#business reach soaring

[websoftotech]

[pucksandpower]

Unfinished Business

Ghost!Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you arrive in Monaco expecting a once-in-a-lifetime vacation and you certainly get one — a fairytale romance with a Monegasque Prince … from the late 19th century

The gentle hum of a luxury sedan fades as you and your three best friends step out onto the sun-drenched streets of Monaco. The air is thick with anticipation and the salty tang of the Mediterranean. Your eyes widen as they trace the elegant facade of the Palais Grimaldi, its pale stone walls gleaming in the afternoon light.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Mia breathes, her voice tinged with awe. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Monaco? It feels like a dream.”

You nod, unable to tear your gaze from the intricate architecture. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures,” you murmur.

Zoe hefts her designer luggage. “Well, ladies, shall we see if the inside is as impressive as the outside?”

As your group approaches the grand entrance, a smartly dressed concierge greets you with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Palais Grimaldi. You must be our contest winners. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“That’s us!” Olivia chirps, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’m Olivia, and these are Mia, Zoe, and Y/N.”

The concierge, whose name tag reads ‘Philippe,’ bows slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your suite.”

As you trail behind Philippe through opulent hallways adorned with priceless art and glittering chandeliers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve stepped into another world — or perhaps another time. The weight of history presses in around you, whispering secrets from centuries past.

“The Palais Grimaldi has quite a storied past,” Philippe explains as he leads you up a sweeping marble staircase. “It’s been home to Monaco’s ruling family for over 700 years.”

“700 years?” You echo, your mind reeling at the concept. “That’s incredible. Has it been a hotel for long?”

Philippe chuckles. “Oh no, mademoiselle. The palace only opened its doors to the public a few years ago. It’s still used for official state functions, but the family decided to share its beauty with the world.”

Mia leans in close, her voice low. “I bet these walls have seen some scandalous things over the centuries.”

“More than you can imagine,” Philippe says with a wink. “If these walls could talk ...”

As you reach the top of the stairs, a long corridor stretches before you, lined with ornate doors. Philippe stops before one and produces an old-fashioned key with a flourish. “Your suite, ladies.”

The door swings open, revealing a space that takes your breath away. Soaring ceilings, silk wallpaper, and antique furnishings create an atmosphere of timeless luxury.

“Holy. Crap.” Zoe’s usual composure cracks as she takes in the opulence. “This is insane.”

Olivia immediately flops onto one of the plush sofas. “I’m never leaving. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming when the week is up.”

You wander to one of the tall windows, mesmerized by the view of the sparkling Mediterranean. “I can’t believe we get to stay here for a whole week.”

Philippe clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Your luggage will be brought up shortly. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all.”

As the door closes behind him, your friends erupt into excited chatter.

“Did you see the size of that bathroom?” Mia gushes. “The tub is practically a swimming pool!”

Zoe is already examining the ornate writing desk. “Look at this. It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment.”

You run your hand along the silk-covered walls, feeling a strange thrill as your fingers trace the intricate patterns. “It’s like stepping back in time,” you murmur.

Olivia bounces on the bed, giggling. “Well, I for one plan to enjoy every modern amenity this place has to offer. Who’s up for raiding the mini bar?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of unpacking, exploring every nook and cranny of your suite, and planning your itinerary for the week ahead.

As evening falls, you find yourself drawn back to the window. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of pink and gold. The principality below comes alive with twinkling lights, promising endless possibilities.

“Earth to Y/N!” Mia’s voice breaks through your reverie. “We’re thinking of heading down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. You in?”

You turn from the window, smiling at your friends. “Absolutely. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

In the bathroom, you splash some water on your face and reapply your lipstick. As you study your reflection in the ornate mirror, a strange sensation washes over you — almost as if someone is watching. You shake your head, dismissing the feeling as jetlag-induced imagination.

Rejoining your friends, you make your way down to the restaurant. The maître d’ leads you to a table with a stunning view of the moonlit gardens.

“I propose a toast,” Zoe says, raising her glass of champagne. “To friendship, adventure, and a week we’ll never forget!”

You clink glasses, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip. As your friends chatter excitedly about their plans for tomorrow, your gaze drifts to the gardens below. For a moment, you could swear you see a figure in old-fashioned dress moving among the hedges. You blink, and the apparition vanishes.

“Y/N? Hello? Anyone home?” Olivia waves her hand in front of your face.

You snap back to attention. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking what you wanted to do first tomorrow. Beach or shopping?”

You consider for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking about taking a tour of the palace. I’d love to learn more about its history.”

Mia grins. “Ooh, good call. Maybe we’ll run into a handsome prince.”

You laugh, but something in your chest flutters at the thought. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

As the evening wears on and the wine flows freely, you find your thoughts continually drifting back to the palace and its centuries of secrets. By the time you return to your suite, a pleasant exhaustion has settled over you.

You bid your friends goodnight and curl up in your luxurious bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets cool against your skin. As you drift off to sleep, the last thing you see is the moonlight streaming through the window, casting ethereal shadows on the walls.

In your dreams, you wander the halls of the palace. Everything is hazy, like looking through frosted glass. You turn a corner and come face to face with a young man dressed in 19th-century finery. His eyes, a startling shade of green, seem to pierce right through you.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out. A profound sadness radiates from him, tugging at your heart. You reach out, wanting to comfort him, but your hand passes through him like smoke.

You jolt awake, heart racing. The room is bathed in the soft glow of pre-dawn light. You sit up, running a hand through your tousled hair.

“What was that?” You whisper to the empty room.

As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, you can’t shake the feeling that your dream was more than just a product of your imagination. Something about this place, about that mysterious figure, calls to you in a way you can’t explain.

You slip out of bed and pad to the window, watching as Monaco comes to life below. Whatever secrets the Palais Grimaldi holds, you’re determined to uncover them. Little do you know, this is just the beginning of an adventure that will change your life forever.

***

The Monégasque sun beats down relentlessly as you and your friends lounge by the hotel’s exclusive rooftop pool. The glittering Mediterranean stretches out before you, a canvas of blue punctuated by gleaming white yachts.

“Now this is what I call a vacation,” Mia sighs contentedly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.

Zoe nods in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this kind of luxury.”

You smile and close your eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of the sun and the gentle lapping of the pool water. But there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake off.

Olivia notices your furrowed brow. “Y/N, what’s up? You look like you’re solving world hunger over there.”

You hesitate, unsure how to explain the strange occurrences of the past few days. “It’s nothing, really. I just ... have you guys noticed anything weird happening in the palace?”

Mia perks up, always ready for gossip. “Weird how?”

“Well ...” you start, then falter. How can you describe the way your hairbrush moved across the dresser on its own? Or the whispers you heard in the empty library? “It’s going to sound crazy, but I think there might be something ... supernatural going on.”

There’s a moment of silence before Olivia bursts out laughing. “Supernatural? Come on, Y/N. I know you’ve always been into that ghost hunter stuff, but this is a five-star hotel, not a haunted house.”

Zoe looks up from her book, her expression skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not just jet-lagged? Or maybe it’s all that rich food we’ve been eating.”

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. “I know how it sounds, but I swear, strange things keep happening. Last night, I saw a man’s reflection in the mirror, but when I turned around, no one was there.”

Mia sits up, suddenly interested. “Ooh, was he hot?”

“Mia!” Zoe admonishes, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.

You sigh, realizing how ridiculous you must sound. “Never mind. You’re probably right, it’s just my imagination running wild.”

But as the day wears on, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Every shadow seems to hold a secret, every creaking floorboard a whispered message.

That night, as your friends snore softly in their beds, you find yourself wide awake, staring at the ornate ceiling. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts eerie shadows on the walls, and the silence of the night seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Unable to bear it any longer, you slip out of bed and into a robe. Your bare feet are silent on the plush carpet as you make your way to the door. You pause, hand on the doorknob, heart racing. Are you really going to do this?

Taking a deep breath, you step out into the dimly lit hallway. The palace is different at night, the opulence muted, shadows deepening the corners. You walk aimlessly, letting your instincts guide you through the maze-like corridors.

As you round a corner, a chill runs down your spine. At the end of the hallway, you see a figure. It’s only for a split second before it vanishes around the next bend, but you’re certain it was the same man you saw in the mirror.

“Wait!” You call out, breaking into a run. You turn the corner, but the hallway is empty.

Breathing heavily, you lean against the wall. “I’m losing my mind,” you mutter to yourself.

“I can assure you, mademoiselle, that your mind is quite intact.”

You whirl around, heart leaping into your throat. There, standing before you, is the man from your dreams and glimpses.

He’s of average height, with wavy dark hair and piercing green eyes. His clothes are old-fashioned — a tailored suit that wouldn’t look out of place in the late 19th century. But the most shocking thing is that you can see right through him to the painting on the wall behind.

You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The ghost — because what else could he be — holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Please, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

His voice is gentle, with a slight accent you can’t quite place. Despite your terror, you find yourself oddly calmed by his presence.

“Who ... what are you?” You manage to whisper.

The ghost bows slightly. “I am Prince Charles of Monaco, at your service. Or at least, I was Prince Charles. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I am.”

You blink, trying to process this information. “Prince Charles? But that’s impossible. The current Prince of Monaco is Albert.”

Charles smiles sadly. “You are correct. I’m afraid my time as prince was cut rather short. I died in 1894.”

“1894,” you repeat, feeling light-headed. “So you’re ... a ghost?”

“It would appear so, yes.” Charles looks down at his translucent hands. “Though I prefer to think of myself as ... temporarily disembodied.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you feel a laugh bubbling up in your chest. “Temporarily disembodied? That’s one way to put it.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with amusement. “I find a touch of humor helps in most situations, even death.”

You shake your head, still struggling to believe what’s happening. “Why can I see you? Why now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Charles admits. “I’ve been bound to this palace since my death, unable to move on. Most of the time, I’m invisible to the living. But occasionally, someone comes along who can perceive me. You, mon chérie, seem to be one of those rare individuals.”

You take a step closer, fascinated despite your lingering fear. “So all those strange things that have been happening ...”

“My apologies,” Charles says, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid I got a bit ... overeager when I realized you could sense me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Well, mission not accomplished,” you say dryly. “I’ve been terrified for days.”

Charles’ expression turns contrite. “I am truly sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to interact with anyone. I forgot how alarming it might be.”

You study him closely. Now that the initial shock has worn off, you’re struck by how young he looks — no older than his mid-twenties. And there’s a sadness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.

“How did you die?” You ask softly.

Charles’ face clouds over. “That, I’m afraid, is a rather long and complicated story. One that I’m not entirely sure I understand myself.”

You’re about to press further when a noise down the hallway makes you jump. Charles holds a finger to his lips and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to a hidden door behind a tapestry, revealing a narrow servants’ staircase.

“Quick, in here,” he whispers.

You hesitate for a moment before ducking into the passageway. Charles follows, closing the door behind you. In the dim light filtering through cracks in the wall, you can barely make out his ghostly form.

“Why are we hiding?” You whisper.

“The night guards,” Charles explains. “They wouldn’t take kindly to a guest wandering the halls at this hour. And I’d rather not have to explain why you’re talking to thin air.”

You nod, seeing the logic. “So ... what now?”

Charles gives you a mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, since you’re already up and about, how would you like a private tour of the palace? I can show you things no living guide knows about.”

The sensible part of your brain is screaming that this is insane. You should go back to your room, crawl into bed, and pretend this was all a vivid dream. But the adventurous part of you, the part that’s always longed for magic and mystery, is practically buzzing with excitement.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” you say with a grin.

Charles’ smile widens. “Please, call me Charles. I think we’re a bit beyond titles at this point.”

He starts up the narrow staircase, and you follow close behind. As you climb, Charles begins to speak in a low, melodious voice.

“This palace has been the heart of Monaco for centuries. Every stone, every timber holds a piece of history. There are secret passages like this one crisscrossing the entire building — escape routes, trysting spots for illicit lovers, hiding places for treasures.”

You emerge from the staircase into a small, circular room at the top of one of the palace towers. The view of Monaco at night is breathtaking, the city a glittering jewel box beneath a canopy of stars.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, moving to the window.

Charles stands beside you, his presence cool but not unpleasant. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Even after all these years, it still takes my breath away. Well, metaphorically speaking.”

You turn to look at him, struck by the wistfulness in his voice. “It must be hard, watching the world change around you while you stay the same.”

Charles nods slowly. “It is ... challenging. But it has its compensations. I’ve witnessed history unfold, seen my beloved Monaco grow and flourish. And occasionally, I get to meet fascinating people like yourself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and are grateful for the darkness. “I’m hardly fascinating compared to a ghost prince.”

“I beg to differ,” Charles says softly. “You saw me when no one else could. You followed me up here without hesitation. That takes a special kind of courage and openness to the extraordinary.”

For a moment, you’re lost in his intense gaze. Then you remember that he’s, well, dead, and clear your throat awkwardly. “So, um, what else can you show me?”

Charles seems to shake himself out of a reverie. “Ah, yes. Follow me. There’s so much to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of hidden rooms, secret passages, and Charles’ stories. He tells you about the palace’s construction, about the triumphs and tragedies of the Grimaldi family, about the small, everyday moments that history books never record.

As the sky begins to lighten with the first hints of dawn, you find yourself back in the hallway near your suite. You’re exhausted but exhilarated, your mind whirling with everything you’ve seen and learned.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, a note of reluctance in his voice.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. My friends will be wondering where I am if I’m not there when they wake up.”

Charles nods, then hesitates. “I ... I hope this won’t be our last conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart. “Of course not. I still have so many questions. Like how you ended up ... you know.”

“Another time,” Charles promises. “For now, sleep well, Y/N.”

As you watch, his form begins to fade. Just before he disappears completely, you could swear you see him wink.

You slip back into your room, your mind racing. As you crawl into bed, you wonder how on earth you’re going to explain any of this to your friends. But one thing’s for certain — your vacation in Monaco just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. You stand on the balcony of your suite, outwardly admiring the view, but your mind is elsewhere. Your friends’ voices drift out from the room behind you.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Mia calls. “Are you coming to dinner or what?”

You turn, plastering on a smile. “Actually, I think I’ll skip it tonight. I’m not feeling very hungry.”

Zoe frowns, concern etching her features. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“I’m fine,” you assure her quickly. “Just ... taking in all the history of this place, you know?”

Olivia rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Only you would come to Monaco and spend all your time geeking out over old buildings instead of hitting the beach.”

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

As your friends file out of the room, Mia lingers behind. “Seriously, Y/N, is everything alright? You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

For a moment, you’re tempted to spill everything. But how could you possibly explain Charles? “I’m fine, really,” you insist. “Go enjoy dinner. I’ll see you later.”

Once they’re gone, you wait a few minutes to ensure the coast is clear. Then you slip out into the hallway, your heart racing with anticipation.

You make your way to the library, which has become your usual meeting spot. As you enter, you see Charles materializing near the fireplace, a warm smile lighting up his translucent features.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greets you, his voice as smooth and rich as aged whiskey. “I trust you’re well?”

You can’t help but smile back. “Better now,” you admit, then immediately feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, you know, because ... history and stuff.”

Charles chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah yes, the fascinating history and stuff. Shall we delve into more of it tonight?”

You nod eagerly. “What do you have in store for me this time?”

“I thought we might explore the east wing tonight,” Charles says, moving towards one of the bookshelves. “There’s a passage behind this Voltaire that leads to some rather interesting places.”

As he speaks, Charles reaches for the book, his hand passing right through it. A flicker of frustration crosses his face.

“Allow me,” you say softly, stepping forward to pull the book. The shelf swings open, revealing a narrow passageway.

Charles bows slightly. “After you, mademoiselle.”

You enter the passage, Charles’ cool presence right behind you. As you walk, he begins to speak, his voice low and melodious in the confined space.

“This passage was built during the reign of Prince Charles III — my grandfather,” he explains. “It was meant as an escape route in case of invasion. Monaco’s sovereignty was often threatened in those days.”

“But not anymore?” You ask, ducking under a low-hanging beam.

Charles sighs. “Monaco’s position is more secure now, but it wasn’t always so. In my time, we were constantly navigating a delicate balance between France and Italy, trying to maintain our independence.”

You emerge into a small, octagonal room with windows overlooking the sea. Moonlight streams in, casting everything in a silvery glow.

“This was my private study,” Charles says, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I spent many hours here, dreaming of what Monaco could become.”

You turn to him, curious. “What kind of dreams?”

Charles’ eyes light up with passion. “I wanted to modernize Monaco, to bring it into the new century. We were so dependent on the casino for revenue — I wanted to diversify our economy, improve education, and implement new technologies.”

“That sounds incredibly progressive for the time,” you say, impressed.

Charles nods. “Some thought too progressive. There were those who resisted change, who wanted to cling to the old ways. But I believed — I still believe — that progress is essential for survival.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drawn in by his enthusiasm, his intelligence. This isn’t just some stuffy old royal — this is a man with vision, with dreams that were cut short far too soon.

“What stopped you?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression clouds over. “Ah, well, dying tends to put a damper on one’s plans.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Charles interrupts gently. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

An awkward silence falls. You move to the window, looking out at the moonlit sea. “It must be hard,” you say eventually. “Watching the world change around you, unable to participate.”

You feel Charles move closer, his presence cool at your side. “It has its challenges,” he admits. “But it also has its joys. I’ve seen Monaco grow and flourish in ways I never could have imagined. And now ...” He trails off.

You turn to look at him. “And now?”

Charles’ gaze is intense, making your heart race. “And now I have the pleasure of sharing it all with you.”

You swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he is, ghost or not. “I ... I’m glad,” you manage to say. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Charles.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Nor I you, Y/N. In life or in death.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotions. Then Charles clears his throat (do ghosts need to clear their throats?) and steps back.

“Come,” he says, his tone lighter. “There’s much more to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a whirlwind of secret rooms and hidden treasures. Charles shows you a concealed vault where the crown jewels were once kept, a forgotten ballroom with faded frescoes on the ceiling, even the old dungeons deep beneath the palace.

Throughout it all, Charles regales you with stories — some historical, some personal. You learn about the political intrigues of 19th century Monaco, about Charles’ childhood pranks, about the hopes and fears he had for his country’s future.

As dawn begins to break, you find yourself back in the library, reluctant for the night to end.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, echoing his words from your first meeting.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. But I don’t want to go.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Nor do I want you to. But your friends will worry if you’re not there when they wake.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here,” Charles promises. “I’m not going anywhere, after all.”

As you watch him fade away, you’re struck by a realization that both thrills and terrifies you. You’re falling in love with a ghost.

The next few days pass in a blur. During the day, you go through the motions with your friends, trying to show enthusiasm for the beaches, the shops, the nightlife. But your mind is always elsewhere, counting down the hours until you can see Charles again.

Your friends notice, of course. How could they not?

“Okay, spill,” Mia demands one afternoon as you all lounge by the pool. “Who is he?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What? Who’s who?”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re obviously sneaking out to meet every night. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you coming back to the room at dawn.”

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer.

Zoe puts a hand on your arm. “Y/N, we’re your friends. You can tell us anything. We’re just worried about you.”

You look at their concerned faces and feel a pang of guilt. You hate lying to them, but how can you possibly explain the truth?

“It’s not ... it’s not what you think,” you say finally. “I’ve just been exploring the palace at night. It’s quieter then, easier to imagine what it was like in the past.”

Your friends exchange skeptical looks.

“Right,” Mia says slowly. “And this has nothing to do with the ‘supernatural occurrences’ you were going on about earlier?”

You force a laugh. “Of course not. That was just my imagination running wild. I’ve just been ... really into the history of this place, that’s all.”

Olivia shakes her head. “If you say so. But Y/N, this is supposed to be a fun vacation. Don’t spend the whole time with your nose in a history book, okay?”

You nod, grateful they’re not pushing further. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more present.”

But that night, as your friends sleep, you find yourself slipping out once again, drawn to Charles like a moth to a flame.

