#Champions pride clock | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cerisesparadise · 5 months ago

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this one's for you — lee heeseung

pairing - basketball captain!heeseung x supportive girlfriend!reader

genre - fluff, established relationship, university au, sports au

warnings - rivalry (it's just friendly competition between enhadream though lol), mentions of kisses - lmk if there's more!

wc - 1.7k

sypnosis - In the midst of a fierce rivalry between two universities, Decelis Academy of Excellion faces off against NCIT - Neo Culture Insititute of Technology - in a championship game. As tension builds on the court, his girlfriend’s unwavering support becomes his secret weapon

mentions - nct dream as the opposing basketball team (my engene czennie heart <3)

a/n - hi!! i'm cerise!! i wrote this because i was scrolling through tiktok and saw clips of movies like "she's dating the gangster" and "high school musical", so ofc, the first person to come into mind was heeseung. though this isn't the first time i've written something, it is the first post on this blog (i'm so rusty- i apologise :') ). so here's to my first post - hope you enjoy reading!

also- i know heeseung's jersey in the header pic says 11 but for the sake of the story pls pretend it's 01 </3 | bookshelf

The atmosphere in the arena is electric, buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Tonight, Decelis Academy of Excellion is facing off against their long-time rivals, NCT Dream from the Neo Culture Institute of Technology. This isn’t just any game; it’s the championship finals, a battle that both teams have been gearing up for all season. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the entire university has turned out to show their support.

You sit among the packed bleachers, the air thick with school spirit as students wave banners and shout team chants. It’s a sea of blue and white, the colours of Decelis Academy, and you can feel the pride radiating from every corner of the gym. As the clock ticks down to game time, the anticipation grows, every heartbeat syncing with the excited chatter around you.

Down on the court, Heeseung, the captain of your university's basketball team, Enhypen, is warming up. He’s the embodiment of focus and determination, his eyes scanning the court while he practises his shots. You can’t help but admire him — the way he commands the game, the way he leads his teammates with both skill and charisma. But tonight is different; it’s not just a regular match. This is a culmination of years of rivalry, and the pressure is palpable.

As the lights dim and the spotlight shines down, the announcer’s voice booms through the gym, introducing the teams. The crowd erupts in cheers as Heeseung and his teammates take the court, and you can see the camaraderie among them, the bond forged through countless hours of practice and shared goals.

You pull Heeseung's oversized varsity jacket tighter around yourself, the warmth and scent of his cologne comforting. It’s your way of feeling connected to him, even as he prepares to lead his team into battle against NCT Dream. You watch him with pride, knowing that this game is more than just a championship; it’s a chance to establish Decelis Academy as the reigning champion over their rivals.

As the game unfolds, the tension builds with every point scored. Heeseung’s skill is undeniable; he moves fluidly, orchestrating plays and rallying his teammates. The score is neck and neck, and with each possession, you can feel your heart racing alongside the crowd.

With only two minutes left in the game, the score is tied, and the tension is at its peak. You can’t help but bite your lip, every second feeling like an eternity. Suddenly, Heeseung catches your eye. You can tell he’s feeling the pressure, but then, as he glances your way again, he does something unexpected.

He taps his chest twice, subtly, then points at you. You don’t realise what he’s doing at first, but then he mouths something, clear even from across the court: “This one’s for you.”

Your breath catches. Before you can process it, Heeseung is back in motion, his body moving like it’s running on pure instinct. Flashes of memories flood his mind, reminding him why he fights so hard for this victory.

He remembers those late night practices, standing alone on the court as the gym echoed with the sound of his dribbling. Suddenly, he hears a familiar voice. “Come on, Hee! Just one more shot!” It’s you, sitting on the bleachers with a smile that lights up the dark gym. You’ve been there every night, keeping him company and offering encouragement even when he’s exhausted.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, shaking his head, and with renewed determination, he sinks the next shot effortlessly. Your applause echoes in his mind, pushing him forward.

The day before the championship, Heeseung had been a bundle of nerves, pacing in his room. You sat next to him, holding his hands and looking him in the eye. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Just remember, win or lose, I’m proud of you, Heeseung.” you said softly.

His heart swelled at your words, grounding him in the moment. “Thanks, babe. I’ll make you proud,” he promised, and in that instant, he believed he could conquer anything.

He remembers a time when he had been feeling down after a particularly tough loss. You surprised him with his favourite snacks, setting up a little picnic on the bleachers. “You know what? You’re still my number 1, no matter what. That’s your jersey number for a reason, Hee.” you said, your eyes sparkling with warmth.

“Really?” he asked, his heart lifting at your words.

“Absolutely! And besides, I’m always here to support you,” you assured him, and he couldn’t help but smile at how lucky he was.

Then there was that one practice where he felt like he just couldn’t hit a shot. Frustrated, he threw the ball down, running a hand through his hair. You stepped in close, your expression sympathetic. “Hey, even the best have off days. Remember when you taught me to shoot? I thought I’d never get it!” You demonstrated a dramatic air ball, making him burst into laughter.

“You’re right,” he admitted, a smile creeping back, “But you eventually got it, didn’t you?”

“Exactly! And you’ll find your rhythm again. Just give it time,” you encouraged, and he felt the weight lift off his shoulders, renewed with confidence.

During practice, you had always cheered from the sidelines, celebrating even the smallest victories. “Yes! That’s it, Hee! You’re on fire!” The way you looked at him, full of pride ignited something else inside him. He wants to replicate that joy on the court tonight, not just for himself but for you.

The memory fades, and he focuses back on the court. The countdown begins, and he recalls your unwavering support, how you’ve always been his anchor.

On the court, players from both teams are moving in a flurry of motion. Heeseung calls out to his teammates, his voice cutting through the noise. “Jake, move to the left! Sunghoon, set the pick!”

“Got it!” Jake replies, darting into position while Sunghoon takes his place, ready to block an incoming defender.

The crowd roars as Heeseung manoeuvres through the opposing players, sweat beading on his forehead. He catches a glimpse of you in the stands, your eyes locked on him, radiating support. That glance fuels his determination even more.

“Stay focused!” Jungwon shouts from the perimeter, eyes scanning the court. “We need to take control of this game! Make every second count!”

“Let’s go, Decelis!” the crowd chants, the rhythmic clapping reverberating through the arena.

As the game continues, Dream counters aggressively. A tall defender lunges at Heeseung, trying to steal the ball. “You think you can get past me, Captain?” Jisung taunts, grinning.

Heeseung smirks back. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Park!”

He swiftly dribbles around him, passing the ball to Jay, who quickly takes a shot from the three-point line. The ball sails through the air, but the tension rises as it bounces off the rim.

“Get the rebound!” Heeseung yells, sprinting toward the basket.

Riki is there, leaping high to grab the ball before it falls. “I got it!” he shouts, landing solidly and passing it back to Heeseung, who is now at the three-point arc.

“Take it, Hee!” Sunoo calls, eyes wide with anticipation.

With the clock ticking down, Heeseung feels the pressure mounting. He glances at the scoreboard, then back at you. He taps his chest twice and points at you, mouthing the words “This one’s for you.”, dedicating the victory shot to you. He breathes deeply and launches the ball just as the buzzer sounds, the world around him fading to silence.

The ball arcs through the air, time slowing as it nears the hoop. Heeseung holds his breath, and for a moment, the entire gym is silent, every eye glued to the ball.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Jake whispers, his hands clenched.

Suddenly, the ball swishes through the net, and the arena erupts into a symphony of cheers. Heeseung pumps his fist in the air, a triumphant smile breaking across his face as his teammates rush to celebrate with him.

“Let’s go! We did it!” Jungwon shouts, engulfing Heeseung in a hug.

“That was the cleanest shot ever!” Riki exclaims, high fiving him.

“I told you he’d make it!” Sunghoon laughs, slapping Heeseung on the back.

As the crowd continues to roar, Heeseung looks over to the stands, where you're beaming with pride. The moment feels surreal; he knows this victory is as much yours as it is his. You leap from your seat, your heart racing as you push through the flood of fans and teammates, your eyes locked on Heeseung.

“HEESEUNG!!” you shout, your voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Adrenaline fueled your every step as you sprinted towards him.

In an instant, you’re in his arms, jumping into him as he catches you effortlessly. The world around you fades as you both laugh, your heart soaring with pride and love. He spins you around, and as blue and white confetti begins to rain down from above, it feels like a scene from a fairytale.

“I can’t believe you did it!” you exclaim, breathless and beaming.

“Thank you for believing in me,” Heeseung replies, his voice warm and sincere. “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe.”

With a quick glance around, he pulls you in closer, leaning down to capture your lips in a victorious kiss. The moment is electric, the soft flutter of confetti swirling around you adding to the magic. It drifts through the air like tiny stars, each flake catching the light and highlighting the joy of the moment.

“Get a room, you two!” Jake shouts playfully, laughing as he joins the cheering crowd.

“Captain’s got a new strategy – distract the opponent with romance!” Sunghoon jokes, earning a chorus of laughter from the team.

As the teasing continues, Heeseung pulls back slightly, still holding you tight, his forehead resting against yours. The blue and white confetti dances around you, settling on your hair and shoulders, but all you can focus on is the warmth in his eyes.

“Let’s celebrate together,” he says, eyes sparkling with happiness. The energy of the crowd only amplifies the warmth between you, solidifying this victory as one you’ll both cherish forever.

#bjnet #heeseung's bookshelf #enhypen imagines #enhypen #lee heeseung #heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #cerise writes #i have a massive crush on hee i cant

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focusonkayjay · 2 months ago

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between the ride and the roses (9)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 3.5k

Chapter Warnings: it's finally the day of the fair, there's tension, bike ride, they're just too cute

A/N: might be one of my most fav chapters that i've written up until now. i personally love the fair scene a lot and omg ahhh jungkook is so cute. we're finally getting close to something. can't wait hehehehe. stay tuned and let me know your thoughts <3

part 9: wheeling through the lavender breeze

D-Day; The day arrives bathed in golden sunshine, the town raging with excitement. It’s the day of the fair, and everyone has poured their hearts into its preparation. By noon, vendors are bustling about, arranging their stalls and testing their games, while colorful streamers flutter in the gentle breeze.

The aroma of freshly baked goods mingles with the faint tang of fried treats, filling the air with a sense of nostalgia and anticipation.

As the clock strikes four, the fair officially begins. Crowds gather, filling the once-quiet town square with laughter, chatter, and the occasional shriek of joy from children trying their luck at the game stands. Everything has fallen into place, every detail, every decoration, every event like pieces of a perfect puzzle.

You and your friends are a bundle of energy as you dive headfirst into the fair's festivities. Namjoon, ever the intellectual, lingers at the trivia booth, determined to win a stuffed panda for Juwon, who laughs at his serious expressions. “Joonie, it’s just a plush toy, not a Nobel Prize." she teases, earning a playful glare from him.

Meanwhile, Seokjin and Taehyung are at the dart stand, where Jin, with his trademark overconfidence, declares he’ll hit the bullseye. “Watch and learn, peasants.” he smirks, only for the dart to land embarrassingly off-target. Taehyung howls with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Hyung you're a true champion!” he snorts.

Sunjae drags you towards the ring toss game, and as you toss rings together, he nudges you playfully. “Bet you can’t beat me.” he says. You smirk, your competitive streak kicking in.

By the end of it, you’re both laughing uncontrollably, arms weighed down with the silly prizes you’ve just won, ranging from keychains to plastic crowns and a plush cat that you can’t resist keeping for yourself.

The group jumps from stall to stall, savoring churros dipped in chocolate and slurping down colorful shaved ice. It’s a day of simple joy and happiness, only made brighter by the presence of your closest friends.

On the other side of the fair, Jungkook wanders with his group of friends. Yoongi strolls at an unhurried pace, a relaxed smile gracing his face. His hands rest comfortably in his pockets as he takes in the vibrant atmosphere, a quiet sense of pride swelling within him for the part he played in bringing this fair into life.

