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truelovepolinator · 27 days ago

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Nicola and Luke are ABSOLUTELY TOGETHER and have been all along and here’s how I know

(Friends, I’ve just finished this and it is INSANELY LONG. Like, two looong book chapters long. But I PROMISE it’s worth it. I was gonna cut it into multiple parts to make it more readable, but I’m going to be super busy over the next few days, so I wouldn’t have a chance to post subsequent parts until probably Christmas, so I’ve decided to drop it all now so I don’t delay the final victorious conclusion. Sorry, it’s so long, but I don’t really have time to rethink it and try to tell the story in a more concise way. Again, I think you’ll be glad you stuck with it if you want to feel as thoroughly confident as I am that Nic and Luke are absolutely together.)

So I want to start by saying something I’m sure I’ll repeat. This is, of course, just my opinion and supposition based on the evidence available to me. But I also want to say, I am absolutely, positively sure now in a way I have never been. Genuinely not a doubt in my mind, and I think you’ll agree by the end of this.

It’s also worth noting that this may be nothing new to some of you. I’ve only been on this platform for a week and have barely scratched the surface of the great content here. So this is how *I* came to the final, joyful conclusion that everything is right with the world where lukola is concerned. I had long been sure they belonged together, but was afraid to embrace the theories about them actually being together now for fear of heartbreak, plus all the confusing signals about A & J, etc.

But all that changed a couple nights ago when I finally got the last piece of the puzzle I needed to see the big picture. There were just too many things that didn’t make sense, until they did! I literally couldn’t sleep that night (seriously only got about 2 hours) and then spent next day telling my husband the story for hours (in 20-30 minute increments as he could spare them during his slow, Christmas time work day).

My husband has been a patient, long-suffering skeptic through all of this. He’s put up with my rants and constant videos I just had to share, but he’s been completely convinced from day one that they simply leaned into their friendship to turn on faux relationship vibes for PR. He was absolutely sure it was all just make-believe for the fans. No matter what I showed him, he could not be convinced.

Until yesterday. Yes, I convinced the toughest skeptic in town.

I think it’s important to start with my journey into the Lukola fandom for context. I was a casual Bridgerton watcher until this season, and had never read the books. I liked season 1, I loved season 2, and I was looking forward to watching season 3.

I had planned to wait to watch the first 4 until the second half was about to launch (so I wouldn’t have to wait for more), but I realized after about a week that we needed to watch it immediately before everything was completely spoiled by timeline gifs and clips.

Needless to say, I was beyond hooked. Instantly. Season 3 was another level for all the reasons you all know. Finally I could engage safely with the fandom, but the process from occasional Polin/Lukola content to nonstop immersion took some time. So even following the second half, there was a TON of footage I hadn’t seen.

All of this to say, I basically missed all of the World Tour stuff as it was happening, and it took well into the summer to finally see so many amazing clips and edits that I was absolutely fucking sucked into the lukola wormhole. However, I was well behind many of you on the curve, and even to this day, I’m still catching up on things.

But by late summer, I was all in. I was sailing high on USS Lukola (or I suppose that should be the HMS Lukola!) because I saw exactly what you all saw. This was clearly real, their feelings were indisputable, and everything about their behavior and much of what they said was so far beyond PR, even “faking couplehood” PR.

They were real. Even if he had this dumb girlfriend. (I say that only in the good-natured, abstract sense that I wanted him with Nic, not in a personal “actually about her” sense. In fact, I’ve never said anything hateful about either A or J and I hope I never will.)

WHY AREN’T THEY TOGETHER???

I couldn’t resist the mystery.

It drove me absolutely crazy for months trying to understand why they weren’t together. Nothing made sense, but I mentally explored literally every possibility. They’re afraid of ruining their friendship? They’re afraid of disrupting the production if it goes wrong? These possibilities at least made some kind of sense and seemed to be the only explanations I could find. But in my mind, they weren’t good enough reasons to resist what these two so obviously had. Still, I’m not them, so that was easy for me to say. I had nothing to risk in this.

One or both of them is/are secretly gay? Soulmate besties instead of soulmate lovers? I didn’t think this was the case and nothing made me believe this. Yet, I was attempting to allow for every possibility. Still, with Nicola being the super vocal “gay icon” that she is, it was hard to imagine she wouldn’t live out and proud if that was the case. And apparently she lived with an unknown man for two years. Though she does always keep her private (romantic) life super private, so I suppose who knows? And, of course, Luke had two very public past relationships with women, but again, who knows, I suppose? This option doesn’t ring true at all, but it does exist in the universe of possible explanations for this inexplicable situation.

They love each other in a soulmate way, but somehow one of them just isn’t “attracted” to the other? Certainly, if the stories about Antonia were true, that might suggest that Luke might be attracted to an entirely different physical type than Nicola. But that didn’t ring true either because LOOK AT THEM TOGETHER! He can’t take his eyes off of her, let alone his hands. And the same for her. They are magnetized to each other. If that’s not attraction, what is?

One of them has baggage and isn’t ready for a real, serious relationship? This one seemed possible. People can have hang-ups or wounds for all sorts of reasons, and letting someone in – especially someone who might actually be your soulmate – can be terrifying. Self-protection by avoiding relationships and/or distracting yourself with less meaningful relationships is a natural way of coping with baggage. Yes, maybe this one? Neither of them seems obviously wounded, but what would I know? Most people don’t wear their wounds on their sleeves, least of all during a PR tour. Still, the energy flow between them seemed anything but wounded. It seemed like the healthiest, happiest thing in the world.

People kept saying, they’re blind and they don’t see it yet. But I don’t believe anyone can be that blind. Especially after watching all the countless edits and clips of their tour, which we know they did because Nicola is chronically online and sharing with Luke the best of it all (and sneaky Luke is likely lurking also).

So at the end of the day, I had no good explanation. It just kept not making sense.

Then those music festival photos of Nic and Jake (I’ll abbreviate sometimes for ease, but I do say their names) showed up. The fandom erupted into chaos with full reactions across the spectrum including a bizarre, almost immediate burst of (not yet named) jakolas, which felt like a disproportionate response to a few photos.

Admittedly, those photos did look quite friendly, and touchy, and yes, they stood arm-in-arm. But lots of friends stand like that at concerts. And Nic is known to be touchy-feely, so let’s not go overboard, I thought. However, I did acknowledge (in my head, I didn’t weigh in online at all) that it suggested that it COULD be romantic. I opted not to freak out, because either way, Nic’s love life is her own and I want her to be happy.

And it’s worth saying here that both of their private lives are none of my business, none of any of our business, and even writing this is completely at odds with that truth. I acknowledge that. But what I told myself, and actually meant it, was that I was going to stay out of it unless and until NicLuke got together. That was the only place I would invest my energy since they’ve both said they think it’s sweet that fans ship them. If they dated others, good luck to them. Be happy. But when the time comes…

Yes, friends, the time has come!!! But back to my story.

Note that (because again, I was still catching up), I hadn’t yet seen the swimming in Sorrento photos and had missed that piece of the puzzle at that point. Throughout this time, I’d see people refer to things on Twitter like everyone already knew what they were talking about, but hardly anyone ever took the time to explain. So I got lots of glimmers of things that others felt were notable, without actually knowing any details. Those pictures were an example. Another was the Claddagh ring.

I’m very grateful to some amazing deep dive blog entries by @threeacttragedy that explained the ring, “Bless the Telephone,” and other meaty, important history that I’d previously only heard mentioned in passing. In fact, one of her blogs is what first brought me here by referral from Twitter. And if you don’t follow her, you should!

In the past week, as I started reading blogs that broke down past dates and clues, I finally started looking them up one by one and trying to put the pieces together in my head. I’d seen the swimming photos by then, but I revisited them. I dug in to try to understand the references to a “New Year kiss” from the night the friend group (Rory, etc.) posted photos together from a Soho House party. I reviewed Hot Boy Summer, I rewatched the incredibly emotional video of Luke meeting Nicola’s mom, I looked at photos of the Claddagh ring and went to Chupi’s website. I learned about the LA photos from April, both Antonia’s version and the InStyle Polaroids. I reviewed all the photos of Luke and Antonia that I could find. And I reviewed all the photos and videos of Nic and Jake that I could find. Also, I listened to “Bless the Telephone” about one hundred times. Lol.

Regarding Luke and Antonia, I had the same response in this deep dive I’ve had every time. Weird. I mean, if I didn’t feel so strongly that Luke was in love with Nicola, and if I knew nothing about him except he was some hot actor, could I see him dating someone like A? Sure. But the fact that there are almost no pictures of them posing together, alone like a couple, is weird. Even if it’s super casual and she was just his date to some stuff. The fact that Luke looks grumpy in both sets of pap photos (premiere night and swimming in Sorrento), but A is smiling happily in at least one of the premiere night photos is weird. The fact that after the Sorrento pap photos, Luke seems to leave his friend group to come home early, and then stops liking any of his best friend Rory’s photos from there on, weird.

The fact that in the fall, she posts pictures harkening back to a place and time they were apparently together, but without any actual photos together, weird. And the continual drip, drip of Likes from Luke is weird. And then when a photo of Luke in a restaurant in Rome is posted by the restaurant, she immediately follows with a video story of someone making pasta in the same restaurant, weird.

Perhaps weirdest of all, the fact that she pre-posted the LA pictures, and then he gave other versions of the same shots to InStyle. Especially the switching seats thing. If my husband and I were taking pics of each other at a café, I’d take his picture in front of the traffic, and he’d take my picture in front of the restaurant, because that’s where we’d be sitting. Across from each other. So why switch seats to take the photos? It’s not like that street with traffic was such a fantastic backdrop that we’d each need our turn with that shot? And they’re the same, with the same table number, but different. Sure, traffic moves, but weird coincidence that they each had a white truck, but a DIFFERENT white truck. So, like I said, weird. Always implying they were together, but never actually saying/showing it. Weird.

I read all sorts of theories from pragmatic (we just have to accept that they’re dating) to hateful (they’re not together/never were, but she’s obsessed and keeps inserting herself in a pathetic, desperate plea for attention and followers) to seemingly far-fetched (some sort of NDA that means for some reason Luke is obligated to Like her photos). Only the first of these seemed plausible. I maybe didn’t like it (not maybe, I didn’t like it at all), but I thought, “Yes, I guess we just have to accept that they’re probably together until they tell us otherwise.”

(Though I held out a small sliver of “but we don’t know anything for sure until L and/or N tell us themselves” hope, which remains true even as I write this.)

Now, let’s talk about Nic and Jake. First, there were those shots from the concert (discussed above). Then, I believe, were the NYC shots (if I’m not confusing the order). In the NYC shots, they were both there, but they weren’t especially intimate in any interpersonal sense. Then, the pap shots on the street posted on DM, ostensibly catching them walking home together, holding hands and arm-in-arm after a night at the pub. With those photos came an onslaught of fandom fury and gossip site reporting about how “Nicola Coughlan confirms her relationship…” Same story runs across a bunch of trashy sites, all saying the same thing and citing an unnamed source talking about how besotted they were, or whatever the quote was.

Admittedly, I was among the furious fans. Not because of what the pictures showed. Again, I was trying to be serene and Zen about them and their private lives. I believed with all my heart that NicLuke belonged together, but if now wasn’t their time, I’d have to wait. I didn’t love that I’d heard he was only 24, but I was trying to balance my efforts to be a non-judgmental person with my discomfort over that issue and reminding myself that her choices are none of my business (unless she chooses Luke!).

So I did my best to refrain from judgment, even as I saw the fandom erupt into toxic madness about whether it was true, whether he was gay, whether the age gap was wrong, whether DM lied about the date, and if they did (which they did), why? But I figured, unless the photos were very, very old, things weren’t likely to have changed in their relationship over a couple weeks, so I wasn’t overly concerned about the date.

However, I was angry about all these stories (basically the same story across the board) announcing that she’d “CONFIRMED” the relationship. It made me very angry that they said she confirmed something when she’d done nothing of the sort. I wasn’t prepared to argue that she wasn’t dating Jake at that point, but why would they all run this story, with this headline, when what actually happened was a paparazzi photographer snapped shots and sold them, then the media drew conclusions from what they saw?

Nicola never confirmed a damn thing. So why were they running this headline so universally?

I was also angry that the photos existed at all. Photos in her neighborhood could reveal her location and put her safety at risk. Also, how did they happen to be there to take those photos late one specific night? Felt like they must have received a tip. But I moved on and forgot about that part.

Time went on and I saw more and more discussion of Jake’s sexuality. I don’t really want to get into that here because I don’t really feel comfortable speculating about anyone unless they choose to explicitly come out, but I did finally start poking around his page, Douglas’s page, etc. and began to understand why people were saying what they were saying. However, I reminded myself that bi/pan-sexuality exists and I wasn’t willing to partake in bi-erasure, so I held my tongue and kept watching.

Now, at this point, I want to remind us all that Nic has always been extremely private and uttered nary a peep in public about her romantic/sexual life. And fair enough. It’s none of our damn business. Also, she’s talked extensively about how women are not just men’s girlfriends and her feminist take on many things and how it doesn’t feel nice to know that people are more interested in her love life than her work. She’s worked freaking hard to achieve the success she’s now enjoying, and she certainly should not be reduced to a woman in a relationship. No matter who is on the other end of that relationship.

(Again here, I feel the need to acknowledge my hypocrisy in writing this, but I really do genuinely love Nic’s work and spirit and activism, etc. as well.)

So, in light of her position on all of that, we wouldn’t expect her to go public with a new love interest. The fact that she was papped with this guy (if indeed he was a love interest) was just an indication of how much her celebrity and profile have grown. There’s greater interest now and she’s more recognizable now, so it’s to be expected that she’d have a harder time keeping her love life private now than in the past. Not so strange then, that she got caught a couple times in paparazzi photos at this point.

However, would she really then go public with that guy? That would mark a radical change in her behavior just when you’d think she’d want to be the most private because the glare of the spotlight is brighter than ever. Still, she allowed a public photo with him, Camilla, and Evan Ross Katz to go out shortly thereafter. If one believed they were dating, that could certainly be interpreted as a launch. Yet, as I said, would she really do that if she were dating him?

Then he started popping up everywhere. I won’t get the chronology here right because I don’t want to research the dates right now, but there was the Charlie xcx concert, in which she appeared with Jake and Dylan, who is out and proud. The Queer premiere where he was just caught in the background of a fan photo. The simultaneously released photos from the red and gold restaurant (with a mysterious third person taking the photos). There was the apparently brunch-time photo of her with Jake and two others, taken by Dylan. And most recently, Louisa’s photo with Jake and Douglas (who is also openly gay and close friends, if not more, with Jake).

I’m not mentioning all the players in all of these because it’s not critical to the story, and I may be forgetting some photos, but there is a point to all of this. First, there’s potentially a notable shift in what she’s allowing to be shared here. Again, historically, she’s never shared anything about her love life. Suddenly, she’s letting him be photographed everywhere. Also, at most of these events, there were other queer participants and/or queer content (the movie premiere).

And while she’s never allowed her romantic life to be shared, you know what she has often shared? Photos with all of her platonic friends, including her huge friend group of many, many gay men. So this trend in what she’s allowing to be shared suggests that she’s telling a story and clarifying Jake’s role in her life.

But then there’s that one mystery release, the simultaneously timed restaurant photo drops. Clearly coordinated, clearly indicating they were there together. No indication about the third party. Why? Just enough to hint that there might be something going on, and to continue wreaking havoc in the fandom.

Because remember that toxic fandom bickering over all of this? The jakolas swearing they’re in love and soon to be engaged and furious at the lukolas for “being blind and refusing to accept the truth and it’s so disrespectful to Nic ('who you claim to love') by disregarding her feelings and treating the love of her life so badly. They keep showing you they’re in love and you won’t listen!” Etc., etc.

Meanwhile, the lukolas fall into a couple camps. By this point, most have decided Nic and Jake aren’t dating, but some remain circumspect. Some scream back at the jakolas, ostensibly in defense of Jake, saying very similar things about “Jake and his friends are doing everything in their power to show you the truth and you refuse to see it.” And a variety of other responses. Everyone’s mad at everyone.

And all of it, every bit of it, keeps us ALL talking about Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton. Nonstop, every day.

Now, we are nearing the big mic drop of all of this, and I want to say at this point that we need to remember that Nic and Luke are HUMAN BEINGS who have a right to privacy. And they are celebrities living in a world that has an intense interest in their love lives. And sometimes, we might not feel good about the measures they must take to protect their privacy. We might hate those measures. We might feel manipulated, and we are. But if we love and respect them as much as I hope we all do, we can also understand and forgive them for taking such measures.