He’s waiting for you in the library, a book hovering open in front of him. As you enter, he looks up with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says warmly. “I was just refreshing my memory on some of Monaco’s more obscure laws. Did you know it’s technically illegal to wear stiletto heels in the palace?”

You laugh, some of the tension from earlier melting away. “Seriously? Why?”

Charles grins. “Apparently, they damage the floors. It was enacted in 1898, four years after my ... departure. I always wonder about the story behind laws like that. What outrageous incident prompted such a specific prohibition?”

You settle into a nearby armchair, tucking your legs underneath you. “Maybe a scorned lover stabbed someone with a stiletto?”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “My, what a violent imagination you have. I was thinking more along the lines of a clumsy debutante wreaking havoc on the ballroom floor.”

“Boring,” you tease. “My version is much more exciting.”

Charles chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Your mind is a constant source of fascination to me.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh? How so?”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering slightly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “You see the world in such a unique way. You’re not bound by the conventions and expectations of my time. It’s ... refreshing.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply softly. “You’re nothing like I would have expected a 19th-century prince to be.”

Charles’ smile turns wry. “Ah, but I’ve had over a century to adapt and learn. Though I must admit, much of modern life still baffles me. Perhaps you could explain to me the appeal of this ‘Instagram’ your friends keep mentioning?”

You laugh, launching into an explanation of social media that leaves Charles looking both intrigued and mildly horrified. The conversation flows easily from there, jumping from topic to topic with the effortless rhythm you’ve come to cherish in your nightly meetings.

As the hours pass, you find yourself moving closer to Charles, drawn in by his warmth (metaphorical, of course — he’s actually quite cool to be near) and charm. You’re acutely aware of every movement, every fleeting expression that crosses his face.

At one point, Charles reaches out as if to touch your hand, then seems to catch himself, pulling back with a flicker of frustration crossing his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Sometimes I forget ...”

You swallow hard, your heart aching. “It’s okay. I ... I wish you could too.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken longing. Charles’ eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the impossibility of your situation crashes over you like a wave.

“Y/N,” Charles begins, his voice rough with emotion. “I-”

But before he can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching the library.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Hide behind the curtain.”

You scramble to conceal yourself just as the door opens. Through a gap in the heavy fabric, you see a security guard sweep his flashlight around the room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as the beam of light passes inches from your hiding spot. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging, your legs shaky with leftover adrenaline.

“That was close,” you breathe.

Charles nods, his form flickering with agitation. “Too close. Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting you in these situations. If you were caught ...”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, don’t say that. I don’t care about the risk. Being with you, learning about you and your time — it’s worth it.”

Charles’ expression softens, a mix of affection and sorrow in his eyes. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that? But I fear ... I fear I’m being selfish, keeping you to myself like this.”

You take a step closer to him, wishing more than anything that you could take his hand. “You’re not keeping me anywhere I don’t want to be.”

The words hang between you, charged with meaning. Charles opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, conflict clear on his face.

Finally, he says, “It’s nearly dawn. You should go, before your friends wake.”

You nod reluctantly, knowing he’s right but hating to leave. As you reach the door, you turn back to look at him one last time.

“Charles,” you say softly. “I ... I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in it that tugs at your heart. “I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

As you make your way back to your room, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. You’re falling hard and fast for a man who’s been dead for over a century.

It’s impossible, it’s insane, and yet ... you wouldn’t trade these moments with Charles for anything in the world.

But as you slip back into bed, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, a nagging doubt creeps in. How long can this go on? What happens when your vacation ends? And most troublingly of all — what aren’t you seeing in your infatuation with this charming ghost prince?

***

The musty scent of old books fills your nostrils as you hunch over a stack of historical tomes in the palace library. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You’ve been here for hours, your friends long since departed for a day of sunbathing and shopping.

“Find anything interesting?” Charles’ voice makes you jump. You look up to see him materializing near the bookshelf, a curious expression on his translucent face.

You sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. “Nothing concrete yet. There’s frustratingly little information about your death in these official histories. It’s always just ‘Prince Charles died tragically young’ with no details.”

Charles moves closer, peering at the book you’re reading. “Ah, Gustave Saige’s ‘Monaco: Ses Origines et Son Histoire’. A rather dry read, if I recall correctly.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not wrong. But I thought it might have some clues.” You hesitate, then ask, “Charles, why don’t you just tell me what happened? How you ... died?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “I wish I could. But the truth is, my memories of that time are ... fragmented. I remember tensions rising, arguments with the council, and then ... nothing. Just waking up like this, bound to the palace.”

You reach out instinctively to comfort him, your hand passing through his arm with a chill. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

Charles gives you a sad smile. “It’s been my reality for over a century now. But I must admit, your determination to uncover the truth has given me hope I haven’t felt in a very long time.”

Your heart swells at his words, even as a pang of guilt hits you. Are you really doing this for Charles, or for yourself? The thought of him finding peace and moving on fills you with a complicated mix of emotions you’re not ready to examine too closely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you turn back to your research. “Well, if these books aren’t giving us answers, maybe we need to look elsewhere. You mentioned arguments with the council. Were there records kept of those meetings?”

Charles’ brow furrows in concentration. “Yes, there would have been. Minutes were always taken. But they would have been considered sensitive documents. Not something you’d find in the public library.”

You lean forward, excitement building. “So where would they be kept?”

“There’s an archive room,” Charles says slowly. “Hidden behind the throne room. It’s where the most confidential state papers were stored.”

You’re already on your feet, shoving books back onto shelves. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Charles holds up a ghostly hand. “Not so fast, Y/N. That room has been sealed for decades. It’s not somewhere a tourist can just wander into.”

You deflate slightly, but your determination doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll have to find a way in after hours. You can get me there, right?”

Charles looks conflicted. “I could, but Y/N, if you were caught ...”

“I won’t be,” you insist. “Please, Charles. This might be our only chance to find out what really happened to you.”

For a long moment, Charles studies your face. Then he sighs, a sound tinged with both resignation and admiration. “Very well. Meet me here at midnight. I’ll show you the way.”

The hours crawl by as you wait for night to fall. You make a show of going to bed early, claiming a headache to avoid your friends’ plans for a night out. As the clock strikes twelve, you slip out of your room and make your way to the library.

Charles is waiting for you, his form glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Are you sure about this?” He asks one last time.

You nod firmly. “Let’s do it.”

Charles leads you through a maze of corridors and hidden passages. Your heart races with every creak of the floorboards, every shadow that might be a security guard. Finally, you arrive at an ornate door hidden behind a tapestry.

“This is it,” Charles whispers. “The archive room.”

You reach for the handle, but it’s locked. “Damn,” you mutter. “Any ideas?”

Charles frowns, concentrating. “There used to be a spare key ... ah!” He points to a small crevice in the intricate woodwork. “Try there.”

You feel around and, to your amazement, your fingers close around a small key. With trembling hands, you insert it into the lock. It turns with a satisfying click.

The door swings open, revealing a room packed floor to ceiling with shelves of documents. The air is thick with dust and the smell of old paper.

“Where do we even start?” You whisper, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information.

Charles moves to a section near the back. “The council records from my time should be here. Look for anything dated 1894.”

You begin sifting through stacks of yellowed papers, careful not to damage the fragile documents. Minutes pass in tense silence as you search.

Suddenly, Charles’ voice cuts through the quiet. “Y/N, over here. I think I’ve found something.”

You hurry to his side. He’s pointing at a leather-bound ledger. You carefully open it, coughing slightly at the dust it raises.

As you scan the pages, your eyes widen. “Charles, this ... this is incredible. It’s a record of council meetings leading up to your death. Look at this entry from two weeks before: ‘Prince Charles continues to push for radical reforms. Concerns raised about stability of the principality if plans proceed.’”

Charles leans in, his face a mix of emotions. “I remember that meeting. It was ... heated. Keep reading.”

You flip through more pages, your heart pounding as the story unfolds. “There’s more. ‘Prince’s proposed changes to casino regulations deemed unacceptable. Alternative measures must be considered.’ Charles, this sounds like ...”

“A conspiracy,” Charles finishes, his voice hollow. “They were plotting against me.”

You reach the final entry, dated the day before Charles’ death. Your blood runs cold as you read it aloud. “Situation untenable. Drastic action required to preserve Monaco’s interests. God forgive us.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the implications sink in. Charles turns away, his form flickering with agitation.

“They killed me,” he says softly. “My own council ... they murdered me to stop my reforms.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Charles, I’m so sorry. This is ... it’s unthinkable.”

Charles is quiet for a long moment, then turns back to you with a determined expression. “We need to take this ledger. The truth needs to come out, even after all this time.”

You nod, carefully closing the book and tucking it into your bag. As you do, something catches your eye. “Wait, there’s something else here.”

Behind where the ledger was sitting, you spot a small leather pouch. You open it carefully, gasping as several folded papers and a small object fall out.

“What is it?” Charles asks, moving closer.

You unfold one of the papers with trembling hands. “It’s ... it’s a letter. From you.” You begin to read aloud:

“To whoever finds this, I fear my time may be short. I write this in haste, knowing that forces within Monaco seek to silence me. My efforts to modernize our beloved principality and free us from our dependence on gambling have made me enemies in powerful places. If anything should happen to me, know that it was not an accident. The proof of their treachery is contained within these documents and the vial of poison they intend to use. I pray this never sees the light of day, but if it does, may it bring justice and push Monaco towards the future I envisioned.”

You look up at Charles, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. “You knew. You tried to protect yourself.”

Charles nods slowly, his own eyes shimmering with ghostly tears. “I ... I remember now. I wrote this the night before ... before it happened. I must have hidden it here, hoping someone would find it.”

You carefully gather up the documents and the small vial, adding them to your bag with the ledger. “We have to make this public, Charles. Your murder, the cover-up ... people need to know the truth.”

Charles looks at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You’re right, of course. But Y/N, you must understand what this means. If the truth comes out, if justice is served ...”

“You might be able to move on,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. The thought sends a dagger through your heart, but you force yourself to continue. “That’s ... that’s a good thing, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering near your cheek as if he could wipe away your tears. “It is. But I find myself reluctant to leave, now that I’ve found something — someone — worth staying for.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles, I ...”

Before you can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Behind that cabinet.”

You scramble to hide, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it must be audible. The door to the archive room creaks open, and a beam of light sweeps across the space.

“Hello?” A gruff voice calls out. “Is someone in here?”

You hold your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging from your hiding spot, legs shaky with adrenaline.

“That was too close,” Charles says, his form flickering with agitation. “We need to get you out of here.”

You nod, clutching your bag with its precious cargo close to your chest. “How do we get back?”

Charles leads you to a hidden panel in the wall. “This passage will take you directly to the guest wing. Hurry, before the guard comes back.”

As you step into the secret corridor, you turn back to look at Charles. “What happens now?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression is a complex mix of emotions — hope, fear, sadness, and something that looks a lot like love. “Now, mon chérie, we bring the truth to light. Whatever comes after ... we’ll face it together.”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. As you make your way back to your room, your mind races with the implications of what you’ve discovered. You’ve found the key to setting Charles free, to bringing him the peace he’s been denied for over a century.

But as you clutch the bag containing the proof of his murder, you can’t help but wonder: at what cost? The thought of losing Charles, of never seeing his smile or hearing his laugh again, fills you with a grief so profound it takes your breath away.

As you slip back into your bed, the first rays of dawn peeking through the curtains, you know that the hardest part of your journey is yet to come. You’ve uncovered the truth, but now you face an impossible choice: keep Charles with you in this half-life or set him free and lose him forever.

***

The golden light of a Monaco sunset streams through the windows of your hotel suite, casting long shadows across the room. You stand before the mirror, adjusting the elaborate 19th-century gown you’ve rented for the evening’s ball. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fasten a delicate necklace, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Charles’ voice comes from behind you. You turn to see him materializing near the balcony, his eyes wide with admiration.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “I wish you could really be there tonight, dancing with me.”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering in the fading sunlight. “As do I, ma chérie. But I’ll be with you in spirit, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears prick at your eyes. “Always with the jokes, even now.”

“Well, one must maintain one’s sense of humor, even in the face of ... impending departure,” Charles says, his light tone belied by the sadness in his eyes.

The word hangs heavy between you. Departure. In just two days, you’ll be leaving Monaco, returning to your life back home. The thought fills you with a grief so profound it’s almost physical.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” you blurt out, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I could stay. I could find a job here, an apartment. We could-”

“Y/N,” Charles interrupts gently, “we’ve discussed this. You can’t put your life on hold for a ghost.”

You turn away, blinking back tears. “But what if I want to? What if being here, with you, is the life I want?”

Charles is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “My dearest Y/N, you cannot imagine how much I wish things could be different. But I am tied to this place, to this half-existence. You have a whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities and adventures. I won’t let you sacrifice that for me.”

You whirl back to face him, frustration bubbling up. “Shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“Perhaps,” Charles concedes. “But it is also my choice to refuse to be the anchor that holds you back. You deserve so much more than stolen moments with a specter.”

The truth of his words cuts deep, even as you want to rail against them. You slump onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the weight of your elaborate costume.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

Charles moves to sit beside you, the mattress not even dipping under his non-existent weight. “Nor I you. But perhaps ... perhaps this is why we found each other. Not for a lifetime, but for this moment. To bring truth to light, to right an old wrong, and to experience a love that transcends time itself.”

You look up at him, struck by the depth of emotion in his ghostly eyes. “When did you get so wise?”

Charles grins, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Well, I have had over a century to work on my philosophical musings.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as a tear escapes down your cheek. Charles reaches out, his hand hovering just above your skin in a gesture of comfort.

“Come now,” he says gently. “Let’s not waste our last evening together in sorrow. You have a ball to attend, and I, for one, am eager to see how the modern world interprets the grandeur of my era.”

You nod, standing and giving yourself one last look in the mirror. “You’re right. Let’s make tonight a night to remember.”

As you make your way down to the grand ballroom, you can feel Charles’ presence beside you, a comforting coolness in the warm evening air. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach.

You pause at the entrance, taking in the transformed space. The ballroom has been decorated to recreate its 19th-century splendor, with crystal chandeliers, elaborate floral arrangements, and guests in period costumes whirling across the dance floor.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“Indeed,” Charles agrees, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Though I must say, some of these costumes are rather ... creative interpretations of the fashion of my time.”

You stifle a giggle as you spot a guest in what appears to be a mash-up of Victorian and Edwardian styles. “Well, not everyone can have a ghostly fashion consultant.”

You make your way into the crowd, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your friends spot you and wave enthusiastically.

“Y/N! Over here!” Mia calls out. “You look amazing!”

You join them, smiling as you take in their costumes. “You all look great too. Are you enjoying the ball?”

Zoe nods enthusiastically. “It’s like stepping back in time. Can you imagine living in an era like this?”

You feel Charles’ amusement radiating beside you. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily. “I think it might have its charms.”

As the evening progresses, you find yourself swept up in the festivities. You dance with several partners, all the while acutely aware of Charles’ presence, watching from the sidelines.

During a lull in the music, you manage to slip away from the crowd, finding a secluded alcove near one of the large windows.

“Having fun?” Charles asks, materializing beside you.

You nod, a bit breathless from dancing. “It’s wonderful. But I wish ...”

“You wish I could truly be here,” Charles finishes for you. He holds out his hand in an old-fashioned gesture. “Well, my lady, may I have this dance?”

You glance around, making sure no one is watching, then place your hand over his incorporeal one. As the music starts up again, a slow, romantic waltz, you begin to move together.

It’s a strange sensation, dancing with a ghost. You can’t feel Charles’ hand on your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, but somehow, you move in perfect synchronization. For a few precious moments, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the music.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Charles’ eyes widen, then soften with an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. “And I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought possible.”

As you gaze into each other’s eyes, lost in the moment, a sudden chill sweeps through the room. The lights flicker, and a murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.

Charles stiffens, his form becoming more translucent. “Something’s wrong,” he mutters, looking around warily.

Before you can ask what he means, a commotion breaks out near the center of the ballroom. Guests are backing away from a spot on the dance floor, pointing and gasping in shock.

You push your way through the crowd, Charles right behind you. As you reach the cleared space, your blood runs cold. Three ghostly figures have appeared, dressed in outdated formal wear, their faces contorted with rage and fear.

“Impossible,” Charles breathes beside you. “It’s them. The council members who ... who murdered me.”

As if hearing his words, the three ghosts turn towards you. Their eyes widen in recognition as they spot Charles.

“You!” One of them snarls, his voice echoing unnaturally in the stunned silence of the ballroom. “How are you here?”

Charles steps forward, his own form becoming more visible to the shocked onlookers. “I could ask you the same question, Lord Beaumont. Or should I say, murderer?”

A collective gasp runs through the crowd. Hotel staff are rushing about, trying to maintain order, but everyone’s attention is fixed on the supernatural drama unfolding before them.

“We did what was necessary,” another ghost, a portly man with a walrus mustache, blusters. “You would have ruined Monaco with your radical ideas!”

“Ruined?” Charles’ voice rises in indignation. “I was trying to save our principality, to secure its future beyond the whims of fortune and gambling!”

The third ghost, a thin man with a pinched face, sneers. “And in doing so, you would have destroyed the very thing that made Monaco unique. We couldn’t allow it.”

You find your voice, anger overcoming your fear. “So you murdered him? Your own prince?”

The ghosts turn their baleful gazes on you. “And who are you to question the affairs of state from a century past?” Lord Beaumont demands.

“She,” Charles says, moving to stand beside you, “is the one who uncovered your treachery. The proof of your crimes has been found.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. You see hotel management huddled in a corner, speaking urgently into phones. In the distance, you can hear police sirens approaching.

“It doesn’t matter now,” the portly ghost says dismissively. “We’re long dead, beyond the reach of earthly justice.”

“Perhaps,” you counter, your voice stronger than you feel. “But the truth will be known. History will remember Prince Charles as the visionary he was, and you as the small-minded murderers who cut his life short.”

As you speak, a strange energy begins to build in the room. The three ghosts start to flicker, their forms becoming less substantial.

“What’s happening?” The thin ghost cries out, panic in his voice.

Charles steps forward, his expression a mix of pity and righteousness. “You’re facing judgment at last, gentlemen. Your unfinished business is complete. The truth is out.”

With a howl of despair, the three ghosts begin to fade away. In moments, they’ve vanished completely, leaving behind a stunned silence.

As the implications of what’s just happened sink in, chaos erupts in the ballroom. People are shouting, phones are out recording, and security is trying desperately to maintain order.

But you only have eyes for Charles. His form is starting to shimmer, becoming more translucent by the second.

“Charles,” you gasp, reaching for him. “What’s happening? Are you ...”

He looks down at his fading hands, then back up at you with a sad smile. “It seems my unfinished business is complete as well. The truth is out, justice, in some form, has been served.”

“No,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Please, not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering just above your cheek. “My dearest Y/N, meeting you has been the greatest gift. You’ve brought light to my long darkness, and given me peace I never thought I’d find.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sob, your heart breaking.

“Nor do I wish to leave you,” Charles says softly. “But perhaps this isn’t truly goodbye. I don’t know what lies beyond, but I do know this — a love like ours transcends time and death itself. Somehow, someway, I believe we’ll find each other again.”

You manage a watery smile. “You promise?”

“I swear it,” Charles vows. He leans in, and for the briefest moment, you swear you can feel the ghost of a kiss on your lips. “Until we meet again, mon amour.”

And with that, Charles fades away completely, leaving behind nothing but a lingering chill in the air and the memory of a love that defied all boundaries.

As the commotion swirls around you, police and hotel management trying to make sense of what’s happened, you stand still in the center of it all. Your heart is breaking, but there’s also a sense of peace, of completion.

You touch your lips, still feeling the echo of that impossible kiss, and whisper to the empty air, “Until we meet again, Charles.”

In that moment, surrounded by the trappings of a bygone era and the chaos of the present, you know that your life has been forever changed. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it with the strength and love Charles gave you, carrying his memory in your heart until, somehow, someway, you find each other once more.

