#café au lait fic

[caffedine]

☕︎ Tags // Separations ☕︎

[lifeofpriya]

City of Love, Pool of Dreams - Thomas Ceccon

author's note: no gif this time unfortunately 😔 this fic may or may not have been come to fruition thanks to @2manytabsopen and i's daily chats and yeah...i hope y'all enjoy this Olympic-edition fic!

summary: A chance encounter during the Olympics ignites a passionate romance between you and a certain Italian swimmer...

You found yourself in Paris, the City of Lights, during the Olympics. The cobblestone streets were alive with the electricity of competition and camaraderie. Athletes from around the globe mingled with tourists and locals, creating a pattern of languages, colors, and emotions. As you strolled along the banks of the Seine, the gentle murmur of the river mixed with the distant cheers from the nearby stadiums. You paused at a small café, drawn in by the aroma of freshly baked croissants and the sound of laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk.

As you opened the door to enter the café, you accidentally bumped into someone exiting. You turned to apologize, and your eyes met green eyes that were so familiar to you, but you couldn't place where from.

"Pardonnez-moi," you murmur, the words slipping out at the same moment you realize who you've collided with. Thomas Ceccon, the Italian swimmer you've watched race to victory on TV recently, stands before you, his wavy hair slightly disheveled from the encounter. He smiles and extends a hand to help you regain your balance.

"It's quite alright," he says, his Italian accent lilting the words like a melody. "I should have been more careful." His eyes dance with good humor, and you can't help but feel the warmth of his presence.

You take his hand, noticing the firm grip of a trained athlete. As you both laugh off the minor collision, the café's door swings shut behind you, leaving the bustle of the street outside a muffled backdrop to your conversation. The interior is cozy, with wooden tables and chairs that have seen a thousand conversations, and walls adorned with vintage posters of French cinema. The smell of strong coffee and freshly baked bread fills the air, making your stomach rumble.

"Would you like to join me?" Thomas asks, gesturing to an empty table by the window. You nod eagerly, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. This is not a meeting you could have ever anticipated.

The sun breaks through the clouds as you sit down, casting a warm glow over the café. The bell above the door jingles again, announcing the arrival of more customers, but you're too caught up in the moment to pay them much mind.

"So, what brings you to Paris?" Thomas asks, his eyes genuinely curious. His casual demeanor puts you at ease, and you find yourself sharing more than you usually would with a stranger.

"I'm just here to watch the games and take in the sights," you reply, smoothing out your clothes, still slightly disheveled from the collision. I've always wanted to visit during the Olympics. It's like the whole world is here."

Thomas nods, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "It's incredible, isn't it? Everyone coming together for the love of sport. Have you seen any of the competitions yet?"

You admit that you haven't had the chance to attend any events in person, but you've been keeping up with the news. "I haven't had a chance to get tickets, but I've been watching the highlights every night," you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

Thomas's eyes light up. "Well, I might be able to help with that," he says, a playful smile playing on his lips. "I have an extra pass for the 4 x 100m medley relay finals tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

Your heart skips a beat. "Are you serious?"

Thomas nods, his smile growing wider. "Absolutely. It's going to be an incredible race. And it's my last event before I head home."

You can't believe your luck. Sitting in a quaint Parisian café with an Olympic gold medalist, sipping on steaming cups of café au lait, and now being offered a ticket to the most anticipated swimming event of the games. "I'd love to," you reply, trying to keep your cool. "But aren't you supposed to save those for family or something?"

Thomas waves off your concern. "My family's already got theirs. Besides, I'd rather share the experience with someone who truly appreciates it. Plus, I think it'll be more fun to have a friendly face in the crowd." His words warm you from the inside out, and you find yourself accepting his generous offer without hesitation.