A quick review of important factors in all of this:

THINGS THAT TELL US IT’S REAL

The Galway trip and that very emotional introduction to Nic’s mom, which looked for all the world like a woman meeting her future son-in-law

The Claddagh ring and how she’s been wearing it

The things reporters, cast, and crew have said in passing and/or posted, not to mention recent open shipping from Ryan Wheeler and Shondaland’s IG

Everything we saw with our own eyes on the world tour, not to mention everything we’ve seen in the BTS

Little droplets of NicLuke over the recent months like Bless the Telephone and (not yet mentioned above) the S4 selfie and the photo of them in costume that Nic said she thought she’d shared, but now it’s ours (while she hasn’t posted any Jake)

The absolute consistency of all of this as a story that makes sense

THINGS THAT MAKE US DOUBT IT’S REAL AND/OR KEEP US GUESSING AND DISCUSSING

The premiere night pap photos (and though I didn’t mention it earlier, the fact that Nic went home that night so she wasn’t around for A’s attendance)

The friend group photos at Soho House with Luke, A and others

The weird LA InStyle photos

The Sorrento swimming photos

The multiple sets of pap photos of Nic and Jake, including grainy night-time neighborhood photos (with a woman walking a dog in the background)

The way every gossip news outlet ran the same “Nicola confirmed her relationship” story with the same headline and the same anonymous quote

The weirdly devoted, intensely defensive jakolas/Jake stans that seem to care about nothing but Jake/jakola out of nowhere and love screaming at and stirring up shit with lukolas

The chaos and constant discussion of all of this over the past 6+ months

The absolute inconsistency of any of this with anything in the top group

So, this mystery just gets deeper and deeper, and none of it makes sense. Every time I’d try to accept that they were just seeing these other people, something would bump in my head. There were just too many weird things that didn’t quite make sense and the biggest, weirdest one of them all was that NICOLA AND LUKE ARE CLEARLY IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER.

So while the pieces would always almost fit, the puzzle never quite took shape. Until two nights ago when I stumbled on @lukolafan ’s page after they liked one of my posts. I scrolled down their page and found a link labeled “Lukola PR Strategies and Fake Narratives.” I cannot scream this loudly enough. GO VISIT THAT LINK!!!!! (I’ll add the links myself later if I have time.)

I did and it led to a series of Reddit posts taking an academic approach to teaching us, the general public (and lukola fans) PR Media Literacy. Among the various topics it discussed were things like:

“PR Firms and Entertainment Media: Coordinating “News” Across Gossip, Entertainment, and Official Publications,” which talks about using anonymous sources, more about staged paparazzi, and repeated narratives (“outlets echo identical stories, reinforcing PR-approved messaging, for example, multiple outlets platforms describing a celebrity ‘rising above’ a controversy, quoting the same anonymous insider” – Sound familiar?)

“The Invisible Hand of Celebrity Privacy: How PR Fabricates Narratives and Manipulates Fans,” which includes ways that PR strategies intentionally manipulate fans to fight/debate celebs faking relationships, and more (sound familiar?)

There’s honestly so much meat in all of these (there are a couple others as well) that they are ALL worth reading. There is definitely some repetition, but still, the content is super insightful and revealing and can help us all be more savvy consumers of media.

But I want to focus on two CRITICAL posts, in particular.

“The Role of Staged Paparazzi and Gossip Outlets in Celebrity PR Campaigns”

The first part of this piece talks about the method for staging fake paparazzi photos to create narratives. Two items of particular note (and I’m excerpting directly):

Quality Control of the Image: While professional photographers use high-quality cameras, staged paparazzi photos are intentionally manipulated to appear grainy or blurry. This adds a layer of authenticity to the photo, making it look as though the photographer stumbled upon the celebrity by chance.

Extra Figures in the Background: Another key tactic in staged paparazzi photos involves the use of background extras—people who might be walking with dogs, pushing strollers, or simply in the vicinity.

Think of Nicola’s photos walking home with Jake, a woman walking a dog behind them. Some of them are clear, but some are quite grainy, despite the fact that professional photographers have great equipment and are more than capable of taking a night-time shot.

Another excerpt…

Gossip Outlets: DeuxMoi and the Symbiotic Relationship with PR Firms

With the rise of user-generated content and anonymously submitted tips, gossip websites have become integral to the modern celebrity PR machine. Sites like DeuxMoi thrive on rumors and speculation, providing a platform for fans and anonymous sources to share celebrity gossip. PR teams exploit these platforms to feed their desired narratives without appearing to directly control the flow of information.

How Gossip Sites Like DeuxMoi Work:

Anonymous Tips and Leaks: PR teams often send anonymous tips to gossip outlets, offering details about celebrity activities or sightings. These tips are deliberately vague, leaving room for interpretation and speculation. Once posted on sites like DeuxMoi, the stories tend to snowball as they are shared across social media and republished by larger outlets.

Fueling Speculation: These posts generate buzz and speculation, keeping celebrities in the public eye without any direct confirmation. Gossip sites become a key player in amplifying the narrative, as fans, influencers, and media outlets continue to discuss and spread the information.

Mutual Benefits: While gossip sites operate independently, there is a mutual benefit to the relationship between them and PR teams. Gossip sites thrive on traffic and engagement, while PR teams can ensure their client’s name stays relevant in the public discourse. By subtly feeding stories, PR teams maintain control over how their celebrity’s narrative unfolds.

The piece goes on to give specific examples like Kendall Jenner and Bad Bunny, Tomdaya, Gigi Hadad and Zayne Malik, etc. then talks about fake fan interactions and how to spot them.

It offers key questions to ask about the photos you see (like what story is it telling and why and who benefits?) and then it gives this example. If your ears aren’t already fully perked, this will do it:

Example: 37-Year-Old Famous Actress and 24-Year-Old Lesser-Known Celebrity

Narrative of Romance or Distraction: In this case, the 37-year-old actress is likely fueling rumors of a relationship with the 24-year-old to either distract from something else in her personal life (like a real romantic partner) or to refresh her public image. The younger celebrity could be hired to play a temporary love interest or interest figure in the media, leading people to speculate whether they are more than just friends.

Creating a Romance or Mystery: The photo of them walking arm-in-arm, laughing, or holding hands might suggest that a romantic connection exists. This could be used to make the actress seem more relatable, desirable, or single, even if there is no romantic involvement behind the scenes.

Diverting Public Focus: If the actress is privately in a relationship with another celebrity or involved in an ongoing controversy, the staged photo with the younger celebrity helps to deflect attention. By inserting a "mystery romance," the public is more interested in who the new partner is, leaving the actress’s real partner or issues to stay out of the spotlight.

PR Stunt to Revitalize Publicity: The actress might not just be looking for romantic gossip but also fresh exposure. A curated paparazzi shot could serve as a PR tool to keep the actress's name in circulation—be it through romantic rumors, new partnerships, or simply new media content to fuel speculation.

Potential Body Double for Real Partner: If the real partner is shying away from the public eye or trying to avoid the media, the younger celebrity might act as a "body double" or decoy. This helps maintain an image of the actress being in a public relationship, while allowing her to keep the real relationship.

Don’t think I need to explain the relevance of this very specific example. There’s a lot more in the post, but I’ll move on for now to the next key post.

“Breadcrumbing and Coordinated Campaigns”

In this piece, they offer first some key breadcrumbing tactics, many of which sound awfully familiar.

Common Types of Breadcrumbs:

Cryptic Social Media Posts: Celebrities post vague messages or abstract references, sparking fan theories. Example: Harry Styles posts cryptic images or quotes, prompting speculation.

Coordinated Social Media Timing: PR teams synchronize posts to create the illusion of a shared narrative. Example: Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss posted similar content at the same time, fueling relationship rumors.

Accidental Social Media Interactions: Liking posts or commenting on ambiguous tweets creates intimacy and speculation. Example: Kendall Jenner engages with fans on social media, fueling rumors.

Seemingly Innocent Photos: Casual photos subtly hint at a larger narrative. Example: Zendaya and Tom Holland posted photos together, teasing their relationship.

Cryptic? Like Bless the Telephone? Or a mysterious left-handed guy holding a phone in the background while Nic gets ready?

Synchronized like Nic and Jake at that restaurant? Or as far as that goes, like Nic and Luke with the S4 selfie?

Accidental social media interactions? I didn’t go into that here, but we’ve seen lots of odd likes and things, lots of Nic interactions, oh, and those RW and SL likes of late.

Seemingly innocent photos. Like very happy looking S4 pics and the “now it’s yours” BTS photo?

Perhaps most of this could be interpreted as just genuine fan interaction and fan service, which I think it is to some extent. It’s a natural part of the business. But it’s also very often done with intention.

But here’s the more important part of this piece. It gives some case studies (Ben and JLo, Shawn and Camila), then it gives two “abstract” examples.

YOU’LL LOVE THIS. Note that the second example changes to an actor and a musician, but don’t let that fool you. Keep reading for some unmistakable specifics.

Breadcrumbing with a Fake PR Girlfriend: Case Study of Celebrity 007

For Celebrity 007, breadcrumbing is used to create a false narrative about a relationship with a PR girlfriend. This helps maintain fan interest while deflecting attention from the celebrity’s true personal life.

How It Works:

First Breadcrumbs: The PR strategy begins with posts from both the celebrity and the PR girlfriend, hinting at a connection without confirming it. Example: Celebrity 007 posts a picture from a Paris restaurant or cafe in LA and the PR girlfriend shares a similar post from the same location but from a different day with different white trucks in the background (double check the Instyle Stunt images!!!)

Expanding the Narrative: Shared travel posts and indirect interactions continue the illusion of a relationship. Example: Matching geo-tags in posts from Rome suggest they were there together.

Indirect Engagement: Likes, comments, and ambiguous interactions increase intrigue without confirming the relationship. Example: The PR girlfriend comments, “Great to be here with you! 💖,” on Celebrity 007's post.

Paparazzi Shots: Carefully timed candid shots further reinforce the illusion of a relationship. Example: Paparazzi photos of Celebrity 007 and the PR girlfriend walking hand-in-hand, fueling speculation.

Note:

Café in LA, same location, different trucks?

Matching tags in Rome?

Likes and ambiguous interactions

Carefully timed (say at a premiere party) candid paparazzi shops w gf walking hand-in-hand

And then there’s the next one. In the interest of length since this is already hella long, I’ve removed some less relevant parts, but I encourage you to read it yourself.

Breadcrumbing to Hide a Real Relationship: Case Study of Celebrity 009

Why Hide the True Relationship?

In celebrity culture, the decision to keep a relationship private—or hidden—can be a strategic move, driven by a mix of personal privacy and professional interests. Some celebrities may choose to share their personal lives openly, but for others, particularly those who value their privacy or wish to control their public image, keeping a relationship private is key. This is especially relevant for two celebrities who are romantically involved but prefer to maintain discretion, despite public curiosity about their relationship.

Whether it’s a high-profile couple like Beyoncé and Jay-Z, or a less conspicuous pairing, the decision to hide the true nature of a romantic relationship often involves balancing personal desires with career strategy. In this scenario, let’s explore why two celebrities might choose to keep their relationship under wraps and the complex PR considerations that lead them to do so.

Media Scrutiny/Escaping Constant Surveillance: Navigating the Spotlight Together (I’ve combined two sections here for length)

When two celebrities become romantically involved, the media will inevitably take notice. The relationship can quickly become the focal point of constant headlines, paparazzi photos, and gossip columns. For celebrities who value their privacy, this level of scrutiny can feel overwhelming, as every public appearance or moment shared can quickly turn into speculation, even if the couple doesn’t wish to attract attention.

Romanticized Expectations: The Pressure of Perfection

Media scrutiny often creates an unrealistic, romanticized version of a celebrity relationship. Fans and the public tend to project their fantasies onto famous couples, imagining them as the perfect, unbreakable pairing. The real complexities of a relationship—differences, compromises, and struggles—often don't fit neatly into the idealized narratives created by the public.

For a couple like Actor A and Musician B, the pressure to live up to these idealized expectations can be exhausting. By choosing to keep their relationship private, they can avoid the constant pressure to fit into a preconceived mold. Hiding the relationship from public view allows them to keep things grounded and avoid being turned into a media spectacle.

Brand Control: Managing the Image of "Singleness" or "Availability"

For many celebrities, their public image is closely tied to their brand, and that brand may depend on their perceived "availability" or their status as desirable, unattached individuals. The way the public perceives a celebrity’s romantic life—whether they are single, dating, or in a long-term relationship—can have a significant impact on their professional success and marketability.

Creating Room for Desire: The Allure of the Single Celebrity

Consider Actor A, a leading man known for portraying romantic heroes on screen. The public’s perception of Actor A as a single, unattainable figure is key to their marketability, both in the media and as a brand. If they were to publicly reveal a relationship with Musician B, it could diminish that aura of unattainability. Similarly, Musician B may want to maintain a flirtatious public persona, which could be undermined if they were publicly involved with someone. By keeping the relationship private, both celebrities retain the allure of being desirable and unattached, feeding into the fantasies of their fans.

Avoiding the "Couple" Brand: Risk of Being Reduced to a Package Deal

When a high-profile couple’s relationship is made public, they may become known less for their individual work and more for their collective identity as a couple. In some cases, the couple's public appearances or shared brand messages may overshadow their individual projects. Think of Beyoncé and Jay-Z, who have an incredibly powerful couple brand that often eclipses their solo endeavors in the media. For celebrities like Actor A and Musician B, the fear of being seen as a "package deal" might drive them to hide their relationship. This allows both to maintain their distinct identities, keeping their projects and brands separate and preventing the public from viewing them solely as a pair.

Respecting Boundaries: The Vulnerability of Celebrity Relationships

Even when two celebrities are involved, the vulnerabilities of a relationship can become the focus of media attention if they go public. Romantic relationships—especially those in the high-pressure world of celebrity—are often fraught with ups and downs. The public might demand to know every detail, fueling rumors of breakups, infidelities, or relationship drama. By keeping their romance under wraps, Actor A and Musician B can avoid becoming the subject of constant gossip and can maintain some semblance of normalcy in their private lives.

Avoiding Disruptive Publicity

Celebrity relationships often attract media scrutiny not only about their romantic lives but also about how their relationship affects their careers. The public and the media often delve into the smallest details, speculating about how the relationship might impact their professional trajectories, previous relationships, or future projects.

Career Disruption: The Challenge of Balancing Love and Work

For celebrities like Musician B, a new relationship can take attention away from their upcoming album release or concert tour. The media’s obsession with their personal life might overshadow the launch of a new professional project. Similarly, if Actor A is in the middle of promoting a film or preparing for a big role, the press could focus more on their relationship than their craft, disrupting the flow of their work.

I won’t bother reviewing the relevance of all of the above. I’m sure you can see it plainly for yourself. The examples are absolutely, positively referencing Nicola and Luke, and the reasons for hiding it are super relevant. Especially boundaries, disruption, pressure to be perfect, and being reduced to a package deal.

Now at this point, it’s worth asking the question, do we trust this source? I don’t actually know who posted this content, so I can’t verify their credentials. Perhaps this is yet another PR person’s tricky efforts to continually confuse us and keep us guessing? That seems unlikely since the entire purpose is to help lift the veil on all the other tricks. If you wanted the other tricks to be effective, you’d hardly be revealing them to your target audiences.

But even setting that very logical assumption aside, the reason I know with every fiber of my being that it’s true is that this is literally the only version of events that makes sense of absolutely everything.

All those mysterious and confusing signals, all those weird photos and changes in behavior, all the inconsistencies between what we all saw with our own eyes (they are IN LOVE) and what we saw subsequently with the adjacents, all the tiny Lukola crumbs keeping us hanging on, and all the fandom bickering, especially from bizarrely rabid jakolas.

Every bit of it makes complete sense if we accept that Nic, Luke, and their PR teams have been using a classic PR handbook to distract us from the very real truth that they are together and in love.

Does it hurt to know we’ve been manipulated? You bet it does! But I quickly accepted that because I was so happy to have the truth verified at last. And because I understand why they would do it.

Relationships are hard enough when lived in private. No relationship, no matter how much people love each other, is without challenge. Even soulmates have issues to navigate. Can you imagine the pressure on them if the whole world was watching?

And their lives have added challenges. Travel and separation. Long work schedules that may often be at odds. Possibly romantic scenes with future co-stars that could stir up uncomfortable feelings. Career ups and downs that may not always synch up. Fans and media watching their every move, dissecting them, judging them, rooting for them, and just putting massive pressure on them. What if they fail? They’re letting down the whole world, not just themselves.

And what about Nic’s longstanding demand for privacy? And her emphasis that no woman is just some dude’s girlfriend. She wants to be known for her own work and achievement and passions, not for who she dates or marries. Even if it is wonderful Luke.

Likewise, Luke is just now achieving a newfound level of success. This is a moment for him to seize and make the most of. Being a hot, sexy, ostensibly single guy is good for his brand right now. Even if we know he loves Nicola, his stans need to be able to fantasize about him, which is easier if his relationship is unconfirmed.

And let’s face it, if they come out as a couple, IT WILL BE LUKOLA all the time. That will be the story. Certainly if they’d come out during the World Tour, every question at every stop would be about them and their personal “friends to lovers story.” It would be irresistible to reporters. Too good a story to ignore. And they’d spend way more time talking about their personal lives than about their work. Does that sound like something either of them would want?

And one last thing. Back to their changes in behavior. Does it make more sense that Nicola, who has always been super private about her love life, would suddenly be willing to be photographed constantly with her new bf Jake? Or that Jake is not her bf and she’s keeping her actual bf (or fiancé or husband) secret?

Meanwhile, Luke, who has always been open about his relationships in the past suddenly decides to tighten up and share absolutely nothing about his private life? Well, that makes complete sense if he’s now in a relationship with a woman who is famously private and shares not one word publicly. Suddenly, literally everything makes sense and is entirely consistent.

So there it is, folks. To me, this is the Holy Grail. There’s not a doubt left in my mind about them. They’re together and everything else – literally everything else – is a decoy and a distraction, and every bit of it comes straight from the PR playbook.