***

The Mediterranean sun bathes Monaco in a warm glow as you climb the steps to the Palais Grimaldi. Five years have passed since that fateful summer, but your heart still quickens as you approach the familiar facade. You adjust the strap of your messenger bag, filled with research materials for your graduate thesis on 19th-century Monégasque politics.

As you enter the palace, now partly converted into a museum, you’re struck by how much has changed. Plaques and displays line the halls, detailing the history of the Grimaldi family. But your eyes are drawn to a new addition: a whole wing dedicated to Prince Charles and his progressive vision for Monaco.

You pause before a large portrait of Charles, your breath catching in your throat. The artist has captured his piercing green eyes perfectly, that hint of mischief in his smile that you remember so well.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” A voice beside you says, startling you from your reverie. “How much history these walls have seen.”

You turn, a polite response on your lips, but the words die in your throat. Standing next to you is a young man who could be Charles’ twin. The same wavy dark hair, the same chiseled jawline, and most strikingly, those same intense green eyes.

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. “Charles?” You whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

The young man looks at you curiously, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met before?”

You blink rapidly, reality reasserting itself. Of course this isn’t your Charles. It can’t be. You clear your throat, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, you just ... you look remarkably like someone I used to know. I’m Y/N.”

The young man’s smile widens, and he holds out his hand. “Charles Leclerc. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that runs through you at his touch. “Leclerc? As in the Formula 1 driver?”

Charles nods, looking slightly sheepish. “The very same. Though today I’m just a tourist like anyone else, enjoying a bit of home between races.”

“Home?” You ask, intrigued despite yourself.

“Born and raised in Monaco,” Charles explains. “Though I admit, I haven’t spent as much time in the palace as I perhaps should have. It’s quite fascinating, especially this new exhibit.”

You nod, turning back to the portrait of Prince Charles. “It really is. The prince was quite a remarkable figure. His ideas were so ahead of their time.”

Charles steps closer, studying the portrait. “You seem to know a lot about him. Are you a historian?”

“A graduate student,” you explain. “I’m here on a research grant, studying 19th-century Monégasque politics at the International University of Monaco.”

Charles’ eyes light up with interest. “Really? That sounds fascinating. I’ve always been interested in history, especially the history of Monaco. It’s a small place, but it’s played such an outsized role in European affairs.”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “It really has. Prince Charles, in particular, had some revolutionary ideas about diversifying Monaco’s economy beyond just gambling. If he hadn’t died so young, who knows how things might have turned out?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “Yes, his death was quite tragic. And mysterious, from what I understand. Wasn’t there some recent discovery about the circumstances?”

You nod, your heart racing as you remember that night five years ago. “Yes, documents were found that suggested he was actually assassinated by members of his own council who opposed his reforms.”

Charles shakes his head, looking troubled. “How terrible. To be betrayed by those closest to you, all for wanting to make positive changes.”

“It was a different time,” you say softly. “Change is always frightening to those in power.”

Charles nods thoughtfully. “True, but it’s also necessary for growth. Monaco has come a long way since then, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn’t be doing more to realize Prince Charles’ vision.”

You look at him in surprise. “That’s ... that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking in my research. The prince had ideas about sustainable development and diversifying the economy that are still relevant today.”

Charles grins, and for a moment, the resemblance to your Charles is so strong it takes your breath away. “Great minds think alike, it seems. You know, I’ve been looking for ways to use my platform as an athlete to promote positive change in Monaco. Perhaps we could compare notes sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m always happy to discuss history with someone who’s genuinely interested.”

“Excellent,” Charles says, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t we exchange numbers? We could meet for coffee and continue this conversation.”

As you input your number into his phone, you can’t help but notice a small charm dangling from it — a miniature racing helmet. “That’s cute,” you comment.

Charles looks at it and chuckles. “Ah, yes. It was a gift from my mother. She says it’s for luck, but I think she just worries about me on the track.”

The casual mention of his mother sends a pang through your heart. This Charles is very much alive, with a family and a life of his own. You have to remind yourself that he’s not the same person you knew, no matter how similar he might seem.

“Well, it seems to be working,” you say lightly. “You’ve had quite a successful season so far. Won your home race, if I’m not mistaken.”

Charles looks pleased. “You follow Formula 1?”

You shake your head. “Not really, but it’s hard to miss the news when you’re living in Monaco. The Grand Prix is quite an event.”

“That it is,” Charles agrees. “You know, if you’re interested, I could give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the circuit sometime. It’s quite fascinating from a historical perspective as well. The race has been run on essentially the same streets since 1929.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Are you always this charming with strangers you meet in museums?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye that’s achingly familiar. “Only the ones who can discuss 19th-century political reform with such passion.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, in that case, how can I refuse? A tour sounds lovely.”

As you continue to chat, moving through the exhibit, you’re struck by how easy it is to talk to Charles. He’s knowledgeable and curious, asking insightful questions about your research and offering his own perspectives on Monaco’s history and future.

At one point, you pause before a display showcasing some of Prince Charles’ personal effects. Among them is a small, ornate pocket watch.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Charles comments, leaning in for a closer look.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you remember your Charles checking a similar watch during your midnight explorations. “It’s a shame it’s not working anymore.”

Charles tilts his head, studying the watch intently. “Actually, I think it is. Look closely at the second hand.”

You peer into the display case, and to your amazement, you see the tiny hand ticking away steadily. “You’re right! How did you notice that?”

Charles shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ve always had a thing for timepieces. Comes with the racing territory, I suppose. Hundreths of a second are everything on the track.”

You shake your head in wonder. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try to keep things interesting,” Charles says with a wink. Then his expression turns more serious. “You know, it’s strange. Being here, learning about Prince Charles ... I feel an odd connection to him. Almost as if I knew him somehow.”

Your heart races at his words. Could it be possible? You push the thought away, reminding yourself that such things only happen in fairy tales. “Well, he is your ancestor, in a way. All Monégasques are connected to the Grimaldi family, aren’t they?”

Charles nods slowly. “True, but this feels different. When I look at his portrait, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. And his ideas, his passion for progress ... it resonates with me in a way I can’t quite explain.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe some things are just meant to be. Some connections transcend time.”

Charles looks at you intently, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the past isn’t really gone, just ... waiting to be rediscovered.”

You’re saved from having to respond by the chiming of the palace clock, signaling the approach of closing time.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “I should probably get going. I have a meeting with my advisor in the morning.”

Charles nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Of course. But we’re still on for that coffee and circuit tour, right?”

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Charles touches your arm lightly. “Y/N, I know this might sound strange, but ... I feel like we were meant to meet today. Like some force in the universe brought us together.”

You look into his eyes, so familiar and yet new, and feel a spark of hope ignite in your heart. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He smiles, and in that moment, you see not just the Charles of the present, but echoes of the Charles you knew and loved. “Until we meet again, then?”

The phrase, so similar to your Charles’ last words, sends a shiver down your spine. “Until then,” you agree softly.

As you walk out of the palace and into the warm Monaco evening, your mind is whirling. You can’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary has happened, that a promise made long ago is somehow being fulfilled.

You pause at the top of the steps, looking back at the palace that has played such a pivotal role in your life. As the setting sun gilds the stone facade, you allow yourself to imagine, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, some loves really are strong enough to transcend time and death itself.

With a smile on your face and hope in your heart, you descend the steps, ready to embrace whatever new adventure awaits. After all, in a world where ghosts can fall in love and centuries-old mysteries can be solved, anything seems possible.

And, as the promise of a new beginning beckons, you can’t help but feel that the best chapters of your story are yet to be written.

***

The sun-drenched streets of Monaco buzz with excitement as Sofia, a die-hard Scuderia Ferrari fan, makes her way towards the Palais Grimaldi. Her red Ferrari cap and matching team shirt make her stand out among the tourists, but she doesn’t mind. She’s here on a mission: to soak up every bit of Monaco’s rich racing history.

As Sofia enters the palace-turned-museum, her eyes widen in awe at the opulent surroundings. “Wow,” she breathes, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Talk about living like royalty.”

She wanders through the exhibits, pausing occasionally to read plaques or admire artifacts. But her mind keeps drifting to thoughts of sleek racing cars and the roar of engines. That is, until she rounds a corner and comes face to face with a large portrait that stops her in her tracks.

“No way,” Sofia mutters, stepping closer to the painting. Her brow furrows as she studies the face of the young prince depicted. “That’s ... that’s impossible.”

Just then, a tour group passes by, led by an enthusiastic guide. Sofia catches snippets of the commentary.

“... Prince Charles, one of Monaco’s most progressive rulers ...”

“... tragically died young under mysterious circumstances ...”

“... recent discoveries suggest he may have been assassinated ...”

Sofia’s head is spinning. She pulls out her phone, quickly pulling up a photo of Charles Leclerc, her favorite driver. She holds it up next to the portrait, her jaw dropping at the uncanny resemblance.

“Excuse me,” she says, tapping the tour guide on the shoulder. “This Prince Charles, when exactly did he live?”

The guide smiles, always happy to share historical tidbits. “Prince Charles ruled briefly in the late 19th century. He died in 1894 at the young age of 26.”

Sofia’s mind races. “And has anyone ever noticed how much he looks like Charles Leclerc? The F1 driver?”

The guide’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Ah, you’re not the first to notice that similarity. It’s become quite a popular topic of discussion lately. Some even joke that Leclerc is the prince reincarnated.”

Sofia laughs nervously. “Right, of course. Just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

As the tour moves on, Sofia remains rooted to the spot, her eyes darting between her phone and the portrait. It’s more than just a passing resemblance. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw, even the hint of a mischievous smile — it’s all pure Leclerc.

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice someone approaching until a voice beside her says, “Fascinating portrait, isn’t it?”

Sofia jumps, turning to see a young woman standing next to her. The newcomer is dressed casually in a flowing sundress, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, um, yes,” Sofia stammers. “It’s quite ... striking.”

The woman smiles knowingly. “Let me guess. You couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to a certain Formula 1 driver?”

Sofia’s eyes widen. “You see it too? I thought I was going crazy!”

The woman laughs, a warm, genuine sound. “Trust me, you’re not crazy. I’m Y/N, by the way. I’m doing some research here for my graduate thesis.”

“Sofia,” she replies, shaking your hand. “So, what’s the deal? Is Leclerc secretly a time-traveling prince or something?”

You chuckle, but there’s a strange look in your eyes that Sofia can’t quite decipher. “I’m afraid the explanation is probably much more mundane. Many Monégasques have some connection to the Grimaldi family. It’s likely just a case of strong genes persisting through the generations.”

Sofia nods, but she’s not entirely convinced. There’s something about the way you’re looking at the portrait, a mix of fondness and melancholy, that piques her curiosity.

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Sofia probes gently. “Are you a big history buff?”

You smile, turning away from the portrait. “You could say that. I’ve been studying Prince Charles and his era for my thesis. It’s a fascinating period in Monaco’s history.”

Sofia’s about to ask more when she notices someone approaching over your shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she has to stifle a gasp.

You turn to see what’s caught her attention, and your face lights up. “Charles! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Sofia’s jaw drops as Charles Leclerc himself joins you, greeting you with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. He’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s no mistaking that face — especially not when it’s right next to the portrait of his doppelganger.

“I had some free time between meetings and thought I’d stop by,” Charles explains. “How’s the research going?”

You launch into an explanation of your latest findings, and Sofia watches in fascination as Charles listens intently, asking insightful questions and offering his own thoughts. It’s clear this is far from the first time they’ve discussed the topic.

Finally, Charles seems to notice Sofia’s presence. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sofia manages to close her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m Sofia. I’m a huge fan, Mr. Leclerc.”

Charles grins, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Charles. Always nice to meet a tifosa.”

Sofia gestures weakly to the portrait. “I was just ... I mean ... has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like ...”

Charles and you exchange a look that Sofia can’t quite interpret. Then Charles turns back to her with a wry smile. “Once or twice, yes. It’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Sofia nods, still feeling like she’s stepped into some kind of twilight zone. “Coincidence. Right.”

You clear your throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “So, Sofia, are you here on vacation?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Sofia launches into an enthusiastic description of her plans for the next week. As they chat, she can’t help but notice the way Charles and you interact — the casual touches, the inside jokes, the way your eyes continually find each other. There’s clearly a deep connection there.

At one point, Charles excuses himself to take a phone call. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sofia turns to you with wide eyes. “Okay, you have to tell me. What’s the real story here? How long have you two been together?”

You laugh, a slight blush coloring your cheeks. “Is it that obvious? We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. We met right here, actually, in front of this very portrait.”

Sofia’s romantic heart melts a little at that. “That’s so sweet! But come on, you have to admit, the resemblance is freaky. And the way you two were talking about history ... it’s like he lived it or something.”

You get that strange look in your eyes again, a mix of secrecy and wonder. “Charles has always had a deep connection to Monaco’s past. It’s one of the things that drew us together.”

Sofia’s about to press for more details when Charles returns, slipping his arm around your waist with casual familiarity.

“I hate to cut this short,” he says apologetically, “but I’ve got to run to a sponsor meeting. Y/N, we’re still on for dinner tonight?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you at eight.”

As Charles says his goodbyes and leaves, Sofia watches him go with a mix of admiration and lingering confusion. She turns back to you, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy,” Sofia starts, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but is there any chance ... I mean, has anyone ever considered the possibility that Charles might be, I don’t know, the reincarnation of Prince Charles or something?”

You pause for a long moment, and Sofia holds her breath, half-expecting you to laugh in her face. But instead, you give her a small, enigmatic smile.

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” you say softly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of coming back to us in forms we least expect. Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?”

Sofia’s mind reels at the implications. “So you’re saying ...”

You hold up a hand, your expression turning more serious. “I’m not saying anything definitively. But I will say this: getting to know Charles — the Charles of today — has been like rediscovering a part of history I thought was lost forever. Whether that’s due to reincarnation, cosmic coincidence, or just the magic of human connection, I can’t say for sure. But I do know that it feels like a second chance at something extraordinary.”

Sofia listens, enthralled. It’s like something out of a movie or a romance novel. “That’s ... wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

You laugh, the sound tinged with wonder. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

As you chat a bit more, Sofia can’t help but feel like she’s been let in on some grand secret. The way you talk about Charles, about history, about the strange twists of fate — it’s all so fantastical and yet, standing here in the shadow of that eerily familiar portrait, she can’t quite bring herself to disbelieve it entirely.

Finally, you glance at your watch and sigh. “I should get going. I’ve got to prepare for dinner soon. It was lovely meeting you, Sofia.”

Sofia nods, still feeling slightly dazed. “You too. And ... thanks. For sharing all of that. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

You smile warmly. “Just keep an open mind. You never know what kind of magic you might encounter, especially in a place like Monaco.”

As you leave, Sofia turns back to the portrait of Prince Charles. She studies it intently, trying to reconcile the historical figure with the modern-day race driver she admires so much.

“Second chances,” she murmurs to herself. “Who’d have thought?”

With one last look at the portrait, Sofia continues her tour of the museum. But now, every artifact seems to pulse with new significance. The weight of history feels more present than ever, intertwining with the present in ways she never could have imagined.

As she steps out of the museum and into the bright Monaco sunshine, Sofia finds herself looking at the city with new eyes. The sleek modern buildings and ancient narrow streets no longer seem at odds, but part of a continuous, living history.

She thinks of Charles Leclerc, of the mysterious Y/N, of a long-dead prince whose legacy seems to echo through time. And as she makes her way towards the harbor, where she knows the Monaco circuit snakes through the city streets, Sofia can’t help but feel that she’s stumbled upon a story far greater and more magical than any single victory.

With a smile on her face and a newfound appreciation for the mysteries of the universe, Sofia sets off to explore more of Monaco. After all, in a place where princes can become race drivers and love can transcend time itself, who knows what other wonders she might discover?

[muntitled]

𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

“It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[defmaybe]

Party Police

ITZY's Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.4k words

Sequel to Sticky

A/N: Let’s do a sequel!!! Again, I really love writing Yuna dominant lol, thanks for reading!!! Also, this one doesn't have the "definitely, maybe" line lol.

—

The plane croaks and cries as its wheels touch the runway. It slows down and turns a few times to park. Then, the seatbelt light above is gone.

—

Narita

As far as a company trip goes, this one should give you bragging rights over your friends until death. A spring trip to Tokyo–where every street and building is photogenic. The air is perfect (a bit cold, really, but it’s definitely better than your home).

Of course, it’s a reward from your generous boss, who fought the higher-ups to death for this trip. Your team’s productivity has soared under her reign, as she always brings snacks for your co-workers every single day. And with her bubbly, optimistic attitude, and such a level of competency you don’t dare to compete, they just had to approve this one-week trip at the price of a car.

The secret sessions between you two remain, well, a secret. Though, there has been a running rumor of your boss having a booty call with an employee, but you’re smart enough to play along with the wave, pulling out the ‘yeah, who could that be’ along with a few chuckles.

—

Shibuya, not so far from the crosswalk

The exit of the station has always been so busy, oh, so bustling in its nature. The chill air welcomes you to the afternoon of Shibuya. In front of you is the crosswalk—that goddamn crosswalk. You follow the wave of the people to the landmark, waiting to reach your sanctuary again.

The red stop signal flickers

1 2 3

You stride through the crowd—some holding their phones to capture the moment, some are just trying to reach their destinations as soon as possible.

You walk on the same path that you did years ago, just walking up north to your terminus, and there it is.

You open the glass door, and you feel another breeze from the air conditioners from inside blowing your face. It looks a bit cramped, but it’s definitely well-planned enough for you to see all the new albums. The first floor is mostly decorated with yellow and red–same as the big sign outside.

—

Tower Records

“Hmm, Alvvays, huh?” 

Yuna suddenly appears by your right shoulder, staring at their debut LP you’re holding.

Into your ears, she whispers, “You have a great taste, baby boy.” Her voice is breathy–hints of depth under it.

“You don’t have to leave. You could just stay here with me~” Yuna sings. Her hands are perching on your shoulder as she performs her little swaying with the hips.

“Forget all the party police. We can find comfort in debauchery~.”

With debauchery, her right hand trails down your lithe frame, down the sides, as you’re trying your best to stifle your own moan. The Alvvays disc in your hand is trembling.

“Oh, baby boy, I just wanna eat you right here, among these CDs,”—she continues—“I just wanna have you squirm, one hand holding on Antisocialites, another holding on Blue Rev.”

“M–Miss Shin, what are you s–saying? I d–don’t think it’s appropriate–”

“Shhh, baby boy, it’s not ‘Miss Shin’ here. You know the word, remember?” Yuna giggles at her own words, as you’re sweating at the fear of getting caught inside your own sanctuary. And she doesn’t let your body find its footing so firmly in the section either. She presses you forward, and you step back in response.

A B

“Say it, baby boy. Don’t keep me waiting~,” she teases. She presses you past Carly Rae Jepsen. Emotion runs high on you.

D E F G

“I–I can’t, Miss Shin. This is n–not the place.” You two are on Hatchie; she’s still without a blush. You must be fucking red as a tomato now, judging from how your whole body feels so damn hot.

I J K

Lorde. “Oh, baby boy, I know you wanna say it so, so bad. You just love being under my domination, don’t you?” 

But you can’t just give her a green light that easily, despite how much you just want her to pump your cock right here and now, in Tower Records Shibuya. There’s a matter of shame in play here. Your breaths are out of rhythm, unlike the music out of speaker right now.

M N O

“Ooh, look who it is here,”—Yuna picks up the Brand New Eyes box with both of her hands, pouting—“It’s Paramore! You… are… the only exception~. Am I your exception too?”

Fuck, why is she so irresistible?

Q R S

Taylor Swift appears in your sight on the left, along the steps back. “Y–Yes, M–M–” The thought sprouts in your head now, but you just can’t form the words. You’re, again, enchanted under her spell.