The rest of the afternoon is a whirlwind of conversation as you share stories about your hometowns and your own passions. Thomas tells you about his rigorous training to get to the Olympics, and you listen, captivated by his dedication and love for the sport. In return, you speak about your own life, feeling surprisingly open with this charming stranger.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the café, you both realize the time has flown by. "I should get going," Thomas says, glancing at his watch. "I have to be at the village soon. But I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Thomas leaves a generous tip on the table and stands up, his tall frame towering over the tiny chairs. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and extends his hand once more. "It's been a pleasure," he says, shaking yours firmly. "I'll meet you at the stadium's east entrance at 7 pm tomorrow then. Don't be late!"

You nod, your heart racing. As you watch him weave through the café and out the door, you can't shake the feeling that this is all a dream. The café seems to deflate slightly without his energy, and you sit there for a moment, lost in thought. The rest of the afternoon is a blur of preparation - finding the perfect outfit, re-reading the event schedule, and trying to calm your nerves.

\\\

Soon enough, tomorrow arrives. You wake up early, the excitement of the night before still buzzing in your veins. You take your time getting ready, choosing an outfit that is both comfortable for the long day ahead and presentable enough to be seen with someone as notable as Thomas. The sun is high in the sky by the time you leave your hotel room, casting a golden hue over the city.

You arrive at the stadium with time to spare, the anticipation building with every step you take towards the east entrance. The grandeur of the Olympic venue is a stark contrast to the quaint café where you'd met Thomas. The air is thick with the scent of popcorn and anticipation as fans from every nation mill about, adorned in their country's colors.

As you wait, you can't help but feel a twinge of doubt. What if he forgot about you? What if he'd just been being polite? But then, like a beacon of hope, you see him approaching, his green eyes scanning the crowd until they land on you. He waves, a grin spreading across his face, and you wave back, feeling a flutter in your stomach.

"You made it!" Thomas says as he reaches you. He's wearing the Italian team's colors, and the Olympic rings on his jacket glint in the sun. Are you ready for an unforgettable night?"

You nod, unable to find the words to express your excitement. He takes the ticket from you and leads the way through the throngs of people to the designated section. The stadium is a cacophony of noise, with fans from all corners of the globe cheering and waving flags. The atmosphere is electric, and you can feel it zipping through the air.

As you take your seat, you're struck by the sheer size of the pool. It stretches out before you, a blue expanse that seems to go on forever. The starting blocks gleam under the lights, and you can't help but imagine the tension that must build up there, the anticipation of the race to come.

Thomas notices your awe and chuckles. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" he says, his voice full of pride. "This is where dreams are made or broken."

"Go get them, Thomas!" You couldn't help but smile at the Italian as you nudged him playfully. His eyes lit up with a competitive fire, and you knew he was eager to dive into the water. The air was thick with anticipation, and the hum of the crowd was a constant reminder of the magnitude of the event unfolding before you.

As the evening progressed, the tension grew palpable. Athletes from various countries paraded into the arena, each step they took resonating with the weight of their nation's hopes and dreams. The time for the 4 x 100m medley relay grew nearer, and you found yourself leaning forward in your seat, the excitement building with every minute that ticked by.

Thomas's team was announced, and the crowd erupted into a symphony of cheers. You spotted him in the pool area, his eyes focused and intense. He caught your gaze and flashed a quick smile before turning his attention back to the water. Your heart raced in sync with the rhythm of the crowd as the starting gun went off.

The swimmers dove in, and the race began. Each stroke, each kick, every split second counted. The Italian team took an early lead, and you found yourself standing, hands clutched together, willing Thomas and his teammates to victory. The sound of water splashing and the buzz of the audience created a crescendo of energy that seemed to pulse through the entire stadium.

You watched Thomas's powerful strokes, his arms slicing through the water like a knife. The Italian fans around you were a sea of green, white, and red, their shouts of "Forza, Thomas!" echoing in your ears. As he approached the final stretch, you could see the determination etched on his face, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort.

The race was tight, with the Americans and the Australian teams hot on Italy's heels. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. You held your breath as Thomas made the final turn, his legs kicking furiously. The crowd's cheers grew louder, each one a shout of encouragement that propelled him forward.