Hoseok, in contrast, is a ball of energy, dragging Jungkook to a basketball hoop game. “Come on, man, show them what you’ve got!!!” he cheers as Jungkook effortlessly lands shot after shot, earning himself a stuffed bunny prize that Hoseok is quick to keep for himself.

Jimin, ever the charmer, flirts his way to extra turns at the candy claw machine, much to the amusement of the group. “Watch and learn, Jungkook.” Jimin quips as he retrieves yet another lollipop.

Despite the company of his friends, Jungkook’s thoughts keep drifting back to you. His sharp eyes scan the crowd, catching glimpses of your laughter, your playful antics, and the way the sunlight dances across your features. You’re radiant, your joy infectious, and it tugs at something deep inside him.

Last night’s moment in the storeroom replays in his mind like a never ending loop... the way your breath hitched, the warmth of your skin under his fingertips, the soft whisper of his name. He had been so close, so achingly close to pulling you in and just kissing you. The memory burns, and he clenches his jaw, frustrated by the distance now separating you.

His gaze finds you again, this time at a food stall. You’re sipping lemonade, your lips quirking up into a grin as Sunjae says something to make you laugh. Jungkook’s chest tightens. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but seeing you like this... happy, glowing, and so effortlessly beautiful makes him fall harder, faster, deeper.

He knows he should focus on the fair, on his friends, but every fiber of his being wants to be near you. To hear your laugh up close, to feel your touch again. But not yet. Tonight, he tells himself. It has to wait until tonight.

As the clock nears six, the fair transforms into something out of a storybook. Fairy lights strung along the trees flicker to life, casting a soft golden glow. Lanterns sway gently in the breeze, their warm hues giving the town square a magical charm.

The sound of children’s laughter is joined by the distant strumming of guitars, signaling the start of the evening performances.

You pause for a moment, your gaze sweeping across the vibrant decorations that adorns the fairgrounds. The floral arrangements, each carefully placed, now seem to glow under the warm lights, accentuating their colors and adding a touch of elegance to the scene.

You feel a wave of pride as you take it all in, your chest swelling at the realization of what you and the rest of the volunteers have accomplished.

Just days ago, this fair felt like a daunting task, a nightmare of to-do lists, late nights, and endless arrangements. Now, it’s a masterpiece. The flowers you chose, the garlands you hung, the small details you agonized over... it’s all come together, creating a space that feels alive and enchanting.

“Wow.” you whisper to yourself, unable to suppress the smile spreading across your face. It’s a moment of quiet triumph, shared silently with the fair itself, as if it’s rewarding your hard work with its newfound beauty.

Eventually, the performances start. The first act is a children’s dance group, choreographed by none other than Juwon. She stands at the edge of the stage, practically vibrating with pride as the kids twirl and hop in sync. “Look at them go!” she gushes, clapping enthusiastically.

Taehyung grins, leaning over to Namjoon. “Juwon’s going to be the next big choreographer. Mark my words.”

“Already calling it.” Seokjin agrees, stealing popcorn from your bag. “Hey!” you protest, slapping his hand away. Finally, the children finish their routine to a roaring applause. Juwon beams, her eyes shining with happiness as the kids take their bows.

The night deepens, and the concert begins. The stage is bathed in soft, ethereal light as a local band plays slow, romantic tunes. The crowd sways gently, hands raised, their movements in sync with the music. It’s a moment of collective peace, an almost perfect ending to a bustling day.

Amid the sea of people, your eyes meet Jungkook’s again. He stands at the edge of the crowd, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his expression unreadable. But his eyes... those pretty eyes... they’re locked on you, burning with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

Your heart races as you try to focus on the music, but your thoughts betray you. Last night’s moment in the storeroom, the lingering looks throughout the day, the way your body aches to be near him... it all bubbles to the surface.

Do you feel something for him? Of course, you do. But is it fleeting, or is it something deeper? As the music swells, so does the turmoil in your heart. Your gaze flickers back to him, and for a moment, everything else fades... the crowd, the music, the fair. It’s just you and him, two souls pulled together by an invisible string.

But tonight isn’t over yet. You push the thoughts aside, silently promising yourself you’ll confront them soon. For now, you let the music guide you, your heart beating in time with the melody and, perhaps, with his.

As the concert ends and applause fills the air, an announcement crackles through the speakers, inviting everyone to the open field just beyond the fairgrounds for the final event of the night: stargazing. The crowd buzzes with excitement, parents tugging their children along, couples holding hands, and friends chattering eagerly as they make their way towards the dimly lit path leading to the field.

The field stretches wide and open, a canvas of lush grass under a sky that seems impossibly vast. The lights from the fair are distant now, leaving the stars to claim their throne.

Tiny specks of light twinkle against the inky blackness, brighter and more abundant than you’ve ever seen. Someone has laid out blankets in a semi-circle for people to sit or lie on, while lanterns placed on the periphery cast a soft, warm glow that doesn’t disturb the night sky.

You settle onto one of the blankets with your friends, the chatter among you gradually softening as the beauty of the scene washes over everyone. Taehyung stretches out, resting his hands behind his head. “I could just live here forever.” he murmurs, his voice tinged with awe.

“Yeah, but where’s the Wi-Fi???” Seokjin quips, breaking the reverent silence. Laughter ripples through your group, light and easy, before quieting again as you all gaze upward.

Not far from you, Jungkook sits on the grass with his friends. Yoongi, as usual, seems perfectly content to enjoy the moment in silence, while Hoseok chatters about the stars and how he used to imagine himself as an astronaut. Jimin teases him endlessly, saying, “Yeah, Hobi, you’d make a great astronaut, especially with your fear of heights.”

Jungkook chuckles at their antics, but his focus is elsewhere. His dark eyes keep drifting back to you. You’re lying on the blanket, your head tilted towards+ the heavens, your profile illuminated by the faint glow of the lanterns.

His heart feels heavy and light all at once. He watches the way your lips part slightly in awe, the way your fingers absentmindedly brush a strand of hair from your face, the way the stars seem to reflect in your eyes. It’s as if the universe has conspired to make this moment just for you, and he’s lucky enough to witness it.

He thinks about the storeroom incident again... the way your lips felt against his cheek, the way your voice trembled slightly when you told him to wait five minutes. He remembers the panic in your eyes, followed by that fleeting kiss, and something inside him stirs. Last night was the beginning of something, he’s sure of it.

And yet, he knows this isn’t the moment to bridge the distance. He has to wait, as much as it pains him. But the night feels infinite, and in its quiet magic, he allows himself to hope.

As the stargazing continues, some of the organizers hand out tiny glass jars with glowing fairy lights inside, a gift for everyone to take home. Children gasp and squeal in delight, running around the field with their jars, pretending to catch fireflies. You can’t help but smile at their joy, hugging your own jar close as the warmth of the moment fills your chest.

Eventually, the night of the fair slowly winds down, the music softens, and the once-bustling crowd begins to thin. The fairy lights still twinkle above, casting a dreamy glow over the remnants of the evening's magic. You find yourself walking back towards your shop, the sounds of the fair fading into the background.

Stepping inside, you make your way to the counter, rifling through your bag to ensure you’ve gathered all your belongings. You spot the plastic crown you won earlier in one of the fair games, its shiny surface catching the light, and try to fit it neatly into your bag. A quiet knock on the glass door pulls you from your task.

Startled, you glance up and freeze. It’s Jungkook. He stands still just outside, his hands in his pockets, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His eyes meet yours, full of warmth and a hint of something unspoken, and instantly, your cheeks burn, your heart skipping a beat.

You fold almost immediately, unable to suppress the shy grin that spreads across your face. Slowly, you move towards the door, your gaze locked with his, as if tethered by some invisible force. When you open it, the barrier between you disappears, leaving the two of you face-to-face under the quiet night sky.

“Jungkook…” you greet softly. The weight of unspoken words lingers in the air, but you push it aside for now. All that matters is the present moment, standing here with him. “Long night, huh?” he says casually, his voice light, though his eyes hold a depth you can’t quite decipher. He's still in the same spot, his feet glued to the entrance outside your shop.

“Yeah… the fair. It’s finally over.” you breathe out, glancing behind him, over his shoulders towards the quieting square. “It was... magical.” you add, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

When you look back at him, you notice the way he’s staring at you, the hint of a smirk curling one corner of his lips. “The fair is over… but the night...” his voice trails as he continues. “the night is still young.”

You tilt your head in confusion, but curiosity flickers in your chest. He reaches out his hand, palm up, the silent invitation clear. “Come with me?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm, his eyes glimmering with a playful tease. A laugh escapes you but you still find yourself placing your hand in his. “Come with you? Where?”

“You’ll see...” he replies simply, his smirk deepening into a full smile, the kind that sends your heart fluttering.

With no hesitation, you trust him. After switching off the lights in your store and locking the door, you follow him into the night, your hand still securely in his. The fair may be over, but something tells you the night’s magic is far from done.

Jungkook leads you to his bike, parked right outside his shop. Two helmets rest on the seat, a small detail that sparks both curiosity and excitement. Gently, he lets go of your hand, picking up one of the helmets and holding it out to you.

“Wear this.” he says simply, his tone soft but firm.

You take it from his hands, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment. Despite holding the helmet, you remain rooted to the spot, your gaze fixed on him as he fixes the helmet over his head, still trying to process what was happening.

He notices your hesitation and chuckles lightly. “Come on, just trust me." he says, stepping closer. Before you can react, he takes the helmet from your hands and carefully places it over your head.

His hands work with a gentle precision as he adjusts the fit, his fingers brushing your jawline while he clips the buckle below your chin. The proximity makes your heart race, and you try to steady your breath as he steps back, admiring hoe adorable you look.

“We’re taking your bike?” you question the obvious, the confusion and curiosity evident in your voice. He nods, his lips curving into an almost teasing smile as he swings his leg over the bike, taking a seat.

“Mhm.” he hums, settling in and gripping the handlebars with ease. Turning his head slightly, he flashes you a cheeky grin. “Hop on. We’re going for a ride.”

For a moment, you hesitate, glancing between him and the bike. But the glimmer in his eyes and the excitement in his voice are contagious. You know you’re about to step into the unknown, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to say no. With a deep breath, you take a step forward, ready to join him on this spontaneous adventure.

You’re wearing a long, sleeveless flowy summer dress, its fabric brushing gently against your legs, paired with a loose-knit sweater that drapes carelessly over one of your shoulders. The thin strap of your dress peeks out from under the sweater, the slight exposure making you self-conscious for a fleeting moment. You adjust it nervously as you prepare to climb onto Jungkook's bike.

Sitting behind him isn’t easy, especially in a dress, but you manage to settle yourself carefully, your knees tucked close and your hands unsure of where to rest. The bike rumbles softly beneath you, and you feel the cool evening breeze starting to sweep through your hair.

“Hold onto me.” Jungkook says, his voice calm yet firm, as he looks back over his shoulder.

You tentatively reach out, your fingers grazing his sides before resting lightly on his torso. The hesitation in your touch makes Jungkook chuckle softly, the sound low and warm. “Come on.” he teases, his grin audible in his voice. “You’re not gonna fall off, but you might if you’re this shy about it.”

Before you can respond, he reaches back, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist as he pulls your arm forward. The sudden motion causes you to gasp softly, and you find yourself pressed against his back, your arms now circling his torso completely.

“You gotta hold on tight.” he says, his voice softer now but laced with amusement. The warmth of his body seeps through his leather jacket and your sweater, and you can’t help but feel the strength and steadiness beneath your palms, through the thin material of his t-shirt that peaks between the zipper of his jacket.

Your cheeks burn, but you comply, gripping him a little firmer. Jungkook revs the bike, the vibrations sending a thrill through you as the realization hits... this moment, this closeness, it’s real.