U V

Wolf Alice. “No hard feelings if you can’t say it, baby boy. I’ll just take the subway to Harajuku or somewhere else if that’s what you want, alone, without you~.”

X Y

“Y–Yes.”

“Yes… what, baby boy?”

“Yes, m–m–mommy. Y–You are my exception.” And on Z, you surrender to her.

“Good boy.” Yuna holds your hand, waking up a few butterflies inside you, before guiding you towards….

—

Tower Records’ Bathroom

“Umm, mmph, I’ve been dying to taste this cock for so long, baby boy.” And Yuna supports her point by dragging her filthy tongue along the underside of your length, glistening you with her saliva. And how can you not shudder with that? “I’d say… it’s worth the wait.”

“M–Mommy~,” you groan, eyes fluttering on top of the toilet.

What a sight. Yuna is kneeling on the floor for you in this stall, aiming to please you with her mouth. You can see her cleavage from the above, with her nipples still covered with the black bra. To ramp up the experience, she starts with taking in your whole mushroom tip with no struggle. God, she’s so good.

Her oral expertise continues to astound you, as she twirls her tongue around your tip, gathering any pre-cum leaking out.

“Hmm, I think I should do a bit more before you cum~,” she says, before diving onto the base of your throbbing length with ease.

“F–Fuck! You’re so t–tight, mommy,” you moan, and your hands are holding on to the lid with your dear life, not wanting to fall. Your head is basically leaning on the wall behind you now.

Yuna says nothing, but you can see her smiling on your shaft despite the cheeks being hollowed out to create such otherworldly suction. Fuck. She bobs her head up and down to bring you to the edge. Her gag reflex starts to make her tears welling up, but that doesn’t stop her from pleasuring her favorite employee with her mouth to his hilt.

Every movement of hers is considered, aiming to milk your cock just like she did that time with her right hand, the other grabbing you by your slutty waist—when you were nothing but a toy for her to play with. She hollows her cheeks, as said, to create such otherworldly suction. And that dreamy eye contact while she blows on your hardness, god, who wouldn’t cum within a heartbeat. 

“M–Mommy, I’m gonna cum,” you say, as your hips buck into her with her frenetic movements.

Yuna doesn’t relent her attempts, still gagging profusely on her baby boy’s needy cock. She makes this little whiny sound with every of your thrust, as the end of your digit reaches as far back as it can. Yet, she’s still determined—so fucking determined to please her number one employee. But now, you want just a bit more.

“M–Mommy, y–your tits, p–please.”

She gives in to your plea too easily, but it’s like you’d complain. She quickly discards layers of fabric until her bra is left. And after a few magic tricks of her hands, her last barrier falls off just for you. You savor in the moment of her bare breasts and the stiff nipples under your impending orgasm. Oh, what a sight.

And it’s there, your seed releasing into her throat.

“M–Mommy~,” you whimper.

Your length twitches inside her tight cavern, wanting to squeeze every drop out of you. She doesn’t let any drop leak out of her mouth either, swallowing any residue down to her stomach.

And as you finish, she has to open her mouth and stick out her tongue to show her clean cavern.

“F–Fuck, mommy, w–why, why are you so good?”

“Just for my favorite employee, baby boy.”

—

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | sorry, baby

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 4k words. Joel is stressed and busy with a big project at work lately. His pretty little wife makes it all better. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, sub/dom relationship, free use kink, oral sex (m receiving), cock worship (!! yes), unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, pet names for reader, sir kink making a reappearance, bit of fluff mixed in, mention of food/eating, @ GOD WHY ISNT THIS ME a/n: I'M BACK. these two sick lovebirds are back 😭 i needed something sweet to write while working on smother so here's some cute domestic sucking and fucking from my favorite couple MWAH reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

Gonna be late again. Sorry baby.

Joel’s hurried text had pinged your phone a few hours ago, and you reassured him it was no problem, of course. You know that his company is contracting on a huge project in downtown Austin right now, and it required a lot of Joel’s attention. He’d been giving so much you were surprised that he had anything left in the tank when he came home to you. But by god, so many nights he sure did, coming home in a frenzy to fuck you, taste you, finding you where you were when he arrived home - cleaning up dishes from dinner, the shower, already curled up in bed with a book on one particularly late night.

You relished in him releasing everything into you - the stress of his day instantly melting with a simple touch of his lips to yours, drinking in your curves and soft skin with rough hands and frenzied yet controlled movements. It always seemed like the more stressed he was, the more he couldn’t get his cock in you fast enough, the more relentless he was in the ways he took care of you. He’d leave you spent, dripping, and aching, letting you talk softly about your day as he stroked your hair afterwards, all sweetness and hushed tones until you two fell asleep.

You peer into the living room from the kitchen to see Joel walking in, looking generally askew and you frown. When his shoes are yanked off and placed in the closet he looks up to see you leaning on the doorframe, lips full and pouting, finger sticking up with a patch of cookie dough stuck to it to taste test. You stand in a long, threadbare t-shirt of his and pink cotton panties, just what Joel had set out for you this morning, and he makes sure to thank his past self for such a wise choice this morning. You’d laughed at the lack of bra or any kind of pants, knowing it was no accident you’d ended up dressed without any bottoms on today. You aim to please, and the look Joel gives you whenever he sees you exactly how he envisioned you for the day always makes your heart soar a little higher. 

He finds his way to the couch, sprawling out and giving you an exhausted look. You stick the errant finger into your mouth, sucking the sweet, sugary cookie dough off and licking your lips. Joel’s expression changes quickly, his interest clearly sparked, but the wearisome look doesn’t leave his eyes. 

“Baby?” you ask, your brows furrowing further with worry. This wasn’t your husband, this wasn’t Joel, and you always hate to see him have a tough day. It makes your heart ache when he works too hard, gives too much of himself and winds up burnt out. You certainly don’t mind making it all better for him, that’s what you’re here for, after all, but it pains you nonetheless.

“C’mon over here, little wife,” Joel murmurs, running a hand down his weary face. When he pulls it away, he gazes at you with heavy lids before propping his hands behind his head. 

You saunter over to him, standing next to where he lays and reaching down to graze your fingers over his stretched bicep, trailing it inwards towards his face. He hums, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment and enjoying the way your gentle fingers work across his cheekbones and through his beard. 

His hand slowly moves from behind his head to curve around your waist, drawing you nearer, the front of your knees hitting the side of the couch cushions now. His silent signals are obvious to you at this point, so you don’t waste a moment swinging your leg around his body, tucking it in between his thigh and the back of the couch, settling in to straddle him. A hand runs gently down his chest as you tilt your head, studying his face in concern. 

“What’s my husband need from me?” you ask quietly, letting your other hand bury itself in his curls, scratching at his scalp. 

Joel lets out a pleasured groan, nearly shuddering at the feeling. “Fuck, baby.” You feel his body shift underneath you, already squirming with the sensation of your fingers doing their work on him. “Make me feel good.” 

“Let’s get you more comfortable, then,” you coo, fingers already moving on the buttons of his shirt, making quick work of the top few to let his chest breathe a little bit. You take only a beat to admire the top of his chest poking out, curls of hair sticking out wild and messy before getting to work. You slither down his body, giving yourself enough room to undo his belt before pulling it out of its loops and tossing it aside. 

“Lift, please,” you say, keeping up your gentle, soothing tone as Joel’s hips lift off the couch and allow you the space to pull down his dress pants, wriggling them down to his ankles and then over his feet. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Joel answers, a pleasant little hum from the back of his throat. You can feel how your ministrations have already gotten him hard as it brushes against your center when you settle back on top of his hips. A brief tease of your hips swirling on his sends Joel’s twitching, a sly little smile flashing on his lips. But you’re gone an instant later, moving down the couch and settling next to his feet, sitting crossed legged to face them before taking one into your lap. 

“What’s this, now?” Joel asks, a slight tiredness to his voice now. 

“Ever heard of a foot rub?” you reply with a lifted brow. He chuckles and you watch his body rumble with the sound. 

“Givin’ me mouth today, are we?” he asks playfully, the tired laughter still fading off as he speaks. 

“I could,” you retort, pursing your lips and looking up from his feet to find his eyes peeking open, looking down at your delicate, innocuous smile with a plethora of hidden meaning behind it. 

“Such a dirty girl…” he murmurs, neatly cut off by the groan he lets out when you press in on one of his arches with your thumb.

“See? I know what you need, baby,” you coo, working your fingers into the tender spots on his foot, being sure to use just the right amount of pressure. You prop his foot in your lap, letting it hang there as you gently rotate his ankle, loosening everything up. 

“Christ,” he breathes out as you start on the other foot. His breathing is a little labored, pain and pleasure mixing together as you continue to help his weary soles. You work each foot until he sighs contentedly, a good sign that your work is finished. 

At least on his feet, that is. You run your hands teasingly up his thighs, settling them on his hips as you work your way back up his body, hips straddling his again. You lean down and brush your lips against his neck, peering up to watch Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs again. The sound is music to your ears, anytime your husband makes that content, soft little sound you think you’ve reached heaven. You suck and flick little patches all over his neck, starting a slow, steady grind of your hips. 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Joel starts, landing a firm hand along your hip. “I can’t today… I’m so fuckin’ beat. You know I’d give anything to fuck my cock into you…” He murmurs the words with a hint of frustration. You know this is hitting Joel harder than he’s letting on, seeing as his singularly focused task most days is to find a way to get himself inside of you.

“Who said anything about you fucking me?” you ask slyly, hands hooking into the sides of his briefs. You watch as Joel’s eyes pop open and look at you mischievously. “You said to make you feel good, so that’s what I’m doing, my darling.” You keep your tone even and calming as you continue with your teasing, deft fingers playing under his waistband. 

Joel’s smirk grows and he reaches a hand up to gently pet the back of your head before pulling you to his face, kissing you deeply. “Good girl,” he says as he pulls away, the words falling right onto your own lips. “Doin’ as you’re told.”

You slink lower, getting to the spot you know excites him the most, straddling lower on his legs to bring your mouth down to his clothed cock. You plant small kisses along the obvious bulge and Joel reacts immediately with a small hiss through his teeth. You kiss and lick and suck, letting the fabric tamp enough of the pleasure to drive him crazy. 

“God damn it…” he grunts quietly, hips shifting as they spasm up towards your mouth when you suck another spot on the fabric, taking your sweet time, only a small form of torture for Joel. “You tryna make me ask you to pull my cock out and get your pretty mouth on it? Cause you know, once I’m not dead on m’feet I might have to punish you ‘f that’s the case.” His words tumble out slow and thick with his accent - that Southern drawl always comes out more when he’s tired and mumbling.

Your mouth curls deviously and you lick your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply in a low lilt. 

“Mhm…” Joel teases, but you heed his warning anyhow, tugging his briefs down to free his cock, nearly enraged as it throbs and drips precum from the way you’d already been working on it. Your tongue finds the salty fluid at his head, lapping it with just the tip of your tongue and swirling it around. You start to practically nuzzle it, catching his cock in the corners of your lips, letting your tongue get a few tiny kitten licks on his shaft as you rub it along your cheeks. The smooth skin glides along your face and you start to get messier with it, letting his cock start to spread his precum and your saliva along your cheeks as you let the flat of your tongue run along it.

Joel lets out a loud, long groan, fingers gripping deep into the couch cushion. He can barely contain himself as your tongue licks a thick stripe up underneath his length, tracing the most prominent vein. His hips stutter forward as he gives himself to the moment. 

“God damn, honey…” he whimpers quietly, eyes shutting in the bliss of the moment.

Your hands rub his thighs gently, kneading into them as you start to bob your head on his cock, taking a little more each time until he’s at the back of your throat. You fight the urge to gag, a little noise coming out of you, sending Joel’s hand flying to the back of your head, his gaze watching the way his cock disappears inside of your warm mouth.

“That’s it, choke on it like I like, pretty girl…” Joel mumbles, eyes rolling back a little as his cock fills your mouth. “My pretty wife…” he whispers with a reverence and respect, despite the degrading way he’s about to fuck your mouth.

You move with a little more urgency, your mouth stuffed and aching already, one hand coming up to grip the base of Joel’s cock and stroking there while your mouth works on him. Joel’s hand pushes down on your head, sending you a little further and you sputter, spit flying all around his cock and lap but it doesn’t deter you. His hips start to move of their own accord into you, matching the rhythm of your mouth pumping on him. Your body gets hot and desperate for him, your praise loving nature alight just by seeing how much he loves the way you pleasure him. Your thighs wriggle as your cunt aches and drips now, begging you for relief that you know will have to wait.

“God, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this…” Joel seems to be practically revived, a new energy filling his weary body as he grunts and pants, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth in faster strokes now. You can sense how close he is, you know your husband’s body like the back of your hand now, his balls tightening and cock getting even harder on your tongue.

He grunts with the effort of sitting forward, yanking your head off of his cock and swiftly sliding his hands to your waist, hauling your entire body upwards so that your hips are above his. 

“Need this needy little cunt, look how soaked you are,” Joel coos with a genuine pity for you as he sees the wet stain on your panties.. His fingers tear your underwear to the side, giving enough room for his cock to position itself at your weeping entrance, giving you no time to even process it before he forces your hips to bear down on him.

You cry out in a long, wanting moan as he fills you up, the stretch of him burning in that familiar way that you love and crave so much. Joel is an addiction - your husband the one thing in life you could never get enough of, never filling you enough, never fucking you full and deep enough times that you’re fulfilled. He never fails to leave you satisfied, of course, but you’re always wanting more in the next moment, practically wishing you could live just like this - his cock stuffing you and stretching your pussy to its limits, sending that pain you live for deep inside of you until it turns to the most blinding pleasure. Gratitude overtakes you as you sink down completely, whispering out a fervent thank you as you feel yourself clench around him, eyes shut and head thrown back. Joel reaches to your chin, pulling your head to look down at him. 

“What was that?” he asks teasingly, rutting his hips up into your as he speaks. You shudder again, pussy clenching around him as you feel his length pressing against your walls.

“T-thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, sir…” You’re unable to say anything else, only look at him with half-lidded eyes and cry out wantonly when he pushes all the way in again, seating himself inside of you only to lift your hips up and do it all over again.

“Yeah… knew bein’ stuffed full of my cock would make you my polite girl again,” Joel says arrogantly, sending a fresh wave of arousal right between your legs, gushing around his girth. You nod, blinking down at him, rolling your hips and chasing your pleasure. You lean down a little closer to Joel, bringing your chest more flush with his, the change in angle devastating the both of you. 

“So fuckin’ full of me,” Joel whispers in your ear, taking it upon himself to bend his legs and start fucking up into you. You moan in his ear, tears springing to your eyes as you feel him close to your cervix, each deep thrust sinfully delicious and bordering on painful in the way that makes your skin tingle in the best way. You want to be used, you want him as deep as he can possibly go, to feel you entirely wrapped around him.

Joel grunts, hot breath fanning next to your ear as he holds you close. Your bodies are intermingling with sweat now, your ass slapping down onto his thighs reverberating through the quiet living room. It’s just this - the two of you, your shared breath, your intertwined bodies, nothing else matters or even registers to you now. Joel’s hips shift the slightest bit in angle and you cry out, your g-spot now overstimulated with attention as Joel’s cock pounds into you harder, brushing the spongy spot with each new movement into you.

You pant, clutching onto him and digging your manicured nails into his shoulder, scratching them along to his neck where you hang on for dear life.

“Fuck…” you murmur, feeling your body tensing, legs like jello as they shake on either side of Joel’s thighs. “Let me come, p-please, sir,” you whimper, holding back with every ounce of strength you have as the tingling warmth spreads, heat in your belly threatening to burst at any second.

“Hang on f’me, baby, fuck, n-not yet,” Joel replies in a huff, clearly close to that high himself. “Wanna fill you up right when you’re comin’ so pretty f’me.”

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, holding back as your body screams at you with need. This wasn’t the first time Joel had you hold back your climax, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it never got any easier. You whimper, nearing a sob as Joel thrusts into you, your hips rolling and stuttering into his movements. “Please… sir…” you cry.

Joel grunts out a stern no and continues to slam his hips into yours, growing harsher by the second. You’re a whimpering wreck, your body nearly about to betray you as Joel hits your g-spot again. Tears leak from your eyes with the psychological effort of holding back, but you know it’ll be worth it. It always is.

“Now,” Joel says simply, “Come for me, little doll,” he adds, finishing the sentence with a grunt as you start to lose control, feeling like a dam inside of you is bursting, all the pleasure rolling over you in dazzling waves. You flutter around Joel’s cock almost as hard as you ever have, squeezing his length as he lets out a small whimper himself. Your breathy moans right in his ear send goosebumps along his whole body despite how stifling the air is surrounding you two.

“Fuck…” he moans, his hips jerking a few times before he starts to spill himself into you. You continue to shake, pulling every last drop from him as you ride out your own high, Joel’s name rolling off your tongue as you moan.

“God, yeah…” you whimper out, finally collapsing onto Joel’s chest as his legs go limp underneath you. You both lay in silence, chests heaving and small smiles on your faces. Joel strokes the back of your head and your smile grows. Neither of you seem set on moving, the combination of both of your climaxes a slick mess between the two of you as you settle into a more steady rhythm of breathing.

“Mmm…” Joel mumbles out the noise. “How’s my pretty little wife today, hm?” he asks quietly, fingers tracing down your cheeks to your lips.

“You’re late to ask,” you tease him with a laugh, typically hearing that question before anything else when he gets home. He uses his free hand to squeeze your ass cheek in warning at your bratiness and you grin. “But better now,” you answer in the familiar response to your favorite question from him.

“Thought so,” Joel says wryly, giving you ass a lazy pat before kissing the side of your head. He’s quiet for a few moments before lifting your hips off of his, your body immediately missing the sweet fullness of him as you both sit up. Joel brings your legs over his and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling like the most natural fit in the world. 

“‘M sorry about all this, baby - all the late nights and bein’ stressed and probably bein’ a grouch,” Joel says, his voice laden with guilt. He circles on your bare thigh with his fingers and you shudder a little, snuggling further into him. One of your hands wraps around his cheek, turning his head to meet your eye line and you give him a soft smile.

“You think you just now started being a grouch?” you joke, knowing you’re pushing your limits on how much bratiness Joel will tolerate in one day before things escalate.

He growls deep in his throat and you giggle softly, scratching your fingers through his hair. “Thin ice, baby…” he murmurs.

“I love my grumpy husband,” you say sweetly, fingers moving down to run through his rough beard. “It’s okay though, Joel. Promise. I just miss you, but this busy and crazy time will pass like it always does, right? In the mean time...” you lower your voice, a finger trailing from his cheek to his neck and down his chest. “We can just do that anytime you need it.” 

Joel chuckles, giving your entire body a squeeze against him. “That’s my good girl. Always ready f’me.” You smile into his chest at his praise before he continues. “We’ll do somethin’ this weekend, the two of us an’ spend some time together, mkay? Make up for all this bullshit.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest and your stomach flutter a little at the idea. Joel has typically been pretty good about planning dates over the years, but you know that it’s been hard with his extra workload lately, so you’ve been missing the romantic evenings he’d plan for you two. You’d tried to ask about planning one yourself, and Joel shut you down immediately in the sweetest way possible, claiming the responsibility fully for himself to do that for you.

“Ooh, yes please,” you reply excitedly, hugging him close.  

“‘S a date then,” Joel confirms, leaning his head back onto the couch while you stay resting on his shoulder. You both fall into a comfortable quiet again, Joel’s breathing steadying as he dozes off. 

“Do you want a cookie?” you ask into the silence, sitting up. Joel’s eyes creak open from where he’d been resting them and he glances down at you with furrowed brows. 

“That s’posed to be some kind of euphemism, darlin’?” he asks groggily. You laugh, throwing your head back a little and shuffling yourself to sit up on the edge of the couch. 

“Could be,” you giggle, “Real cookies this time, though. You can even sneak one before dinner.” 

Joel perks up a little, eyes opening a bit more. “Chocolate chip?” he asks, a boyish glint in his gaze. 

