dying wish, and she could never be more ready or willing to comply.

"Close your eyes," he whispers, and watches as they flutter shut.

Cool metal clasps the delicacy of her wrist and his fingers caress the skin of her wrist as shivers run the length of her body.

"Open," he murmurs, and she trembles from something other than the breeze wrapped around them from those wondrous creatures soaring above.

She does as he asks; and follows his eyes to the bracelet that his skilful hand secured to her wrist only moments earlier. Her fingers dance across the curves of the links, tiny jewel encrusted butterflies, eyes steadfastly beginning to glisten like diamonds in the light, and she sucks in a breath as she traces over what's been inscribed in gold over the heart that holds it all together.

Marry me

She's in his arms the moment her tongue sounds out that single definitive word.


He lifts her up and his hands frame her face, as her legs wrap round his waist and they merge in a flurry of hands raking over skin, through tendrils of hair and the collision of lips.

She's tugging impatiently at his shirt and he's suddenly grinning against her kisses, holding tight to her body, flush against his; so she pulls away pouting.

"You said yes," he comments.

"Would you rather I said no?" she retorts, and the eyebrow is already raised, hip popped beneath his hand.

He smirks at her, and revels in the fire he sees flash in her eyes. "Not having seconds thoughts are we, wife-to-B?"

She pauses, and her hesitation has him faltering; catching his knees before they buckle under the strain of something far heavier than her petite frame could ever claim; butterflies hammering against their cage to escape.

Her chin is dipped near the hollow of his throat and he feels her breath hitch beneath the heat of his palm, hot on his neck as she finally relinquishes.

"You didn't get me a ring."

And he laughs, because really he should've known.

So she swats him, because he's laughing, at her, right after she's agreed to marry him.

He's still laughing when he pulls her ever closer into their lover's embrace, smile warming her skin, as he murmurs in her ear, "I have Tiffany's on standby."

A kiss to her temple.


Across her cheek.

"For you."

Along her jaw.

"To choose."

Resting at the corner of her mouth.

Her lips curve upwards and meet his, eyes sparkling, dimples showing.

She tightens her hold on him, adjusts her position, and releases a satisfied breath when she feels his heart beat with her own.

"I choose you."


We've shared joy and we've shared pain
We've shared guilt and we've shared shame
We've bought into the stupid games
We've freed each other and we laid claim

Oh yes the butterflies are still there
Oh yes the butterflies are still there
Oh yes the butterflies are still there
Oh yes the butterflies are still there

Because we came from the same cocoon
'Butterflies' by Sia


"Can you see us?" he murmurs in her ear, words sewing silk around her skin.

His hands are on her hips, chin dipped into that niche that seems to exist between her collarbone and neck just for him, body flush against her own.

It's five years later and it's all about the jewellery again; but this time they've both got rings. Left hand, second furthest finger. Wedding bands; and a rock on her other that's worth more than what he paid for the club they now stand in, the second time he bought it.

They're engraved, of course.

They each chose for the other.

His reads fluttering, which he knows she secretly holds dear, behind that torturous smile of hers and that mischievous twinkle reflected in her eyes just for those moments.

Hers reads always, which he also knows can still burst the floodgates wide open, despite her adamant conviction that she already had prior knowledge of this 'minor detail'.

Apparently, the line: "We're inevitable, Waldorf" had been the doctrine of more than just one during those trying days.


He watches her dance; strip down till she has nothing on but her slip and her five-and-a-half inch heels. He plays piano and she struts her way across to his position to straddle him and drape herself over the keys. And when she captures his lips once more, his heart beats to the rhythm of her, and only her; and they continue their dance.

They're lying on the stage where it all began, eyes searching; because the limo came after, and so it will again tonight.

"It's you," he tells her simply, eyes now beseeching. "It's always been you."

Butterflies soar high above them, and the petals strewn across the floor sway in the swirl of air created in their wake.

"I love you, Blair," he murmurs into her hair, and an easy smile lights up her face as her eyes glisten.

His fingers trace the lifelines of her palm until she captures them with her own; bracelet dangling, but the heart of their butterflies secure within the cocoon they've created for themselves.

"You were wrong you know," she comments, eyes still on their entwined hands.

"Oh really? And what was I wrong about this time?" he remarks, watching her.

"When you said that saying me you love me would lose its meaning after you'd first said it," she enlightens him, and turns her head so she's facing him. "It hasn't. Ever."

His eyes are still surveying her, and she thinks she could get lost forever in their depth.

"If anything," she continues, gaze flickering from his face back to his eyes. "It means more."

"Is that so?" he asks slowly, a beat of the heart.

"That is so," she replies, another beat.

"Well, in that case, my wonderful wife," the smirk is there, and it's all for her; eyes dancing, skin tingling. "I shall just have to say it more often then, won't I?"

"I love you," his mouth spells the words against hers: penance.

She smiles and returns the sentiment wholeheartedly, forgiving, "I love you too."

"Always," he adds, because that's what really matters here.

And she smiles, because it's true.

His gaze falls on their entwined fingers now resting across her abdomen, and mouth turning devilish as he flashes a grin at her, swooping down and capturing her lips in his.

"Now how about we add another title to that name of yours?"

("Still fluttering?"

"They've never stopped."



Always have, always will
I was mesmerized when I first met you
Wouldn't let myself believe
That you could step right out of my wildest dreams
But you didn't know
That secret part of me
Until we kissed an made it open up so easily

I always have
Even when it didn't show
I always will
You know that I just wanna touch you
Whenever you're close to me
I always have
Doesn't matter where we go
I always will
You know that I just wanna show you
Just how much you mean to me
Always have, always will
"Always Have, Always Will", Ace of Base

The End.

A/N: The proposal idea was provided by my best friend Carolyn, so credit where credit's due – thank you Carry for giving me the idea and letting me use it :)
I tinkered with it after I saw a heart-link bracelet, and then tinkered again jus to really ram home the butterfly notion in case I hadn't done so already ;) Also, this isn't really the proposal she wants, but it's inspired by it – I might use the original in another fic at some point in the near future, otherwise I'd tell you what it is exactly, lol, it is actually sorta cute ;)

Thanks so much for reading, please let me know what you think – it means a lot!