“Better.” he murmurs, as if reassuring you both. Then, with a slight tilt of his head and a quick glance back, he says, “Ready?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it, your heart pounding against your ribcage. With a flick of his wrist, the bike roars to life, and the world around you blurs as the two of you take off into the night.

The ride is sensational. Jungkook zooms past the dimly lit streets, the glowing storefronts and scattered streetlights blending into streaks of color. The rumble of the engine vibrates through your whole body, and the cool night air brushes past your skin with a ferocity that sends your adrenaline skyrocketing.

You clutch onto Jungkook tighter as the wind whips through your hair, the speed thrilling and a little terrifying at the same time. Yet, instead of fear, an exhilarating sense of freedom takes over. It’s as if the world around you has melted away, leaving only the pulse of the bike beneath you, the blur of the road ahead, and the warmth of Jungkook’s body against yours.

When he speeds up, you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes your lips, the sheer rush making you feel alive in a way you’ve never experienced before. You tilt your head back slightly, letting the breeze carry your laughter as if it could echo through the night.

The road soon opens up onto an empty bridge, the lights from the railing casting faint glimmers onto the endless stretch of the road. With no other vehicles in sight, it feels like the entire world belongs to the two of you. The vast sky above, dotted with stars, mirrors the open road below.

“Having fun?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through the wind, deep and playful, somehow carrying over the roaring engine and rushing air. You don’t answer right away. Instead, a grin breaks across your face, and without thinking, you throw your head back and scream. “Wooooooo!”

Your joyous cry echoes through the empty bridge, wild and untamed. Jungkook glances back for a second, his laugh joining yours, a genuine sound of delight and appreciation. He loves this moment... your carefree energy, your laughter, the way you’re soaking it all in.

“You’re something else.” he mutters to himself, the words swallowed by the wind, though the warmth in his tone lingers. Time seems to stretch and blur, the ride feeling both endless and fleeting. The stars above seem brighter now, the night unfolding into something magical as Jungkook continues to glide across the open road.

But just as you think the ride might never end, the bike begins to slow down. The engine’s roar softens to a hum, and the rush of the wind eases, letting the sounds of the night seep back in... the gentle chirp of crickets and the faint crashing of waves.

You look up, your surroundings coming into sharper focus. On the right, the vast expanse of the ocean unfolds before you, the moonlight dancing on its surface. Your breath catches as you realize where he’s brought you. The beach.

Jungkook pulls over to the side of the road, cutting the engine. The sudden quiet feels almost deafening, except for the rhythmic lull of the waves crashing against the shore.

“Surprise.” he says softly, glancing back at you with a small smile. His helmet’s visor is up, and you can see the glimmer in his eyes.

For a moment, you’re speechless as you still hold onto him, the beauty of the scene stealing your words. The vast ocean stretches endlessly before you, and the night feels alive with some kind of possibility.

<- part 8 // part 10 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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crssvjb · 7 months ago

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Unforgettable Triumph - Jude Bellingham

Jude Bellingham x fem!reader

Summary: First Champions League.

The sun was already setting when Real Madrid entered the field illuminated by the vibrant lights of the Santiago Bernabéu Stadium. The stands shook with the screams of the fans and the atmosphere was electrically charged with expectation and hope. Among the thousands of faces in the crowd, four stood out especially to Jude Bellingham: your mother, Denise, your father, Mark, your brother Jobe, and you.

You found yourself there, holding hands with Jude's mother, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. The game against Borussia Dortmund was more than just a final; It was a historic moment for everyone. When the opening whistle sounded, the tension was almost palpable and every movement on the pitch was accompanied by collective gasps or fervent applause.

The minutes dragged by, the game unfolding like a mesmerizing dance of tactics and skill. Jude was at his best, running, passing, intercepting, his talent shining like never before. Every time he touched the ball, you felt a rush of pride and admiration, aware of how hard he had worked to get there.

When the clock finally struck 95 minutes, the 2-0 score in favor of Real Madrid seemed almost surreal. The final whistle sounded and the explosion of joy was instantaneous. The stadium seemed to vibrate with the screams and cheers of the fans, and you saw Jude raise his arms in a gesture of victory, the wide and bright smile on his face illuminated by the stadium lights.

He ran to his companions, hugging each one, sharing the individual and collective triumph. But you knew he was looking for something more, or rather, someone. His eyes quickly scanned the stands until they met yours.

- "They did it!" – Denise shouted at her side, hugging Mark and Jobe. You felt happy tears forming in your eyes as you watched Jude approach.

Jude nimbly climbed into the stands, ignoring the security barriers, until he was right in front of his family. He hugged first his mother, then his father, and then his brother. Finally, his eyes met yours and he stepped forward, enveloping you in a tight hug.

– "Congratulations, Jude!" – You whispered, your voice choked with emotion. – "You deserve this more than anyone. Your first Champions League!"

He smiled, his eyes shining with a mixture of joy and relief. Before you could say anything else, Jude leaned in and his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft but full of meaning and emotion. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you in that moment of pure happiness.

After the initial celebrations, the family was invited to join Jude in the field. You walked down the stands with Denise, Mark and Jobe, crossing the green lawn under the now dark sky, lit only by the stadium lights and the glow of victory. Jude was waiting for you next to the cup he just won, his smile showing no signs of fading.

– "Let's take a picture!" – He exclaimed, his voice still hoarse from shouting and celebrating.

Denise, Mark and Jobe positioned themselves around Jude as the photographer adjusted the camera. You watched, feeling filled with pride and love. After the family photo, Jude turned to you.

– "Now it's our turn." – He said, with his eyes fixed on yours. He took the champion's medal from around his neck and, with a solemn and affectionate gesture, placed it on himself.

– "Jude, this is yours, you deserve it." – You started, but he shook his head, interrupting you.

– "We deserve this." – he corrected. – "You were with me from the beginning, darling."

Holding the trophy you felt the physical and symbolic weight of that moment. Jude hugged you from the side, and you both smiled at the camera, the light from the flashes capturing an instant that would be immortalized not only in the photos, but also in your hearts.

As you walked away from the trophy, a journalist approached you, with a microphone in his hand and a curious smile.

– "Sorry to interrupt, but can I ask a quick question?" – He asked and you nodded.

– "Of course."

– "What are you feeling now? Having followed his career from a very early age because you've been together for so long, what are you feeling with his first Champions League victory?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the emotions bubble up inside you.

– "I'm extremely proud of him." – You began, with a firm voice, but full of emotion. You squeezed Jude's waist and he smiled at you. – “I saw how hard he worked, the sacrifices he made and how much he loves this sport. Seeing him fulfill this dream, winning the Champions League, is an indescribable feeling. I'm very, very happy for him."

The journalist smiled, thanking you and moving away so you could celebrate more. Jude pulled you closer, his hand squeezing yours. When night finally fell, the celebrations showed no signs of slowing down, you and Jude found yourself holding hands in the middle of the field, watching the last fans leave the stadium.

- "I love you." – He said softly, squeezing your hand.

– "I love you too, Jude. And I'm very proud of you." – You replied, knowing that this was just the beginning of many incredible moments that you would share together.

And so, with a heart full of joy and love, you knew that Judas's victory was also your victory. Not just for winning the Champions League, but for having shared every step of the journey with him.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁴

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x yn #jude bellingham imagine #football x reader #football x you #football x y/n

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

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Champion

Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: You're riding a high and make sure to keep it going

The minutes on the clock were ticking down and you shifted on your feet.

Everything depended on this match and with Bayern Munich only up by one goal, it was up to you to make sure it stayed that way.

You hadn't had much to do during the first half but, after an early goal from Georgia in the second half, Lyon had begun to put on the pressure. You knew that you had certainly lucked out with your Champions League fixtures this year, with Lyon knocking out Barcelona in their semifinal match so you didn't have to go up against Bonmati, Guijarro and Putellas (who all frankly scared you to pieces) but by no means, was this final an easy match.

Twelve minutes of extra time had been added after Pernille went down with a calf injury halfway through the current half.

Your heart pounded as you watched a quick one-two from Van De Donk to Horan, who immediately began to sprint up the wing. You readied yourself in your box as there was a quick pass to Hegerberg, who slipped between your defenders and took a shot.

You grabbed it from the air, the power from the kick almost taking the breath out of you.

"Come on!" You yelled out your joy," Come on! Try me! I dare you!"

The Munich supporters went wild at your save and you spared a look up at the big screen that showed the friends and family box. Your parents were going wild but your focus was on your girlfriend.

Alessia was jumping up and down, screaming in joy. She looked absolutely stunning in your keeper kit and you had to tear your eyes away from her to roll the ball to Magda.

Your high from the save didn't last long when, seconds before extra time ended Lyon was awarded a penalty after Tuva took down someone in the box.

Hegerberg came to take it, looking at you with eyes that promised that she wouldn't miss like last time.

Your throat bobbed for a moment before you took your position on your line.

You knew that match was over the moment the ball left her foot. You couldn't explain how or why you knew, you just did.

The ball soared towards the top left corner and you leapt for it, stretching up before your glove curled around it and came to secure it to your chest.

The stadium erupted into cheers as you celebrated, running from your goal with the ball before booting it clear across the pitch.

You felt Georgia at your back, crashing into you before getting dog-piled by everyone.

It took a while to be released but, when you did, you didn't wait around to celebrate more. You passed Georgia, who had slipped onto the bench and pressed something very familiar into your hand, and headed with a single-minded purpose to the stands.

Fans called your name but you did nothing but give them smiles and waves before you finally came to a stop in front of your favourite fan.

Alessia smiled at you, cupping your tear-stained cheeks as emotions overwhelmed your body. "Hi, baby. That was a good game."

You nodded mutely before tugging off your gloves, throwing them aimlessly into the crowd before wrapping your arms around Lessi's waist and pulling her onto the pitch.

You both fell back at the action, lying on the pitch before bursting into laughter.

The fans screamed when you kissed, remaining where you had fallen with no concern in the world.

"My baby," She said fondly as she pressed another kiss to your lips," Best keeper in the Champions League. Congrats on your clean sheet."

You laughed, riding your high of adrenaline with pride. "What can I say?" You teased," Safest hands in the league too."

"You're silly," She said when you finally rose to your feet.

Celebrations were still going on around you as the officials rushed to set up the stage for the medal ceremony but nothing could quite compare to the woman in front of you.

"I'm very silly," You agreed," But you love me for it?"

"I love you for everything you do." Alessia grinned at you.

"Then I hope you'll love me for what I'm about to do now." You dropped down onto your knee and revealed the ring box Georgia had pressed into your hand earlier. "Alessia, I may have just won the Champions League but there's only one thing I want right now. Make me be the happiest person here...Marry me?"

Alessia didn't even reply to you. She grabbed you by the front of your jersey and tugged you towards her, crashing your lips together and resting your foreheads against each other.

"Was that a yes?" You laughed even as you slowly slid the ring onto her finger.

Her hand dipped into her pocket and pulled out her own ring box. "What do you think?"

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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luminique · 2 months ago

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Can we get big brother Lighter protecting little sister reader and keeping it secret how he's an Undefeated Champion to not worry her about what he had been doing

OH MY GOD ANON THIS WAS PRE-RELEASE AND SOMEHOW YOU PREDICTED THE FUTURE A LITTLE BIT ????

considering how lighter barely tells anyone about his plans, i believe that he’d do the same with his beloved little sister. he didn’t want her to be worried over him, even if he was bleeding away in some dingy corner of the ring.

he’d come back home with a new bruise, a new scar. but he still had that smile on his face, his calloused hands ruffling through your hair. he placed your favorite food on the table, something that you both could only eat every now and then.

as you both dig in, he’d constantly place more food on your plate. “you can only become as strong as me if you eat well,” his voice filled with pride as he watched you. he barely got a few bites in, believing that his empty stomach would go away as long as you were eating. he tried to keep the conversations between you two rather short, so as to not alarm you with how he was supporting the both of you.

if he wasn’t home for dinner, he’d try his best to be back before you’re asleep. he recalled the last time you stayed up waiting for him and he was only back in the early morning. seeing you asleep on the couch, probably watching the clock until your eyelids felt heavy. he carried you back to bed, your sleepy nonsensical scolding filled his ears. but he couldn’t forget how you called out his name as he was about to leave again for another match.