“Of course,” you nod, and Joel smiles tiredly, sitting up to join you on the edge of the couch. 

“You know you’re the best wife?” Joel says, nudging you with his shoulder and leaning over for a quick peck on your cheek before standing up and pulling his pants back on. He moans and groans while he twists his back and stretches his arms over his head for a few moments, and you know his knees must be flaring up as they do when he’s more stressed.

“Just one,” you warn Joel as you see him making his way to the kitchen trying to look like some kind of master sleuther on the hunt for fresh baked cookies. “I’m making dinner soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel tosses over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner. When you make your way to the kitchen, you watch him take a bite off of a cookie from the cooling rack and you stand with crossed arms, admiring him. His eyes look you up and down with a similar appreciation, landing between your legs where he sees your underwear completely soaked and stained from your recent rendezvous. He smirks as he chews, stepping towards you. 

“An’ don’t you dare think about changing your underwear,” he says in a low rumble, eyes flicking all over your face as he gets close to read if you’re going to keep up your bratty streak today. Instead, you give him a docile little upturn of your lips - he’s been through enough today - and brush past him to start working on dinner. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[edenesth]

Clumsy Hearts, Steady Love

Pairing: boyfriend!Hongjoong x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: He was a great friend but a terrible lover, and he knew it. For the longest time, he believed he wasn’t cut out for relationships. But then you came along, and for the first time, he wanted to try. He wanted to be better, to be good for you, even if it meant being clumsy along the way. For you, he was willing to learn how to love.

A/N: Only @itstheghostofmypast knows this was initially meant to be a timestamp🤡

ATEEZ Masterlist

"Don't drive today, darling. I'll pick you up from work this evening."

Those words from Kim Hongjoong echoed in your mind. For the first time in a year of being together, he offered to pick you up. Your heart soared at the unexpected sweetness from him.

It wasn't that you thought he was a bad boyfriend, but you knew his nature from the very beginning. Your friends had warned you when you accepted him; he was a workaholic, someone who would always put anything and everything before you. A good friend but a bad lover—that was his reputation. Yet, you couldn't deny the way he made your heart race, the way his presence made everything better, the way he vowed to love you as you deserved, the way he promised he would try for you.

From the start, you knew what you were getting into. You didn't expect perfection. You didn't want perfection.

You just wanted him.

But loving Hongjoong truly was not easy.

It could be exhausting. Perhaps today was another one of those days.

You had looked forward to this day for so long, hoping he would be the boyfriend he promised to be. But deep down, you knew better than to have such high hopes.

Letting out what felt like the thousandth sigh of the day, you nearly froze to death from being soaked in the rain, your ankle throbbed from a sprained heel as you stood by the bus stop outside your office building where he was supposed to pick you up.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

Every call went straight to voicemail, escalating your worry to panic. You didn’t dare move, fearing he might arrive at an empty bus stop.

After hours of agony, trying to reach him, and calling all his friends, you got the same useless response: he was unreachable, and they had no idea where he could be.

Three hours.

You sat there for three hours, sick with worry about him, when you were the one who needed care, only to end up taking the bus home. So much for the excitement and anticipation of him picking you up for the first time. You should have been furious, but the pounding headache and rising fever stole that from you. Another heavy sigh escaped your lips, the disappointment of what should have been an exciting Friday evening turning into an utter disaster.

"Enough, my darling. I'm here now, am I not?" said Kim Hongjoong.

The audacity.

You had left work to be greeted by a heavy downpour, cursing yourself for not bringing an umbrella. As if things couldn't get worse, your sprint to the bus stop where he promised to pick you up was interrupted when your heel chose that moment to snap. You yelped in pain, stumbling forward onto the wet ground, your belongings scattering everywhere. Crawling on the rough pavement to collect them, you finally stood up, only to feel a sharp throb in your ankle.

But it was supposed to be okay because seeing Hongjoong was sure to make everything better.

Ha, bitch you thought.

He left you panicking like a mad woman for hours, only to show up in the most infuriating way. When the 8pm bus finally rolled to a stop before you and the automated doors swooshed opened, you were busy dialling his number yet again.

"Come on, pick up pick up pick up—"

Wait a minute, is that...?

You did a double take when the very person you had been desperately trying to reach this whole time stepped off the bus with a sheepish smile, only for his expression to fall when he saw the miserable state you were in.

"Please throw your phone away if you have no intention of using it," you said flatly, walking past him and intentionally bumping his shoulder as you boarded the bus, no longer caring if he followed.

Of course, he did.

He cursed under his breath, noticing your limp, the heels in your hand, and your soaked, shivering form.

Settling into the last row of seats beside you, he quickly took off his jacket and wrapped it around you. You were too weak to fight back or refuse. His heart ached as he pulled you close, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. Silently, you accepted it all. Not only were you too exhausted to reject his gestures, but you also felt you deserved this and more after what you had endured. When you were warm enough, he immediately checked on your now swollen and bruised ankle, careful not to hurt you. The concern in his eyes was enough to melt your heart, but he didn't need to know that.

Once he was done fussing over you, he leaned back in his seat, offering his shoulder. Stubbornly, you turned away and leaned your head against the window instead. Knowing you needed time to calm down, he kept quiet and let you be, but not without staying close. He needed you to know he was there for you.

When you sighed again, he could no longer take it. He felt the need to explain himself.

"I know you're mad, and you have every right to be," he began, his voice soft and sincere. "I messed up, and I'm so sorry. I got caught up in something I couldn't get out of, and I swear I was going to call you, but my phone died and the stupid car broke down. God, I'm such an idiot. I should have tried harder to reach you or get to you sooner."

Still, you said nothing, your silence more punishing than any words you could have spoken. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss.

"I love you," he whispered, almost to himself. "I just want to make things right."

For a moment, you softened, but the memory of the cold rain and the throbbing pain in your ankle kept your resolve firm. He had to understand the gravity of his actions.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can't just show up and expect everything to be okay, Joong. You scared me. I thought something terrible had happened to you. And all the while, I was the one who was hurt and alone."

"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "And I'm so, so sorry, my darling. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you."

You turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he got on the bus. The sincerity and regret in his gaze were undeniable.

"One chance, Kim Hongjoong," you said firmly. "Don't mess it up."

He nodded, relief washing over his face. "I won't. I promise."

With that, you leaned back against the window, still not ready to forgive, but willing to see if he could truly make amends. And for the rest of the ride, he stayed close, his presence a silent vow that he would try his best to make things right.

As you slowly drifted to sleep, he guided your head to his shoulder, gently pressing his cheek against your forehead. Feeling your breath steady and the tension ease from your body, he allowed himself a small, relieved smile. He reached for your cold hands, stroking his fingers against your skin to warm you, finding it funny how he used to judge couples in public, but now that he had you, he realised he couldn't blame them—you were all that mattered.

The truth was, he had been late leaving work today, and to make matters worse, his car had broken down in the middle of heavy traffic. When he tried to call you, his phone had died. In desperation, he had caught the quickest bus he could find, but traffic had been relentless. He could have told you all of this, but he didn’t want to make excuses. He knew he should have done better.

Hongjoong glanced down at you, his heart aching with tenderness and guilt. He was still clumsy when it came to love, but for you, he would learn to be a better lover. Stroking your hair gently, he whispered, "I’m so sorry. I won't make you wait again. I promise to do better. I promise to always be there for you."

The bus ride continued in peaceful silence, the hum of the engine and the occasional jostle of the road the only sounds. He held you close, vowing silently to never let you down again. As the bus neared your stop, he adjusted his position, cupping your cheek softly and kissing your head, whispering, "We're here, darling."

You let out a small groan as your eyes fluttered open, unconsciously snuggling closer to his warmth and comfort as you tried to register your surroundings. If only you knew what your little actions did to his poor heart. Tightening his grip around you, he helped you up from your seat and carefully guided you out of the bus, ensuring you didn't put pressure on your injured ankle. The driver gave you a sympathetic nod as the two of you stepped off. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the night was calm.

As you walked the short distance to your shared apartment, you suddenly remembered what had happened and peeled his hands off you. You weren't necessarily cold to him but you still needed space to cool off. He gulped, his fear of losing you was apparent. "Please, you're hurt. Let me take care of you."

To be fair, he knew he deserved your reaction. You weren't upset merely because of what happened today; he believed this was you letting out all the frustration you had kept in for the entirety of your one-year relationship. And he knew now that if he wanted to keep you by his side, this was his sign to take things more seriously.

No more excuses.

You had been nothing but the best and most attentive girlfriend to him. So, what was stopping him from doing the same for you?

He knew you didn't want to be near him right now, but he also didn't have the heart to stay away. Offering his hand, he nodded toward it. "Come, let's go home."

Tired out of your mind, you swallowed your anger, deciding to save it for another time. For now, you needed him. You reached out with a pout, surprising him by holding onto his pointer finger. "Fine, let's go."

He chuckled, his heart bursting with affection at how cute you were. This was better than nothing. Walking slowly, he made sure you weren't hurting yourself, each step a reminder of his promise to himself and you.

As you entered your apartment, he helped you settle onto the couch, your injured ankle elevated and cushioned. He fetched a blanket and wrapped it around you, his eyes filled with concern. "I'll make us some tea," he said softly, heading to the kitchen.

While he prepared the tea, you watched him move with a newfound determination. You could see he was trying, truly trying, to be better for you. And that thought, more than anything, began to melt the icy wall you had momentarily built up in your heart.

He returned with two steaming mugs, setting them on the table before sitting beside you. He took your hand gently, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin. "I know I have a lot to make up for," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise, I will. You mean everything to me."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the honesty and love there. It was a start, and as you sipped your tea together, you felt a glimmer of hope that things could truly change.

Just as you finished your tea, you sighed and looked up at him, intending to get up and head to your room. But before you could move, he gently squeezed your hand and stood up. "Let me help you," he insisted, his voice gentle yet firm.

You hesitated, feeling torn between wanting to assert your independence and appreciating his newfound care. "I can manage," you insisted weakly.

"I know you can, darling," he replied softly, crouching beside you. "But let me take care of you this time, please."

His sincerity was palpable, and despite your initial resistance, you found yourself nodding. He carefully helped you to your feet, supporting your weight as you limped towards your room. Once inside, he waited patiently as you freshened up and changed into dry clothes, his presence a reassuring warmth in the quiet of the room.

As you emerged, feeling somewhat more composed, you glanced at him gratefully. "Thank you, Joong," you murmured, genuinely touched by his unexpected tenderness.

He smiled softly, his eyes reflecting relief and determination. "It's only my job as your boyfriend," he replied earnestly.

Returning to the living room, you settled back onto the couch together. The warmth of his tea and his presence beside you enveloped you in a sense of security and hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, things could indeed change for the better between you.

You couldn't deny his affections any longer, his pleading look was enough to melt you into his embrace. As he gently pulled the throw blanket snugly around you, drawing you closer, your heart fluttered. His actions conveyed a heartfelt apology, reminding you why you could never leave this man, no matter how tiring things became. At the end of the day, you both belonged to each other, despite his occasional clumsiness; your love remained steadfast.

Nuzzling against his neck, you breathed in his familiar scent. "How's the car? Have you contacted insurance?" you murmured, slipping effortlessly into the role of the attentive girlfriend he knew so well.

With a tender smile, he shook his head. "Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. Take care of everything. Take care of you."

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you tightened your grip on his sweater. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Kim Hongjoong," you teased gently.

He reassured you with a squeeze of your shoulder. "I won't, my darling. Not anymore."

Looking up at your boyfriend, you could see the honesty in his eyes. You knew perfection wasn't guaranteed from this point onward, but you at least trusted that he would always give his best effort.

And that was what mattered most.

"If you say so," you whispered, your eyes closing as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. Hongjoong understood your doubts, but this was where he would begin to earn your trust.

From now on, he would do everything to be the lover you deserved. He would learn from his mistakes and grow, all for the sake of the person he loved most in the world.

I swear, this came out of nowhere lmfao. I was supposed to be working on Jongho's TWTHH spinoff but this happened. Tbf, this has been swirling in my mind for the past week at work because something similar happened to me. I was soaked in the rain and my heel did snap. The 3-hour wait was also a past experience of mine, except that douchebag was no Kim Hongjoong HAHA

Thank you for reading and I hope you lovelies enjoyed this random little oneshot. As always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

FD,AU

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 594

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smut, explicit content, answering the phone while having sex, mild spanking. let me know if i missed anything.

a/n: listen, i'm trying to come up with new stuff but it's really hard for me rn, so pls enjoy this other orphaned work from ao3 that i'm bringing back here bc i'm an idiot. k thenks ilysm. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged and appreciated ♡

Bucky has you face down, ass up, fucking into you roughly. He’s dragging moans and whimpers from deep within you, hitting all the right places. He brings his hand down to smack your ass. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching around his cock.

You hear him chuckle behind you. He does it again, and again, sending your pleasure soaring higher and higher. You’re sure your orgasm is just on the cusp… when his phone rings. Obviously, you expect him to ignore it. You don’t expect him to slam into you, and then pause suddenly.

“No, no,” you whine, trying to wriggle your hips to get him moving again as your pleasure winds down to a low hum.

He shushes you, squeezing your hip. You see his arm reach to the side where his phone rests on the sheets. You watch, bewildered, as he presses a button and lifts it to his ear.

“This is James,” he says as he answers.

You throw a wild look his way, silently asking him what the fuck he’s doing. His lips tilt up in a half grin. 

“Oh, Mr. Hudson, so nice to hear from you,” he greets pleasantly, at the same time he drags his cock out slowly. He thrusts back in and continues. “I hadn’t expected a call until tomorrow.” A pause. “No, I’m not busy. What do you need?”

He lazily fucks you as he holds a conversation with the supposed Mr. Hudson, and all you’re able to do is lie there and take it. You do your best to be quiet, lest the man on the other end of the phone hear you and therefore what James is doing to you, but Bucky gives you a rough thrust, his cock hitting a spot that makes you cry out. He quickly bends, wrapping his hand around your mouth, but still never stopping his thrusting. 

Your breathing turns harsh, little moans coming out muffled against his hand. He shoves his phone between his cheek and shoulder, using his now free hand to pull you up until your back is pressed against his chest.

“Sure, we can set up a meeting. When is best for you?”

With one hand still covering your mouth, his other slides down your torso until it slips between your legs, his fingers setting a quick rhythm on your clit. You whimper as you throw your head back to rest it on his shoulder. 

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then, sir.”

He’s barely hung up the phone when he tosses it on the mattress. He fucks you hard and fast, pinching at your nipples and biting marks into your neck and shoulder. You’re a mess; noises being wrenched from you, sweat dripping down your back. Bucky’s panting against your skin as he gets closer and closer to climax. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says breathlessly. 

A few more thrusts and you gasp, back arching, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, and then your body shudders, thighs shaking and trying to close around his hand. He groans as you clench around him, his rhythm faltering before he, too, stills. His hands surely leave bruises where they’re gripping you, but you’ll wear them with pride. 

You both catch your breath for a moment, but then you reach behind you and pinch his thigh. 

“Ow! What was that for?” he asks, rubbing at the sore spot.

“If you ever pull that shit again, I’ll punch you in the dick,” you threaten halfheartedly.

He laughs and kisses you on the cheek, winking when you glare at him over your shoulder.

[drchucktingle]

heres to working outside the frame

i have had interesting artistic battle recently WITHIN MYSELF. a question of ‘should i make this big swing within this particular piece of art or should i play it safe and steady?' book in question is BURY YOUR GAYS and i have decided to take the big swing but i want to say why

wont give anything away but theres something in book that i know will be divisive however artistically i think it is exciting and new and speaks to the art. i know this going in (in same way i knew ending of camp damascus would be divisive but theres artistic reason for choice)

but still i was torn on this choice. this is BIG SWING after all. what put me over the edge is this: artistically this is something that ONLY I CAN DO right now in this moment. nobody else could put this in a book but me and that is exciting. so i decided YES. but heres the thing

when YOU are making your art, YOU are also making these choices. you are making decisions to stay on the worn path or to curve off in a way that ONLY YOU CAN DO. and while there is no wrong choice here, i am writing to encourage you to CARVE THAT NEW TROT THAT IS UNIQUE TO YOU

artistically this is a good idea but ALSO from business side consider this: every day there is more ai slop and sludge pouring out at faster rate. worn path was already crowded and now it is infinitely stuffed with heartless mud in a frame. fortunately YOU ARE OUTSIDE THE FRAME

you cant separate art from artist because art does not end at the frames edge or the movies runtime or the books last page. it is everything outside of that, the story and experience of how it got to your hands and what happens after. art is ALL of this. it is literally you

ai slop is all INSIDE the frame. it is not your story because it has no story. YOU wield the feeling someone gets when they learn your way and why you made what you did. which brings me back to beginning: when you reach artistic crossroads i say make the choice ONLY YOU can make

because even if those choices do not work or otherwise fail, AT LEAST THEY SOAR ABOVE THE SLOP. either way you risk missing the mark but path less traveled (that only YOU can take) will roar with fire and light and excitement. your uniqueness can SHATTER every frame, so use it

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XIII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

Azriel had spent months planning it, desperate for every detail to be just right. Mating flights were an Illyrian tradition, most males crafting routes from the female’s family home to the home they will move into as a married couple. Azriel had gone a step further. Several steps, actually.

The flight had lasted hours, with several stops along the way. It began in the cabin in Illyria, your first home. Azriel felt like it was right - the both of you had grown up there, albeit in different centuries. He hardly knew much of you as you grew up - your father kept him incredibly busy for the first few centuries of his life, so much so that when the bond snapped when you were fifty, Azriel had only seen you a handful of times.

The two of you had flown through the dark skies, holding hands and synchronizing the flapping of your wings to make a beautiful song, imitating the beat of the bond in your chests. The first few stops were at various restaurants and the places you spent the most time together - the flower shop Azriel frequented, your favorite bookstore. 

The two of you spent a while following the Sidra, allowing its cold water to splash against the both of you as you flew close to it before shooting back up into the sky, laughter mixing with the sloshing sounds beneath.

Your father, High Lord of the Night Court, had not been pleased that you had mated an Illyrian male. He had hoped he could tie you to someone who could provide him with more advantageous political ties. But he accepted the mating nonetheless, reluctantly answering your pleas to allow Azriel more time off to tend to you.

The familiar sight of your apartment came into view, and you began flapping your wings once more, pivoting to make a downward slope, but Azriel’s soft grasp on your hand kept you gliding through the air, passing the street the two of you lived on, continuing your flight over the people of Velaris. He felt your confusion ripple through him, but he sent coaxing love down the bond to soothe.

The two of you moved up in the sky, soaring over the buildings, passing over the roof of one building and immediately feeling something soft falling on you. He watched you look up, searching the sky for rain, only for your ears to ring with the screams of joy from your family - Morrigan, Rhysand, and Cassian stood on a nearby rooftop throwing petals at the two of you. 

Your giggles filled Azriel’s ears as he watched Cassian wind his arm back, attempting to reach the two of you with his petals as you got further away, his last throw unsuccessful. It was better than the threat Rhysand had made about following the two of you on your flight, his offer to serenade you two quickly declined.

Azriel led you to the outskirts of Velaris, your path following the Sidra to a house on the bottom of the mountain. Azriel began banking, and you followed suit. Once he landed, you crashed into him, letting him catch you instead of landing on your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, trying to steady you but ultimately failing, the two of you landing in the tall grass, his back hitting the ground as an oomph escaped from his chest.

“Why do you do this?”

You poked his nose, straddling his waist as his wings cocooned around the two of you. “Because I think it’s funny.”

“I didn’t know you shared Cassian’s terrible sense of humor.”

You threw your head back laughing, and Azriel felt the warmth seep into his chest at the sound, the gentle beat of his heart going ‘I’m yours’, ‘you’re mine’, with each pump of the organ. He sat up, bringing you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he stood and carried you through the tall grass.