I’d like to maintain a sliver of hope that they’re leaving much of it to their teams and they’re not in on the worst of it, but in any case, I don’t blame them one bit for trying to protect their love. It’s too special to let it be destroyed by public consumption. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Given that I don’t actually know them and haven’t confirmed anything directly, I’ll leave 1.5% room for doubt, and adjust my certainty to 98.5%.

And you may dismiss all of this and draw very different conclusions, which is okay, too. But if I’m being really honest, I’m actually 1,000% sure. And I couldn’t be happier for them.

What do we do now? That’s up to each of us. Personally, I’m going to be blissfully happy for them, not sweat any of the distractions, let them live as quietly as they like, and patiently await the day (whether it’s very soon or far in the future) when they finally go public. I hope you’ll do the same.

And until then, I’m going to keep watching Lukola videos on repeat.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #polin #polin bridgerton #nicluke #lukola is real #I've never been more sure of anything #then again #But it's all true and I can prove it

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pretzel-box · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Hello! How are you doing? I hope you're having a great day. This is the first time I requested something so pls bare with me. So I really like the swap!Sebastian and swap!/payment received reader, so can I request a second part where Sebastian bought readers file and maybe some fluff and comfort, that'd be soooo cute and what comes next is up to you.

Anyways thanks for taking your time in reading this and it's also okay if you ignore this😊😊😊

Tags: Comfort, Fluff, Reverse AU, gn! experiment reader & human sebastian, sequel to previous chapter

Words: 1,1k

Authors Note: Since the story progresses differently, I tried to at least write the fluff and comfort part after Seb saw the tapes!

Sebastian’s breath hitched as he tried to steady himself, his heart racing and his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts. He hadn’t expected to break down like this, not here, not in front of you. He had always prided himself on being composed, on having a plan. But those tapes… the sight of what you had gone through—the screams, the agony, the helplessness—it had torn through him like a knife. He didn’t know how to cope with the knowledge of your suffering, and now, here you were, laughing so freely, so blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his heart.

“Ah, there you are!” Your cheerful voice had greeted him when he walked into the shop, his eyes still red and puffy from the tears he had tried to hold back. Your smile was so genuine, so full of light, and it only made the ache in his chest worse. He wanted to protect that light, to shield you from any more pain, but he didn’t know how.

“Look!” You said, holding up the recorder with a playful grin. “I recorded a wall dweller getting hit by Pandemonium. It got squished like a fly.” You played the clip for him like it was some kind of small victory, a moment of dark humor to lighten the mood. But Sebastian couldn’t focus on the video. He could only see you—the real you—behind the cheerful facade.

He felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes welling up with tears again. You noticed the shift in his expression, the way his face crumpled with a pain you couldn’t quite understand. “God, Sebastian,” you teased gently, though your voice was tinged with concern. “Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional over a wall dweller.”

Sebastian didn’t respond. He just stood there, tears streaming down his cheeks in silent waves. The shame of his breakdown mixed with the overwhelming sadness he felt for you, for everything you’d endured, for every piece of you that had been broken and put back together. He hated that he couldn’t control this, that he couldn’t stop crying in front of you. He felt so raw, so exposed.

You blinked, your teasing smile fading as you realized this wasn’t just some passing moment of sentiment. You stepped closer, your expression softening as you took in the sight of him—Sebastian, your normally composed and snarky companion, now reduced to tears.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace. His body stiffened at first, but then he melted into your touch, his head resting against your shoulder as he let out a shaky breath. You held him close, your hand stroking the back of his head, fingers tangling gently in his hair. The other hand moved up and down his back, soothing him with gentle, rhythmic movements.

“It’s okay, Solace,” you whispered softly, your voice a calming melody against the storm raging in his mind. “The wall dweller is at a better place.”

Sebastian let out a choked laugh, a mix of a sob and a chuckle, shaking his head against your shoulder. “It’s… it’s not about the damn wall dweller,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s… it’s you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Me?” you asked, searching his tear-filled eyes for answers. “What about me?”

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself enough to speak. “I saw the tapes,” he admitted quietly, his voice breaking on the last word. “I saw… what they did to you. What you went through.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, your grip on him tightening instinctively. “Sebastian…” you whispered, your voice softening with understanding. “You… you saw those?”

He nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks again. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry for everything they did to you. I just… I don’t know how you’re still standing here, smiling like that.”

You felt a pang in your chest, a mix of sorrow and affection for the man in front of you. You knew the tapes were horrifying—brutal, even—but you had long since come to terms with your past. It was a part of you, yes, but it didn’t define you. Not anymore.

You cupped his face gently, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “I’m okay, Sebastian. I’m still here. I’m still… me.”

He looked at you with such a mix of awe and disbelief, his heart aching with every beat. “But how?” he whispered. “How can you just… move on from something like that?”

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “Because I have to,” you replied simply. “Because if I let it define me, if I let it break me, then they win. And I refuse to let them have that power over me.”

Sebastian stared at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of admiration and love. He had always been drawn to you, always found himself captivated by your spirit, your strength. But now, more than ever, he realized just how much you meant to him—how much he needed you in his life.

He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice muffled against your skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that.”

You smiled softly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair. “You’re protecting me now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you tighter as if afraid to let go. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what had happened in the past, no matter what horrors you’d both faced, you would face them together. And together, you would heal.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, a small, playful smile tugged at your lips. “Besides,” you added, your tone teasing, “I bet that wall dweller’s in wall heaven now, with all his little wall dweller friends. Don’t you think?”

Sebastian let out a watery laugh, pulling back to look at you with a mix of exasperation and affection. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, a small smile breaking through his tears.

“And yet,” you said, grinning up at him, “you’re still here.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart feeling a little lighter, a little more whole. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I am.”

And as you stood there together, holding each other close, you knew that even after Sebastian saw the tapes, he would be alright. Just like you are.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #roblox pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure #pressure x reader #reversed au

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fastandcarlos · 2 months ago

Text

Early Arrivals : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: whilst you catch up on the highlights from the race, your very own highlight makes a very special, early appearance

A cheer escaped as you watched George’s car go over the line with yet another podium in the bag. You’d been on the edge of your seat as you watched the race from home, unable to attend for once due to work, barely able to watch with your hands over your face.

You’d forgotten how much more nerve wracking it was watching the race from home, watching most of it through your fingertips. You’d never been more relieved to see a race come to an end, knowing you had the podium celebrations to look forward to too.

Your smile was wide as George went up onto the podium to receive his P3 trophy, watching as Max claimed the victory. Soon the race was over, and you found yourself laid out on your sofa, scrolling through your phone. As ever, you soon entered a loophole of content from the racing, relying as usual on the fans to capture some of those George moments that you missed.

The minutes turned to hours, and soon enough the sun had gone down and you were still scrolling. Although he was your boyfriend, you were still such a fan of George. You couldn’t get enough of watching content about him, interviews, fan interactions, anything that you could get your hands on.

It had been hours since you last moved, finding yourself laughing and smiling the more you watched. George knew you loved to scroll and find clips of things that you might’ve missed, with many of them reminding you exactly why you were so in love with the man.

“Is this really how you’ve spent your evening?” A voice suddenly asked, leaning into you from behind the sofa.

Your head nodded as you listened to the voice, your eyes soon widening when you realised the voice wasn’t coming from your phone, but from beside you. Your head snapped around, smile turning up as you saw George stood behind you, proudly holding onto the trophy that he had won in the race.

“What are you playing at?” You shrieked, dropping your phone and standing up from the sofa, rushing around and entering into George’s arms.

“I managed to get an earlier flight home,” George grinned, pulling you tightly into his chest. “The team suggested heading out to celebrate, but the only person that I want to celebrate with is you.”

You pulled back from George so that you could get a proper look at his trophy, twirling it around as he passed it across to you. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there to celebrate it with you properly over there., I can’t remember the last time you got a podium and I missed it.”

“It’s alright, I know you’re busy, apparently watching an endless number of videos of me,” George assured you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m home now and back with you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“I didn’t think I was going to speak to you tonight so I thought I’d watch some videos of you celebrating,” you explained, watching as George’s smile widened. “Not to mention the fact that you did an awesome job today.”

George took a hold of your hand as he led you over to the sofa, dropping down and pulling you into his lap. “I’m so happy to be home,” George whispered, kissing against your cheek. “You’ve got no idea how much I missed you this weekend, it felt so empty there.”

“It’s been weird for me too,” you told him, placing his trophy down on the seat beside you. “There barely showed your radios, and most of the time focused on the front of the race, I barely got to see a thing.”

George smiled back across at you, “I take it you won’t be offering to work on race weekend again then?”

“Absolutely not,” you quickly replied, without any doubt in your mind. “I’m going to make sure that I’m free every weekend so I never have to miss you.”

“Even Lewis said that I didn’t seem right this weekend,” George shamefully admitted, “he said I kept moping around the garage which I just refuse to believe.”

Your hand pressed against George’s cheek, “did you really miss me that much? Couldn’t even survive three days without me there with you?”

“You know any second I’m away from you I miss you,” George proudly confessed.

As sweet as George was, he meant every word too. He was so used to having you there to give him a kiss before he got into the car, or make sure that he had a change of clothes ready for the end of the race, but instead this weekend he had to look after himself, missing all the little things that you did to help him out when you were there.

“This is the perfect celebration for me, in the comfort of my own home, cuddled up to my favourite person in the world,” George whispered, “who even needs a fancy party anyway?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as George spoke, knowing that he did enjoy the party too. When Toto let him know their plans though, there was only one place that George wanted to be, and when he heard there was an earlier flight available, he jumped at the opportunity to be on it.

“Is there anything else you want to do? Have you eaten today?” You quizzed, “I know what you’re like for remembering to eat on a race day, you’re rubbish at it.”

George nodded in reply, “don’t worry, there were a few members of the team who felt sorry for me that you weren’t there so they stepped in and helped me out.”

“They make it seem like they can’t function without me.”

George shrugged, arguably he couldn’t. He relied on you more than you ever realised, even just having you there was enough. “It sounds silly, but I really did miss you at the race this weekend, I know it was only a couple of days, and we’ve spent much longer apart, but it was such a horrible race being there alone.”

You stretched up and pecked against George’s lips. “I get it, I missed you as well, but you’re home now. And rather than watch videos of you for the rest of the night, I get the actual you instead.”

There was nowhere George would rather be, even if the rest of his team were out celebrating his podium on the streets of Barcelona, he knew he would never have enjoyed it as much as he did being cuddled up to you.

As you snuggled in closer to George, his grip around you tightened, relaxing further into the sofa. George stretched his legs out and tangled them in with your own, tickling gently against your sides as he glanced down at the smile that was on your face.

His heart was full, not only had it been another successful race with the team, but now he was back with his best friend who he knew would be happier for him than anyone else.

“You know, although I was well fed at the garage, I wouldn’t say no to ordering,” George whispered, “I’ve got the taste for pizza.”

“I’d say that’s the least you deserve after the day you’ve had today.”

“I should get on the podium more often in that case.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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neferaskingdom · 2 months ago

Text

♡ My Favourite Person | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: And as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew that what she felt for him had become more than casual.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

The morning light was barely creeping into the room when she woke up, still nestled in Charles’ arms. His breathing was soft and steady, his face nuzzled into her neck. She’d almost forgotten how they’d ended up here—wrapped up in each other after a night of celebrations that neither of them seemed eager to end.

But her peaceful morning was interrupted by her phone vibrating almost nonstop on the bedside table. She groaned softly, trying to ignore it, but the constant buzzing wasn’t easy to ignore.

Careful not to wake Charles, she leaned over and grabbed her phone, only to see her group chat blowing up with notifications.

Friend 2: "Morning, mystery girlfriend. Saw the video. Care to explain all those face kisses?"

Friend 1: "So… how was your night? 😏 Don’t leave out any details."

Friend 2: "Did he put that winning energy to good use? Just saying, he looked like he had a lot to celebrate."

Friend 3: "Saw the videos. You guys definitely looked like ‘just friends’… in an alternate universe maybe."

She stifled a laugh, her cheeks heating up as she scrolled through their messages. Her friends were relentless.

Friend 1: "Are you still in his bed right now? Girl. Spill!"

Friend 2: "If I were you, I wouldn’t even be checking my phone right now. Priorities, babe."

Friend 1: "Okay, so… are you going to tell us what’s going on with you and Charles?"

Friend 2: "Girl, don’t even try to pretend! We all saw the videos."

Friend 3: "Face kisses? All over?? That doesn’t look like ‘just friends’ to me."

Friend 3: "Not to mention that ‘just friends’ don’t exactly spend the night… 😏"

She sighed, knowing they wouldn’t let it go easily. Her friends had always been relentless, especially when it came to her love life—or lack of one. She typed back a quick response.

You: "It’s not like that. Seriously. We’re just friends."

Friend 1: "Oh, just friends? Because he was all over you, and everyone saw it!"

Friend 2: "Exactly! There’s literally a thread online about how ‘in love’ Charles looked hugging you. It’s adorable."

Her cheeks flushed as she read through their messages, her stomach doing a tiny flip at the memory of Charles’ face lighting up when he’d found her in the crowd after his victory. The way he’d pulled her close, practically sweeping her off her feet, felt like a vivid, joyful blur. It had been so natural, so… right. She pushed the thought away and took a steadying breath.

You: "No, really. He’s just… He’s just like that. He’s affectionate with everyone."

Friend 3: "Uh-huh. So why is the entire internet convinced he’s madly in love with you?"

A link popped up in the chat, and she clicked on it reluctantly. It led to a popular Twitter thread, where dozens of fans were posting clips from the day before. The first video showed Charles wrapping her in a tight hug at the barriers, his face beaming as he peppered her with kisses. She hadn’t even realized it looked that intense. But there, on the screen, it seemed undeniably intimate. They looked like they were in their own world.

You:“Come on, guys, He was just celebrating. It was a big moment.”

she typed, trying to brush it off

Friend 1: "A big moment where he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Sure, we’ll believe that. 🙄"

Friend 2: "Have you even seen how everyone’s reacting? They’re calling you ‘Charles’ mystery girl.’ People are actually dying to know who you are."

The messages kept rolling in, and every one of her friends had something to say. She glanced at the thread again, scrolling through the comments.

Fan 1: "Did you guys see the way he looked at her? I’m deceased."

Fan 2: "Who is she, and where did she come from? Because they are TOO cute together."

Fan 3: "Charles Leclerc just won in Monaco and went straight to his girl like it was the last lap of his life."

The more she read, the more she could see why people might think there was something between them. She and Charles looked… cozy. Her cheeks warmed as she replayed their moment in her head. She couldn’t deny that the two of them together, lost in the celebration, had felt almost surreal.

But then, she shook her head, dismissing the thought. Charles was just excited. It didn’t mean anything.

You: "You guys are seriously reading too much into this. He’s just a friend. Nothing more."

Friend 3: "Right. Just friends who look at each other like they’re the only people on earth."

Friend 2: "Just friends who also happen to be practically plastered all over each other. You’re not fooling anyone."

She let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t expected things to spiral like this. Her friends’ teasing was relentless, and while part of her found it amusing, another part couldn’t shake the flicker of doubt that crept in.

Could there be more between her and Charles? They’d been spending so much time together, and he did seem unusually attentive, even when he was halfway around the world. She couldn’t deny the closeness they shared, but… dating? They weren’t dating.

But when she glanced back at the video, seeing the unfiltered joy in Charles’ eyes as he hugged her, she couldn’t help but think… maybe there was something there. Just maybe.

But she wouldn’t let herself dwell on it for long. Not with her friends gleefully piling on the teasing.

You: "Okay, okay! Enough! It’s nothing serious. Just a friend who won a race and got excited. End of story."

Her friends sent back a flood of laughing emojis, followed by a slew of more questions, but she simply set her phone down, laughing to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Charles mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his pout was almost enough to make her laugh again. He nestled his face into her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m literally right here, and you’re laughing at your phone.”

She grinned, scrolling through one last message. “Are you seriously jealous of my friends right now? I’m in bed with you, remember?”

He let out a dramatic sigh, shifting closer until she could feel his lips just grazing her neck. “But you’re not laughing with me,” he complained, a whiny edge to his voice that only made him sound more endearing. “I want all your attention, not just some of it.”

“Oh, poor Charles,” she teased, lowering her phone to look at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It must be so difficult being this needy first thing in the morning.”

“Needy?” he huffed, narrowing his eyes at her, though his lips quirked with a playful glint. “You make me this way, you know. It’s not fair.”

She poked his cheek, unable to stop smiling. “How tragic. Do you want me to make it up to you?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his eyes brightening. He reached over, snatching her phone and tossing it to the far side of the bed. With a grin, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down and pinning her against the sheets. “No more distractions,” he declared, his tone playful but his gaze warm and intent.

“Charles!” She squirmed, laughing as he tightened his hold, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Say I’m your favorite,” he insisted, his voice taking on that stubborn, whiny edge.

“Not a chance,” she managed, her laughter spilling over as she tried to wiggle free.

He only raised an eyebrow, smirking as he started tickling her sides. “Then I’ll just have to keep this up.”

“Alright, alright!” she gasped, breathless with laughter. “You’re my favorite!”

He grinned triumphantly, loosening his hold but keeping her close. “See? Was that so hard?”

She rolled her eyes, still catching her breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” he whispered, his face just inches from hers, eyes shining with affection.

“Maybe,” she admitted softly, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw.