“will you be back for dinner?” you were as sweet as ever, only caring about his return.

“i’ll try to. don’t worry,” he reassured you, a gentle smile on his face as he pushed up his sunglasses.

your head perked up a little from the pillow, watching him turn his back towards you to face the door. “promise?”

“promise.” his voice faltered just a little, unnoticeable to you but he knew the truth. it hurts to have to lie to you about it, he wished he worked an honest job.

another opponent, another 0 added to the end of his earnings, another bruise, just another day. it was difficult to keep living like this, bad thoughts infiltrating his mind. as he slumped over the front door, he could hear you running up to the door, probably the soft jingling of his keys alerted you of his arrival. you opened the door, a wide smile on your face that was then replaced with horror upon seeing him.

there was blood running down the side of his face, an injury that he ignored in order to get back home in time. that look, that expression, the way you moved back a couple of steps as if you had just seen an ethereal. that was what made him realize that he should care for himself more too. seeing your fear shattered him more than he could imagine. he had already lost so much, he couldn’t bear to lose you all because of his own recklessness.

he walked up to you, removing his shades before falling to his knees. he rarely showed this side to you. his arms reached out for you, hugging you close to him. he didn’t want you to see this side of him. how weak he truly was, how much of a scaredy cat he was, how he had been lying to you this whole time to keep you happy. your hands ruffled through his dark teal hair, just like how he did with yours. if being the undefeated champion meant that you’d look at him like he was monster, then was he any different to one? apologies came out of him, tears welled up in his eyes.

after a moment of silence, you finally spoke up. “promise me, that you’ll be home safe tomorrow.” just tomorrow? that seems possible, he just had to win his next match cleanly.

“promise. i’ll be back here safely,” his voice was still shaky from the tears. he tried to muster up as much courage as he could but this time he couldn’t lie to you. he’ll try his best, to fulfill this promise he had made with you. even if it’s just tomorrow, he knows you want him to return in one piece every day but you both know that he can’t promise that. so you decide to take it one day at a time, one tomorrow after another. a new promise everyday, kept between the both of you.

#lumiresponds ˚✧₊⁎☆#lighter zzz #zzz lighter #lighter lorenz #lighter x reader #did you guys know that i’m a sucker for siblings #specifically doomed siblings #and i really wanted this to turn out differently #but i thought enough angst #let me write an ending thats somewhat comforting ?#finished this up in my class #thats why its pretty bad but i cannot bring myself to finish this without wanting to cry #because every thought i have for this is just sad #and i seriously dont want to subject lighter nation to that #also for my own mental sanity #someone needs to tell me that it is okay to think happy thoughts with lighter #i fear that i am not the same person i was before his story dropped

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adrift-in-thyme · 4 months ago

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And so it begins >:) I'm super excited for a month full of whump!! I hope you all enjoy reading these fics as much as I've enjoyed writing them. Now, whumptober day 1 LET'S GOOOO

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against The Clock

Read it on Ao3

- Warriors & Wild

- Summary: When Wild gets poisoned, it's up to Warriors to get him to safety

CW for blood and injury, poisoning, near-death experience

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Warriors runs and does not stop.

His scarf flies out behind him, its flight a thing of fragile elegance. His boots collide with the earth so harshly puffs of dust rises with each step. His breathing is short, quick; his mouth dry, saliva thick.

Keep going.

It is the only order he has. And it is an order that rises from the depths of his own mind.

Keep going until you reach the fountain.

In his arms, tucked close, lies Wild. Draped in an awkward bridal hold, his legs and arms flap limply with the movement, like damp clothes hung on a line to be tossed by the wind. His breaths are an unending rasp of thin, courageous gasps. Blood deepens the tranquil blue of his tunic into a somber maroon and drains past his lips in a line of faintly bubbling gore.

He coughs. More life flees in a murmur.

This time, the persevering rises and falls of his chest nearly ceases with it.

“Stay with me, champion,” he orders through gritted teeth and the taste of sweat.

“No problem,” the boy had chirped mere moments before. He had stood with an arrow in his breast, dripping emerald, he had stood bloodied and beaten…and he had grinned.

“Takes more than this to kill me.”

And therein lies the heart of the hero’s sentiment. Warriors has certainly thought the same phrase many times himself.

The idea that you are stronger than evil, stronger than fate — it is one you must hold to if you mean to survive. The thing about heroes is, they always mean to survive.

Pride is necessary. Pride does not change a single thing.

Blue eyes turned milky blink up at him. Cracked, crimson-dampened lips part with a sigh.

“I’s okay Wars. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, a structure of crumbling stone. His head lolls sideways, bumping against Warriors’ chest.

“I know...”

He is not. Not in any way.

Warriors knows little about the various poisons that exist within this darkness-entrenched world. He should, what with the sheer amount that have been sent his way. But even Impa’s knowledge and Zelda’s wisdom cannot comprehend them all. Like the cursed stalfos in Wild’s Hyrule, they lurk, waiting, watching until the right moment to leap.

Whoever they hit is left floundering. That much is so certain that it aches.

Warriors pauses. His chest heaves with quick, thin, burning gasps. There is a crossroads before him. He examines the two worn signs, like human arms, each gesturing in a new direction. He has little clue as to which leads to a fairy fountain. But the one claiming to take him to Kakariko seems the more promising choice of the two. If, goddess forbid, his gamble fails to pay off then at the very least they will be in a town, amongst people. Perhaps, someone will have medicine or know magic.

He bows his head. As long as he can make it, there is hope.

He wishes, not for the first time, that he had Epona.

A roar shatters what stillness there had been. Out of the cover of the overgrown grass leaps a bokoblin. Its muscled body gleams silver and violet. An enormous club rests in the beast’s clawed grip, its surface roughly hewn.

Cursing himself for his inattention, Warriors lunges sideways. The bokoblin brings its weapon hurtling through the air with such force that it lifts his hair, makes his scalp prickle. He drops into a battle stance, plants his feet, clumsily maneuvers Wild into the hold of his nondominant hand. His sword sings as he lifts it from its sheath.

Two more beasts fly forth as though conjured by dark magic, one black, the other that cursed hue verging on white.

The first lunges once more and the others join him. But this time Warriors is ready. He brings his sword up in front of him, angled horizontal. Stealing his will, he pushes himself into a vicious whirl. The world blurs. The wind whistles in his ears, joining the beat of his heart. The monsters cry out and fall.

Warriors comes to a stop, breathing hard more from the panic he must fight down than from physical exertion. Wild moans, protesting the jostling, and he murmurs an apology. There is no time to stop, however. Hefting the champion into a firm grasp once more, he races forward.

“Almost there,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there, Wild.”

Under other, better circumstances, he would try to get him to talk. He would pry about his Hyrule or Flora or his favorite weapons. He would tease and chatter, keep the conversation going all while his mind worked towards a strategy, a remedy.

But Wild is too far gone for that.

The time for words is over.

…

His chest has ceased its valiant movements almost completely by the time Warriors bursts into the town with all the grace of a raging moblin. Every breath stutters out of him. Blood and bile bubble from his lips. His eyes are murky slits of dim white, his brow creased and studded with sweat.

We’re running out of time.

“Fountain!” Warriors gasps to the first person he sees — a middle-aged man with his gray tipped white hair pulled upwards in a high ponytail. “Is there a fairy fountain nearby? Please, it is urgent!”

The man’s eyes widen, mouth working to form words. He points up at a hill rising steeply nearby.

“I-in the woods! The Great Fairy, she resides there!”

Warriors turns on his heel, nods his thanks.

“Link…will he be alright?” The man calls as he runs.

“He will!” He faces forward, grits his teeth, forces himself to believe the words that fly forth from his lips.

“He’ll survive this, just as he has everything else.”

…

It happens all in a blur. He locates the fairy with relative ease, watches with trepidation as she springs forth from her bud, holds Wild as magic swirls around them.

Magic, thank the goddesses above, offered without a cost.

“This little one has paid for this,” the fairy says, painted lips lifting in a soft smile that Warriors is surprised to see. “He has more than paid for it.”

And so, Warriors is free, unhindered by boundaries of suffocating glass, when Wild blinks open his eyes. It takes them a moment to focus, but as soon as they do, they land with gentle focus upon his face. Wild’s expression morphs into a fatigued grin.

“Hey, Wars,” he murmurs, drowsy and weak. “Told ya it would take more than that.”

Warriors laughs. Even as the fear breaks its leaden walls and tears gush past the crumbling ramparts, he laughs.

#whumptober2024 #no.1 #race against the clock #linkeduniverse #linked universe #fic #blood #injury #poisoning #trin writes #lu warriors #lu wild #angst #whump #hurt/comfort

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nockstormbringer · 4 months ago

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Of Darkness & Lightning || Jason Grace

Synopsis → Jason Grace in a relationship with a child of Nyx.

Warnings → Almost drowning, reader lowkey being a stalker, mention of Zeus and Hera. Yes, they are their own warning.

A/n → My friend is sitting next to me and requesting that I write cars having sex. He read that and gave a thumbs up. Also, this is a request, but they had four prompts so this is like prompt one.

Word Count → 1357

↳ I can imagine you two meeting while he's at Camp Half Blood, after he's just gotten back from his quest with Leo and Piper.

↳ He’s heading back to Cabin 1, ready for another night of sleeping on the window ledge, the only place in the cabin in which the statue couldn’t stare at him.

↳ When he walks past one of the newer cabins, he spots its singular resident sitting on the porch, messing around with something he couldn't see.

↳ He shrugs it off but keeps walking, looking out for the harpies as it was getting close to the curfew.

↳ Soon enough, he notices the same demigod sitting swinging on the Aphrodite porch swing, a book in hand.

↳ He slows his pace, taking in the view before speeding his walk up and attempting to ignore the figure hanging out where they probably shouldn't be and logically shouldn’t be at.

↳ He passes the Poseidon cabin, approaching his own, when the same person from the previous weird incidences walks down his porch, past him and shoulder checks him.

↳ He's confused. That shouldn't be possible. He can’t have seen the same person three times…

↳ Was it a set of triplets messing with him? Was Hera messing with his mind again, and making him see things not actually there?

↳ He ignores it for the night, too tired to question much else as he walks into his cabin.

↳ For whatever reason, his instincts are telling him to be wary of the figure. Why? That part, he doesn’t get.

↳ After several more incidents like this, he somewhat figures out what's going on, after having asked around a bit.

↳ He catches you off guard one day, while you're swimming alone.

“Do you happen to be stalking me because of who our parents are?”

↳ Is what he wanted to ask, but a ball flying at his head knocks him off the deck and into the water, scaring you at the sudden splash right behind you.

↳ Bro can’t not get a head injury for a week.

↳ He isn't knocked unconscious, just ends up with a headache, but that doesn't change the sudden shock of him suddenly being in the infirmary, still drenched with water.

“How did we get here?”

↳ He's sputtering, water dripping down his face as he sits up properly.

“You still haven't figured that part out? Thought you were Zeus’ pride and joy or whatever.”

↳ Ensues long ass conversation of what the whole purpose of you basically stalking him was.

↳ Thinks it's one of the weirder conversations he’s had.

↳ But this leads to a very odd friendship between you two.

↳ As friends, you both work well together, training with each other on occasion.

↳ He doesn’t like using his powers on you, seeing as its lightning and that shit can kill people, but you constantly use yours against him. Sneaking up behind him, suddenly disappearing when you two are talking. Just general shadow travel to mess with the boy.