As Thomas reached for the wall to tag his teammate for the final leg, you felt your heart pound in your chest. The Italian team was still in the lead, but the margin was slim. You watched the final swimmer, the freestyler, dive in and slice through the water like a torpedo. The stadium was a blur of motion and sound around you, but your eyes remained fixed on the pool.

The race was a nail-biter, with the lead changing hands multiple times. The American swimmer was closing the gap, their strokes powerful and precise. You could see the determination in the Italian's eyes as he kicked harder, reaching deeper for the speed that had brought him to this moment. The crowd around you was a mix of hope and fear, each nation's supporters willing their team to victory.

As the race's final moments ticked by, the Italian freestyler pulled ahead, his stroke a thing of beauty and strength. The crowd's roar grew deafening, a wave of sound that seemed to lift the swimmers out of the water. You clenched your fists, feeling your heart race in time with the music's pounding bass and the cheers' rhythm.

Then, it was over. The Italian swimmer's hand slapped the wall, and the buzzer rang out. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and applause. You looked at Thomas, who was now standing at the edge of the pool, chest heaving and a smile of pure triumph spreading across his face. The Italian flag was draped over his shoulders, and his eyes searched the stands for yours.

When he found you, his smile grew even wider. He pointed at you, the universal gesture for 'we did it.' You couldn't help but laugh and cheer along with the rest of the crowd. The adrenaline rushing through your veins mirrored the race's intensity, and you felt a part of the victory, despite being a spectator.

After the race, Thomas made his way to the stands, navigating through the ecstatic Italians. His teammates hugged him tightly, their faces a mix of exhaustion and elation. When he reached you, his eyes sparkled with excitement. "Thank you for being here," he said, his voice hoarse from the chlorine and the screams.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement. "That was… amazing," you managed to say.

Thomas leaned in closer, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of the stadium. "It means so much to have you here," he said, his eyes searching yours. "I couldn't have done it without you."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond. Before you could say anything, a swarm of reporters and photographers descended upon the victorious team. Thomas was swept away in a whirlwind of flashing lights and questions, but not before winking at you and promising to catch up later.

\\\

As the excitement of the relay finals waned, you made your way out of the stadium, feeling both exhilarated and slightly lost. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, and the city's lights twinkled like stars in the sky above. You wandered the streets of Paris, the games' energy pulsating through the city's cobblestone veins.

You soon found yourself on the pathway that led to the Eiffel Tower, the iconic structure casting its shadow over the bustling city. The air was still electric with the excitement of the games, but here, amidst the tourists and lovers, there was a sense of peace. You decided to sit on a bench, giving yourself a moment to process the whirlwind of emotions you felt from watching Thomas' victory.

As you sat there, the Tower's lights began to twinkle, a magical sight that seemed to mirror the spark in Thomas' eyes when he'd found you in the crowd. The sound of a distant accordion played a soft tune, and you felt a gentle nudge of nostalgia for a place you'd only just arrived in.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. "Mind if I join you?" Thomas appeared, out of breath but beaming. He'd managed to escape the media storm and track you down. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes searched yours, looking for the same awe that you'd seen in the pool.

You nodded, your heart racing. "How did you find me?"

Thomas shrugged off his backpack and sat beside you, his eyes still gleaming with excitement. "I had a feeling you'd be here," he said with a grin. "This is where everyone comes to reflect on the magic of Paris."

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a sense of camaraderie that went beyond the typical fan-athlete dynamic. The Tower's lights continued to dance above you, casting a soft glow on the two of you as you sat in companionable silence, watching the world go by.

Thomas leaned back on the bench, his eyes still glued to the Eiffel Tower. "You know, I've competed in so many places, but there's something about Paris that's just… special."

You nodded in agreement. "It's like the whole city is alive with excitement."

Thomas turned to you, his eyes shining with a newfound warmth. "And meeting you has made it even more unforgettable."

You felt your cheeks flush as you tried to find the right words to respond. "Thank you," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas' smile grew softer, and he leaned in slightly. "Do you believe in destiny?"