Without another word, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that melted away any lingering teasing. His hand slipped to her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin as he deepened the kiss, warmth and affection replacing all the playfulness from a moment before.

When they finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to hers, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Now, that’s how you start a morning,” he murmured.

She chuckled, her fingers playing with his messy hair. “You’re way too pleased with yourself, you know that?”

He grinned, pulling her even closer. “Just happy to have you here.”

After Charles left for his next round of races, life in Monaco settled back into its usual rhythm. The mornings felt quieter without him there to pull her back into bed, and her evenings held a little less warmth without his familiar presence beside her. Still, she filled her days with work, nights with friends, and tried not to think too hard about how easily she missed him.

Charles, however, was determined to make his absence less noticeable. His texts came in constantly—quick messages about his day, random pictures from the track, and even the occasional food pic with captions like, Would be better if you were here to share it.

He called often too, squeezing her into his schedule no matter how busy he was, even if just to say a quick goodnight. But sometimes, especially late at night, his voice would soften over the phone.

“I miss having you around, you know,” he’d say, a hint of a sigh slipping through. “Got so used to having you in my bed, it feels weird to sleep alone now.”

She’d laugh, leaning back in her own bed, wishing he were there to say it in person. “Is that so?” she’d tease, although his words always made her heart flutter a little.

“Yes, it’s terrible,” he said one evening, his voice warm and familiar in her ear. “I’ve been lying here, missing everything about you—your smile, that cute little laugh, even the way you take up half the bed.”

“Excuse me? I do not take up half the bed,” she protested, grinning to herself.

“Oh, you absolutely do. And you’re a pillow thief, by the way,” he shot back playfully.

“Pillow thief?” she scoffed, a laugh slipping out. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who steals all the blankets. How many times did I wake up freezing because of you?”

“Okay, maybe that happened… once or twice,” he admitted, chuckling. “But you didn’t mind, did you? You’d just scoot closer.”

“Maybe,” she replied softly, feeling a warmth spread through her. “Guess you’ll just have to keep missing me then.”

He chuckled, the sound low and full of affection. “I don’t like it,” he murmured. “I think about it way too much, actually… how much I miss having you here.”

The conversations always left her smiling, wrapped in a warmth that kept her thoughts drifting back to him more often than she cared to admit. But every so often, reality would remind her what this was supposed to be—light and casual, no expectations or promises. She tried to keep that in mind, even when he’d text her goodnight with a little heart emoji or send her random selfies, always making sure to stay connected in a way that seemed more than just casual.

One afternoon, scrolling through her social media, she stumbled upon a clip from Charles’s latest interview. Her curiosity piqued, she clicked on it, smiling to herself as she settled into the couch.

The interviewer was smiling, a teasing glint in her eyes. “So, Charles,” she began, leaning in conspiratorially, “there’s been a lot of talk about this mysterious someone you’ve been spending time with in Monaco. Is there a new girlfriend in your life? Will she be at the next race?”

At the mention of girlfriend, her heart skipped, a quiet, hopeful anticipation rising within her. She watched Charles’s reaction closely, waiting to see what he would say.

Charles chuckled, brushing off the question with an easy smile. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” he said lightly. “She’s just a really close friend.”

She blinked, feeling her heart sink just a little. The words just a friend echoed in her mind, leaving a faint sting that she hadn’t expected. She took a steadying breath, reminding herself not to read into it. After all, they’d never defined what they were, and she knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. They’d both agreed to keep things casual, to take it day by day without complicating things.

But as she replayed the clip, she couldn’t deny the tiny pang of disappointment gnawing at her. She tried to brush it off, telling herself she was being silly—after all, they hadn’t talked about being exclusive, and they’d never put a label on whatever this was between them. She hadn’t even thought she wanted one until now, but his words left her feeling strangely empty.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, she tried to shake off the ache. When he called, his usual cheerful voice greeted her, and she did her best to sound normal, even though the thought of just a friend lingered at the back of her mind.

“Hey, you,” he said warmly. “What’s my favorite person up to?”

She bit her lip, feeling the familiar warmth of his words soothe some of her unease. “Oh, you know,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. “Just laying here, missing my favorite blanket thief.”

He chuckled. “Ah, so you finally admit it—I am your favorite.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” she shot back playfully, though there was a softness in her voice. “I still haven’t forgiven you for stealing my blankets.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Guess I’ll just have to come back and make it up to you.”

She felt her heart skip a beat, imagining him back here with her. “Hmm, that sounds promising,” she teased, though her words held an honesty she hadn’t intended to let slip.

He paused, his voice softening. “I do miss you, you know. life just isn’t the same without you.”

His words tugged at her heart, leaving her conflicted all over again. She wanted to believe he felt the same way she did, but his casual dismissal earlier had planted a seed of doubt, one that made her wonder if she was letting herself fall for someone who wasn’t ready to catch her.

As they continued talking, she found herself drifting back to his earlier words in the interview, that easy laugh as he brushed off their connection as something platonic. And even though she tried to push it away, a small part of her couldn’t help but wish he’d called her more than just a friend.

When their call ended, she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, her mind a tangled mess of emotions. She tried to remind herself that they were both free to come and go as they pleased, that neither of them had promised anything more than companionship and a little fun. But her heart had other ideas, leaving her to wrestle with the unsettling feeling that she was beginning to care far more than she should.

And as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew that what she felt for him had become more than casual.

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irisintheafterglow · 11 days ago

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just reread ur work of kiyoomi at the fair showing off and winning reader a stuffed animal 😓 do u still write for him? can we get another one pls 🤒

anon love i am SO sorry i'm getting to this so late (but i missed writing for omi omi so hopefully you like this <3)

he thinks you know what you're doing.

no, he knows you know what you're doing.

it was atsumu's fault--as were most things--that you were now dancing on the jumbo screen and blowing the camera kisses with fluttering eyelashes. it was his teammate that had first showed the msby managers the tiktok about some baseball team's partners flirting with them during a game via the crowd cameras. the players' reactions understandably went viral, leading other sports teams to follow suit and catch their players off guard. now, it was sakusa's turn. he couldn't figure out where you learned to fluster him so easily or sway your hips like that, and saw no other choice but to hide his burning face in his jersey.

the second time you show up on the screen, he makes the mistake of drinking water during the brief segment. there you are, waving at the camera like a pageant queen with a mischievous glint in your eye that makes him uneasy. you smirk knowingly before pulling off your plain sweater and revealing an enticingly cropped version of his jersey, his name glimmering in bedazzled beads on your upper back. the surprise of your shirt and the sheer amount of cheering hinders all of his senses, and the clip of water spewing from his mouth quickly becomes the top trending meme in the country.

the third time, he anticipates your antics and makes a point to avoid looking at the screen; he just has to sneak a glance, however, when the crowd erupts into hollering that rivaled a taylor swift concert. fortunately, you're not wearing anything incriminating that would turn him beet-red. unfortunately, you're holding up your left hand to the camera and tapping your very vacant ring finger, an exaggerated pout painting your expression. you shrug indifferently, pretending not to notice the cameras and amused faces surrounding you, and pull the zipper down on your jacket.

"what in the hell is THAT?" his outburst is unexpected and more than entertaining, for he fails to hide his bewilderment at the screen-printed photo of hinata shoyo with the caption 'my favorite spiker' plastered on your chest. you frame the bottom of the picture with your hands and pose for the nearest cameras, wiggling your empty ring-finger before placing a kiss on the glass. you were going to be the death of him, truly.

for the last game of the season, he makes you swear on everything you hold dear not to do anything for the camera. you begrudgingly agree, if only because you had the country's number one spiker on his knees begging you to spare him from public embarrassment again. rather than during a break, the cameras appear in front of you at the end of the easy victory. pursing your lips, you shrug and wait for them to find a new subject...but they don't. you shake your head more decisively and mouth he said no funny business with your palms up in surrender, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you hear the loudest cacophony echoing from the stands. you turn to the jumbo screen, puzzled, and your jaw drops.

drenched in sweat and grinning like a lovesick fool, kiyoomi shot the camera a single wink before turning in your direction and holding up a ring that'd been in his closet since the first day you flustered him.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #haikyu fluff #sakusa fluff

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bellawoso · 7 months ago

Text

everywhere

aitana bonmati x reader

a/n : the sleeveless training top kills me every time i see it

aitana had been obsessed impressed with you ever since the 2021 games of barcelona vs arsenal, although she knew that she should be overcome by feelings of pride for her teams winnings, she couldnt help but let her small crush on you get in the way of her celebrations.

sure she was tired after the match, but so was everyone else, and they still managed to have a night out in the london bars. aitana however, spent all night stalking your instagram account on a random fake account she had, normal behaviour right?

after the 2022 euros knockout match, where england were victorious, aitanas crush which she thought was gone, came back even bigger when instead of immediately celebrating with your teammates, you instead went to the nearest spanish player to you, which happened to be the spaniard herself, and started consoling her. your hand on her back made her skin tingle, and momentarily she almost forgot about the loss when you whispered into her ear how she played a good game, before bringing her in for a warm embrace. aitana didnt waste the chance of wrapping her arms round your waist as yours went around her neck.

the brunette wouldnt be surprised if she dropped down with a heart attack right there when you requested for a shirt swap, with you both being number 6 nationally. seeing her name sprawled across your back definitely didnt ease her racing heart or her flushed cheeks.

———

the next time you saw the spaniard was at the world cup final, although you were out with your ACL injury at the time, you still wouldnt miss this match for the world. as soon as england lost you were straight onto the pitch, comforting your national teammates, who were about to see spain being crowned world champions.

you were just about to go talk to lucy, a close friend of yours from national camps, until aitana stepped in your path. you had grown quite fond of the girl, despite the fact you had never played for the same teams, you both respected each other greatly, and often congratulated each other through instagram of the others achievements. you werent quite ready for the girl stepping out in front of you, you were still on crutches, almost ready to come off them, the spaniard just clipped your crutch with her boot causing you to tumble forward slightly. luckily the brunette was ready to catch you, her strong arms gripping onto your waist whilst she repeated “lo siento” and lectured her self in spanish, until you cut her off “hola aita, good game you deserve this so much, i know how hard you worked to get here.”

“ah yes- gracias y/n, i am upset you dont play today, im sure you would have made a difference” aitana managed to get out, in slightly broken english but you found it extremely endearing.

“yes i am sad too, but i will be back for the euros before you know it! so, balon d’or huh?” you said with a grin, it was extremely obvious that the girl you was talking to was going to be a future balon d’or winner, despite her humble nature as she argued with you, saying there are other people who deserve it more than her.

until you cut off her rambling once again “aita it was so lovely catching up with you, but im positive all of your teammates are waiting for you to celebrate, i wouldnt want to keep you” you stated with a soft smile and a glance at ona who waited behind aitana, and seemed to have finished consoling lucy.

as aitana turned to walk away, you started walking over to lucy, painfully unaware of the extremely obvious glances aitana kept giving you over her shoulder, the spaniard prayed you didnt hear onas teasing.

———

it was around the start of december when you began playing again, helping by scoring 2 goals in the 4-1 win against chelsea. it was unsurprising how you had ended up on barcas radar, it was very unusual for a player to somehow be better than they were pre-ACL, after only just returning. it was safe to say that aitana had watched every single arsenal game since you returned, even on the ones where you didnt play, just to catch a glimpse of you on the bench. the other girls on her team had noticed this, and despite aitanas insistence that it was to keep up with the WSL and to check on laia codina, her teammates werent stupid. and it was painfully obvious every time aitanas breath hitched when you were displayed on the screen, which was quite often as you were a fan favourite.

you had also developed a bit of a fan-girling crush on the spaniard herself, it was hard not to when you saw her training pictures on her story daily, and couldnt help but wonder what you would have to do to be blessed enough to witness her training in real life.

clearly you didnt have to do much, as your manager called you one day to talk about potential transfers, one immediately stood out to you, barcelona.

it all happened very quickly in your opinion, although your manager disagreed as barcelona were actually being quite annoying with offering you a contract as they were constantly holding it until last minute. until finally they managed to sit you down with pen and paper, for you to begin your new journey with them. the media followed shortly after, barcelona and arsenal seemingly decided to just dump all of your departure and new arrival videos on every single social media platform they had.

aitana was at home when the media teams dropped your videos, immediately clicking on the notification from barcelonas instagram. she had been waiting for a while for keiras fully edited catalan interview to be posted, so she was visibly shocked when instead she was met with the sight of you in the barca home kit.

aitana definitely knew she was down bad when she couldnt fall asleep that night, her thoughts clouded of you in that stupid home kit, even better, in the barca tracksuit you had worn for your interviews.

she quickly sent you an short instagram message just to say ‘hola, welcome to barca amiga :)’ before finally managing to fall asleep.

———

your arrival was soon after, and despite your initial worry of not fitting in to the team, you soon learned that you got along fine with the girls after your first training session. from the very beginning aitana clung to you, immediately becoming your bestfriend on the team and promising to take you to all of the best hidden gems in barcelona. it was amusing to the team of how obvious aitana was being and how oblivious you were to it all.

such as the day where aitana was hit twice on the head by a football after not hearing the shout of “heads” while staring at you with heart eyes as you laughed with ona.

or when she was still running laps and warming up with keira whilst you had a 1 v 1 with lucy, and she ran into a goal post. she never truly lived that one down, and the whole team new about it as she had to go down to medical with a minor concussion and miss the next match due to her headache.

the bonus was that you were too scared to leave aitana at her apartment by herself after reading up about concussions online, so you stayed with her for a week. which was longer than necessary, but aitana didnt need to know the real reason for your insistence to stay.

the most recent thing to happen was when she dropped a weight on keiras foot in the gym when she saw you walk in, looking particularly good in the training kit today, this action made the english girl snap, telling aitana to just go admit her feelings, whilst cursing under her breath and walking to the medical room for an ice pack.

lucy came up behind aitana after keira left, chuckling about the previous incident but also to reassure the spaniard “dont worry aitana, ive known y/n for ages, she likes you back, trust me” she said, making aitana nod and turn on her heels to confidently and calmly walk over to you, as you were currently near the mats with ingrid.

except this didnt happen, as aitana didnt seem very confident or calm at all as she tripped as she neared you, causing her to stumble straight into you, sending the both of you tumbling straight to the floor.

“dios mío! lo siento y/n, i dont know what happened!” you stayed on the floor laughing about what just happened, as vicky came over “i think i know what happened, aitana just fell for y/n!” the younger girl shouted for the entire gym to hear like the pest she was, causing both you and aitana to flush bright red, still on the floor.

until aitana leaned over to you “while were still down here, will you please go on a date with me?” she asked giving her best puppy dog eyes.

“i would love to aita”

———

you and aitana went on the date on saturday, the brunette had chosen for the two of you to go to a coffee shop in the little town where she was raised, you could tell just how proud and passionate she was of where she was born. at first, things were a bit awkward between the two of you, until you fell back into your usual rhythm of chatting and laughing.

except for when aitana bumped into someone she knew from her youth, and stumbled a bit over her words when introducing you, the words “shes my girl-” coming out of her mouth before blushed cut her self off and ended up blurting out “y/n, shes my y/n” with an awkward, toothy grin.

this made you burst out laughing, at aitanas newfound social awkwardness, and the strangers confusion, it was only after they walked away that you playfully bumped your shoulder against hers, saying “if you wanted to be my girlfriend you could have just asked” with a smirk.

“cállate! muy molesta-“ as she carried on with her spanish rambling making you smile at seeing her worked up state until she suddenly asked “wait were you being serious that i can ask to be your girlfriend?”

“well normally back in england we dont ask the person for permission to ask them to be our girlfriend, but whatever suits you tana!” you answered back playfully.

“fine then! i wont ask if your going to be all sarcastic about it” the older girl replied. “sure you wont aita, sure.” taking a sip from your water bottle while the brunette seemed to be giving you the silent treatment

“be my girlfriend” she suddenly stated, making you choke on your water “thats really not how we ask back in england, spain must be very different” you thought aloud.

“stop it! just confirm it with me, we are basically dating all ready!” aitana huffed in faux frustration about how annoying you were being about this. “okay, okay! i would love to be your girlfriend then aitana.” this made her grin, so you were guessing you were in the good girlfriend books at the moment.

you and aitana went on many more dates after that, the two of you fit so perfectly. although you were both extremely talented footballers, aitana was always very work focused, whereas you got bored of things like match analysis very easily. where aitana was extroverted around new people, you were usually very quiet around strangers. you both balanced each other out very well, aitana often having to help you with your match analysis, and you being the one to get aitana to bed at the right time instead of letting her rewatch the match again.

———

one thing that aitana never really seemed to grow out of was the honeymoon stage, after two months of being together openly, she really should have got used to the fact that you were hers and she was yours. however, the spaniard never quite got over the fact that the two of you were actually together, especially after crushing in you for the past couple of years.

this led to her quite literally just trailing around after you everywhere, like a lost puppy. when you finally snapped and told her to go to keira, and socialise with her friends, said lost puppy suddenly became a kicked puppy that looked like you just abandoned it on the side of the road.

“but amorrrr, i wont bother you! i promise!” she begged, giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“aitana no! you have hardly spoke to your friends all week, and although i love you, your starting to really annoy me!” you said. your girlfriend had already dropped a dumbell on your ankle after she decided she needed to do her arm workouts right next to your workout mat. she had then spilt coffee all over you, which although she claims is all okay now as she gave you her hoodie to replace your top, you never quite got over the sticky coffee feeling in your skin.

your last straw was when she decided to try trail right behind you into your meeting with jonatan and some of the other coaches, solely a checkup and a one to one meeting about things to work on in training.