↳ I bet once during training, you disappeared in the shadows while he was swinging his sword, reappeared behind him and kicked him in the back of the legs.

↳ His brain basically froze, he did NOT know how to react to that. No one’s ever done that to him so it was a first.

↳ He thinks the way you use your powers while training is super interesting.

↳ After a certain point, he constantly feels warm around you. He doesn’t feel like he needs to try around you, like he doesn’t have to be the Demigod son of Zeus or Hera's champion. Just Jason.

↳ On several occasions, you’ve joined Jason when he’s hanging out with the Lost Trio. Leos’ quite flirty, though backs off when he sees Jason glowering from where he stands (which is right next to you).

↳ Piper clocks in and IMMEDIATELY knows that he’s caught feelings.

↳ She decides to help out, by cornering him and integrating him. Truthfully, he hadn’t actually been fully aware of his feelings. He knew something was going on, he just hadn’t figured it would be romantic feelings.

↳ Piper, in a very kind gesture, sets you two up on a date. 3 times.

↳ Jason’s hopeless.

↳ During the 3rd date, which by this point, you’ve figured it all out pretty much (with a few pointers from Piper), and you just mess with him.

↳ Grabbing his hand, and intertwining your fingers, messing with his hair, kissing his hands and cheeks, referring to him as your boyfriend when you guys go to the camp store.

↳ Just generally bullying him. For fun of course.<3

↳ When he walks you back to your cabin after the date, he tries to give you a kiss, but you stop him.

“I don’t kiss people who I’m not dating. With that said, I really do want to kiss you.”

↳ I fear you may only be so confident because you know he likes you.

“Can I be your boyfriend then?”

↳ He’s trying so hard to play cool, but his heart is hammering out of his chest and he fears you can hear it too.

↳ Anyway, y’all have a kissy and now you’re dating. :33

↳ Oh my god, finally that took forever.

↳ I feel like you make him nervous, not the same way Nyx scares Zeus, but in a sense, similarly.

↳ At a constant, his heart beats rapidly, he stumbles over his words, he bounces his leg, he fidgets.

↳ He definitely rubs circles into your hand when you hold hands. He might be nervous but he still wants to be a source of comfort.

↳ Super protective, like, bros a watchdog.

↳ You both get scary dog privileges from each other. Like, people fear both you and Jason, although for somewhat different reasons. Jason, as he is a Roman demigod and is the son of Zeus, and you are the demigod kid of Nyx, the only one who truly scared the king of gods.

↳ Jason’s big on communication, constantly asking your opinion of what he should do that day, like maybe practicing his archery, his arts n’ crafts skills, or skip all the activities and sneak off with you.

↳ A lot of your guys’ dates consist of walking along the perimeter of camp, helping Leo with his ship and forcing him and Piper to 3rd wheel, as wheel as sneaking away from camp and doing normal teenage things on occasion, you’ll drag the rest of the Lost Trio, which isn’t the worse thing cause they amuse you.

↳ He prefers sleeping in your cabin, as it's nowhere near as disturbing as the statue of his father constantly staring at him and he's not as lonely, seeing as he shares the cabin with you, and your half siblings.

↳ When cuddling, he likes holding you against him, whether your back,side or chest is pressed against him, he hugs you close, which in turn keeps you warm and feeling secure.

↳ Jason wakes up before you, as his natural clock is permanently set before the average human is awake and thus watches you sleep. Sometimes, he traces your features with a finger, pushing the hair away from your face and lightly kisses you from your nose, to your shoulders, to the top of your hair.

↳ Neither of you ever have money except for drachmas, but that doesn’t work as a currency in the mortal world, so instead of buying flowers or anything for you, he hand picks flowers (with help from the Demeter kids) and makes you stuff during Arts n’ Crafts.

↳ He’s made some stuff like a “Jar of Words of Affirmation,” a scrapbook of things the two have done over the period of your relationship and just general things about the two of you, and many origami roses.

↳ Origami roses are so cool, I love them. I always make them for valentines day cause I never have money to buy things for people.

↳ I digress though, but Jason always protects you in combat, just as much as he would anyone else, but if he could have it his way, he’d fight all of your battles.

↳ Jason overall is the epitome of a perfect boyfriend, with how he loves you and shows you he loves you. <3

#hiro's works! ♡#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #hoo #pjo #jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace hoo #hoo jason grace #I don’t know what else to tag 🧍‍♀️#y’all have a good night #this is like my 4th time editing them cause it keep resetting #I’m so tired man 😭

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brodygold · 3 months ago

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The Party

The Halloween party at the Golden Army training facility was electric. Friends, teammates, and fans mingled together under dim, flickering lights, with cobwebs and jack-o’-lanterns casting long shadows across the room. The Golden Army players were dressed in costumes as imposing knights, gladiators, or mythic soccer champions, each adding to the aura of the team’s reputation for strength and unity. Guests chatted in anticipation, knowing that tonight’s highlight was no ordinary raffle—it was a chance to win the legendary, mysterious golden jersey. The rumors said it would transform whoever wore it, but no one knew the extent of that change.

As the clock struck midnight, Walter, the team’s noble and haughty manager, climbed onto a small stage at the center of the room. He held up the prize—a shimmering, radiant golden soccer jersey, catching and reflecting every light, making it seem as if it were glowing from within. The crowd fell silent, anticipation building. “This golden jersey is the pride of our team,” Walter began, his voice ringing out with a weighty authority. “Only one lucky guest will be given the honor of becoming one of us tonight, joining the Golden Army in body, mind, and soul.”

The crowd held their breath as Walter dipped his hand into a small velvet bag, carefully drawing out a folded slip of paper. He opened it slowly, reading the name with a slight smirk. “Eric!”

Eric, a slender guy in his early twenties who had dressed as a pirate, blinked in surprise as every eye turned to him. He was just a guest tonight, here to support his boyfriend Daniel, who was close friends with a few of the team members. But now, he was being given the golden jersey—the item he had heard so many stories about. He glanced at Daniel, who grinned and gave him an encouraging thumbs-up.

Heart pounding, Eric approached the stage, his footsteps echoing as he moved closer to Walter and the jersey. Up close, he could see it wasn’t just gold-colored—it was crafted from a material that almost seemed alive, gleaming with a vibrant energy. As Walter handed it over, the crowd cheered, and Eric could feel the jersey’s warmth even before he slipped it over his head.

The instant the jersey touched his skin, a rush of heat coursed through his body, spreading from his chest outwards in a tingling wave. He felt his muscles begin to tighten, expanding under the fabric as though they were sculpted by some invisible hand. His shoulders broadened, chest pressing against the snug fabric as he felt his entire torso harden into a lean, powerful physique. His biceps grew, his forearms thickening, his grip tightening around the edges of the jersey with newfound strength. He looked down, watching in awe as his legs filled out with muscle, his thighs now thick and defined, his calves strong and sturdy, shaped for an athlete.

A cheer rose as the guests watched his transformation unfold, many with stunned expressions. Eric caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror, and what he saw took his breath away. His face had changed, too—his jawline now square and defined, a hint of stubble tracing his cheeks and chin, giving him a rugged, athletic look. His eyes held a new glint, a piercing confidence he had never seen in himself before. His hair seemed to style itself, falling into a tousled, sporty look as if he’d just finished a game.

But the transformation wasn’t just physical. Suddenly, memories and feelings that weren’t his began filling his mind. He felt the intense rush of training with the Golden Army under the blazing sun, the exhilaration of scoring the winning goal, and the unity of celebrating victory with teammates who were like brothers. He remembered late-night team talks, inside jokes, and the relentless drive to be better every day. It was as if the Golden Army’s history, pride, and purpose had become his own.

Eric’s posture straightened, his body standing taller, his shoulders set with a new sense of purpose. The nervousness he’d felt earlier faded, replaced by an unshakeable confidence. He belonged to the Golden Army now, and he could feel it in every fiber of his being.

He turned back to Daniel, who was watching with awe and excitement. Eric’s mouth quirked into a smirk, his voice now carrying a rich, confident timbre. “Looks like you’re dating a Golden Army guy now,” he teased, his tone both playful and proud. Daniel chuckled, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess I’ll have to keep up with you now,” Daniel replied with a smile, and Eric felt a wave of brotherly pride swell in him. He clapped Daniel on the shoulder, a subtle gesture that carried the strength and camaraderie of a fellow athlete. They both laughed, the bond between them now intertwined with the new identity Eric had taken on.

As the night continued, Eric mingled with his new teammates, each of whom welcomed him with open arms, recognizing the fire in his eyes and the strength in his stride. He felt an unbreakable connection with them, the kind of loyalty that only came from true unity on the field. Every laugh, every handshake, every clink of glasses only deepened his sense of belonging. The old Eric felt like a distant memory now, a faint echo compared to the vibrant energy he felt as part of the Golden Army.

The party lasted into the early hours, but for Eric, time seemed to blur. He felt at home, surrounded by his newfound teammates and filled with an unwavering sense of purpose. By the end of the night, he knew he would never go back to who he’d been before. He was Golden Army through and through, and he couldn’t wait to hit the field with his brothers by his side.

#golden army #thegoldenteam #golden team #male transformation #soccer tf #jockification #gold #male tf #jock tf

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nounoustouzy · 2 months ago

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MANCHESTER UNITED WALL CLOCK

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wnbawag · 9 days ago

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Your Champion

Pairing: Breanna Stewart x reader

Summary: Itty bitty UConn Stewie blurb

Word Count: 519

My Masterlist

The clock was winding down, the ball was flying up the court, it seemed the entire arena was holding its breath.

The ball flew into the hands of the UConn star, Breanna Stewart set her feet at nearly half court.

The clock was down to 1 second when she leapt up into a shot, an arch flying through the air.

The buzzer ran out just before the ball rang home, a perfect swish.

The arena erupted, screaming for their champion.

The cameras all focused on Breanna, standing tall at half court, signature grin on her face.

She made eye contact with the closest camera, sending it a wink.

That sent Ted’s absolutely crazy.

You giggled from behind the bar, knowing that wink was for you.

Your champion took up the entire screen, not that you were complaining. Turning back to the line of drinks you were making, you let the warm feeling of pride stay in your chest as you waited for your champion.

You knew the second she walked in the door.

Besides the cheer that went up throughout the bar, you could just feel her larger-than-life presence.

Looking up from the bar, you smile as she goes from group to group, accepting high fives and offers for drinks.

But when her searching eyes finally meet yours, it all finally feels right.

Your champion came swaggering up to the bar, brushing past the rest of the outstretched hands, eyes fixed on you as you quickly pass out a few shots then go to the spot at the bar she stops at.

“Did you see me?” Your girl asks, a hint of vulnerability in her low voice.

“Oh gorgeous, I saw you,” you say back, giving her those doe eyes she loves so much.

“I want to take you home now,” she shoots back, biting her lip and shooting you her signature wide grin. She was looking you up and down, not even trying to be subtle.

“I have two hours left and you have a bar to entertain,” You giggle back, jerking your head to motion to the growing line at the other end of the bar.

Breanna groans, rolling her eyes but giving you a small smile.

“As long as I get to take you home after,”

“You know you will, now what does the legend want to drink tonight?”

Two hours left was a hopeful thought.

It was 4am by the time you finally got the bar empty and could finally go home.

Breanna, God bless her, waited with you until the end.

You knew she was tired, having been up since all hours of the morning getting ready for her game, but she waited with a smile as you locked up the bar and took her hand in your own.

“Let me take you home gorgeous, I want to feel you,” She murmured in your ear.

You smiled up at her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, you’ll feel me, I think you earned some ‘good job’ head,”

You giggled the entire way to her dorm, the legend pulling you the entire time.