You tilted your head, considering his question. "I like to think so," you replied, your voice barely audible over the Tower's twinkling lights.

Thomas nodded, his gaze lingering on the Tower before returning to you. "Then I guess it was destined for us to meet here," he said, his voice a gentle caress against the night air.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your palms begin to sweat. You had never felt so alive, so seen. "I suppose it was," you murmured, not quite meeting his gaze.

The Tower's lights continued their rhythmic dance, casting a soft, romantic glow on the two of you. The accordion's tune grew faint, as if giving way to the conversation that was about to unfold. You looked up at Thomas, his features softened by the dim light, and realized that this moment was more than just a chance encounter. There was something genuine in his eyes, something that made you want to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.

"So, what happens now?" you asked, breaking the silence. Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now, we enjoy the magic of Paris," he said, his voice filled with promise. "We've got the whole night ahead of us."

[bratzkoo]

barely yours | mingyu (end)

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 4.7k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings/ Note: Thanks for being with me all through out this fic, thank you for loving mingyu and y/n even if they're little shit sometimes. To everyone that interacted and reblogged, thank you guys so so so much, you made me very happy. Till next fic! If you're a bts army and a doctor who fan (whovian), i hope you can check out my next series it's going to be doctor who! hoseok x archaelogist! reader.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking... and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): ​​ @ca-clover, @junniesoleilkth , @gaslysainz , @darkerrdaze , @mansaaay , @childish-fear , @lixisoul99 , @cherrylovescheol , @yuyu1024 , @tacolombe , @black-swan-blog27 , @tulipndtale , @xuimhao , @cookiearmy , @gyuguys , @brownbunnyb

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Parisian morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of Y/N's hotel suite, casting a soft glow over the scattered suitcases and designer bags. Y/N stood by the window, gazing out at the city she had come to love, a city that had witnessed both her professional triumphs and, most recently, a pivotal moment in her personal life.

Her fingers absently traced the outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, her mind replaying the events of the past week. Fashion Week had been a whirlwind of shows, parties, and business meetings. But amidst the chaos, one moment stood out above all others – her unexpected reunion with Mingyu.

Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relive that night. The shock of seeing him across the crowded room, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. The electricity that had coursed through her body when their eyes met. The way her heart had raced as he made his way towards her, that familiar crooked smile playing on his lips.

She hadn't expected the rush of emotions that came with seeing him again. Five years of carefully constructed walls had crumbled in an instant, leaving her vulnerable and exhilarated all at once. And then, one drink had led to another, conversations had flowed as easily as they had in the past, and before she knew it...

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the memory of that night. The heat of Mingyu's kisses, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had whispered her name like a prayer. It had been passionate, intense, and achingly familiar. But it had also been tinged with a newfound maturity, a depth of emotion that spoke of the years that had passed and the growth they had both undergone.

The buzz of her phone on the nightstand jolted Y/N from her reverie. Probably another message from her assistant confirming the details of her upcoming skincare line launch. Y/N sighed, torn between the excitement of her career and the bittersweet ache of leaving... of leaving Mingyu.

The past week had been like living in a dream. After that initial night, she and Mingyu had spent every possible moment together. Late-night walks along the Seine, his hand warm in hers as they strolled past the twinkling lights reflected in the water. Early morning coffees at quaint cafes, sharing croissants and stolen kisses over steaming cups of café au lait. Afternoons spent exploring the Louvre, Mingyu's childlike wonder at the art bringing a smile to her face. And evenings... evenings spent tangled in hotel sheets, rediscovering each other, talking for hours about everything and nothing.

But reality was calling. Y/N had an empire to run, a new skincare line to launch, and a life waiting for her back in Seoul. And Mingyu... Mingyu had HHT, world tours, and a career that spanned the globe. They had talked about it, of course. Long, serious conversations about their feelings, their careers, the challenges they would face. They had agreed to take things slow, to see where this rekindled connection might lead. But now, with miles about to stretch between them once again, Y/N felt a familiar fear creeping in. Would distance pull them apart, as it had before?