“aitana no! go to keira please, i love you but this is a one on one meeting, your not allowed to be in here” you didnt leave time for her to argue as you quickly planted a kiss on her lips and went into the room, shutting the door straight behind you.

you were never normally one to reject your girlfriends clinginess, however sometimes you just needed your own personal space, and today was an odd day where things werent going right and your temper was short.

you were going to apologise to aitana, but as soon as you came out of your meeting she was there with flowers and coffee for you, and saying sorry for annoying you today. “aitana no, its fine, if anything, i am sorry. i love being around you as your my girlfriend, but i do think its important you start hanging out with your friends again!”

“yes amor i understand, i actually went with ona to get the flowers and she got some for lucy too!” aitana replied, as she planted a kiss on your lips.

on the way home, aitana also called at one of your favourite shops that sold books and records. despite her being more of a spotify and film person, she still made an effort to be enthusiastic in the shop. she definitely did not get bored and decide to pull you in for a kiss behind the non fiction book shelf.

however, she still never really left her honeymoon phase.

———

yourusername

liked by ingrid_engen, lucybronze and 23,962 others

caption: she follows me everywhere but its okay tagged: aitanabonmati

comments:

aitanabonmati: you love it

-> yourusername: i do.

lucybronze: you two make me throw up

-> yourusername: dont act like you and ona arent the same.

marialeonn16: i counted 3 balls to aitanas head yesterday training

-> vickyylopezz._: she fell over aswell 😭

-> yourusername: guys leave tana alone! 🥹

-> aitanabonmati: what my gf said.

user1: they are so cute omg 😭

user2: power couple!

user3: best woso couple there is

———

a/n: this is not proofread so no judgement to bad grammar pretty pleasee

#Spotify #woso #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #aitana bonmati #mapi leon #mapi león #ona batlle #alexia putellas #aitana #aitana bonmati x reader

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speaknow-sw · 24 days ago

Text

THE POET AND THE ROSE Content : no smut just Anakin being himself. Age gap ? Anakin is 30 you’re 21. Vaginal touch and breast play. 3.7k words.

꧁ Chapter 1 : A Treaty in Vows ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"They say the pen is softer than the sword, Yet neither have mercy for hearts of stone. I write not to conquer, but to endure, To whisper to shadows when I’m alone."

The clash of swords had long faded into memory, replaced by the measured beat of war drums. The French and British armies had bled each other dry over countless seasons, yet no victor emerged. The French Empire, once unyielding, now sought peace, not for lack of strength but out of weariness. Across the sea, the British, proud and unbowed, saw no other way forward.

And so it was that the fate of two nations rested not on the battlefield but in the fragile vows of marriage.

General Anakin Skywalker stood in the drafty war council chamber of a French outpost, his imposing frame dwarfing the room. His armor gleamed faintly in the torchlight, though the marks of countless battles marred its surface. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched behind his back as he listened to the terms of peace being read aloud.

"The King offers his daughter, the Princess, in marriage," the envoy concluded, his voice careful, almost hesitant.

Anakin’s lips curled into a grimace. He turned to Obi-Wan Kenobi, his second-in-command, who leaned casually against the stone wall, his expression betraying none of the mirth Anakin knew lay beneath.

"So this is what our victories amount to? A wife." Anakin’s tone was clipped, laced with disdain.

"It’s a union, not a surrender," Obi-Wan said lightly, though his eyes were sharp. "An end to the bloodshed, Anakin. Isn’t that what we’ve fought for?"

Anakin growled under his breath, pacing the room like a caged lion. He was a man of war, forged by the fires of battle, not the silken threads of diplomacy. The thought of binding himself to a woman he’d never met, for a peace he wasn’t sure would last, set his teeth on edge.

"She better be under fifty," he muttered, earning a snort from Obi-Wan.

"Knowing your luck, she’ll be a saint. Or worse, she’ll be kind."

Anakin shot him a glare but said nothing. The decision was not his to make. He was a soldier, bound to his king’s command, and the decree was clear.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"To bind two nations with a golden ring,

A fragile thread between war and peace.

But peace is no gift—it is a battle of its own,

A sword wrapped in silk, waiting to pierce the heart."

Westminster Abbey was a grand, sprawling structure, its high arches and marble columns whispering of a legacy far older than France’s green hills. The air was heavy with incense, the murmur of the gathered crowd muted by the solemnity of the occasion.

Anakin stood at the altar, his back straight, his hands resting loosely on the hilt of his ceremonial sword. He had traded his battle-worn armor for fine but unfamiliar attire: a dark tunic edged with gold, a heavy cloak draped over one shoulder. Yet even in finery, he looked out of place, a predator among prey.

He kept his gaze forward, ignoring the curious eyes of Roman nobles who whispered behind painted fans. His thoughts were a tumult of irritation and resignation.

The doors at the far end of the hall groaned open, and a hush fell over the crowd.

The princess entered, her form veiled in a cascade of ivory silk. She moved with practiced grace, her steps measured, though Anakin noted the faintest tremor in her hands as she approached.

When she reached the altar, Anakin risked a glance at her. He could see nothing of her face beneath the veil, only the outline of her delicate figure. She was smaller than he’d imagined, her presence dwarfed by the weight of her ceremonial robes.

The priest began the rites, speaking in both French and the English tongue. Anakin’s responses were curt, his voice a deep rumble that carried through the hall.

Finally, the moment came.

"You may lift the veil," the priest intoned.

Anakin's hands hovered over the delicate fabric of her veil, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd expected to feel nothing, a sense of detachment from this forced union. But as his fingers brushed against the silk, he felt a jolt of electricity course through him.

Slowly, he lifted the veil, revealing her face inch by inch. Her eyes were the first thing he saw, a vivid color that seemed to pierce right through him. They were wide and luminous, framed by long lashes and set in a face of such beauty it took his breath away.

Her hair was a cascade of curls, tumbling down her back like a river of water. Her lips were full and pink, parted slightly as if she were holding her breath.

Anakin found himself staring, unable to look away. He'd seen many beautiful women in his life, but none who had affected him like this. It was as if the very sight of her had stolen the air from his lungs.

"You're... you're beautiful," he heard himself say, the words rough and awkward.

She blushed, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft and melodic.

The priest cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "The ceremony is complete. You may now be presented as husband and wife."

Anakin blinked, coming back to himself. He took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. It was small and delicate, a sharp contrast to his own rough, battle-hardened hands.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

"Princess," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

"General," you replied, your tone measured but soft.

As they turned to face the crowd, Anakin felt a strange sense of pride well up inside him. This woman, this stranger, was his wife. The thought was still foreign, almost surreal. But as he looked down at her, saw the way her eyes shone up at him, he felt a flicker of something else.

Hope.

Perhaps this union, forced though it may be, could be more than just a political arrangement. Perhaps, given time, it could be something real. Something meaningful.

But Anakin knew better than to hold his breath. In his world, there were no guarantees. Only the harsh realities of war.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

”Bound by vows of gold and stone,

Two strangers stand beneath the crown.

The weight of peace, a heavy throne,

Where swords are lowered, yet hearts may drown.”

The reception was held in the grand hall of his castle, a sprawling room lit by dozens of chandeliers dripping with crystal. Long tables were laden with silver platters of roasted meats, ripe fruits, and delicate pastries. Musicians played softly in the corner, their strings and flutes weaving a delicate melody that was nearly drowned out by the chatter of the guests.

General Anakin Skywalker stood rigid at the altar, his jaw set, his expression an unreadable mask. He loomed in the sea of French grandeur, his presence at odds with the refinement of the occasion. The fine clothes he wore—a dark blue tunic trimmed with gold—felt foreign, a costume draped over the hardened warrior beneath. His scarred hands rested on the hilt of a ceremonial sword, though his instincts yearned for the familiar weight of the blade he had carried through countless battles.

Around him, the French elite murmured behind fans and jeweled hands, their gazes drifting to him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He could hear their whispers, faint and venomous.

"A barbarian…" "He doesn’t belong here…" "And she is meant to marry that?"

Their words did not bother him; he had grown used to such scorn. What rankled was the reason he stood there. Marriage. Peace. He was a soldier, a man who lived for the battlefield, not for the political games that followed.

Finally he sat at the head of the table, his new wife beside him. He had barely spoken to you since the ceremony, unsure of what to say. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him, the noise of the room grating against his nerves.

You were quiet, your gaze fixed on the goblet of wine in your hands. The soft light of the chandeliers caught the gold in your hair, making you appear almost otherworldly. Anakin found himself stealing glances at you, though he quickly looked away each time you shifted, afraid you might catch him.

"You’re brooding again," Obi-Wan said, leaning toward him from the next seat over. His tone was light, but his eyes flicked meaningfully toward you.

Anakin scowled. "I’m not brooding."

Obi-Wan smirked. "You are. Perhaps you should try speaking to your bride instead of glaring at your wine."

Anakin shot him a look that could have melted steel, but before he could respond, a sharp crash echoed through the hall.

All eyes turned toward the source of the noise—a French noble, Lord Aulbry, red-faced and unsteady on his feet, had knocked over a goblet. The wine spread across the table like blood, pooling near the edge.

"How fitting," the noble slurred, his voice loud and cutting. "A barbarian at the head of our table."

The room fell silent.

Anakin’s jaw tightened, but he did not move. You stiffened beside him, your fingers tightening around the stem of your goblet.

"Peace, Messire," one of the French officials said hastily, rising to calm the situation. "Tonight is a celebration, not a—"

"A celebration of what?" the noble sneered. "Of our empire’s weakness? Of selling off our princess to a savage?"

Anakin’s hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, but you placed your hand lightly on his arm. He glanced at you, surprised by the gesture. You gave a small shake of your head, your expression unreadable.

"I suggest you hold your tongue," Anakin said, his voice calm but dangerous. His gaze locked on the noble, who faltered under the intensity of his stare.

The noble muttered something incoherent and stumbled back to his seat, and the tension in the room eased, though it did not dissipate entirely.

You leaned toward him slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you," you said, your tone careful.

"For what?" he asked, equally quiet.

"For not drawing your sword."

He allowed a faint smirk to cross his lips. "It was a near thing."

The castle chamber assigned to them was warm, lit by the soft glow of a roaring fire. The heavy wooden door closed behind them with a resounding thud, leaving them alone for the first time.

Anakin moved toward the hearth, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it onto a nearby chair. He could feel your eyes on him, though you said nothing.

"Does this room meet your standards, princess ?" he asked, his tone dry as he turned to face you.

You stood near the bed, your hands clasped before you. Out of the elaborate wedding attire, you seemed even smaller, dressed in a simple nightgown of white linen.

"It is fine," you said quietly. Then, after a pause, you added, "You may call me as you like, sir."

He arched a brow, and saw roses embroidered on her gown. "My rose, then."

"And what shall I call you?" You asked, surprising him with your directness.

"Anakin will do, or my husband." he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with expectation. Anakin felt the weight of the evening press down on him. He had no desire to take you roughly right now—not out of indifference, but because he could see the tension in your posture, the faint nervousness in your eyes.

Instead, he moved toward you slowly, as if approaching a startled doe. When he reached you, he took your hand in his, his calloused fingers brushing against your softer ones.

"You’ve been through enough today," he said gruffly. "You needn’t fear me."

Your gaze searched his, and something in your expression softened. You nodded, a small but significant gesture of trust.

He guided you to the bed, but instead of undressing you, he took a seat beside you and began to unlace your tight shoes. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as though you were something fragile.

"You don’t have to—" you began, but he interrupted you.

"Let me," he said, his voice softer now.

The flickering light of the fire cast a warm glow across your face, illuminating the delicate features that had captivated him since the moment he'd lifted your veil. As he knelt before you, gently removing your shoes, Anakin felt an unfamiliar tenderness stir within him.

"These shoes look uncomfortable," he murmured, his fingers brushing against your ankle as he worked. "I'm surprised you managed to stand through the entire ceremony."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "It's not the first time I've worn them, my husband."

The formal address sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the weight of this union. But as he looked up at you, saw the way your eyes shone with a mix of nervousness and curiosity, he felt something else. A spark of connection, however tenuous.

"Anakin," he said softly, his hand still resting on your foot. "Please, call me Anakin right now..."

You nodded, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Anakin," you repeated, as if testing the name on your tongue.

He rose to his feet, his hand moving from your ankle to your waist. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but there was a strength beneath it that spoke of the warrior he was.

"You're trembling," he observed, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hip. "Are you cold?"

"No," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm just... nervous."

Anakin's heart clenched at the admission. He knew all too well the fear of the unknown, the anxiety that came with stepping into uncharted territory. But he also knew the power of vulnerability, the strength that could be found in laying oneself bare.

"There's no need to be afraid," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "We have all the time in the world to... get to know each other."

The last words were laced with a hint of suggestion, but there was no pressure in his tone. Instead, there was a promise, a silent vow to take this journey together, one step at a time.

He drew back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "May I ?” He asked, a hand on the thin strap of your linen gown.

Anakin's eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. He could feel the weight of the moment, the anticipation that seemed to crackle like electricity.

But there was no rush, no need to force the issue. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your throat in a feather-light kiss. The touch was innocent, almost chaste, but the scruff of his jaw sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I find myself at a loss for words."

His hand slid from your waist to your back, drawing you closer. The heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of your nightgown, a reminder of the man beneath the armor.

"Tell me," he continued, his voice low and husky. "What do you want, my rose?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation all at once. Anakin knew he was treading on dangerous ground, that one wrong move could shatter the fragile trust that had begun to grow between you.

But he also knew that this moment, this first night as husband and wife, was a turning point. A chance to build something real, something lasting.

You took a shaky breath.“Anything you’d like me to have, husband…”

Anakin's heart raced at your words, a heady cocktail of desire and tenderness surging through him. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "Are you sure, my rose?"

Your breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping your lips. It was all the encouragement he needed.

Anakin's hands slid down to your waist, his fingers splaying across the small of your back as he pulled you flush against him. He could feel the heat of your body, the way your curves melted into the hard planes of his own.

"I want to worship you," he murmured, his lips trailing down the column of your throat. "To taste every inch of your skin, to make you writhe with pleasure."

His hands roamed lower, cupping your buttocks and squeezing gently. The thin fabric of your nightgown did little to hide the heat of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch.

"Tell me what you need," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me how to please you."

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock straining against the confines of his trousers. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first.

He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. "I want to hear you, my rose. I want to hear you cry out my name."

His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your nightgown higher and higher. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your muscles quivered beneath his touch.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his fingers brushing against the damp heat of your core. "Do you want me to touch you here?"

Anakin's own breath was coming in ragged gasps, his control hanging by a thread. But he held back, waiting for your response. This was your journey, your pleasure. And he would follow your lead, no matter where it took him.

His scruff ghosted against your shoulder. “I fucked many whores senseless in brothels…but never thought I’d have an angel to satisfy. This is the culmination of my mere mortal life…to have you in my arms, quivering from the pleasure I’m giving you …how lucky I am to be alive right now.”

Anakin's words washed over you, a heady mix of reverence and desire that sent shivers down your spine. You felt cherished, worshipped, like a goddess being praised by a devoted supplicant.

"Anakin," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please..."

It was all the encouragement he needed. With a low growl, Anakin swept you into his arms, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours as he hovered above you.

"You're my angel," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "My very own heavenly creature, sent to grace my mortal life."

His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep as he claimed your mouth. You responded with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.

Anakin's hands roamed your body, mapping every curve and hollow. He pushed the straps of your nightgown down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his fingers skimming over the sensitive flesh. "Perfect."

He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to taste your nipple. You arched into him, a low moan escaping your lips as pleasure coursed through you.

Anakin lavished your breasts with attention, his mouth and hands working in tandem to drive you wild with need. Your hips bucked against him, seeking friction, but he held you down, his weight pinning you to the bed.

"Not yet, my rose," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I'm not nearly done with you."

His hand slid down your body, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You trembled beneath him, your body aching for his touch.

"Please, Anakin," you whimpered, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears. "Please…husband..."

With a low groan, Anakin obliged. His fingers delved between your folds, finding you slick and ready. He stroked you slowly, his touch maddeningly gentle.

Suddenly a knock echoed “General, the French renegates attacked a village, we need you as fast as possible.” A voice spoke urgently through the thick wooden door.

The knock at the door jolted you both out of your passionate haze, the harsh reality of your situation crashing down upon you. Anakin cursed under his breath, his expression hardening as he sprang into action.

He quickly fastened his armor, the tender lover of moments ago replaced by the fierce warrior you knew him to be. You watched him through narrowed eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

How could you have let yourself be swept away like that ? This man, with countless deaths on his hands, had touched you with such tenderness, had made you feel things you'd never felt before. It was a betrayal of everything you stood for, everything you believed in.

"I have to go," Anakin said gruffly, his voice devoid of the warmth and affection he'd shown you just moments before. "Your people have attacked a village. I need to lead my men."

You nodded stiffly, wrapping the sheets tighter around your body. "Of course. Duty calls."

Anakin paused at the door, his hand on the handle. He turned to look at you, his eyes searching your face. "Princess..."

"Go," you said firmly, turning away from him. "Save the village. That's what you're good at, after all."