#wnbawag #wnba x reader #breanna stewart x reader #wbb x reader

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amyriadofleaves · 11 months ago

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outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter five

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, wriothesley, clorinde, sigewinne, mention of furina ⌗ warnings : brief mention of poison consumption ⌗ word count: 7.6k

Behind the valour celebrated in tales of renowned swordsmen lies the silent duel against doubt and fear, where pride meets vulnerability.

Soreness racks your entire body and everything in you screams to stay still. An oddly familiar feeling of recollection drowns out the pinching of the gash that stands at bay; a dam that’s lost function. The morning after a duel never welcomed you; instead it tore you apart, and sewn you back together with the thread that puts you back together.

Your body aches all over, and your whole being begs you to stay still. A strangely familiar sense of memory overpowers the squeezing of the gash that was there to keep it at bay, like a broken dam. The morning following a duel never welcomed you; rather, it seemingly always tore you apart and stitched you back together with the same thread.

Turning to your clean side, you are greeted with a dozing Clorinde, arms crossed, slightly slipping off her chair, and her head slumped to the side. The realisation of your stinging torso hits as chuckles escape from your lips, observing how her hat tips by millimetres with each passing second. The bedside clock ticks, and you lazily refrain from turning your head, concluding that you've woken a little too early.

Before you can contemplate cleaning yourself up, the subtle shift in your movement stuns the duelist awake.

Her hat slips off her head.

Her voice is dry and coarse when she yawns. “Why, aren’t you up early?”

“Or maybe you just woke up late.”

“Duty calls even when sleep does, chenapan. I estimate that I have slept for only…” she checks her watch. “two and a half hours. You—however— have been asleep for almost forty-eight.”

You slump onto your back, and are now facing the ceiling (you ignore how a drop of water drips onto the apple of your cheek the second you turn). “Sucks to suck. I really needed that, though. Whatever it is, I have work tomorrow. The cogs aren’t gonna oil themselves.”

The ache as you move goes unnoticed at your sudden adamance to leave, and Clorinde promptly holds an arm out. “Wait.”

Complying, your hand finds its way to the edge of the mattress and you sit. “What?”

“I had to deal with some business on the surface, so I decided to purchase a new blouse and new pants, a skirt, another blouse except it’s blue, and…” she reaches for a bag that leans on the leg of the chair, and briefly pulls out a piece of cloth you assume is the blue blouse she’s talking about. I’ve seen enough of blue, you think, the hospital gown you wear is not flattering for your figure. You appreciate the thought nonetheless, and accept the gift. “ I also purchased a new pair of boots for you.”

You slowly outstretch your arms, weary with indolence and fatigue. “Thank you…?”

“Think of it as an apology. “

“Oh? That’s certainly a first. The Champion Duelist apologises for injuries sustained from in a ring! It is quite alright, Clorinde.”

“I did say think of it as an apology. You could take it as a blessing — your muscles are practically bulging through the sleeves. ”

“I know right!’

She scoffs. “Now you’re just full of yourself."

Restraining a laugh, you raise two fingers in mock salute. “I’m a busy woman. Gotta take what I’ve got.”

‘I can see that. Now go get changed. You reek.”

“What an insensitive tone. You’re talking to a patient.”

She does not play victim to your antics. “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy. Make it quick, we have to catch Sigewinne to discharge you before she’s off to work.”

You nod, swiftly pursuing the refreshing embrace of open air. Yet, a hiccup disrupts your stride as you think: must I meet the public eye once more? A silent prayer escapes, hoping Neuvillette remains oblivious to your absence. What merit would your presence bestow upon him, except added burden and responsibility? He, undoubtedly significant to you, occupies your thoughts and you do not waste a thought in thinking he deems your company delightful. You hope it stays that way.

“How does it look?” You do a little spin in your new outfit, painfully aware of how the fibres of the bandage that hug your abdomen clutch onto the inner fabric of the silk blouse that you find is a little tight around the underarm.

Clorinde looks up from her lap and her eyes round in surprise, and then into jest. “As painfully corporate as ever, madame.”

“You never fail to irritate me, don’t you?” You clutch the bag of clothes and hold it alongside the leather bag you had with you before the whole spectacle in the ring.

“Behold. Your hero’s here.” She points to a little figure skipping down the steps and she smiles at you, giving you a ‘you’re almost free!’ look.

Sigewinne skips to your side, silently lifting the fabric of your blouse and peeking through the bandage to examine the stitches. “A little swollen, but it is very much normal for an injury such as this. You are all set to be discharged!”

An infirmary admission in the Fortress of Meropide is unforeseen, yet its homely, cramped nature piques your fascination.

Wriothesley loiters around the exit and waves when he recognises a familiar raven haired girl beside you. When his eyes drop to your abdomen, a light smirk graces his lips. “Seems like Aurora has woken up from her century-old slumber. “

Clorinde shoots him a glare. A soundless argument plays from their eyes alone, and you are standing as stiff as a rod, grateful that you do not have to know whatever they are going on about. Falling victim to their brief glances you feel yourself shrink. A brief, whispered ‘what?’ elicits from the duelist’s lips and your head snaps to hers. From the slump of Wriothesley's shoulders, you assume the debate has reached its impasse.

“If you’re all going to argue about me, at least let me in on it.”

Wriothesley’s head cocks and he grins. “Hey, it’s nothing personal. Pains me to see you go, don’t get me wrong — but I’m afraid you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

"Oh, what a heartfelt farewell. I'll try not to let the door hit me on the way out," you quip, grabbing Clorinde by the forearm and waving the Duke goodbye.

“Wait.”

Clorinde is pulled backwards as you pause in your tracks.

The duelist’s arm slips free of yours, and she crosses her arms, briefly raising her brows, almost prompting him. “Forgetting something?”

“I’m making a break for the surface. So would you two like to have brunch? My treat.”

Clorinde is puzzled. “It is not everyday your schedule is so free. Are you sure you have time—”

You give her a chiding look and you smack her shoulder lightly. “We’d be very delighted.”

___

Wriothesley gulps down a tremendous mouthful of his tea. “What a hidden gem this place is…” He looks at the menu, his fingers skimming through the words in quest of the cafe's name.

“It’s Café Lutece,” you say, voice muffled with your mouth full of escargots. What a delicacy—you nearly roll your eyes at how good it is, savouring every nuance of flavour that dances on your palate, and your shoulders sag in indulgence. You almost ask for a second, but you abstain from doing so when you realise that it is not you paying.

“Yes. Café Lutece. I knew that.”

“Totally.”

“Manners.” Clorinde berates, subtly directing your attention to the people around with a pointed look, then back to the two of you. Suffering at its worst is falling victim to constant scrutiny. You steal a glance at the duelist and find that she has returned to enjoying her lasagna.

Wriothesley doesn’t seem to take the hint from Clorinde’s reprimand, and continues as normal. “That arena stunt with your sword, commendable stuff. Why haven’t you picked up something like that? You're a natural in the ring, minus that whole... hole.” He waves around his fork like a novice who has nothing to lose but his dignity that he doesn’t seem to possess much of either; and his eyes, seemingly moving of its own accord, casually dip to where you would see the gash if it hadn’t been for the bandage and the new blouse that Clorinde had purchased in lieu of an apology.

“So, I’ve heard you’ve only been recently promoted as the Présidence du Conseil d'État. How is it?” His voice drips with bon mot, but you cannot help but feel your heart beat louder against your ribcage. To put it simply, you do not know. To be thrown from role to role like a ragdoll rendered your own limbs to pomme puree, a struggling puppet fighting against brass strings; but you, too, aren’t able to chart a path for yourself in pursuit of success.

Swallowing whatever’s left on your plate, you wipe your mouth on the cloth that sits on your lap and sigh. Your face scrunches in distaste “Fame isn’t really my cup of tea.”

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” Wriothesley questions, turning around only to be met with women fanning themselves and batting their eyelashes at him. “I get it.”

You bring your voice down to a defeated whisper. “Maybe if it weren’t for me getting married in a month, I wouldn’t be recognised everywhere I go.”

The Duke’s brows lift. “Am I hearing that right?” When he notices that Clorinde has dropped the conversation to finish her meal, a crease forms between his eyes. He prods her gently on the shoulder.

This doesn’t appear to bother her, because her body remains fluid and returns to normal: erect and inclined forward for a more liable distance between her and her food. Her eyes don’t leave her plate when she replies with a curt: “Hm?”

“She just said she was getting married.”

“I heard her.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

She finally looks up from her plate and stares plainly at you. “Congratulations. The man is truly an unlucky one.” The Duke laughs uneasily as you both take in her lack of interest.

At the met silence, Wriothesley crosses his arms. “I don’t understand why a hot shot like you would settle so early for marriage.”

You do not know if you should lie. Does the guise play out even for those you know? Should you tell him that you’re madly in love with the Chief Justice? No, you shouldn’t; for it is not the truth. But you should! You have to! a voice screams, trailing off into the void. You struggle with internal conflict, split between the need to sustain the masquerade and the desire to have the truth spill. The bandage, snug against your abdomen, is like an oppressive corset, confining not just your exterior but also every part of your being that is tied to a blasted contract. Your fingers reflexively seek solace in the shredding threads above your blouse, as if unravelling the fabric could soothe the conflicting thoughts that have become entwined within your mind. The echo of a distant voice encouraging disclosure reverberates.

You force a cold smile. “I am not giving up anything for my marriage, Your Grace. It is merely a testimony of human connection. I am well off by myself, yes, but would it hurt to have someone to give you a little push? For someone down in the fortress, you should know what it’s like to feel lonely.”

The Duke’s expression seems to sour at the resurfacing of the use of honorifics and he waves a hand in denial. “I didn't mean to come off as rude, madame. I am just puzzled at who exactly would be deserving of you as a wife? I mean — it can’t be the vendor selling macarons down the street, right?”

“The man I am to marry is Monsieur Neuvillette. Now if you would get me a glass of Fonta, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Unbeknownst to them, Neuvillette sits nearby, sipping on a cup of water as he discreetly eavesdrops on words that subtly bleed through conversation. His keen gaze carefully observes you from a distance, and with a thoughtful demeanour, places the cup onto its respective plate. Noticing the look of distress on your face and the familiar slump in the Duke’s shoulders, Neuvillette remains hidden. Clorinde and Wriothesley, engrossed in their discussion, remain oblivious, their backs turned to the subtle observer in their midst.

The man I am to marry is Monsieur Neuvillette. The phrase reverberates through his skull, each word echoing with a disconcerting resonance that sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn’t fail to miss how the words weigh like a burdensome anchor — how your expression, once lit with vivacity, falls.

The outfit you are clad in is something the Chief Justice had never seen you wear before; but he swats the idea away. Perhaps it is a trick of the mind, having not seen you in two days.

He is mildly cognizant of the ring and its box that is settled comfortably in his breast pocket.

Tonight.

Lady Furina's relentless insistence propelled the schedule forward, transforming what was originally intended as a week-long endeavour into an instant obligation for Neuvillette. The Chief Justice was, and is still less than amused. This unexpected directive threw his meticulously organised schedule into disarray, compelling him to undertake the daunting mission of 'proposing' to the so-called 'woman of his dreams,' a phrase coined by none other than the Hydro Archon herself. The sudden upheaval left Neuvillette grappling with the unexpected change of events and contemplating how to proceed.

He shields his face in a book, as if it would aid him in any capacity. A shame, really —he stands out like a sore thumb, unable to blend in among the normalcy of Fontainians. Anything he does in his power to remain hidden only has him hounded by the most desperate of women clawing at him like hawks for any opportunity to ‘bask in his presence’ (quoted by Lady Furina; this was another one of her drabbles, showing how she is ever so apt in her knowledge of theatre).

The Iudex catches onto how you shift the topic to your peculiar love for Fonta, and he finds that his nose scrunches in distaste. Fonta was never something he could grow to enjoy; it was too fizzy on the tongue, and Neuvillette certainly wasn’t one for such a sensation. But maybe if someone as hard to please as you could find a little soft spot for a drink, he could too. It has been a considerable amount of time since he’d been given an opportunity like this to not only sit alone at a cafe, but also converse with the people under no pretence or intention of banishing the guilty down in the depths of the ocean.