“Where are we?” Shadows caressed your hair, pulling stray pieces of grass that had made their way to your head.

“You’ll see.”

He walked up the hill, your face moving this way and that to take a peek at what was behind you, his large wings moving each way you turned to block your view. Your own wings responded by blocking his view, but his steps didn’t falter until he stopped and whispered into your ear, “look.”

He felt the chills you got through the bond, the sensation rippling through his body at his words. The bond was still so new - the only people he knew in his life to have one was your father and mother, a male Azriel despised seeing, a female he adored with every fiber of his being. It had been a year since it snapped - you had told Azriel of the bond one night, and despite your forwardness about it and his own lack of feeling it, he had assumed you would reject it.

He was pleasantly surprised when, instead, you had asked him to go out to dinner. At your invitation, Azriel spent the next few weeks courting you, going through the proper channels of wanting to marry a princess of the Night Court. Which included the shitshow of telling Rhysand, who promptly threw Azriel in a lake.

Your brother was fine afterward, the sight of Azriel dripping like a wet dog enough to calm down his overbearing instincts, offering congratulations once Azriel was within hearing range once more. Azriel had returned the favor nearly two centuries later when they all found out Rhys and Feyre were mates. It only felt right after all.

Before the pair of you stood a piece of land that truthfully wasn’t impressive from the onset. But this past Starfall Azriel had disappeared for a few hours, coming back scattered in the colors that streaked the sky, some poor excuse on his tongue for why he was missing.

And now you knew why.

He had been flying through the sky, catching the colors in jars, vials, and anything he could keep contained, the jars and vials now laid out before you on this plot of land, outlining a massive square with several additional lines, like plans to a house.

“Az, I-”

His hand stroking your arm shushed you, and you clambered out of his arms, moving toward the lights. The greens and blues and silvers you had watched streak the sky a few months ago laid out before you, telling you the story of a life not yet lived, a home not yet made.

You pulled him to you, his lips warm in contrast to the cool night air. His wings wrapped around yours, mirroring the arms that wrapped around your shoulders.

The two of you spent the night laying out on a blanket, reviewing the blue prints Azriel had brought along. How you wanted a big, open house with lots of rooms, but small enough to be cozy. 

The two of you debated for hours that night about the ins and outs of the house, arguments that lasted as the home was built. Opinions the two of you turned into competitions, roping Cassian, Rhysand, and Mor into them, ignoring Amren because she would always skew her vote toward whoever was losing to keep the competition alive.

Azriel was shaken from his dream, the memories of the past flowing in and out of his head as he slumbered to feel a tugging in his chest. His shadows swarmed him, yanking him from the bed, desperate for him to be moving. 

He stumbled out of bed through the darkness, his shadows throwing him a pair of pants and stepping into them as he walked hurriedly. He moved past the dresser, the one with a few jars of stardust buried beneath coats and blankets, a desperate attempt to keep their light. He made it through his door when you came out of your own, running into his bare chest, arms pinned in between your bodies.

“Are you okay?”

Azriel couldn’t get the words out fast enough - you were distressed, that much was obvious. Your hair was out of the bun you had fallen asleep in, your nightgown drenched in sweat, and you were covered in goosebumps. Azriel reached out, trying to wrap his arms around you to get you to go back into your room, but you kept squirming in his grasp, muttering something about Rhys.

Azriel called for him in his mind, a desperate plea for him to wake up, soft shushing sounds coming from his throat to calm you down, doing little to help your cries. The two of you waited several minutes until Azriel heard footsteps from behind him. He felt Rhys approaching from behind, peering at you over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

At Rhys’s voice, your head snapped up, red rimmed violet eyes peering up at him. You started pointing at him, voice full of determination. “I need your help, please.”

Rhys had slipped into Azriel’s mind, asking what was happening, and left quickly at Azriel’s less than helpful I don’t know.

“Anything in my power, I’ll do.”

“I need you to look into my mind.” Azriel’s arms stiffened around you, the mood quickly shifting in the dark hallway. 

“Some male followed me through Velaris. He gave me this really weird sensation. I didn’t-” You gulped down air, Azriel’s hand stroking down your back in rhythm with your breathing. “I forgot about it but he- I dreamt about him again- he’s not good, I just know it.”

Azriel didn’t have to turn to hear Rhys’s long sigh.

“I’m sure he wasn’t following you.”

Rhys didn’t think it was a great time to tell you or Azriel that he had hired someone in Velaris to keep track of you. He lived across the street from Rhys’s River House, a male Rhys has known for a long time. One of the few Velaris citizens to fight when the city was attacked a few years ago, he knew this male could protect you if need be. 

He also knew you would not handle it well if Azriel or himself were caught following you through the streets of Velaris. 

Azriel stiffened at the High Lord’s dismissals of your fears, but he didn’t know what to make of the situation either. Was it just a bad dream? Or had you really seen someone?

“Can you really read minds?”

Rhys nodded, a solemn look on his face, a stark contrast to the hope in your voice. “Then, look into mine! You’ll see him!”

“I can’t.”

Your face fell at the admission. “Why not? I’m giving you permission?”

Rhys sighed, looking around the hallway as if he could find the words on the walls. “You know how you.. Feel people? Their emotions?”

You nodded, eyes wild, not sure where he was going with this. Azriel’s grip on you tightened, well aware of what Rhysand was going to tell you. “Well, I can do something similar. I can gauge people’s minds - if they have mental shields, and sometimes strong thoughts wander into my own.”

Azriel watched him look at you, a sadness settling over his gaze. “When you first came here, I wanted to see how your own shields were, so in a way it’s like I poked you to see if you had any defenses.”

Your eyebrows knitted, not really understanding what he was saying. “But I don’t have mental shields.”

“You do. You just don’t know how they got there. Your mind is like an unkept estate - there are twisting vines and several layers hiding it from even the most powerful of daemati.”

Your mouth twisted, and Azriel felt an air of defeat cover you all before Feyre approached, her steps soft but loud enough to not be a surprise.

“But I swear, this guy I saw in town. He- I don’t know, something was wrong.”

Your words were jumbled, your form shaking in Azriel’s arms. His hand rested on the top of your head, moving back and forth in a soothing, petting motion.

A muscle memory.

One he didn’t know his hands remembered.

One he didn’t realize he was doing until you started calming in his arms.

“When did you see this male?” Your breath shuttered and Azriel felt heat pooling as you wrapped your arms around his torso, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“When we- were out in town.”

Azriel felt Rhys bouncing off his shields, desperate for a way in, your admission news to Rhys.

“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, sweetheart.” The name slipped from his lips, and Rhys was throwing his entire weight at Azriel’s shields, the shadowsinger planting his feet to focus on his shields.

“What if you came with me and I tried to paint them?” You peeked out from Azriel’s chest, looking at Feyre over his shoulder, nodding softly. 

A hole in his chest opened as you untangled yourself from him, his shadows lightly grazing your body, trying to keep you to him, but you walked through them, oblivious to their attempts to get you to stay. His body went colder as you walked away, Feyre wrapping an arm around you as she guided you down the hallway.

Azriel didn’t move until he heard the click of a door, and even then his movements weren’t of his own volition. Rhys had grabbed him by the back of his neck like a poorly behaved dog and dragged him back into Azriel’s room, the soft shut of the door a juxtaposition to Rhys’s manhandling.

“Sweetheart?” It wasn’t a question if Rhys’s growl was anything to go by.

Azriel gritted his teeth. “It slipped out.”

“And you went out into town with her?”

Azriel ticked his jaw, pulling his shadows tight around himself. “Feyre told her she could go into the city.”

“What?”

A new darkness crept through the room, pulling the oxygen from the room, the weight of the dark crushing for a second before Rhys reeled it back into himself.

“I’ll speak with Feyre about that later.”

The two stared at each other, Rhys’s violet eyes practically glowing in the darkness, his anger rolling off of him in waves the shadowsinger could practically see if he squinted.

“Rhys, do you really think someone followed her?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed his face, sure that if he could get into her mind he would see Damian following her through the city. “It might have been someone who recognized her. It’s been a few centuries, but I’m sure several people would recognize her.”

“Wouldn’t they have approached her?”

Rhys shook his head, “I don’t think so. If anyone did recognize her, I think they’d stay back. The wings being gone are a bit confusing for them.”

Azriel nodded, looking at his shadows that crept in beneath the door, updating him on your time with Feyre. “I don’t like her being out in Velaris alone right now.”

“I don’t either.” Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But she trusts Feyre and we can’t go back on what Feyre told her.”  

Azriel growled, “would you really allow her to leave if she wanted to?”

“Of course not. At least, not until she knows the full truth.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Whatever that even is anymore.”

Author’s note: what’s going on 👀👀

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blogand

Thanks for reading ❣️

[gyorouis]

𐙚 HE GETS ME SO HIGH.

— he stands there, asking "would you accept kisses for a lemonade?"

genre: fluff, hint of angst (they're just oblivious), childhood friends to lovers trope

pairing: chf!beomgyu x chf!reader (afab)

warning: none

wordcount: 6.3k (what the hell)

now playing: beabadoobee — he gets me so high ୨ৎ

"give those shrimps to me," you say, slowly spooning the shrimps from beomgyu's plate. he nods, unfazed, and reaches over to take a sip from your lemonade. the cool drink contrasts with the warmth of the food, and he smirks at you, a silent understanding passing between you two. 

you have been friends with beomgyu since what feels like an eternity. it all began when you were both still preschoolers. your family had just moved into a new house, and everyone was busy with the hustle and bustle of unpacking and arranging. you, being the only one without a task, decided to spend your time outside.

the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily. you were lost in the joy of watching birds soar across the sky, their wings cutting through the air with graceful ease. you smiled to yourself, trying to count how many had flown past the tall, sturdy tree in your yard, its leaves rustling gently in the breeze. 

suddenly, a sharp "psst!" broke your concentration. you looked around, searching for the source of the sound, and your eyes landed on a boy, likely your age. he was taller than you, with dark brown hair that framed his round, doe-like eyes. he wore a pink sleeveless hoodie that complemented his fair skin perfectly. his lips curled into a sheepish smile, revealing a hint of shyness and curiosity.

you furrow your brow, trying to ignore him. "i know you saw me. don’t you dare ignore me," he insists, his small hand resting on his waist, his gaze piercing.

"is that how you welcome your new neighbour?" you quip, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes.

"this is my first time having a neighbour. i have no friends," he admits softly.

to an outsider, your heated exchange might seem like an argument, but it's simply the distance between you that amplifies your voices. "you know you can come into our yard. stop shouting," you offer, a playful tease that elicits a wide grin from him. with that, he dashes towards you, his laughter echoing in the air.

“you’re my friend now.” he said, panting and holding out his hands for you to shake, what a peculiar way to befriend someone, you thought.

“are you desperate to have friends?” you said without accepting his hands. “no, it just so happen that the neighbor is empty, i have a few friends from the racing club where my dad always goes.” he said.

“you’re quite mouthful.” you said chuckling, “you’re quite mean and brat” he fires back, turning your sweet chuckles into unrestrained laughter.

“my mom is baking lemon squares, would you like some?” you said, inviting him inside your house. 

that's how your friendship with beomgyu started. since then, you would always play in either of your houses' yards, often with the kitchen set you once cried to your mom to have because your classmate had it. you both spent countless afternoons pretending to cook gourmet meals, giggling as you mixed imaginary ingredients and served each other invisible dishes.

the yard was your playground and sanctuary. in the spring, the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and you would run barefoot on the soft, green grass, playing tag until you were breathless with laughter. beomgyu would sometimes bring his toy cars, and you'd build elaborate tracks in the dirt, racing each other to see who had the fastest vehicle.

during the hot summer days, you'd set up a lemonade stand, hoping to make a few pennies from the neighbours. your makeshift booth, decorated with hand-drawn signs, was the source of endless joy and pride. beomgyu always managed to charm the customers with his infectious smile and cheerful demeanor, while you diligently squeezed lemons and counted the change.

in autumn, the fallen leaves became your treasure. you and beomgyu would take them into giant piles and take turns jumping into them, the crisp leaves crunching beneath your weight. sometimes, you'd pretend to be explorers in a foreign land, with the yard transforming into a vast, uncharted territory full of hidden wonders.

even in the cold winter months, your friendship didn't wane. bundled up in thick coats and scarves, you'd brave the chill to build snow forts and have epic snowball fights. when your fingers and toes grew numb, you'd retreat inside to warm up with hot cocoa, sitting by the fireplace and planning your next great adventure.

as you both grew older and entered grade school, your bond only grew stronger. you partnered up for school projects, sharing secrets and dreams during lunch breaks. beomgyu’s charm and kindness made him popular among your classmates, and it wasn't long before people started to take notice of him. his friendly nature drew others in, and you often found yourself surrounded by new friends because of him.

by middle school, beomgyu had become the unofficial leader of your group of friends. he had an effortless way of making everyone feel included, and his laughter was infectious. you continued to share everything with him – your worries, your dreams, and your plans for the future. it was during these years that you both discovered your interests and passions. you found a love for writing, crafting stories and poems with emotional and descriptive language, while beomgyu excelled in sports and music.

high school brought new challenges and adventures. beomgyu joined the school's soccer team and a band, quickly becoming a star player and a talented musician. his popularity soared, and it seemed like everyone had a crush on him. you often found yourself playing the role of a mediator, as classmates approached you to get closer to beomgyu. they would ask for his favorite snacks, his schedule, or even tips on how to talk to him. you didn't mind at all – perhaps, that’s what you thought.

your friendship remained unwavering despite the attention he received. beomgyu always made time for you, whether it was studying together for exams, attending school dances, or simply hanging out at your favorite café. you both supported each other's dreams and aspirations, cheering each other on through every success and failure.

as graduation approached, you both faced the daunting task of deciding your future paths. you applied to colleges with strong writing programs, while beomgyu auditioned for music schools and sports scholarships. the thought of possibly going to different schools was bittersweet, but you knew that your bond was strong enough to withstand the distance.

watching beomgyu have his growing popularity and the small crushes people had on him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. he handled it all with grace and humility, never letting it change who he was at his core. you admired his ability to stay true to himself, even as everyone around him seemed to be fighting for his attention.

college acceptance letters arrived, and you were thrilled to be accepted into your top choice for its renowned writing program. beomgyu received multiple offers as well, and after much consideration, he chose a school with both a strong music department and a competitive soccer team. though you would be attending different colleges, you promised to stay in touch and visit each other whenever possible.

these were the times like this, both of you slumped on your apartment's worn, yet cozy couch, surrounded by the aroma of home-cooked meals. the table before you was a feast of your favorite shrimp pasta and beomgyu’s beloved carbonara, accompanied by your signature lemonade, its tangy sweetness a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

"those times where we played cooking sure do help you become this good," beomgyu remarked, a playful grin on his face as he twirled his fork in the creamy pasta.

"it comes out naturally," you replied with a shrug, though secretly pleased by his compliment.

"how is it going with soobin, anyway?" he asked, referring to your blockmate who had become a close friend during your college years.

"we're good friends," you said, your voice a bit too casual as you avoided his teasing gaze.

"you're so boring. come on, tell me about it!" he persisted, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

you took a deep breath, your mind racing. how could you begin to tell him? what would you even say? that whenever you were with soobin, all you talked and blabbed about was him? that your lunchtime conversations with soobin often revolved around beomgyu, your little crush on him since third grade? since that summer you were selling your good old lemonade, and he cheekily asked if you accepted kisses as payment for a lemonade? no way, you wouldn't want to talk about it, not with him.

having soobin had been a relief because he was the only person who knew about your little crush on beomgyu.

"i'm telling the truth!" you lied, attempting to sound convincing.

"whatever, keep that romance in you then," he said, rolling his eyes and digging back into his food.

you returned your attention to the television. flipped was playing – a movie you had both watched countless times since high school. its familiar scenes unfolded on the screen, a comforting backdrop to your thoughts.

your eyes darted to your lap when beomgyu absentmindedly flopped his legs on top of yours, his weight warm and reassuring. beomgyu and his antics never failed to make your heart race like a marathon winner.

"you're so gross, get your legs off of me," you said, pushing his legs off to save yourself from a heart attack.

"don't act like we didn't shower together until second grade," he said, flicking your forehead with a mischievous smile.

you shot him a look, a deadly one, before turning your head to hide your flushed cheeks, which had turned a deep shade of tomato-red.

"you’re so easy to fluster," he teased, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. "but seriously, i’m glad we still get to do this. college has been crazy, but hanging out with you feels like home."

"same here," you murmured, your heart swelling with a mix of fondness and unspoken longing.

the movie played on, and the room filled with a comfortable silence. you glanced at beomgyu, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. he was still the same beomgyu you’d known since childhood, yet somehow different – more mature, more confident. you wondered if he ever felt the same way about you, if he ever thought about those summers spent selling lemonade or the countless afternoons playing pretend.

as the credits rolled, beomgyu stretched and yawned. "i should get going. early practice tomorrow," he said, getting up and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

"yeah, don’t want to keep you," you replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

"hey," he said, turning to look at you with a soft smile. "thanks for dinner. it was really good, as always."

"no problem," you said, returning his smile.

he leaned in and gave you a quick hug, his arms warm and comforting around you. "see you soon?"

"definitely," you promised, your heart aching a little as you watched him leave.

after he left, you sat back down on the couch, staring at the empty bowls and the remnants of your meal. your thoughts drifted back to soobin and your countless conversations about beomgyu. you knew you couldn’t keep your feelings hidden forever, but for now, you were content with the way things were. beomgyu was your best friend, and that was enough.

at least, that’s what you told yourself.

a week passed without the sight of beomgyu, and you couldn't deny missing him for the past few days. you missed seeing his doe eyes twinkle whenever he looked at you, the way his hair fell on his forehead, and his small teases that got you flustered every time. despite not seeing beomgyu in person, you still got to talk to him through the phone, sharing late-night calls where you talked about everything from your daily routines to you talking about your frustrations with writing, to silly stories that happens to you. those calls were a lifeline, a way to keep the connection strong even with the distance. each conversation reminded you why everyone adored him – his kindness, his humor, the way he made you feel seen and heard.

"what do you think?" your attention snapped back to soobin when he waved his hand in front of you. "you’re thinking about him again," he teased, a knowing smile on his face.

"shut up," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"what were you saying again?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation back.

"i was asking if you could come with me to this party," he said, showing you a picture of an invitation on his phone. it was a glossy card, elegantly designed with gold lettering. "taehyun's throwing it. you know, our blockmate? he’s friends with beomgyu too."

"didn't know they still do physical invitations these days," you said, examining the picture.

"i know, right? it's pretty old-school," soobin chuckled. "but it's supposed to be a big deal. lots of people from our department will be there. it'll be fun."

you considered his offer for a moment. a party could be a good distraction, a chance to clear your head and maybe even enjoy yourself. plus, it would be nice to spend some time with soobin outside of your usual routine.

"alright, i'll go with you," you agreed, smiling.

"great! it'll be fun, i promise," soobin said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "we'll meet at my place around 7?"

"sounds good," you nodded.

later that day, you decided to give beomgyu a call. you dialed his number, feeling a flutter of nerves as you waited for him to pick up.

"hey, you," his familiar voice came through the line, instantly soothing you.

"hey, beomgyu," you said, smiling. "so, there's this party at taehyun's place on friday. are you going?"

"taehyun's party? i heard about it," he replied, his tone regretful. "i don't think i can make it, though. things have been really hectic with the band and soccer practice. i'm swamped."

"oh," you said, unable to hide your disappointment. "that's too bad. it would have been nice to see you."

"i know," he said softly. "i miss you. but i'll make it up to you, i promise. we'll find some time to hang out soon."

"i'd like that," you replied, feeling a bit better. "take care of yourself, okay?"