The bitterness in your voice was unmistakable, and Anakin flinched as if struck. But he didn't argue, didn't try to change your mind. With a curt nod, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You were alone, your body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire. But it was tinged with shame, with the knowledge that you'd betrayed your principles for a moment of pleasure.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back furiously. You were stronger than this, better than this. You wouldn't let a man, no matter how charming or skilled, make you forget who you were.

But even as you tried to convince yourself of your own strength, a small voice whispered in the back of your mind. A voice that wondered what might have been, if you'd given in to the passion that had burned between you.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker

"A fleeting touch, a ghost, a flame, A breath that whispers your quiet name. The silk of your skin beneath my hand, A treasure I cannot yet command.

I burn for what I cannot claim, This ache, a tether, this want, my shame. Your gaze, a wound in my chest both sharp and sweet, A battlefield where I’m brought to defeat.”

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #evie writes #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader

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vnti-vnxiety-recs · 2 days ago

Text

Kiss Me More (M)

★ PAIRING: Doyoung x reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 3k

★ GENRE(S): smut, established relationship

☆ SUMMARY: You withhold kisses from Doyoung when your mad at him and it drives him nuts.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: explicit sexual intercourse, dry humping

unprotected sex, mature, cunnilingus, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: This is based off a clip I saw of Doyoung where he was at somebody's house and the husband was basically talking about how he and his wife don't kiss, and Doyoung was like “but you guys have kids together??” That man was shocked. This just got me thinking that Doyoung would not be able to wrap his head around not being able to kiss you. If anyone can find this clip ill be in your debt.

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(„• ֊ •„)

━O━O━━━━━━━━━

He hated when you got like this.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the streets as the car moved, trees and buildings blurring as you stared out the window. You sat in the passenger seat of his car with your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked with a sigh, reaching out to wrestle one for your hands free to intertwine it with his, trying to coax you back from whatever place you’d retreated to.

He didn't care how pissy you got, that wasn't going to stop him from loving on you. “Hmm?” he prompted again, searching your face for a response.

You didn’t reply, but you didn’t pull away either, which he took as a small victory.

“Baby,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more serious. “You can’t seriously be mad at me for not letting you bring that dog home.” He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. He had definitely reopened a healing wound by bringing up the topic again too soon. You pulled your hand away from his.

He focused back on the road, thumbs drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel as he tried to fill the silence. He could see the slight tension in your jawline, the way you completely turned your body away from him. It was a tell-tale sign that he had pissed you off.

“It's just a dog,” he added, trying to alleviate the tension, but he knew better than to underestimate how much it meant to you. “We can get one later, you know right now isn’t a good time.” His heart raced with hope as he prayed he was finding the right words to soothe your irritation.

He sighs when you remain silent. “You’ll get over it,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, but the uncertainty crept in.

You in fact did not get over it.

To an outsider looking in, everything probably seemed like peaches and cream. The afternoon light streamed through the windows of the café that you sat in, laughter bubbled up from nearby tables.

It was in fact not peaches and cream as far as Doyoung was concerned. He prided himself on knowing you inside and out, and despite your numerous attempts to assure him that you weren’t upset anymore, the flicker behind your eyes told a different story.

It had been about a week since that tense car ride, and while you weren’t childish enough to hold a grudge outwardly over something so seemingly trivial, you were certainly childish enough to nurse a small internal one. Doyoung tried not to worry, he knew that in about a week, you would officially let it go.

The only issue was that you were driving him insane in the meantime.

Earlier that day, when you visited the shopping district, you had smoothly dodged one of his kisses. He wasn’t one for PDA anyway but all he had wanted was to leave a sweet little peck to your temple. When you had pulled away too quickly to “look at the mugs,” he instantly knew what games you were playing.

Doyoung hated your games because he was always the one who ended up losing. He didn't have many weaknesses when it came to you; he couldn’t afford to, considering how much he had already let you get away with. But there was one undeniable weakness: your kisses.

So it was no surprise that when you had discovered this vulnerability, you instantly started to use it to your advantage.

Want a new purse? Butter him up with a really long, deep, intimate kiss that left him breathless.

Need more allowance? Just trail a few kisses up his long delicate neck, plant a teasing hickey behind his ear, and you’d have him wrapped around your finger.

He was fully convinced he would die without your kisses. it was the air that he breathed. He loved the way your lips felt against him. It was as if you held a power to bring him to his knees. Without your kisses, he felt a kind of withdrawal setting in. He needed your lips on him or his on you. He didn’t care how it happened, he just needed it.

It had been days since you had initiated a kiss, and he was too prideful to make a move after you had snubbed him earlier in the store.

“Are you listening, Doie?” you said, kicking his leg beneath the small table, drawing him back to the moment.

You sat across from him as you enjoyed your lunch, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off your lips. You had just bitten into a croissant, and the buttery sheen clung to your mouth, sending his imagination spiraling. He was lost in thoughts of pressing his lips against yours, licking the sweet taste of croissant from your lips, until your playful kick brought him crashing back to earth.

“Sorry, it’s just a little noisy here. What did you say?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I said your coffee is getting cold,” you replied with a slight smirk. “They brought it a moment ago, and you haven’t even touched it yet.”

Doyoung sighed lightly, running a hand through his hair, the tension between you humming like a live wire. “Right, the coffee,” he said, forcing a smile as he picked up the cup. He took a sip, your gaze never wavered, a playful challenge dancing in your eyes.

“What's on your mind babe?” you ask knowingly.

“I know what you're up to. Do you really think I don’t notice when you’re playing these games?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned closer, his heart racing as the distance between you shrank. He hated that he was so close to you yet so far away.

“Games? I’m just enjoying my lunch, Doie,” you replied innocently, though your lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“You’re definitely playing games,” he countered. “And you know I can’t resist you.”

You reach over and take a sip of his coffee, making sure to lick your lips deviously after. You lean back in your chair, eyes sparkling with amusement. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you were loving every minute of it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

—

You were going out tonight, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. You had put on his favorite lip combo, the one that drove him crazy. Your lips looked plush and glossy, drawing his gaze like a magnet.

As you stood before the floor-length mirror, you couldn't help but steal another glance at yourself. Satisfied with the way your outfit came together, you admire your reflection. But your thoughts were interrupted by the presence of someone behind you.

Doyoung stood in the middle of the room, clad in his signature laid-back attire: sweatpants and an oversized sweater. His arms were crossed, shaking his head in disapproval as his gaze locked onto yours in the mirror. He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, the gesture only adding to the adorably stern expression on his face.

You couldn't help the light chuckle that escapes at the sight. "What's wrong, babe?" you asked, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning into him playfully.

He stuttered on his response, his voice faltering as your face moved mere inches from his. Your sweet scent enveloped him, and he felt himself leaning in closer. You bit your lip and looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat. Truth be told, you weren’t even mad anymore; it was impossible to stay upset at Doyoung. You felt weak when he gave you that look—the one that made him resemble a sad little bunny. His eyes round, and his brows furrowed slightly as he looked enchanted by the way you bit your lip. He looked pathetic.

“I asked you a question, baby,” you whisper, a breath away from his lips.

“Please,” he pleads breathlessly.

You knew you had him right where you wanted him. You don’t know what came over you but you can't resist pressing your lips to his in a quick peck. The groan that left his lips was almost pitiful. He immediately tried to chase after your lips, but you stepped out of his embrace.

“Sorry baby, the girls are waiting.”

—

It wasn’t until later that night that you stumbled back in the apartment you shared with Doyoung. The worst of your drunken haze was over, but the high heels clinging to your feet didn't do much for your coordination. You tried to be quiet as you slipped inside, not wanting to wake your boyfriend.

As you walked into your room, you noticed the bedside lamp still on. Doyoung was sitting up in bed, engrossed in whatever book had captured his attention. You had told him not to wait up but he never listened, he couldn't sleep until he knew you made it back home safe. You loved watching him like this—so serious, so focused. There was always a soft spot in your heart for him when he wore his glasses; it made him look like the cutest little bunny you had ever laid eyes on.

You stifled a few giggles that escaped your lips, and Doyoung’s head snapped up at the sound. A smile broke across his face as he looked you up and down. You shuffled over to the bed with a yawn and collapsed onto the mattress face-first, burying yourself in the pillows

“Need some help, love?” Doyoung chuckled.

You nod into the sheets, not caring if your make up smudges. He slid out of bed with practiced ease. You roll over when he knelt at your feet, his hands wrapping around your ankles, and tugged gently. The heels came off one by one, and you let out a relieved sigh as he discarded them to the floor.

His lips brushed against your ankle, feather-light, and you tensed. Warmth. It spread up your leg like wildfire as he kissed his way up your shin, then your knee, each press of his mouth sending little jolts of electricity through you. You hadn’t realized how touch starved you were until now.

You're pulled out of your trance when his lips leave your body. He stood and stalked over to the bathroom to run you a bath. When he comes back he lifts you off the bed. “Come on, rabbit,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You didn’t protest as he led you to the bathroom, where steam already curled from the bathtub. He undressed you, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver. He washed away the remnants of the night, scrubbing the makeup from your face and running a sponge over your body until you were squeaky clean. Finally, he wrapped you in a towel and helped you into fresh pajamas.

Once you were both back in bed, you expected sleep to come easily. But it didn’t. Your mind raced, replaying the way his lips had felt against your skin. Your legs pressed together instinctively, and you shifted restlessly beside him.

Doyoung stirred, grumbling something unintelligible as he pulled you closer. His arm draped over your waist, anchoring you to him. You turned in his grasp, your eyes tracing the lines of his chest, the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his throat. And then your gaze landed on his lips—soft, slightly parted, and so close.

That’s when you noticed he was awake. His dark eyes watched you, hooded and half-lidded, but there was no mistaking the intensity in them. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

Doyoung didn’t say a word. He simply leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was long overdue—a week and three days overdue, to be exact (he’d counted).

It started slow, Doyoung was still a little asleep but once the fog from his brain cleared he leaned into the kiss, deepening it. You kiss him back with all the pent-up frustration and longing of the past few days. His tongue swept into your mouth, coaxing yours to dance with his. You moaned softly, your hands fisting in the sheets as he pressed his body into yours. You sink deeper into the mattress.

His hands cradled your face, holding you steady as he kissed you again and again, each one more desperate than the last. You tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, whining low in his throat as he claimed your lips once more.

“Doyoung,” you gasped.

He nods his head, a soft "hmm" escaping him before he lips crushing against yours again.

His ass was not listening.

His kisses were messy and wet, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before laving it with his tongue. when he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His chest heaved as he stared down at you. Its isn't long at all until his lips find their way back onto your skin

He sucked and licked at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving bruises in his wake. The vibrations of his groans sent shivers down your spine, and you arched into him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Doyoung,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need you, I can’t wait”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’ve been driving me crazy for days, rabbit. Don’t rush me.” He says sternly. He was going to take his time with you. He still had a few other places he hadn’t kissed yet.

He situates himself between your legs. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head before tossing it aside. His lips trailed down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you cry out.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and Doyoung groaned against your skin, his hips grinding down into your warm core. He drags his hips up slowly making you shiver. You breath hitches as he pushes his hips into yours over and over.

He pulls away from you, eyes raking down your body, taking in the bruises that litter your skin. He bites his lips when he looks between your bodies. He watches as he grinds into you and moans when he sees that wet spot forming in your panties.

his hand slid between your thighs. “All over a little kissing?” His fingers teasing the soaked fabric of your panties. “Guess I wasn't the only one affected.”

Your breath catching as he hooked his fingers into the hem of your underwear and tugged them down. His touch was electric as he stroked you, his thumb circling your clit while his fingers dipped inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillows. “Doyoung, please—”

“Please what?” he asked, his voice rough. “Didn’t I tell you not to rush me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his fingers curled inside you. Your back arched, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

“Doyoung,” you gasped, breaking the kiss. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he said firmly, withdrawing his fingers. You whimpered in protest. “If I had to wait so can you.”

He slips down the bed until his head is between your legs and when you finally meet his eyes, they were already glazed over, dark and hooded, completely lost in the thought of what he was about to do. He was pussy drunk before his mouth even touched you.

His tongue slipped out lazily, teasing at first, a slow drag along your folds that had your back arching off the mattress. He groaned, low and guttural, as if he couldn’t believe how good you tasted—like he’d been starving for this. His lips wrapped around your clit with a desperation that made your toes curl, his tongue flicking against it in a cruel rhythm. You couldn’t look at him. The intensity in his eyes was too much, too raw. With a wet pop, he pulled back briefly, his breath hot against your slick skin, before diving back in with a hunger that left you gasping.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his fingers joined the fray, replacing his lips. His fingers rub slow circles against your clit while his tongue moved to pushed deep into your dripping cunt.

His tongue curled inside you, his fingers moved faster now, a blur of motion that had your thighs trembling, your hands clutching at the sheets for an anchor.

“Enough, Doie…please,” you whimpered, voice cracking at the end. But he didn’t stop, instead licking into you until you were squirming beneath him, half trying to push him away and half desperate to pull him closer. Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his messy hair as you tugged. His fingers leave you clit and find purchase wrapped around your thighs to keep you pinned. The lower half of his face is soaked and you don't miss the way his hips rut against the mattress. He presses his tongue flat against your clit urging you to ride his face.

“Doie—!” you cried, your hips thrusting wildly, chasing your orgasm even as the overstimulation threatened to overwhelm you. It was too much but you couldn’t stop.

Your body went rigid, heels digging into the mattress as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you weak and trembling in its wake. He let go reluctantly, his lips pressing one last kiss to your sensitive core before he sat back on his knees, chest heaving as he watched you. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide with desire. The sight of him, flushed and panting and hard in his grey sweats, sent another pulse of warmth pooling between your legs.

“You’re not done yet,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Not even close.”

He lines himself up at your entrance and when he finally sank into you, you both moaned in unison. He was relentless, his hips snapping against yours as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His hands couldn't keep still his touch spreading across your body. It was everything and all too much. You bury your face in the pillows and your back arches when he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. His hand reaches out to grip your cheeks forcing you to look at him until his lips find yours again, swallowing your cries as you come beneath him.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

You fight through the sensitivity, “I—I want it,” you stammered wanting him to fill you up.

His strokes get longer, he presses into you slow and deep. He needed you to feel all of him. He needed to drive you crazy, just like you had done to him. You whine and clench down tight around him. You reach out for him, needing him closer. Your leg falls from his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him close until your chest to chest. Your legs wrap around his waist and your heels dig into his lower back until he's fucking you harder. His head drops into your neck with a groan. A few more deep plunges of his hips has him spilling inside you. He leans back and rests his forehead against yours as you both ride out the waves of pleasure.

When he finally pulled away, you were both drenched in sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Doyoung collapsed onto the bed beside you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“For the record, I’m not mad about the dog anymore,” you said with a sheepish smile, letting out a soft huff of laughter. You had already known he was right; you and Doyoung didn’t really have the time or space for a dog right now, but you’d never admit it to him.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Took you a week to get over it.”

You grinned, your fingers trailing down his chest. “And yet, here you are.”

He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Here I am.”

#doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #doyoung fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x you #doyoung x you #nct smut #nct x you

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italiangirlcoresblog · 24 days ago

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main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

-----------------••✩🥞🌶💋✩••----------------

... 𝐢'𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

✩ : as the 2024 season comes to an end, so does the time you have left to finally confess your feelings to carlos

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : carlos sainz

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure A N G S T

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,7k

✍︎ : i'm SO SORRY it took me this long to write, but i was literally swamped with school work and i had no time to do anything. anyway, i hope you like it because i put my soul and tears into it (i'll probably write some cute christmas themed one-shots to recover from this, don't worry 🙃).

enjoy! 🩷❤️

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

Wrong.

If you had to use any word to describe the situation you found yourself in, it would’ve been wrong.

Everything felt out of place: the laughs, the chattering, even the clinking of champagne glasses. It was all too loud, almost as if everyone was trying to fill the void that loomed in the air.

Though, now that you thought about it, ‘fake’ actually fit the scene better. To your ears, the jokes that rang across the motorhome were nothing but a lame attempt to lighten up the mood, every word sounding empty and meaningless. Each one of the persons crowding the room were just actors playing their part in a show they’d been rehearsing for months, and between them stood the main character, the best liar of them all.

Carlos had been smiling the entire night, going along with the setup for some reason that your brain really couldn’t seem to grasp. What was the point of celebrating his departure, even worse when the people he was hugging with such warmth were the same ones who’d dropped him from the team to replace him?

As for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him: every time you did, you caught the flicker of hurt hiding behind the forced grin he'd carefully plastered on his face, the sight making you feel sick to your stomach.

To be honest, you didn’t try to approach him at all, the mere thought of confronting him keeping you away. What was the point, anyway? He was leaving Ferrari, and nothing you might say or do could ever change that.

You hated it. You hated that you had to stand there and watch him leave, you hated the team for making him, you hated yourself and how powerless you felt, you hated Carlos… especially the way you didn’t hate him at all.

It wasn’t something you’d planned: it just happened. Somewhere between the race debriefs, the jokes, and even the fights, you’d inevitably fell for him. What a shame you were only realizing it now.

You avoided him all night, slipping into the shadows every time he came too close or tried to approach you, ignoring the pang of guilt that hit you when you saw the half-smile he flashed falter. His eyes were questioning, almost pleading, burning holes right through you as you turned your back to him once again. You told yourself that was the only way you could survive the “party”… or so you thought.