Neuvillette slightly raises his hand, eyes still flickering from the words of the notes he had pasted in the book to taking in how you had taken a looser bearing when his attention was diverted elsewhere. He casts a quick glance about, and a waiter appears at his side almost immediately. The priorities of humans are awfully disordered, he thinks, recalling how this particular waiter turned away an old guy after trying to ask him the same question for the nth time: "How can I help you?" What a pity that this individual was damned with weak hearing.

The same voice and intonation sounds from his right. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like a cup of Fonta please.”

Gloved hands move slowly to the glass table when he catches the slight quirk of your smile — and for the first time, realises that it is a genuine one. Your eyes squint, and you tilt your head to the side after the cup of Fonta leaves your lips. Raking your hands through your hair, the wind blows through the nape of your neck and teases at the necklace around your neck and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you so content.

Neuvillette’s initial instinct is to leave you be and have you enjoy yourself for just a little while longer before the clutches of responsibility grip you tight again; but when the notion of fooling Lady Furina slyly makes its way to the forefront, he chastises himself. This is a sole, pragmatic responsibility. So why is he blurring the lines? It is a contract he must fulfil: an obligation of duty.

He recites what he must say under his breath: “Kneel on one knee. Say that I lo —” his eyes practically bulge out of his head and he stops short. Must he really say that he — loves you? The strained voice of Lady Furina echoes, imploring him to express his love for her with all of his conviction. He debates over the idea of checking it off the list, but then realises that the list shows no sign of diminishing in its fervency of declaration, and his cheeks flush pink.

Another point on the note proves even worse than the last. “Surely I must not kiss her?” he whispers, placing down the notepad. A deep breath, drawn with the intent to rewire his thoughts, is sharp and cold. Regret manifests into beads of cold sweat as he wonders of his own oversight of his incapability of taking a look at the notepad before leaving the Palais Mermonia. A realisation, as crystal clear as the reflections in Fontaine's still waters, dawns upon him: she, a virtuoso of subtle acts of cunning, reigns supreme in such wit. Of all residents within these refined walls of Fontaine, the Iudex, in his wisdom, should have recognised her devious nature well.

It is no wonder that Lady Furina had bestowed this encased in one of her light novels. “Do some reading!” she had said, leaving him with three words and a cryptic message he could not decipher; another trick up her sleeve, and still, he is all too unsuspecting.

In the era where Fontaine was a coalition of people under a new system, a figure he not only suspected but knew to be Focalors had granted him a seat with the best view in the grandest theatre; and little did he anticipate that he would eventually become a pawn on the very stage he had always observed from above in his own, undeniably mythical glory.

He does not notice that the fresh cup of Fonta is now cold.

But he does notice that the table where a group of three once sat is now vacant.

He reaches into his breast pocket and leaves a bag of mora that, to any normal person, would easily realise that such an amount could account for ten cups of liquid gold. But he, unlike the normal person, sees that the matter that is telling you of tonight's plans weighs heavier than the coins that cling against the glass table like cymbals. After having sat up and blowing his not-so-stealthy cover, he takes a pitiful look at the Fonta that shoots him a pleading stare. He shuts his eyes, and prudently wraps his fingers around the teacup, and takes a sip.

He prevents himself with his whole being to not lurch forward. It is not so terrible, he says: a silver lined lie. A smile forces itself through and he turns to the workers that stand at attention; all eyes on the Iudex of Fontaine. The tap of his boots echo loudly against the brick floors and he leaves as swiftly as the clouds intertwine in the midday sun.

Neuvillette takes a spin, and sees the three of you standing under the shade of the Chioriya Boutique. His eyes cling onto the way you weigh all of your weight against a pillar, armed wrapped around your torso. Judging by how the three of you rack with laughter, he assumes it is Wriothesley who has quipped and prompted the champion duelist and the head of civil affairs into giggles.

What is he doing?

Certainly this is a breach of the contract. Each party isn’t obliged to the whereabouts of the opposite party, unless consented to. You are going to think he followed you here; and that is something he does not want. To be in your good graces is a difficult thing, yet to forever dwell in your disfavour is a pit from which not even the sharpest nails can rescue anyone.

The group breaks apart, and you are left alone, head swerved in the direction of the duke and the duelist. What a formidable group of people, indeed.

“What nice weather today, madame.” The low-tone of a familiar voice brushes against your ear, and oh, who could it be?

You do not spare him a glance, leaning against the pillar for support. “Go on, enlighten me already.”

Though you do not see it, he is left fumbling with a note and how to phrase his next words. “Let us go on a walk, if you’ll allow me.”

You rely on the weight of your right heel to bring yourself to face him. Surveying him from head-to-toe, you notice something in him has changed; perhaps it is the freshly tailored coat he spoke of the night you returned his other one, or maybe it is a novel hairpiece. Whatever it is, he is different, more fleeting in his aura.

Sighing, you look down at your boots. “If it is so necessary, then I see no reason to decline.”

“Alright then.”

The next movements are oddly rehearsed, yet terribly timed. He offers you his left arm, to which you decline. “Is it possible to switch sides?”

“Oh — uh, sure.”

Neuvillette offers you his right arm — but realise to your dismay that it hovers a little too high for your liking, and you resort to slightly beckoning him to lower it with your own arm, which is now oddly interlocked with his. You take in a deep breath and feel his heartbeat quickening along with yours.

One foot in front of another, the two of you find a middle ground at what pace to walk. Three people on the sidewalk eye the two of you with judgmental eyes and you slightly tiptoe to whisper a few words into his ear: “People are watching.”

He then replies in a tone that isn’t too loud but enough for the surrounding people to hear. “Why is why, Mon Amour, an act is what is to satisfy the Hydro Archon.”

Tearing your eyes away from him, you ignore the confusion of emotion that stirs in your stomach, and you tell yourself it is your injury. Words seep through your slightly gritted teeth. “Don’t you think that’s a little excessive, Dear Chief Justice of Fontaine?”

Through your periphery, you see a smile. “Certainly bold words from the one who deemed it fit to bestow a kiss upon my ear on the very first day of our relationship, don’t you think?”

There is no time for you to take his words in because a person on a cart approaches at full speed, its wheels detaching one by one onto the road. The man whose arms are intertwined with yours forces you to the side of a cement wall, and his chest, an unwitting barricade between you and the unfolding drama, prompts you a very unpleasant view of the ruffles of his blouse. As the chaos settles, you force your gaze up and find that his eyes stay trained on the man that is now clutching his arm that lays limp in his own grip.

While bystanders attend to the injured man, your gaze lingers on Neuvillette's face, seeking revelations in the subtle nuances of the seemingly faint expression that paints his face. Your own stare is met with an intense, narrowing gaze when the Iudex turns and faces you, and you immediately feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath against the erratic beats of your heart. Embarrassing.

Clearing your throat, you push him and he stumbles slightly — but he doesn’t move as far as you wish him to. Through all that cloth, his muscles surely are toned! “What are you doing? Help him.”

Perhaps it is a trick of the light or the painfully scorching autumn sun, but his cheeks are flushed. “Not a worry, madame, stay right here.”

In the lack of his warmth you take in the sharpest breath and it cuts through your lungs like glass.

You place your hands on your knees and bend forward to catch your breath. A sting stretches like a miasma from your hip and you instinctively clutch at it like a vice; fuck, you’ve strained it.

Feeling even more eyes on you, you return as normal, plastering a faint smile and wishing everyone takes the hint to not raise any questions. Your left arm still remains pinching the perimeter of the gauze that now begins to feel like a tourniquet and you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment. Neuvillette is by your side almost instantly, taking in the slight perspiration that beads down your forehead; just a moment ago, your face was completely clear of such.

“Mon cherie, are you quite alright?” he questions, pausing a little. You whisper a: “tuck my hair behind my ears,” to him, and he shakily complies, his hands swiping across your skin like a ghost.

You place a hand to his chest. “Why, there is no need to be so concerned about me! I am no damsel in distress, dearest.”

He returns your stare with a nervous chuckle and extends his hand out this time, a less secure form of a physical display of affection, but still a statement nonetheless.

You do not wish to continue beating around the bush, but the grin that tugs at your lips remains. “Tell me what you wish to say.”

His stride slows, and you slightly pull him forward to fall into step again. “Well, to put it simply, I am to propose to you tonight.”

You do not know where to fuel your surprise so the smile on your face deepens. “Couldn’t you have told me earlier?” The grin compromises the expressions on your face, to which passersby aren’t able to discern that your lips are actually moving.

“You’ll have to question the Hydro Archon on this, I’m afraid. Though I am glad I did meet you here, to save both of us an inconvenience.”

“You take me for a fool, Chief Justice. Don’t think I didn’t see you dining where we were.”

You bask in the widened eyes of the man from beside you. There you had him; hook, line, and sinker. “That was merely a convenience — Lady Furina suggested I take a little stroll around Fontaine to prepare myself for tonight’s itinerary.”

You tilt your head in amusement. “Convincing enough. So… tonight; but where, exactly?”

“I was thinking of the very precinct of the Opera Epiclese, the very symbol of romance itself.”

Outright, you reject his suggestion. “I think it is an odd selection.”

“Why do you think so?” the grip he has on your hand loosens as he turns to look at you.

“People, especially Fontainians,” you start, “barely frequent Erinnyes, let alone at night.”

Perfect. Neuvillette had rehearsed the response to such a question at least ten times, and he’s convinced he has it down to a T. “Lady Furina has connections, dearest. All the main media outlets are stationed around the area as we speak. And, it is the premiere of the newest, most dramatic opera in all of Fontaine’s history — as quoted by Lady Furina, of course.”

“That woman is out of her mind.”

The Chief Justice thinks to not respond, and instead moves on.“But keep it in mind there is no intention of us attending the premiere; the whole scene must play out when everyone’s out of the Opera Epiclese. We shall rendezvous at the aquabus station at half past nine — when it is scheduled to conclude. Is that a convenient time for you?”

By this point, you are defeated. “Yep.” you deliberately pop the ‘p’, letting go of his hand to rid yourself of your lace gloves. “Hold these for me, would you?”

Neuvillette notices someone else using a camera peering through a bush, and he quickly spots the camera's lens glint. “Anything for you.”

ONE HOUR BEFORE THE PROPOSAL

Your bed is tousled and you don’t even know if you are to wear a dress to your own proposal. All sorts of skirts and tops lay haphazardly arranged on your comforter, the silhouette of a bundle of cloth peeking through the crevices of crumpled shirts. A possible outfit? Maybe. You pinch it with your thumb and index finger and hold it up as if it were a cat; no — this won’t do. You make another dash for your closet and begin throwing things over your shoulder until you finally reach the bottom of the lot.

A dress sits neatly folded, slightly dusty, but a dress nonetheless. Your mother’s dress. You sit on the wooden floors and peer down at the basket once more with morbid curiosity. Your mind is thrown into a debate of whether an occasion like this is appropriate to wear such an outfit. It is a quarter before nine and you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, barefaced and practically naked. Muttering a silent apology to your mother, you take it gently and pat it to rid it of any specks of dust.

The dress is a pale turquoise, the ends of the skirt a tethered lace. But one thing stands. It is sleeveless. When exactly was the last time you wore a sleeveless dress? You slap yourself to stop asking questions. Why am I suddenly thinking? Cut it out!

Turning around, you shuffle to your bed. Picking up a corset, you inspect it briefly; is this necessary? No. You take a brief look at the clean replacement of gauze that winds tighter around your waist as a substitute, and shrug it away, tossing it to some corner of narnia and you wish it appears neatly placed on your bedside table when you return.