"you too," he said. "have fun at the party."

the rest of the week flew by in a blur of classes and assignments. despite your best efforts, your thoughts often drifted back to beomgyu. you wondered what he was up to, if he missed you as much as you missed him. but you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the upcoming party.

when friday night arrived, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, debating what to wear. after much deliberation, you settled on a casual yet stylish outfit – a soft, oversized sweater paired with your favorite jeans and ankle boots. you wanted to look good, but not like you were trying too hard.

the party at taehyun's house was already in full swing by the time you arrived. the house was packed with people, the air filled with the hum of conversations and the beat of music. you stuck close to soobin, navigating through the crowd and making small talk with familiar faces.

"there's a drink station in the kitchen," soobin pointed out. "let's grab something."

you followed him into the kitchen, where a variety of drinks were laid out on the counter. as you poured yourself a soda, you couldn’t help but glance around, half-expecting to see beomgyu’s familiar face in the crowd.

"you okay?" soobin asked, handing you a cup.

"yeah, just... taking it all in," you said, forcing a smile.

"you'll have fun, i promise," he assured you, clinking his cup against yours.

as the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, even enjoying the party. you and soobin danced, laughed, and chatted with friends. it was a good distraction, a way to momentarily forget about the ache of missing beomgyu.

but as the evening drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. you stepped outside for some fresh air, leaning against the railing of the porch. the cool night air was a refreshing contrast to the lively atmosphere inside.

"mind if i join you?" soobin’s voice broke the silence.

"not at all," you replied, glancing at him as he leaned against the railing beside you.

"you’ve been a bit off tonight," he said gently. "is it because of beomgyu?"

you sighed, nodding. "i just... i miss him. it’s weird not having him around."

"i get it," soobin said. "but you know, he probably misses you just as much."

"maybe," you said, staring at the stars. "it’s just hard sometimes."

"hey," soobin nudged you lightly. "for what it’s worth, i think you’re handling it really well. and if you ever need to talk, i’m here."

"thanks, soobin," you said, smiling at him.

"anytime," he replied, his smile warm and reassuring.

as you stood there, the cool night air wrapping around you, you felt a bit better. the party had been a good distraction, and soobin's support meant a lot. you knew that no matter what happened, you had friends who cared about you.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to tell beomgyu how you really felt. but for now, you were content to take things one step at a time, surrounded by people who made your world a little brighter.

your mind was filled, and you didn't even realize you were drinking pretty heavily. just then, when you stood up to get another cup of drink and to find soobin, you realized you were drunk. your world was practically spinning now. "fuck," you muttered, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

you took a deep breath, trying to clear your head, but the room kept swaying. deciding it was best to find soobin and tell him you needed to go home, you carefully made your way through the crowded living room. each step felt like walking on a rocking boat, and you had to focus hard to keep from stumbling.

finally, you spotted soobin talking to some friends near the back of the house. you waved to get his attention, but your hand-eye coordination was off, and it came out as more of a flailing gesture.

"soobin!" you called out, your voice louder than you intended. he turned and immediately noticed your state, his smile fading into concern.

"hey, are you okay?" he asked, quickly making his way over to you.

"i think i've had too much to drink," you admitted, leaning heavily against him for support.

"let's get you some water and find a place for you to sit down," he said, guiding you to a quieter corner of the house. he handed you a bottle of water and watched as you took a few sips, the cool liquid helping to clear some of the fog in your mind.

"thanks, soobin," you said, your voice a bit steadier now.

"no problem," he replied, sitting down beside you. "do you want me to call you a ride home?"

you nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude. "yeah, that would be great."

as soobin pulled out his phone to arrange a ride, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. the sounds of the party seemed distant now, a muffled background noise to your swirling thoughts.

"hey, is she okay?" a familiar voice broke through your haze, and you opened your eyes to see taehyun standing there, his expression worried.

"yeah, she just had a bit too much to drink," soobin explained. "i'm getting her a ride home."

"do you need any help?" taehyun offered, looking between the two of you.

"i think we're good, but thanks," soobin replied with a small smile.

just then, your phone buzzed with a text. you fumbled to pull it out of your pocket, squinting at the screen. it was from beomgyu.

["hey, i finished practice early. how's the party? missing you."]

you couldn't help but smile at his message, the warmth of his words cutting through the fog. you quickly typed a reply, your fingers clumsy on the screen.

["wish you were here. i might have had a bit too much to drink. soobin's getting me a ride home."]

almost immediately, your phone buzzed again. ["wait there. i'm coming to get you."]

you stared at the message, your heart skipping a beat. beomgyu was coming? despite his hectic schedule, he was dropping everything to come to your rescue. the thought filled you with a mix of relief and affection.

"beomgyu's on his way," you told soobin, feeling a bit more at ease.

"that's good," soobin said, patting your shoulder. "he'll take care of you."

you nodded, leaning back and letting your eyes drift shut again. it felt like only a few minutes had passed before you heard beomgyu's voice.

"where is she?" his tone was urgent, and you opened your eyes to see him scanning the room. when he spotted you, his expression softened with relief.

"i'm here," you called out weakly, lifting your hand.

beomgyu rushed over and knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern. "are you okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"i'm better now that you're here," you admitted, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. the combination of alcohol and emotions was overwhelming.

"let's get you home," he said gently, helping you to your feet. with one arm securely around your waist, he guided you out of the house and to his car.

the cool night air was a welcome relief as you stepped outside. beomgyu helped you into the passenger seat, making sure you were comfortable before getting in on the driver's side. as he started the car, he glanced over at you, his expression softening.

"you scared me," he admitted quietly. "i hate seeing you like this."

"i'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling a wave of guilt. "i didn't mean to ruin your night."

"you didn't ruin anything," he assured you, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "i'm just glad i could be here for you."

the drive home was quiet, the streetlights passing by in a blur as beomgyu drive through the late-night traffic. you leaned against the passenger window, feeling the cool glass against your cheek as you tried to gather your thoughts.

"you're always nice, not just to me but with everybody," you murmured, your voice soft and slurred from the alcohol. "no wonder everybody likes you."

beomgyu glanced at you with a fond smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. "why? do youme like the way they do?" he teased gently, his tone playful yet sincere.

"maybe," you whispered, the words barely audible even to yourself. beomgyu turned to look at you, about to ask you to repeat yourself, but as he glanced over, he saw you already drifting off to sleep. your head had slumped against the car window, your breathing steady and calm.

"hey," he said softly, reaching over to gently adjust your head so it rested more comfortably against the headrest. he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you, peaceful and vulnerable in sleep. he drove the rest of the way in silence, stealing occasional glances at you, his heart warm with affection.

when he finally pulled up to your apartment building, beomgyu carefully unbuckled your seatbelt and gently lifted you into his arms. you stirred slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, but didn't wake. he carried you up to your apartment, his steps light and careful, not wanting to disturb your sleep.

inside, he laid you down on your bed, tucking a blanket around you with utmost tenderness. as he stood there, watching you sleep, he brushed a stray hair from your face, his fingertips lingering against your cheek.

as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you felt was the gentle press of beomgyu's lips against your forehead, and you knew, deep down, that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

you woke up from the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into your nostrils, slowly stirring from sleep. who could possibly be in your kitchen right now?

curiosity piqued, you tiptoed out of your bedroom and crept toward the kitchen. there, you saw broad shoulders moving skillfully as someone cooked. leaning against the wall, you observed quietly. his hair was tousled from bed, and he hummed softly while his head bobbed to an unheard rhythm, completely unaware of your presence.

a smile tugged at your lips. it was a rare treat to see beomgyu like this—casual, domestic, and utterly charming. you couldn't help but wonder, would he be like this if you weren't just friends, but lovers? the thought sent a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you quickly turned away, rushing back to your room to wash your face.

"fuck," you muttered to yourself, the cool water helping to clear your mind. "fuck it."

you were supposed to just have a crush on him, a harmless infatuation. not this—where you found yourself imagining him as more than a friend, your heart racing at the mere thought.

you went to your kitchen again, this time more prepared—or so you told yourself. you tried to erase the lingering thoughts from your mind.

"you're here?" you began, catching beomgyu's attention. "oh, you're awake. i've prepared coffee, just help yourself," he stated casually.

"yes, sir," you replied with a small smile, feeling a flutter in your chest at his easy presence.

you thanked him for last night and talked about what happened at the party and how his practice went. you watched him as he excitedly recounted the events of the practice game and the band, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. you couldn't help but wonder if his eyes always sparkled like that, your heart tugging at the thought.

his lips, ever so slightly pouting when he talked about losing his favorite guitar pick, seemed particularly inviting today, drawing your attention. you noticed how they curved into a smile when he caught you staring.

"do i have something on my mouth?" he asked, his voice teasing, making you flinch slightly and look into his eyes. "y-yeah, you've got ketchup on your lower lip. it's gross," you lied, your cheeks heating up.

his smile grew wider, amused. how could he have ketchup on his lips when he didn't even like ketchup in the first place? it was a detail you, of all people, had memorized.

playing along, he pretended to wipe whatever imaginary ketchup was on his lips. "what were you saying again?" you asked, trying to regain your composure.

beomgyu stayed the whole day to spend it with you. you were busy working on your work-in-progress plate while he played games on your pc. the hum of the computer and the clicking of his mouse filled the room, blending with the soft rustle of paper as you sketched. "don't you have practice today?" you asked as you stretched, your back sore from sitting too long. he paused his game for a moment, glancing over at you. "we don't, why?" he replied, his voice casual but his eyes curious.

"nothing, just asking," you added, trying to sound nonchalant as you returned to your work.

he nodded and fished his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie, checking it briefly. 13 unread messages, 5 missed calls. he pursed his lips and put his phone in airplane mode, pursing his lips before and shaking his head.

"what are we having for lunch?" he asked, drawing your attention. when you didn't answer immediately, he looked at you, finding you deep in thought. your pen was on your lips, which you nibbled absentmindedly as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration. you muttered a few words under your breath, trying to fit them into your writing.

beomgyu completely shifted his focus to you, his elbows resting on your pc table as he watched you intently. he knew you had a talent for writing, especially poems. memories of you helping him with his literature assignments in high school flashed in his mind. you always earned him straight As, and he kept all those assignments in his closet, casually reading them whenever he had time.

he was the one who pushed you to pursue writing. you were supposed to take another course because your parents said it wasn't practical. he remembered the day you cried to him about it, your tears glistening like stars in your eyes. without you knowing, he talked to your parents, telling them how much you loved writing and how he loved seeing your eyes light up whenever you shared your ideas with him. it was the same way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about you with his blockmate friend, kai.

he had no idea when or why it started, but he remembered one day when kai and he were discussing poems to get ideas for writing songs. his eyes lit up, and he began bragging about you and your writing. he was always like this, whether it was from pure adoration of his best friend or something deeper, he paid it no mind.

he remembered the smallest things about you and would insert your name into every conversation he had with kai. it sometimes made kai laugh at how oblivious beomgyu was about his feelings toward you. "you like her, don't you?" kai said to him once when beomgyu suddenly mentioned you while they were talking about their favorite online game. when they talked about valorant, his eyes lit up as he started talking about how you loved playing it. "you think?" he casually asked kai, as if liking you didn't bother him.

since then, he became more cautious of your reactions to him, trying to read you. he watched as you got flustered easily with his antics and remarks. at first, he thought it was just a natural occurrence whenever he teased you.

but he thought otherwise when he tried to put his hand on your chin once when you asked if you had something in your eye. it was hard for him—really hard—to focus on your eyes without suddenly wanting to brush his lips against yours. he witnessed how your cheeks changed from pale to bright pink, almost tomato-like.

that's when he realized that he wasn't the only one who got flustered at being this close. no one would get flustered with their friend's face this close, right? right. no one. he convinced himself.

"hey," you repeated, snapping beomgyu out of his thoughts. "hmm?" he responded, his brows lifting, eyes meeting yours with a gentle curiosity.

"i said, would you like to just order or should i cook?" you asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. he paused, considering, before his face broke into that familiar, heartwarming grin. "hmm, pizza?" your eyes sparkled  with excitement. "omg! yes, i love your brain so much," you exclaimed, the joy in your voice making beomgyu's smile widen. you hurried toward him, phone in hand, not thinking as you plopped down into his lap. his hands moved instinctively, wrapping around your waist steadying you. "hey, take it easy..." he chuckled, the sound of his laughter vibrating through you.

still unaware of how closely you were sitting, you held up your phone to show him the food options. "what would you like?" you asked eagerly, eyes bright with anticipation. "what are you having?" he asked, his gaze not on the phone but on your face. he loved watching you get excited over the simplest things. his eyes drifted down to his arms, wrapped snugly around you, and a soft blush spread across his cheeks at the thought of holding you like this every day.

"i'll have whatever you're having," beomgyu said, his voice tender "i'm having garlic shrimp," you said, looking at him. "hmm... it could work," he replied, surprising you. "really? you want to try seafood?" you asked, amused. "oh come on, don't act like i haven't eaten seafood at least once," he said, rolling his eyes and earning a sweet chuckle from you.

"how about drinks?" you asked again. "i miss your lemonade," he whispered, his head resting lightly against your back, his arms tightening around your waist as if he never wanted to let go.

"i still have a few lemons in the fridge. i'll make us some," you said. it was then you realized you were sitting in his lap. you shifted to look at beomgyu, who was now snuggling closer. you couldn't help but smile at him, feeling the urge to snuggle into him as well.

"are you sleepy?" you asked softly. he shook his head and looked up at you, his breath catching as he realized how close your faces were, your noses nearly touching. "...so close," you said, wide-eyed, trying to signal him to move back, but he didn't budge. "...hmm, so close," he whispered, his hot breath making you lose your own.

slowly, ever so slowly, beomgyu leaned in, his face mere inches from yours. his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all he found was your sparkling gaze, filled with a longing that mirrored his own. he took your gaze as consent, inching even closer. just as your lips were about to meet, the apartment doorbell rang. you jumped up from his lap, your heart racing. "that must be the food," you said, a slight tremor in your voice.

"i-i'll get it," you said, heading for your room when beomgyu's hand gently clasped yours. you turned back to him, his touch grounding you. "hey, don't panic. let me get it. you go make the lemonade," he said, his fingers softly brushing against your cheek.

his touch usually calmed you, but this time it sent your heart into overdrive. you shook your head, trying to steady the rush of emotions. "o-okay," you said, retreating to the kitchen, your mind swirling with the almost-kiss and to your fast heartbeat that you can literally hear.

lunch with beomgyu bordered on awkwardness. after that almost-kiss, neither of you had uttered a word, and now, as you ate, the silence stretched between you. a movie played in the background, but neither of you focused on the television. instead, both of you were lost in your own thoughts, replaying what had happened in the very room, thinking about what could have happened if the food hadn't arrived. beomgyu wanted to curse the food. no, he wanted to curse himself for being too slow to even brush his lips against yours.

you glanced at beomgyu, his expression thoughtful and distant. his fork pushed around the shrimp on his plate, not really eating. the tension in the air was palpable, making you squirm in your seat. you took a sip of your lemonade, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his arms around you, the way his breath had mingled with yours.

"beomgyu," you finally said, breaking the silence. your voice sounded tentative even to your own ears. he looked up, eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"yeah?" his voice was soft, almost cautious.

"about earlier..." you began, trailing off as you searched for the right words. his eyes darkened slightly, and he leaned forward, giving you his full attention.

"i'm sorry," he said suddenly, surprising you. "i shouldn't have... i mean, i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." his words tumbled out, and you could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

"no, it's not that," you said quickly, shaking your head. "it's just... i wasn't uncomfortable. i was just surprised, that's all." you bit your lip, trying to find the courage to say what you really felt. "beomgyu, i..."

"you what?" he prompted gently, his gaze unwavering.

"i've liked you for a long time," you blurted out, your cheeks burning. "since we were kids, really. and i guess i didn't realize just how much until recently." there, you said it. the truth was out in the open, and you felt both relieved and terrified.

he stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "i've felt the same way for so long, but i was too scared to say anything."

you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. "really?"

"really," he confirmed, his big hands found their way to your warm cheeks like it was fit to caress it "and about earlier... i'm glad the food came when it did. because now, we can do this properly." he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours.

"would you still accept kisses for a lemonade?" beomgyu asked, a wide grin on his lips.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the playful words from your childhood carrying so much weight now. "only if you're the customer," you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled, his gaze softening as he leaned closer. "i am," he murmured.

as the two of you came closer, it felt like the bridge of uncertainty had collapsed beneath you, leaving behind the years of pining and hesitation. in that moment, as your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss, it was as if everything had fallen into place. the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled longing dissolved, replaced by a warmth that spread from your intertwined hands to the depths of your hearts. each touch, each whispered confession, sealed the promise of something new and beautiful—something that had been quietly blossoming between you for years.

gyo's note: sacrificing my sleep to finish this is the best decision i've made so far >< your feedback will mean a lot for me and if you could, please reblog or i will cry. i hope you liked it if you made it to this part. xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[heartsforvin]

a fluffy one about reader having really bad/intense periods and vinnie being a sweetie pie?

COMFORT

loveeee this, especially since i experience intense camps sometimes 🥲 hope you enjoy !!

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: cussing, mentions of menstruation/ blood, use of pet names, mentions of intense cramps, lmk if i missed anything !

summary: period pain is no joke, especially for you, luckily vinnie’s by your side every second to comfort you through it

you woke up this morning ready to start the day and be productive, all that energy came to an end when you went to the bathroom and saw the red spot right in the middle of your underwear.

sighing, you grabbed your phone and texted your boyfriend to bring you a clean pair while you did what you had to do.

after that day you were basically glued to your bed, hunched over in pain as you had a glass of water on your nightstand, paired with ibuprofen.

a heating pad laid snug against your stomach as you tried to ignore the pain and watch the movie that was playing on the tv.

this was your worst time ever, mainly because you could barely stand because of the immense cramps you’d get.

you’d always text vinnie to come by if he wasn’t busy. you felt bad for always needing him, you knew he had stuff to get done.

he told you it was always no big deal and that you come first before anything.

so, that’s the thought that popped into your head as you picked up your phone and texted your boyfriend.

when he finally got to your house, he called out for you, which he knew you wouldn’t respond or even meet him in the doorway.

“baby,” he whispered softly as he saw you smile at him with the heating pad on you. “how are you feeling?”

you’re wrapped up in loose blankets, wearing a sports bra and pajama shorts, wanting to be the most comfortable you can get.

you give vinnie the same small smile. “hurts,” you moan out of pain when you feel your lower stomach grumble.

vinnie kicks off his shoes and takes off his sweatshirt, being left with nothing but his tattooed chest on full display.

your smile grows wider as you scoot to give him room on the bed. vinnie gets in and pulls you so your legs entangle with his and your head is on his chest.

this is how you’re most comfortable; skin to skin with your boy as he soothes almost all your pain away.

“what are we watchin’?” he asks as he starts to lightly scratch at your scalp, making you softly hum.

“tangled.” you reply, looking up at him with a smile.

vinnie leans closer so your lips are mere inches from each other, he smiles against your lips before kissing you softly.

everything melted away when he was with you. no pain, no worries, just you and your boy against the world.

that all faded when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen strike, pulling away from vinnie and hissing at the feeling.

“need anything, my love?” his tone was so gentle, so caring you could cry right then and there.

you shook your head, not needing anything but the pain to go away completely.

vinnie hummed and kissed the top of your head. before you could reach for him he had slipped out of the bed.

about a minute later he came back with a pint of your favorite ice cream in hand with two spoons.

a playful smile plastered across his face as he handed you one of the spoons and helped you sit up a bit on the bed.

“how’d you know?” the question was dumb, of course he knew what would make you feel better for mere minutes.

vinnie opens the lid and scoops the ice cream before you. “you don’t think i know my girl?”

the question makes butterflies soar in your stomach even if you are in immense pain.

your hand places itself on his cheek before you carefully lean in to kiss him softly.

the two of you sat there for a bit as you ate the ice cream and watched the movie. after you both decided you were done, vinnie went to put the ice cream away and the spoons in the sink.