You knew it was coming, and yet when the lights dimmed and your teammates’ voices lowered to whispers your heart dropped to your stomach, all the noise from before replaced by a piercing ringing in your ears.

The video.

The wide screen suddenly lit up, its brightness almost blinding in the dark room, the clips playing out on it in quick flashes: Carlos’ first podiums, his maiden victory with Ferrari, the celebrations with the team and the Tifosi, the challenges with Charles… each one of them was a dagger to the chest which twisted in a wound that had been bleeding for months now.

The motorhome had fallen silent, the stillness interrupted from time to time by a choked laugh or a quiet sniffle that echoed like gunshots. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at the taped moments without your sight getting blurry, forcing yourself not to let it wander over the faces that surrounded you — until you eventually did, and that was the worst mistake of your life.

Carlos’ eyes were glistening under the violent screen lighting, puffy and bloodshot from the tears he’d clearly already shed, which stained his cheeks and slightly parted mouth.

The walls started closing in on you, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as you felt a lump tightening your throat, panic rising in your chest. You couldn’t see him like that.

You should’ve stayed. For him. You should’ve been close and hugged him, like everyone else was doing now that the video had ended, but you couldn’t.

So you ran like a coward.

You stumbled back, bumping into people that you didn’t really see, mumbling weak ‘Sorry’ in their direction, until a hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” He put it as a question, but the concern in his tone made it sound more like a warning, almost as if he already knew the answer.

“Let me go. Please,” you breathed out, the words painfully scratching your throat as you let them out. He didn’t budge. “Charles–”

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his hold tightening slightly more to prevent you from getting away. “He needs us. All of us.” He searched your eyes with his, a quiet request in them: we have to be strong for him.

“He doesn’t need me. Not like this,” you muttered, shame washing over you as you shrugged his hand off and finally reached the door, rushing outside like your life depended on it.

It was pouring, but you couldn’t care less; in fact, the cool raindrops were soothing against your burning skin, their sound drowning out the thoughts that had been running through your mind relentlessly all night.

You didn’t hear his steps, either.

“Why are you out here?” Carlos’ voice cut through the storm like a knife, and you froze. He’d followed you.

You didn’t turn around. Instead, you swallowed back the tears you hadn’t even noticed had started streaming down your face, mixed with the rain that soaked through your clothes. “Go back inside. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back harshly, maybe more than he intended to, because he quickly added: “Why are you acting like this? Did I do something?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the genuine confusion in his tone making it harder to keep yours steady. “I just needed some air.”

“So what, you just left without saying anything?” He stepped closer, frustration bleeding through his words.

“It’s your party, Carlos, not mine. And it’s not that deep.”

“Not that–do you hear yourself? This ‘party’ is my last one here at Ferrari; we’re supposed to say goodbye.” His voice cracked, followed shortly after by the walls you were struggling to keep up.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people in there who are dying to say–”

“Dios mío, do you even care that I’m leaving?” he spit out, the venom in his words hitting you like a slap right in the face.

“Of course I care–”

“Then look at me! Please, at least look at me.” He was so close now that you could feel his shaky breaths ruffling your hair, his warmth inches away from you, so familiar and yet so distant.

Slowly, you turned around, your vision blurry as you took in the sight of him: he was completely drenched in rain, the fireproof he was still wearing from the race clinging to his body, his usually perfect hair sticking to his forehead, and he looked so effortlessly handsome it made your heart ache.

“And now?” You let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m happy for you? Because if that’s it, I’m sorry but I’m not. I don’t care if I sound selfish, and if that makes me a horrible teammate then be it, but at least I’m not a fake friend like half of the people in there. So yes, Carlos, I care, I care so much that I couldn’t stay inside and watch you act like you didn’t.” The words had spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, leaving you breathless once you came to a halt.

Carlos blinked a few times, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then, what you’d actually said clicked in his mind.

“I don’t care? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all night–”

“Carlos, stop,” you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes once again at his sharp tone.

“No,” he said, firmly. “Not until you tell me what’s really going on.”

“It’s not that simple, okay?” Your voice cracked as it raised, trying to outshout both the storm that surrounded you and the one raging inside your chest.

“Then make it simple!” He yelled too, but his words sounded like a cry for help. That made you finally snap.

“I love you, Carlos! Is that simple enough for you? Because for me it’s not. It hurts so fucking much knowing that I can’t do anything anymore, that I’m too late, and it’s… easier this way. Distancing myself, I mean. I prefer walking away from you on my own than having you taken away from me.”

Heavy silence stretched between the two of you after your voice trailed off, your words still lingering in the damp air as you just stared at each other for what felt like ages.

“Say something, please.” You were the one begging now, his numbness worse than any sentence you’d heard tonight. “Shout, scream, just–”

He didn’t let you finish, his lips finding yours in a desperate, urgent kiss that tasted like tears and regrets. You poured every ounce of you into it, your hands roaming over each other and pulling you impossibly closer, almost as if you wanted to melt together and become a whole, so that nothing could ever separate you anymore.

When you parted, he pressed his mouth to your forehead, his hands cradling your face like you were the most delicate and precious porcelain doll in the world and he was afraid he might break you; too bad he already had.

“I love you,” he then whispered against your wet skin, before letting his lips fall to your right cheek. “And I’ll miss you…” he pressed a kiss on it, then moved to the other. “… so much,” he left a third one, capturing the single tear that had escaped your eye.

“I’ll miss you, too,” you breathed out, words getting lost in the howling wind.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the rain soaked you both, washing away the tears that silently strolled down your face, and with them the promise of a future that ended before it even started.

-----------------••✩🥞🌶💋✩••----------------

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kitty-won07 · 28 days ago

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Rivals at Heart

Pairing : Class president! Jungwon x student! reader.

Genre : Academics Rivals to Lovers(?) , Bickerings,Fluff.

Words count : 1.13k.

Summary : Fierce academic rivals, you and Jungwon are forced to team up for a prestigious scholarship competition. What begins as tense collaboration slowly unravels years of rivalry, revealing unexpected connection and mutual respect. As competition turns to camaraderie—and something more—you both learn that the greatest victories aren't won alone, but together.

Author's note : Hey guys ! , this is my first fanfiction, I wanted my first story to be about jungwon as he is my bias. I hope you guys enjoy it , sorry about mistakes and let me know if you liked it by rebloging or just comenthing :) .

---

The quiet hum of the school library was broken by the sound of your notebook slamming shut. You glared across the table at Jungwon, who sat with his usual calm demeanor, typing furiously on his laptop.

"You're not seriously trying to beat me on this project too, are you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up. "Beat you? That implies there’s competition. I’ve already won."

Your fists clenched around your pen. For years, this had been the routine: Jungwon’s smug quips, your biting comebacks, and a constant battle for academic supremacy. Teachers loved to pair you two up, calling it a "dream team." To you, it felt more like a nightmare.

The scholarship announcement came during morning assembly. A hush fell over the students as the principal introduced the competition: a chance to work with the city’s top universities and secure early admissions. The catch? Teams would be assigned by the administration.

When your name was called, you froze.

“And their partner… Jungwon Yang.”

Your stomach dropped. From the corner of your eye, you saw him smirk.

“Looks like the school finally realized we’re the best,” Jungwon said as he passed you in the hall later.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you shot back. “I’m not losing because of you.”

The first study session was predictably disastrous.

“I don’t need your help with the research,” you snapped, yanking a textbook away.

“And I don’t need your color-coded charts cluttering the desk,” Jungwon replied, his voice clipped.

Hours passed in tense silence, the only sound the scratching of pens and furious typing. It wasn’t until you both reached for the same article—your hands brushing—that you realized how close you were sitting. You pulled away quickly, heat rushing to your face.

The group project presentation was supposed to be easy. But when one of your teammates fumbled their part, you felt panic rising. Before you could intervene, Jungwon stepped in seamlessly.

“Actually,” he began, his voice steady and confident, “what they meant to say was…”

He delivered a flawless explanation, saving the presentation. Afterward, you cornered him in the hallway.

“Why’d you do that?” you demanded. “You could’ve let them fail.”

Jungwon shrugged, his gaze softening. “It would’ve affected your grade too. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

For once, you didn’t have a snarky reply.

As the competition progressed, the walls between you started to crumble. Late-night study sessions turned into debates about everything from philosophy to your favorite snacks. You began noticing the small things about Jungwon—how he tapped his pen when he was thinking, how his eyes lit up when he explained something he was passionate about.

And he noticed you too. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused. The way you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the school to notice the shift in your dynamic. The whispers started during class when you and Jungwon exchanged smiles instead of sharp remarks.

“Wait,” one of your friends whispered during lunch. “Are you two…?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “No! I mean… not really. I don’t know.”

Across the cafeteria, Jungwon caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile. Your heart fluttered.

Later, when you confronted him about it, he shrugged. “Let them talk. It’s not like I’m ashamed of you.”

The simplicity of his words left you speechless again.

One afternoon, the two of you sat on the rooftop, overlooking the bustling schoolyard below. The scholarship was officially yours, and with the competition behind you, things felt lighter than they had in years.

“So,” you said, leaning back against the railing. “Now that we’re not competing anymore, what do we do?”

Jungwon turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Who says we’re done competing? There’s still university applications, internships, exams…”

You groaned, swatting his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The school auditorium was packed, buzzing with excitement for the annual debate competition. It was a tradition for graduating seniors, and naturally, you and Jungwon were the star participants. This time, however, you weren’t partners—you were opponents.

“Ready to lose?” Jungwon teased, straightening his blazer as you both stood backstage.

“Lose? You’re underestimating me already. That’s your first mistake,” you shot back, smirking.

He chuckled, leaning in just enough for his voice to lower. “Try not to get distracted by how good I look winning.”

The familiar banter only fueled your determination.

The debate was intense. Each point Jungwon made was sharp, confident, and impeccably supported, but you fired back with equal wit and conviction. The audience was on the edge of their seats as the two of you traded arguments like a perfectly choreographed dance.

It wasn’t until the final round that the tension shifted. Jungwon’s rebuttal started strong, but then he faltered—just for a second. His eyes flickered to yours, and for the briefest moment, his usual competitive edge softened.

You recognized it immediately. He was holding back.

After his turn, you stood to deliver your closing statement. The words came easily, but your mind was racing. Was Jungwon pulling his punches to let you win?

After the debate, the judges announced the winner: you. The applause was thunderous, but all you could think about was Jungwon’s expression—calm and unreadable, as always.

Later, you found him in the empty hallway outside the auditorium. “You held back,” you said, crossing your arms.

Jungwon leaned against the wall, his smirk returning. “You noticed, huh?”

“Why?”

He shrugged, his tone light but sincere. “I’ve been winning against you for years. I figured it was time to give you something back.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding. “I don’t want you to hold back. Not for me.”

For the first time, Jungwon hesitated. “You don’t need me to. You’re already better than me in ways I can’t compete with.”

The words left you stunned. Before you could respond, he added with a grin, “But don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m winning.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension. “We’ll see about that.”

As you walked out of the school together, the rivalry that had once defined your relationship now felt like the foundation for something stronger. Jungwon reached for your hand, and for the first time, you let him win.

---

#jungwon #enhypen #jungwon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fics #jungwon fluff

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todorokis-girl · 3 months ago

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Later - Bakugou x f!reader

After years of distance and regrets, Bakugo and Y/N reunite in a private, bittersweet moment, finally confronting the feelings they’d left unspoken and finding their way back to each other.

The air buzzed with anticipation as the recent U.A. graduates gathered outside the hero certification facility, each ready to take the final step toward earning their official hero licenses. Y/N was pacing at the edge of the crowd, nervous energy radiating off her as she tried to steady her breathing.

“Oi.” A familiar, gruff voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Bakugo standing in front of her, arms crossed and his gaze just a little sharper than usual. “You’re not gonna screw this up, right?”

She gave a shaky laugh, more out of nerves than amusement. “I’ll do my best. Not sure it’ll be as easy as you make it look.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. ‘Best’ isn’t good enough here. You better pass.” He looked at her then, really looked at her, something unspoken flickering in his gaze before he forced it back. “Don’t make me have to drag you over the finish line.”

She managed a small smile, resisting the urge to say something deeper, something that might show him just how much she valued his support. “Good luck, Bakugo. I know you’ll crush it.”

For a second, he didn’t respond, as if weighing whether to say something more. But he just gave a stiff nod, his usual bravado muted. “Same to you, Y/N. Don’t hold back.”

They held each other’s gaze for a beat longer before turning away, each focused on the test ahead, yet carrying a weight neither dared to address.

The crowd was alive with celebration as new heroes gathered to share in their achievement. Y/N scanned the room, feeling the warmth of victory and relief. Her eyes fell on Bakugo, standing alone, his usual intensity softened in the glow of his accomplishment.

Before she knew it, her feet were carrying her toward him, and when he noticed her, something in his expression shifted—an unspoken acknowledgment of everything they’d been through to reach this point. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, her gratitude and joy too much to hold back.

To her surprise, he returned the embrace, albeit stiffly, as if unsure how to handle it. “Don’t get all sappy on me now,” he muttered, his voice low. But he didn’t pull away, holding her just a moment longer than necessary.

“Can’t help it,” she teased, pulling back to look at him, her gaze softening. “We did it. I’m proud of us.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked away, as if trying to guard himself against the warmth in her words. “Yeah, well… took long enough.”

“Bakugo,” she said quietly, braving the words she’d been carrying for too long, “I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About us. I mean, I think there’s—”

But before she could finish, the group of friends and heroes-in-training around them surged, pulling them apart in the excitement of celebration. Bakugo’s eyes lingered on her as they were separated, and she thought she saw something unguarded there, just for a second, before he turned away, hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah. Later,” he said, almost to himself, and the words were lost in the noise of the crowd.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over her phone, Bakugo’s name glowing on the screen. Her heart pounded as she considered calling him, thinking back to that hug and the words they’d left unsaid. She could practically hear his voice in her mind, the gruff, reassuring tone that had been her anchor through so many storms.

But before she could press the call button, her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. It was an unknown number, and reluctantly, she answered. “Hello?”

“Y/N L/N?” a voice on the other end spoke, formal and clipped. “This is the Hero Commission. We’re assigning you to an urgent mission overseas, effective immediately. You’re needed for a high-stakes undercover operation, duration indefinite. Your agency will receive the full briefing, and a representative will meet you at the airport.”

Her heart sank, her mind whirling. The mission—she’d heard whispers of it but hadn’t expected to be pulled in so suddenly. She looked back down at her phone, Bakugo’s name still lighting up the screen, the call she’d been moments away from making now impossible.

“When do I leave?” she managed, her voice a strained whisper.

“You’re expected to report to the airport in three hours. We trust you’ll be there on time.”

After the call ended, she sat there, staring at her phone, the weight of her decision crushing her. She could make the call, confess everything, ask him to wait. But she knew it wouldn’t be fair—not to him, not with how long and uncertain this mission would be.

With a shaky breath, she turned off her phone, placing it face-down on the table before grabbing her packed bag, leaving everything she’d been waiting to say behind.

Years Later

Y/N hadn’t expected to be back in Japan so soon. The mission overseas had taken everything she had, stretching over years with no breaks, no contact, no hope of return. She’d buried herself so deep in her role that the thought of home had felt almost… impossible. But now, with the mission over and her body heavy with exhaustion, she found herself alone in the quiet of an agency conference room, trying to adjust back to reality.

She hadn’t let herself think about him in so long. The regret had faded over time, dulled by distance, but now, standing here alone, it came rushing back with a vengeance. She didn’t know if he was even here anymore, or if he’d want anything to do with her.

Then the door creaked open, and there he was. Bakugo stood in the doorway, taller, broader, with an intensity in his gaze that hadn’t faded one bit. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, each just staring at the other, as if unable to believe they were real.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough, guarded. He didn’t step forward, staying rooted in place, his fists clenched at his sides. “Didn’t know you were back.”

She forced a smile, though it wavered. “Just got in. They… let me go early.”

Silence settled between them, thick and weighted with all the words they hadn’t said. She wanted to move closer, to say something, but the wall he’d built around himself was almost tangible, keeping her at a distance.

“I… thought about calling,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “But I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me after all this time.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to the floor. “Didn’t think you cared. You left without a word, and I—” His voice cracked, and he took a sharp breath, as if trying to steady himself. “Figured you’d moved on.”

“No,” she whispered, finally taking a hesitant step toward him. “I never moved on. I just… I thought you’d be better off without me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Better off? You have any idea how long I waited? How many times I thought about going after you?” His voice softened, and he looked up at her, the pain in his eyes raw, unguarded. “You think I didn’t care?”

She took another step forward, her hand reaching out, fingers brushing his. “I didn’t know… I was afraid if I asked you to wait, it wouldn’t be fair.”

He hesitated, looking down at her hand before finally meeting her gaze, his eyes full of the hurt and longing he’d carried all these years. “And now?”

Her hand trembled in his, but she held on, her heart pounding as she finally voiced the truth. “Now… I’m here. And I don’t want to run anymore.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression a mixture of disbelief and anger, before he pulled her into his arms, his grip firm, as if afraid she’d disappear again. They stood there, locked in a silent embrace, years of longing and regret melting away as they clung to each other, each wordless promise hanging heavy between them.

Neither of them spoke, but in that moment, they knew there would be no more goodbyes.