You find yourself in a comical struggle to slip into the snug velvet attire, hopping on the pads of your feet and contorting your arms into peculiar positions. Finally victorious, albeit with a hint of dishevelment, you stagger towards your vanity mirror. There, a box of makeup beckons, urging you to indulge in its array of colours. The temptation of a baby pink lipstick proves irresistible in the moment.

Brushing your face with foundation, you set it down with powder, and it puffs like a plume of smoke. No, not your hair! You hastily smooth it down, the fine dust reflecting in the moonlight. An eye pencil, an eyelash curler, and mascara line the outlines of your eyes, and you push your seat back to inspect anything that might appear peculiar.

You look bland.

Without looking down, you pat your table and reach for a random eyeshadow palette. An array of potted glittery blues and greens lay orderly arranged, and you do not know where to start. Maybe a light green to set the eyes? Whatever. You use the pad of your pinky to swipe the eyeshadow across your lid and you reach for a deeper, metallic blue that wipes closer to the waterline. You lean back again, examining the sheen. Don’t I look stunning! You can smell how the women are to reek of jealousy at your very appearance. Sure, its application is haphazard, but wasn’t that the in thing? Or perhaps you were to start a new trend, like how you did with your excruciatingly blue colour palette.

Regardless of the absurdity of it all, this is oddly entertaining. Damn the blasted contract; you want to look good.

Earrings next. A dilemma unfurls: pearl or diamond? Hoops or studs? Too many options, so little time. A bounty of options dance before you, and think of how they’d appear against your dress and makeup. You think the pearls complement the ones that are stitched along the hem of the bodice. Studs, on the other hand, while embodying a certain casual charm, seem a pinch too informal for the grandeur of the occasion.

You decide to go for pearly hoops, and almost jab your ear with it.

Something tips over in the act of putting in the earrings and your eyes shoot to your right. Vials. It had almost slipped your mind. How dangerous the act of leaving your own self for three days is; how could you forget? Mithridatism, it is called — the very process of ingesting poison to immunise oneself from its very risk. Ironic how protection it is to you, but death it was for your mother. You almost contemplate abandoning it and never turning back, but you’ve come so far; and an idiot you would be if you succumb to your cowardice.

Clicking the hoops closed, you take a vial. You pop it open and ignore the burn as it travels down your throat. Gods above, you never can ever get used to its bitter taste.

Grabbing a purse amongst five others, you slip into a pair of white heels, leaving your apartment in a hurry. Your heels click loudly against the pavement, and you rush towards the heart of the city, ignoring all the awed stares that you garner from the people.

“She is nigh unrecognisable!” a strained voice shouts, and the shutter of a camera follows suit. The rest of the trip is a blur and you find you cannot recall anything when your mind is cleared.

You rush to the elevator and jam the button with your fist. “Damnit.”

The doors open and you press the button for it to close, ignoring the dazed look of a couple that disappears as the doors shut in their faces. Muttering a quiet ‘sorry’, you lean against the wall of the elevator for support. You can do it. Just act.

A ding sounds and a friendly breeze greets you, the silhouette of the man you can recognise anywhere standing at ease, facing the waters.

“I’m here,” you say, voice reduced to a frail squeak; and you’re surprised that he even hears you. The metal of his boots scrape against the marble as he whirls around, the unreadable expression on his switching to a grin.

“Ah, madame,” he regards you with his head bowed, and seems to study your face for an uncomfortably long, few seconds. “Do not be so worried, the aquabus hasn’t arrived.”

You flat out decline the claim. “I am not worried, monsieur. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a seat.”

Before you can, he stops you with a bouquet of rainbow roses. “Here, I thought they’d complement greatly with your eyes.” What type of awkward, low-budget line delivery is this? Too short and too concise, Neuvillette notes, already hearing the nagging of Lady Furina in his ears.

“Oh, uhm. Thank you.” You almost rip the bouquet out of his hands with how clammy they are, and its added grip only adds to the flush of your cheeks — both to be blamed on your exertion and anxiety.

The swish of water sprinkles lightly against your arm, and you look up to be greeted by an aquabus with the cutest Melusine standing atop, hands on her hips. Not that you wanted to play favourites of course, every Melusine was adorable in ways they know best.

Offering his hand, you respond with your own, gloved hands against lace. Lifting your skirt, you struggle with the steps and you’re immediately brought back to two days ago, when the Duke and Champion Duelist were reduced to ushers, waging war against a staircase.

Neuvillette, ever the gentleman, snakes an arm around the small of your back to support you up onto the platform. What is this treatment? No one’s around, and no one’s certainly watching. It is just courtesy, you tell yourself, yes! Just courtesy.

The two of you sit shoulder to shoulder, and Aeval eyes you silently, smiling a little with her hands moving to clutch behind her back.

She begins her rehearsed monologue, but you’ve heard so much of it that you choose to drown it out with the howls of wind that cart through your hair. The chill, night air has the hair on your arms to stand upright, and any semblance of sweat disappears as quickly as a bead from your dress slips, tapping against the metal of the floor, and into the water.

Oops.

You bend forward to fix the velcro of your heel and sit upright, running your fingers through your hair.

“A ribbon on your dress is undone — allow me to tie it for you.”

What exactly was this man on about? There was no ribbon in your dress, nor anything that could accentuate your figure in any form.

“I don’t ever recall having a ribbon wound in my dress, monsieur — oh.” A long string of white rolls in the wind, and realise that he is, unfortunately, correct. You turn and see his brow raised, another part of the ribbon encased between his fingers.

“W—well… It was merely an oversight. I can do it myself, Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you very much.”

“But I insist. It would be a pity if such a momentous occasion be ruined because of an untied ribbon, would it not?”

No, an indignant fire ignites within, a visceral urge to unleash the words that dance on the tip of your tongue. You want to scream at him; tell him that he is a dolt at thinking that you would allow him to so intimately bind the knot at your waist. To say yes is to succumb, and would you reveal such a lack of decorum to the one person you do not want to have seen you so vulnerable.

“Fine,” is a word that is foreign on your lips, and you do not know why you have just contradicted every argument within you for an act. A furrow forms between your brows, and you bite your lip to restrain words you do not wish to say spill from your mouth.

You turn to your right, bringing your hair to one side of your shoulders to give him a better view of the knot he is to tie. Fingers brush against your spine, and you cannot help a stunt in your breathing as he continues, working his way down. A discomfort blooms within your gut like a blaze when he tightens at your hip, and you jolt. The bandage was clinched enough as is.

His warm breath teases your shoulder, an alien heat against the cold of the oceanic wind. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Could — could you just loosen it a little?”

“Alright.”

Slumping at the newly given space between you and the cloth, you turn around, placing the flowers on your lap.

Neuvillette gives you a side glance, and looks away. You do not know if he compensates for another. “You look gorgeous tonight, madame.”

“Save the compliments for when the people are around, Monsieur Neuvillette. Wouldn’t you hate it if poor Aeval were to get the wrong impression?” You eye him watchfully, relishing in how his face seems to tense like being pulled at the strings.

The ride to the Opera Epiclese falls silent after your comment.

Bright lights line the pathway to the Opera Epiclese, and you do not know how your eyes gleam in the reflection of the yellow that shines against your dress. Huh. Lady Furina’s judgement has failed once again; there aren’t many people loitering around the Fountain of Lucine, except that of a few people who are sitting with glasses of what seems to be champagne in their hands.

The man by your side bends down and you look over to see another Melusine, with her hands cupped over his ear, whispering something you cannot discern. This garners a nod from the Iudex, and he returns to his full height and gives you a wry smile.

He bears the weight of your hand in his, and places a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Flowers drop loosely in your grip and your other arm is locked with Neuvillette’s, leaving little room for comfort; but you swallow it down if it means that Fontaine is spared and no one’s lives are taken. You mutter a prayer that Lady Furina is using everything in her power to revert what is lost; because prophecy be damned if the one sole figure meant to salvage it all crumbles.

Sacrifice lingers in your hands.

Almost as if conjured, a flower cut at its stem sits in between the Iudex’s fingers and you return his stare with an expectant one. “May I?” is the question that leaves his lips, and when you oblige, he places the flower snug against your ear.

You wonder what you look like right now. If only you could make a run for it, steal a glance at yourself through the reflection of the Fountain of Lucine and fix your hair.

An awkward weight lingers in the air when the idea of what is to come burdens everything you lay your eyes upon. Splatters of water cool your jitters and you spot a dog laying its head down on the elevated pavement; it barks at you and you suddenly lose all respect for that bundle of fur. “What disrespect!” you exclaim, and this earns a laugh from the Chief Justice.

“It is harmless, dearest.”

“I know, you fool. It’s its bark that scrapes my ears like a blasted rake — can you imagine hearing that all because you simply exist?”

This did not take much imagination for him. Four centuries and critique after critique presents themselves as a well-versed routine, the familiar tune of disapproving echoing — not as strangers — but an old friend.

“I feel for your distress, and I suggest you take a vacation, if it helps to clear your head.”

You flash him a tired grin. “If my work wasn’t so merciless, I would consider it in a heartbeat. But alas, we all want what we can’t have. Take everyone in this country, for example ─ they’re oh-so passionate in pursuit of grandeur, but have nothing to show for themselves.”

Neuvillette brings his lips to your ear so you can hear him better. “An astute observation indeed — it seems to you that you see their own strength as hubris. Which is why, mon coeur, Lady Furina has twisted the strings of the people; but, tell me, do you reckon they are to react as Lady Furina intends?”

“I think people react in ways they wish; there is no specific formula for the ways of humans, as sad as that may be.” your implication at knowing of Neuvillette’s inability to conform to the habits of people shoots through him like a lance, but he isn’t able to discern whether you had meant for your choice of wording to hit home.

A rumble has you lurching forward, but Neuvillette catches you by the arm. “Do you feel that?”

“It must be another leakage of the waters, but I do not sense that anything has taken effect.”

Applause and whistles seep through the doors of the Opera Epiclese, and both of your heads whip to the entrance.

“The rest of them are coming. Put on your best show— show them your unwavering facade.”

You look at him, and for the first time since your mother laid limp on the marble floors of your home, you feel pure, unadulterated fear. “What if they find out, murder me, and drag me senseless into the dirt? Would I be known as a heroine, or reduced to a measly coward?”

Neuvillette wraps both his hands around the base of your forearms. “Regardless of the outcome, I shall bear the burden. This concerns both of us, and I am resolved to ensure that nothing unforeseen shall jeopardise you.”

Nodding, you level your gaze with his, and steel your feet against the ground, almost as if you would tip over had you left yourself weak and vulnerable.

“Do not take my next words into consideration, it is merely fabrication.” He glances to his right, and the first group of people come pouring out, chattering in loud bursts of laughter and debate. Reaching into his breast pocket, his hand comes away with a velvet box and he finally begins the first line of his script.

You do not process his words, because your vision becomes blurry and the familiar taste of poison almost rises up like bile in the back of your throat and you want to faint. The flash of cameras blind your sight and you see the hushed, curious murmurs of everyone that begins to crowd around the two of you like vultures to fresh prey.

“You are my confidant, my love. I wish for us to remain like we are, hopeless and entwined,” he kneels on one knee and holds the box between his hands, and opens it, a sapphire glistening amidst the blue moon.” So, mon coeur, will you take me as your husband?”

You summon a smile, albeit with effort, and laugh. “Yes!” The crowd erupts into another wave of shouts as he stands, holding your hand as he pushes the ring onto your finger, smiling. Gloved hands snake around your waist as leans in for a kiss, but instead, he is met with his lips against the apple of your cheek.

He does not realise his delay in reacting until the fountain erupts in a fluorescent flurry of purples and pinks.

a/n: guys. their relationship is DEVELOPING DONT WE LOVE SOME DEVELOPMENT I KNOW YOU DO

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

#neuvillette fanfic #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #genshin impact #enemies to lovers #marriage of convenience #arranged marriage

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