“fuck,”you mutter when you see the mess on the bed. “vin.” you whine out in pain again. vinnie’s in your room in a heartbeat.

his smile soon faded once he saw you standing up and looking at your bedsheets.

you had bled through your shorts.

tears started to well in your eyes as you clutched the heating pad to your stomach.

“hey, hey, look at me,” vinnie cupped your face gently, making you look at him. “you go in the bathroom and sit there, okay? i’ll throw these in the wash and get you clean clothes.” he informed before kissing your forehead.

you smiled as tears started to spill. “none of this,” he spoke softly as he wiped your dampened cheeks. “you’re okay, baby. just go in the bathroom and i’ll be there in a few.”

you padded softly to the bathroom as your boyfriend cleaned up your dirty bedsheets. you did what you had to do before you saw vinnie come into view.

“all good?” he asks as he crouches down so he’s eye level with you.

he doesn’t care about anything like the smell or what you tell him when he’s this close to you. he just wants to make sure you’re okay.

“vinnie it probably— i don’t care,” he cuts you off. “are you okay?”

you nod as you grab the clean clothes from him. vinnie leans up and kisses your cheek before going over to the bathroom door to give you space to change.

“see? all better. now let’s finish the movie, it’s getting good.” he says as you finish up.

you wash your hands and grab his hand in yours before making your way back to your room.

you get back into the position you were in, your head on his chest but this time he’s rubbing your back softly.

your eyes start to feel heavy as his hand continues to calmly rub your back. you look up at him with a sheepish smile.

“sleepy?” he asks quietly, to which you just nod. “get some rest, pretty girl. i’ll be here when you wake up.”

that was the last thing you heard before your eyes drifted shut and you nuzzled your head into his chest.

this was sooo cute ): i wish vinnie was real and taking care of me on my period 🙁 (ik he’s real but yk what i mean)

i hope you all liked this , and thank you nonie for the request again !! i hope it lived up to what you wanted <33

tags: @anqeliclust , @cosmicanakin , @42internetgirl , @visualbutterflysworld , @venusblakes , @bernelflo , @lovingsturniolo , @louloulemons-blog , @slvthrs , @pepsicolapussy333 , @leqonsluv3r , @st4rswrld , @laylasbunbunny , @kriissy4gov , @violet0182 , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @hallecarey1 , @kayleighh ,

[probablyasocialecologist]

This is it. Generative AI, as a commercial tech phenomenon, has reached its apex. The hype is evaporating. The tech is too unreliable, too often. The vibes are terrible. The air is escaping from the bubble. To me, the question is more about whether the air will rush out all at once, sending the tech sector careening downward like a balloon that someone blew up, failed to tie off properly, and let go—or more slowly, shrinking down to size in gradual sputters, while emitting embarrassing fart sounds, like a balloon being deliberately pinched around the opening by a smirking teenager. But come on. The jig is up. The technology that was at this time last year being somberly touted as so powerful that it posed an existential threat to humanity is now worrying investors because it is apparently incapable of generating passable marketing emails reliably enough. We’ve had at least a year of companies shelling out for business-grade generative AI, and the results—painted as shinily as possible from a banking and investment sector that would love nothing more than a new technology that can automate office work and creative labor—are one big “meh.” As a Bloomberg story put it last week, “Big Tech Fails to Convince Wall Street That AI Is Paying Off.” From the piece: Amazon.com Inc., Microsoft Corp. and Alphabet Inc. had one job heading into this earnings season: show that the billions of dollars they’ve each sunk into the infrastructure propelling the artificial intelligence boom is translating into real sales. In the eyes of Wall Street, they disappointed. Shares in Google owner Alphabet have fallen 7.4% since it reported last week. Microsoft’s stock price has declined in the three days since the company’s own results. Shares of Amazon — the latest to drop its earnings on Thursday — plunged by the most since October 2022 on Friday. Silicon Valley hailed 2024 as the year that companies would begin to deploy generative AI, the type of technology that can create text, images and videos from simple prompts. This mass adoption is meant to finally bring about meaningful profits from the likes of Google’s Gemini and Microsoft’s Copilot. The fact that those returns have yet to meaningfully materialize is stoking broader concerns about how worthwhile AI will really prove to be. Meanwhile, Nvidia, the AI chipmaker that soared to an absurd $3 trillion valuation, is losing that value with every passing day—26% over the last month or so, and some analysts believe that’s just the beginning. These declines are the result of less-than-stellar early results from corporations who’ve embraced enterprise-tier generative AI, the distinct lack of killer commercial products 18 months into the AI boom, and scathing financial analyses from Goldman Sachs, Sequoia Capital, and Elliot Management, each of whom concluded that there was “too much spend, too little benefit” from generative AI, in the words of Goldman, and that it was “overhyped” and a “bubble” per Elliot. As CNN put it in its report on growing fears of an AI bubble, Some investors had even anticipated that this would be the quarter that tech giants would start to signal that they were backing off their AI infrastructure investments since “AI is not delivering the returns that they were expecting,” D.A. Davidson analyst Gil Luria told CNN. The opposite happened — Google, Microsoft and Meta all signaled that they plan to spend even more as they lay the groundwork for what they hope is an AI future. This can, perhaps, explain some of the investor revolt. The tech giants have responded to mounting concerns by doubling, even tripling down, and planning on spending tens of billions of dollars on researching, developing, and deploying generative AI for the foreseeable future. All this as high profile clients are canceling their contracts. As surveys show that overwhelming majorities of workers say generative AI makes them less productive. As MIT economist and automation scholar Daron Acemoglu warns, “Don’t believe the AI hype.”

6 August 2024

[hisui-dreamer]

Okay I spent a while thinking of flowers and decided that I'd rather be simple, and give Jamil a bouquet of Gladiolus and Morning Glory based on our birth months ^^ (also, a thought- there's no reason for these same flowers from our world to exist in TW, maybe similar looking ones, but not the same. So imagine prefect cultivating flowers to look like flowers they know, specifically for their beloved 😭💕)

clandestine meetings and longing stares

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: your love for each other was never allowed, but that never stopped your feelings for each other

Tags: secrets relationship, pining, fluff, reader is not yuu

Word count: 1k+

Notes: so sorry this took so long kirexa!! my assignments put me in an a really bad slump,,, i hope you'll like the direction i took for the flowers hehe <3

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

gladiolus: secret meeting

morning glory: reunion of lovers

The gardens of the Asim estate hold secrets woven into their very essence, secrets that only unveiled themselves beneath the soft shroud of night.

Tonight, like many nights before, you tread the familiar path, the same path you’ve always walked with your heart pounding with anticipation. With bare feet, you move briskly, aware of each step, careful not to disrupt the delicate silence of the night.  

Anticipation and adrenaline run through your veins like wildfire, fuelling your steps as you ventured deeper into the heart of the gardens. The moon casts its ethereal glow upon the landscape, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Each rustle of leaves, each whisper of the wind, seems to beckon you forward, urging you to hasten your pace.

Arriving at the secluded alcove, your heart soars with elation as you behold Jamil standing amidst the ethereal glow of the moon. His silhouette seems sculpted by the soft radiance, a vision of serenity amidst the night's embrace.

"Jamil," you breathe his name like a prayer, relief flooding through you at the sight of him.

"Ya amar," his voice, soft as a breeze, wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

In mere moments, you find yourselves entwined once again. You melt into his embrace, his touch enveloping you in a comforting warmth, a sensation that instantly makes you feel at home.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent symphony of emotions cascading between you, conveying depths of love that words could never adequately express. In the stolen moment, you allow yourself to forget the rigid boundaries imposed by your stations in life, the weight of your familial expectations, and simply exist in the blissful sanctuary of Jamil's arms.

All the weariness of weeks spent apart dissipates like mist under the morning sun, replaced by a sense of wholeness that only his presence can provide. As you reluctantly pull back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, your foreheads pressed together in a silent affirmation of your connection.

"I've missed you," Jamil confesses, his words a balm to the ache in your own heart.

"And I, you," you reply, reaching out to cup his face, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features as if committing them to memory. With a soft smile, you pull back slightly from his embrace, gazing into his charcoal-grey eyes with tender curiosity. "Tell me," you urge gently, your voice barely more than a whisper in the tranquil night air. "How has school been? Are you adjusting well to the second year?"

Jamil's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes. "It's been... challenging," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Each word he utters is painted with the hues of his experiences, drawing you into the vivid tapestry of his school life. He begins to weave intricate tales of his persistent classmate, the one who incessantly seeks his assistance in his business ventures, caring for your older brother, ensuring his well-being and academic progress, and many other intriguing classmates.

You listen intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips from time to time as you find yourself captivated by his tales. His voice, smooth as silk, washes over you like a gentle caress, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity. It's a voice you've always cherished, one that resonates deep within your soul, and in this moment, no recording could ever compare to the warmth of having him speak softly into your ears.

“I feel a lot better now, being back home, with you..." He trails off, a fond smile gracing his lips as he squeezes your hand gently.

In response, you tighten your grip on his hand, leaning in to nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," you murmur softly, your words a whispered prayer of gratitude.

Oh, how you ache for the freedom to love him openly, to cast aside the heavy cloak of secrecy and fear that weighs upon your shoulders. To intertwine your fingers with his in broad daylight, to lose yourself in the depths of his gaze without the lurking shadows of doubt. To bask in the radiant glow of his affection beneath the sun's golden rays, unencumbered by judgment or retribution.

But how could you? Your families, entrenched in generations of tradition, would recoil at the mere suggestion of your union. To reveal your love openly would be to invite catastrophe, risking the fragile harmony of their world. You know all too well they would send Jamil away, far, far away to somewhere you could never reach, before marrying you off to someone else they deem suitable to fully extinguish the flame of your love.

And yet, you still find yourself yearning for more – for the liberation to proclaim your love from the highest rooftops, to unveil the depth of your devotion to the world without hesitation or constraint. It’s not lost on you how attractive your lover is, his captivating dark features that could ensnare anyone’s heart, and his perfect competence in all facets of life. He would make a brilliant husband.

Just the thought of him marrying another, belonging to someone else, ignites a fierce flame within your soul. The thought of him caring for another sets your heart ablaze with an intensity you cannot ignore. You find yourself holding him tighter, as if by sheer force of will, you could keep him tethered to you.

“Jamil?”

"Hm?" he paused, placing tender kisses into your hair.

"How much longer?" you murmured into his neck, the words carrying the weight of your shared longing, your shared struggle.

He didn't need you to elaborate. Jamil understood the depth of your question, the ache that echoed through every syllable. How much longer must your love remain hidden, relegated to stolen moments beneath the cloak of night, until he could proudly declare to the world that you belonged to him?

"... I don't know, ya amar," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Pretty boy

Barbie dolls: Mattheo riddle x Slytherin!reader

Summary: gn Slytherin reader notices mattheo gets incredibly flustered around them so they ask him out as you do

Warnings: not really any r kisses his cheek but that's Abt it

Request: why yes

Mattheo had been crushing on you for years. All his friends knew it too. He was so obvious about it. It was like he wasn't even trying to hide it. Mattheo really was though. He was trying his hardest, most people didn't notice but all his friends knew. Mattheo would be walking to skip his next class with his friends, he'd see you and your friends coming down the hall and all of a sudden his jaw is slack. You'd look away from your friend to smile at him and wave, and next thing you know he's face planted. You'd always sigh as Theo and Lorenzo pull him up off the ground, Blaise scooping up Mattheo's books.

You'd both be sitting in class, across the room from each other. Mattheo staring at you while Lorenzo and Blaise pretended to be you and Mattheo making out and flirting. When Lorenzo moaned quite loudly, you glanced over at them with a raised brow. Lorenzo and Blaise both shooting back to their work. Mattheo froze. He's been caught staring. You smiled at him. Mattheo felt his heart soar, dropping his chin on his fist. You blew him a kiss before turning back to the assignment. Mattheo flushed and sighed lovingly. Theo mocked his sigh and Mattheo shoved Theo's head back towards his work.

You noticed his reactions and thought it was adorable. So with all the courage you had, you walked over to Mattheo at dinner, deciding to ask him out. Mattheo looked up from his plate when he heard someone approaching. The second he realized it was you, he stared down at his food and covered his face with his hands. Mattheo's friends noticed his behavior and already knew what was coming, sharing a look with each other.

"hey, Mattheo." You said. Mattheo peaked at you from behind his hands before dropping them. He rested his chin in his hand.

"hey." It came out high pitched and pained so Mattheo immediately tried again. "Hey." This time it was far deeper than his usual voice. "Hey, hi, hello, hi." Mattheo tried for the third time. You smiled and nodded.

"yeah well anyways, do you think we could talk in private?" Mattheo looked to Theo, asking what to do. Theo gestured for him to go with you. Mattheo nodded, standing up. You grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the great hall. You stopped but kept your hold on him.

"what are you doing this weekend?" Mattheo flushed and glanced around. You waited patiently.

"uh probably just sitting and chilling." You could tell that he was trying his hardest to come off as cool. Mattheo leaned against the wall, schooling his face. You stared at him blankly.

"so you're not busy?" He shrugged.

"if you would consider me relaxing and chilling, chillaxing if you will, busy." You stared at him and hoped that with more exposure to you he would stop talking in such a way.

"I do not, hey just thinking out loud here, how would you feel about going out?" His jaw went slack as he stared at you. You looked into his eyes and knew if Dr. Frankenstein needed a brain he would not be picking Mattheo. He quickly jumped off the wall and started nodding.

"yes. Yes. Yeah. Definitely." You smiled. You reached up and twirled his hair around your finger. Mattheo froze and stared at you with big puppy eyes. You pecked him on his cheek before walking away.

"see you there, pretty boy." You glanced back at him to see his flushed face. Mattheo was holding his cheek. When you turned around the corner, you could hear him cheering and running around.

[silkval]

♞】 the sycamore series- part Ⅰ

how much do the genshin boys crave your attention, and whats their style?

★fujoshis, wlm and minors please fuck off- you will be blocked★

♢】 scale of neediness

》 intensity ★★☆☆☆

》 frequency ★★★☆☆

》 touchiness ★★★☆☆

》 patience ★★★★☆

》 publicity ★★★★★

pantalone, oh such a pretty thing- your pretty thing. This man is devoted. It took a lot to get to where you two are, but now that you have his attention, and yours his, he can't get enough. due to you both being well-respected harbingers, you led quite the busy lives, albeit never not having your moments throughout the day- and night. which certainly garnered quite a bit of attention from your fellow fatui coworkers- whether it be murmurs between passing guards, or the prying whispers and teases from dottore or childe, as such a powerful duo- you two were quite the well-renowned couple.

…especially when pantalones neediness fluctuates- and oh, does it soar.

it'll start with quiet little taunts: wearing a pretty lace garter underneath the heavy silks of his robes, sending you coy glances throughout meetings to catch your attention before he'd tap your leg underneath the table, pinked lips turning upwards in a sly smile before reaching a hand down to part the slit in his robes to reveal the lacy garment, straining against the soft plush of his thighs as he sent you a quick wink- then turning his attention back to the meeting as if his little taunt was nothing; as if he couldn't already feel that familiar warmth between his thighs growing from your mere glances at his little display.

which more often than not, would lead to a rather eventful rest of the day.

now, pantalone was quite the patient thing, always willing to wait for the perfect moment to strike. He knew how to bide his time, building up the anticipation until it was almost unbearable- until he could see your cock straining against the fabric of your pants with his every move until he could just barely keep himself from begging you to bend him over the nearest surface and ruin him. And when the moment finally came, oh, it was worth the wait. but not before a little.. play.

it would all start after that initial little tease- a single lacy garter would soon be followed by a full set of matching lingerie; all smooth silks in your colours with shiny metal accents, flush against his perfect skin in all the right ways- a set that he had spent weeks having tailored immaculately to his curves, to add an extra velvet strap or to cut away a little more fabric to expose that pretty womb tattoo- with you in mind throughout the whole process.

and when he finally sashayed his way into your office, a glossy smile curved at his lips as the thick fabric of his harbinger coat sussurating with every sway of his hips- unashamed at the obvious lack of his usual gowns trailing underneath the garment that the guards most certainly noticed, due to their wide-eyed looks and reddened faces- not that pantalone paid any mind to them, though- the only thing on his mind as he slipped into your office was you.

and with that, pantalone would wordlessly slide his lithe hands up to the buttons of his harbinger coat, tantalizingly slow- before letting it pool at his feet, barely able to contain a breathy gasp as he felt your intense gaze wander over every dip and curve of his figure, pained pretty in your signature colour and haloed with grandiloquent golds- as if your gaze were creating a promise of where your hands and tongue would soon follow, a promise of an endless night of pleasure, pain, release- and repetition.

“my my, what a pretty thing you are, hm? now, be a good pet, and strip.”

[the-hype-on-tv]

Superman shows up at the Hall of Justice as everyone is minding their own business. Flash, Cyborg and Green Lantern are chatting by the cafeteria while Martian Manhunter and Aquaman are watching Hawkgirl spar with Wonder Woman.

The Man of Steel stops by each member and hands them a card and a box, each one decorated accordingly to their themes and likings.

"Happy Valentine's!" his smile flashes as he speaks. Tilting his head and turning to the sides, he then lifts an eyebrow. "Where's B?"

"Didn't show up today," Flash replies, unraveling the pretty lightning themed bow that held his gifted box shut. "Try checking the monitor room."

"He is not here. Perhaps he is patrolling Gotham at this hour." J'onn adds after a quick psychic scan, smiling to see the Oreo dessert that Superman got for him in his gift box.

Kal wishes them all a happy Valentine's day once again, before exiting and soaring to the sky in Gotham's direction. The early night settled in with the melting snow as he held close the last boxes on his strong hands.

"Superman!" a familiar voice reaches him, from the top of a sky scraper. He lowers himself to float near a small figure on top of a gargoyle.

"Hello, Robin! Have you seen Batman around?"

The small boy ties his thick eyebrows in a scowl. They are so much like his father's, Superman chuckles internally at the resemblance.

"Don't worry," he opens a friendly grin to the boy "I brought something for you as well. Jon sends his regards." Handing the smaller box to the boy, a flashy card with an attempted portrait drawn attached to it. Although he pretends he can't, Kal notices the hitch on the kid's heartbeat when he grabs and takes a look at the gift.

A nod as thanking, the boy wonder jumps off and grapples, disappearing into the Gotham night. Kal follows him with his head.

As he faces the dark, a known heartbeat comes behind him, in the shadows. He plays as though he can't hear it, waiting for the sign to acknowledge the Dark Knight's presence.

"Superman." it's broody as always, but not as cold as when they first met. A subtle fondness hides under the growling bat, as the hero swirls around to face it.

"Hey, B." he steps on the gargoyle as the other comes close to it as well. "Happy Valentine's."

"I told you not to wander into my city like that." lifting an eyebrow, the bat claims with his arms crossed over his chest. His gauntlets are dirty, as if he's just out of some punching and kicking criminals. Superman's sapphire eyes meet the cowl lenses with awkwardness as he fidgets with the last box.

It is black and wrapped with a bow with yellow hearts. It's no bigger than his two hands, but it feels like holding his own heart as he sticks it out for his best friend to grasp.

As Batman does so, his face twitches almost unnoticeably for anyone who isn't as close to the man as Superman is. He opens it slowly and gives into the urge to smile, a light smirk pulled on the edge of his lips.

"You shouldn't have." the Knight jokes, lifting up the silly plushies gifted by his friend. It's a Batman and a Superman plushie, but the man soon notices that they are united by some sewn strings on their stubby hands. Something is embroidered on them: Super Friends. The Bat can't help but chuckle.

"I know it's corny, but I thought it was fitting." the kryptonian approaches even more, his grin brighter than the sun itself. Batman traces over the message with his dark gloves, feeling how fresh and homemade these are compared to the rest of the plushies' sews.

He closes the gap between their faces, two figures on the inky skyline professing their closeness to each other. He hadn't even glanced at the clearly bought cards that said "you are my hero" and "be my Valentine".