Bakugo’s arms tightened around her as if he was afraid that if he loosened his hold, she’d disappear again. He pulled her close, his face buried against her shoulder, and she felt his heartbeat pounding in sync with her own. After all these years, neither of them moved to let go.

“Don’t—” His voice was rough, a low growl, muffled against her. “Don’t even think about pulling this crap again, you hear me?”

Her hand settled on his back, fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. “I’m not going anywhere, Bakugo,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

For a long while, they stayed locked together in the silence of the empty conference room. She could feel the hesitation in his touch, the battle between anger and relief, and a small, sad smile formed on her lips. She knew that leaving had hurt him, that maybe it had hurt him more deeply than she’d allowed herself to imagine all these years. And that hurt had sat, festering, unaddressed.

He finally drew back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, guarded. His face was so close she could see every scar, every line—reminders of the battles he’d fought in her absence. His thumb brushed over her cheek, the touch light but lingering.

“You really think I’d just… forget about you?” His voice was a low rumble, but his gaze held a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “After all that?”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle around her heart. “I didn’t want to make you wait for something that… that might not have even happened. I didn’t know when I’d be able to come back, or if—”

“If you’d make it back at all,” he finished, his voice harsh, but there was a flicker of understanding there. He exhaled, frustration evident in his expression. “You didn’t give me a damn choice, Y/N. That’s what pissed me off the most. You took off without saying a word and left me with nothing but—” He cut himself off, clenching his jaw. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I know,” she said softly, looking away, guilt settling in her chest. “I thought it would be easier for you if… if you didn’t know. I thought that if I came back, maybe we could pick up where we left off, but…”

“But?” His hand was still on her cheek, his thumb grazing over her skin, almost absentmindedly.

“But I didn’t know if you’d still… if you’d even want to see me.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, her own eyes searching his for any hint of the feelings they’d once left unsaid. “If you’d moved on.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, his fingers trailing down from her cheek to her jaw, his hand finally resting against her neck. “Stupid,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. “How could I move on? I tried, okay? But every time, it was like… like I was just waiting for you to show up again.”

She felt the sting of tears but blinked them back, managing a shaky smile. “You always were stubborn, Bakugo.”

“And you’re impossible.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing against her skin with a gentleness that made her heart ache. “I’m mad at you, you know that?”

“I know.” She hesitated before adding, “And I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve… I should’ve told you everything before I left.”

He seemed to consider that, his hand slipping from her neck to hold her face between his palms. “You’re right. You should have.”

She bit her lip, a rush of nerves washing over her as she forced herself to say the words that had stayed buried all this time. “Bakugo… I never stopped thinking about you. Even after all these years, you’re… you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

His eyes softened, the anger finally giving way to something raw, something she recognized as the feelings they’d both carried since U.A., since their paths had diverged. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands remained on her face, grounding her.

“Y/N.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with more emotion than she’d ever heard from him. “I waited for you. Don’t ever make me wait again.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let out a shaky laugh. “I won’t. I’m here now.”

And then, finally, he kissed her. It was slow, hesitant at first, as if testing the weight of years that had kept them apart. But as the kiss deepened, she felt the walls around her heart begin to crumble, the regrets and doubts melting away as he held her close, grounding her in the warmth of his touch.

When they finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I hate you for making me wait so damn long,” he whispered, but the softness in his tone told her that he didn’t mean it.

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close again. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you then.”

“Damn right, you will,” he murmured, his lips finding hers again, as if he was making up for every second he’d missed.

#katsuki bakugo mha #undercover mission #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #my hero academia fandom #my hero academia fanfic #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia #y/n x Bakugo #bakugou x y/n

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writteninkat · 8 days ago

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Adoration's Abyss | Bakugou , Stalker Reader

synopsis: He was the untouchable star, and I was just another face in the crowd—until I wasn’t. What starts as admiration spirals into something far darker when love turns to obsession, and boundaries blur between devotion and delusion. You really are different from other girls… but at what cost?

w/c: idk i was hoping for 5k, i hope it reached

warnings: stalking

a/n: hey i wrote this while i was at the beach for five days. update on my life: been getting into poetry and essay writing again. finally had the balls to share my work with my friends and family lol

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The moment I saw him, the world folded itself into something smaller, something manageable, as if the chaos of existence could be trimmed to fit within the orbit of his gaze. Katsuki Bakugou: a name that rippled through crowds like a thunderclap, his presence igniting every room he entered with the ferocity of a supernova. He wasn’t just an idol; he was a phenomenon, a living pyre burning too bright for ordinary mortals.

And yet, there I was. Just another face in the sea of adoration, clutching my ticket to the meet-and-greet like it was a lifeline to salvation.

“Hi, Katsuki! I loved you in—”

He cut me off, sharp as a blade but not unkind. “In Beyond the Blast?” His voice was rough, gravelly—a symphony of jagged edges.

I faltered. Did I seem too predictable? Too common? A sheep in the flock of screaming fans? My heart plummeted.

“Pouts are overrated,” I said, forcing a small smile, my voice softening into something calculatedly vulnerable. “I want to be different. Not just like…other girls. I loved you in the Eclipsed show, but also in Burning Hearts, Live Loud, Infrno's Edge...” I trailed off, naming a more obscure project, the kind only the most dedicated fans would know. I even threw in a few lines about a candid interview he once did, where he spoke about how sunsets reminded him of fleeting time.

His expression shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough. The ghost of amusement danced on his lips, and he said, “Maybe you really are different from other girls.”

Inside, I was roaring. Victorious. Outside, I laughed softly, demurely. “Maybe.”

I am so much worse.

When I left the meet-and-greet, I told myself it was enough. To stand in his presence, to hear his voice aimed in my direction—wasn’t that already more than most could hope for? But hope is a greedy thing. It feeds on itself, growing hungrier with every indulgence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His voice lingered in my ears like a song on repeat, the low rasp of it curling around my thoughts. I replayed our brief exchange in my head, editing and polishing it, imagining what I could’ve said to make him linger just a second longer.

And then, of course, I opened the scrapbook.

It started innocently, as these things always do. A collection of concert photos, magazine clippings, interviews. But now, as I flipped through the pages, it felt insufficient. Two-dimensional. Katsuki wasn’t just a face on a page. He was a force, raw and untamed, and these flattened images could never capture him.

I needed more.

When I heard about his upcoming promotional event, I didn’t hesitate. The tickets were sold out within seconds, but I had connections—or rather, I made them. A fan forum moderator owed me a favor, and I cashed it in without a second thought.

The event was in a sleek, glass-paneled venue that gleamed under the city lights. I arrived early, blending seamlessly into the crowd. I wore my best dress—not flashy, but memorable. Just enough to catch his eye again.

This time, I didn’t bother with the front row. No, I wanted to watch from a distance, to see the full scope of his energy. He moved onstage like a storm contained within the fragile frame of a man. His voice electrified the room, his words sparking laughter and applause.

But every now and then, his gaze flickered over the crowd, scanning faces. Did he remember me? Did his eyes pause, even for a fraction of a second, on mine?

I convinced myself they did.

It was after the event, during the afterparty, that things began to change. I wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, but slipping past security was easier than I thought. People underestimate how much you can achieve when you’re polite, invisible, and just persistent enough to not raise alarms.

He was there, naturally—leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. A few people approached him, but he brushed them off with a curt nod or a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And then, somehow, I was beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly, almost shyly. “I’m surprised you’re not the center of attention.”

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he might not remember. But then his expression shifted—a flicker of recognition, like a match striking against stone.

“You again,” he said.

From that moment on, it was as though I had been given permission. Not by him, of course, but by the universe. Surely this was fate, wasn’t it? To have crossed paths with him twice, in places swarming with thousands of people?

I began to learn things. Little things, at first—his preferred coffee shop, the route he took to the gym, the kind of music he played in his car when he thought no one was listening. These were harmless details, gathered with the precision of a collector adding rare gems to their trove.

But soon, harmless wasn’t enough.

The first time I followed him home, I told myself it was a mistake. I had been walking in the same direction, and it was pure coincidence that his apartment building loomed ahead of me. But then I did it again. And again.

His building was tall, sleek, and anonymous, but I found ways to breach its defenses. A delivery uniform, a borrowed ID badge—small deceptions that felt exhilarating in their simplicity.

I never crossed the final line. I never entered his apartment, though I knew exactly which door was his. Instead, I lingered in the shadows, content to imagine the life that unfolded within.

But imagination, like hope, is a hungry thing.

It’s funny, the way routine can warp into ritual. What began as occasional glimpses became a nightly pilgrimage. I knew his schedule better than my own. His habits—oh, how they fascinated me. The way he left his balcony door slightly ajar, as if inviting the wind—or something else. The flicker of his apartment light in the early hours, suggesting sleepless nights.

Once, I saw him standing there, silhouetted against the glow of his television, shirtless and utterly at ease. It felt intimate, watching him like that. Almost sacred.

He would never understand how much I admired him.

I started leaving small things behind. Harmless tokens—an autograph request slipped under his door, a pressed flower on his windowsill. Gifts that could be explained away if he ever noticed. They were never acknowledged, but that was fine. It wasn’t for him to notice. It was for me.

One night, he deviated from his routine. The precision of his life had always been a comfort to me—a series of movements I could predict and follow like a choreographed dance. But that night, he didn’t go home after his gym session.

Instead, he stopped at a convenience store, and I, foolishly emboldened by months of watching, followed him inside.

He was standing by the drink cooler, scanning the rows of energy drinks with a scowl. His hair was damp, his hoodie slung low over his face, and yet he was unmistakable.

I wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not yet.

But he turned, and suddenly we were face to face.

“Oh,” I said, startled into breaking the sacred silence between us. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

My heart thrummed like a caged bird. Did he recognize me from the meet-and-greet? From the afterparty? Did he know I’d been watching him all this time?

“I’m a fan,” I said quickly, keeping my voice light, casual. “We’ve met before, at your event. Twice, actually.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I thought I saw suspicion flicker across his face.

“Right,” he said finally, brushing past me with the kind of indifference that only he could make seem regal.

But as he left the store, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—something that wasn’t indifference at all.

After that encounter, I couldn’t stop imagining what he thought of me. Did I stand out to him? Did he wonder about me the way I wondered about him? The thought was intoxicating.

I found myself becoming bolder. My nightly visits turned into longer stays. I started leaving notes with no name, no context—just fragments of thoughts I thought he might find poetic.

“The stars envy your light.”

“Even storms pause to admire you.”

“You are the reason the sun rises.”

Each one felt like a confession. A prayer.

But then one night, the notes disappeared. When I crept back to his door the following evening, there was nothing waiting for me. No sign that he had read them, or even seen them.

Had he thrown them away? Or worse—had someone else taken them before he could?

The thought burned like acid.

The line between admiration and possession is thinner than most realize. I crossed it without even noticing.

I started taking photos—not of him directly, but of the spaces he occupied. His balcony, his car parked in the same spot every night, the shadow of his figure through the curtains. My phone became a shrine, each image a sacred offering.

But it wasn’t enough.

One night, when I was sure he wasn’t home, I found myself standing at his door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, testing it. Locked, of course. But locks are just puzzles waiting to be solved.

I didn’t go inside—not yet. But I stood there, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the hallway. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the abyss yawning beneath me, daring me to jump.

The day it all unraveled was unremarkable. A sunny afternoon, ordinary in every way—until I saw him again.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

She was tall, elegant, with a laugh that rang out like silver bells. She touched his arm as they walked, her presence so seamless beside him that it made my chest ache.

The world tilted, sharp and unforgiving.

How dare she? Didn’t she know? He wasn’t hers to touch, to smile at, to laugh with.

He was mine.

I followed them, of course. Through the crowded streets, past the bustling cafes and shops, until they arrived at a small restaurant. They sat by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.

I stood outside, watching, my reflection in the glass overlapping with theirs.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hate him. Not just her—him. For being so blind, so careless, so utterly indifferent to the devotion I had poured into him.

You’re supposed to be mine.

The thought felt foreign, even to me. But once it took root, it spread like wildfire.

That night, I found myself back at his apartment building. The familiar routine should have soothed me, but it didn’t. My heart was pounding, each beat a war drum, as I stared up at his window.

The light was on. He was home.

But I wasn’t standing there just to watch anymore. I wasn’t there to leave notes or flowers or to bask in the glow of his existence. No, this time, I had crossed the threshold.

I waited in the shadows until the lobby door opened. A tenant stepped out, their face buried in their phone, oblivious to my presence as I slipped inside. The elevator doors gleamed like a portal to another world.

His floor was silent. The kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with expectation. My footsteps were soft, my breath shallow, as I approached his door.

The lockpick trembled in my hand, but I’d practiced this moment a hundred times in my mind. The faint click was both satisfying and terrifying.

And then I was inside.

It was everything I had imagined and nothing like it at all.

The apartment was minimalist, almost sterile, with only a few personal touches—a jacket draped over a chair, an empty mug on the counter. The air smelled faintly of him, a mix of cologne and something darker, more primal.

I moved slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a holy place. My fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the sofa, the spine of a book on the coffee table.

And then I saw it.

A framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was him, of course, but not alone. She was there, too—the woman from the restaurant, her head tilted against his shoulder, her smile soft and radiant.

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the front door opening shattered the silence.

I froze, the photo still in my hand, as his voice echoed through the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m home,” he said, his tone clipped, probably on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

The click of the call ending was deafening.

And then he saw me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, anger, disbelief.

“What the—?” he started, but the words died in his throat as his eyes dropped to the photo in my hand.

“I just wanted to understand,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Why her? Why not me?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

I stepped closer, the photo still clutched against my chest like a shield. “I’m the one who’s been there for you. Watching, supporting, loving you when no one else understood.”

His face darkened, the anger in his eyes hardening into something sharper, colder. “You need to leave. Now.”

But I didn’t move.

“You don’t see it, do you?” I whispered. “How perfect we could be. How much I’ve given up for you. She doesn’t know you like I do. She’ll never understand you the way I do.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

But I wasn’t afraid—not of him, not of anything. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice steady now. “Not until you see me.”

The argument escalated quickly. His anger clashed with my desperation, the two of us locked in a battle neither could win. He tried to push past me, to call for help, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me.”

He wrenched free, his movements sharp and unforgiving. “You’re insane.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Insane.

After everything I’d done for him, everything I’d sacrificed, that was what he thought of me?

I don’t remember much after that. The emotions—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—all blurred together in a red haze. I remember the sound of something shattering, the photo frame hitting the floor. I remember his voice, shouting, but the words were lost in the chaos.

And then, silence.

When I came back to myself, I was standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving, my hands trembling. He was gone—whether he had fled or whether I had…

I couldn’t let myself think about it.

The apartment felt different now. The air was heavier, the shadows deeper. I looked down at the shattered photo frame, the glass shards glinting like tiny stars.

I picked up the photo, carefully tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Katsuki would understand eventually. He had to.

After all, no one loved him like I did.

The room is cold, sterile. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re somewhere you don’t belong. A single light hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the mirror on the far side reflects nothing but my own weary face.

Well, not just my face.

I know he’s there, standing on the other side. Watching me. Listening.

The officer across from me clears his throat, his expression caught somewhere between pity and disgust. “You’ve said enough. We’ve got everything we need.”

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “It’s not what you think.”

He sighs, flipping through the file in front of him. I catch glimpses of photos—my notes, my gifts, his shattered photo frame. Evidence, they’d called it. Proof of my “obsession.”

“Help me understand, then,” he says, leaning forward, his tone patronizing. “Because right now, it looks like you broke into Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment and—”

“I didn’t break in,” I interrupt, my voice rising just enough to startle him. “I let myself in. He left the door open for me. He knew I was coming.”

The officer’s brows knit together in disbelief. “And why would he do that?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph. “Because he needed to see me. To finally realize who I am.”

The officer shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before standing. “You’re delusional.”

The voices outside the interrogation room are muffled, but I can still hear fragments of their conversation.

“She’s nuts. Every detail she remembers—it’s like she’s been living his life alongside him.”

“Obsessed, more like. Did you see the journal we confiscated? She knows what time he brushes his teeth, for crying out loud.”

Someone else laughs nervously. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s freaked out. She’s on a whole other level.”

But then I hear his voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakable.

“She’s different.”

The laughter stops.

“What do you mean?” another officer asks cautiously.

There’s a pause, and I imagine him standing there, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face.

“I’ve had fans follow me before,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They scream, they cry, they cross boundaries. But this one… she’s worse.”

His voice drops lower, and I lean forward, straining to hear.

“She’s worse because she actually got under my skin.”

The officer returns to the room, his expression stony. “This is over. You’re being transferred soon.”

But I barely hear him. My eyes are on the mirror, on the faint outline of movement behind it. I know he’s still there. Watching. Listening.

“I’m not sorry,” I say, directing my words to him, not the officer. “I’d do it all again. For you.”

The officer exhales sharply, shaking his head as he gathers his papers. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He leaves, and for a moment, it’s just me and the silence.

And then the door opens again.

I feel him before I see him. The weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze—it’s unmistakable. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning into me like fire.

“You really are different,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp.

I smile, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’ve won something no one else ever could.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something that looks an awful lot like acknowledgment.

End.

a/n: another reminder to never stalk people. i didn't write this to romanticize stalking, however, this idea's been weighing in my head and i knew i needed to write it down somewhere. here is somewhere. k bye.

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