A knock at the door startled Y/N from her thoughts. "Mademoiselle, your car is ready," came the concierge's voice.

"Thank you," Y/N called back, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll be down in a moment."

With one last look around the room, Y/N gathered her things. As she reached for the door handle, her eyes fell on a small bottle of perfume on the dresser – a sample of "Barely Yours." She hesitated for a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her purse. A reminder of what she was leaving behind, and perhaps, of what she hoped to return to.

The ride to Charles de Gaulle Airport was quiet, the streets of Paris still sleepy in the early morning hours. Y/N's mind wandered, replaying conversations she'd had with Mingyu over the past week.

"I've missed this," Mingyu had said one night as they sat on a bench in the Tuileries Garden, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I've missed you."

Y/N had leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. "I've missed you too," she had admitted. "More than I realized."

"What are we doing, Y/N?" Mingyu had asked, his voice soft but intense. "Is this... is this just a Paris thing? A trip down memory lane?"

She had sat up then, turning to face him. In the fading light, his eyes had been full of hope and fear, mirroring her own emotions. "I don't want it to be," she had said honestly. "But Mingyu, our lives are so different now. We're not the same people we were five years ago."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he had replied, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've grown, Y/N. We've achieved our dreams. Maybe now... maybe now we're finally ready for this. For us."

The memory faded as the car approached the airport. Y/N's heart felt heavy, the weight of leaving pressing down on her. They had said their goodbyes last night, both agreeing it would be easier this way. A clean break, a chance to process everything that had happened and figure out their next steps.

But as the car pulled up to the departures terminal, Y/N was struck by how wrong it felt. How could she just leave, go back to her life as if this past week hadn't changed everything?

Lost in thought, Y/N almost missed the commotion at the airport's entrance. A crowd had gathered, phones out, excited chatter filling the air. And there, in the center of it all, stood Mingyu.

Y/N's heart leapt into her throat. He wasn't supposed to be here. But there he was, looking breathtakingly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his eyes scanning the arriving cars frantically.

As Y/N's car pulled up, Mingyu's eyes locked onto hers through the window. The look on his face – a mixture of determination, hope, and unbridled love – took her breath away.

Before the driver could fully stop, Y/N was out of the car. She vaguely registered the flashing of cameras, the surprised gasps from onlookers, but all she could focus on was Mingyu.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she reached him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his touch sending sparks through her entire body. "I couldn't let you leave like this," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Not again. Not without telling you how I feel."

Y/N's heart raced. "Mingyu, we talked about this. Our lives, our careers..."

But Mingyu shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't care about any of that. Y/N, these past five years without you have been... empty. I've achieved everything I thought I wanted, but none of it means anything if I can't share it with you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as Mingyu continued, his words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't say them now.

"Be with me, please Y/N," he pleaded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you. I loved you 5 years ago, I loved you 5 months ago, I loved you five minutes ago, and I'll love you every second of every day for the rest of my life. We can make this work. Whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together."

Y/N stood there, overwhelmed by the intensity of Mingyu's words, of her own feelings. She thought about the life she had built for herself, the success she had achieved. She was no longer the uncertain young woman she had been five years ago. She had grown, evolved into someone she was proud to be.

And it was that realization that finally allowed her to let go of her fears.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile breaking through her tears.

Mingyu blinked, as if not quite believing what he'd heard. "Yes?"

Y/N laughed, the sound full of joy and promise. "Yes, Mingyu. Yes to being with you. Yes to facing whatever comes our way together. Yes to loving you every second of every day."

With a whoop of joy, Mingyu lifted Y/N off her feet, spinning her around as onlookers cheered and cameras flashed. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly. "Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Y/N replied, her heart feeling fuller than it ever had. "I'm yours, Mingyu. Fully yours."

As their lips met in a kiss that promised a lifetime of love and happiness, neither Y/N nor Mingyu paid any attention to the commotion around them. In that moment, it was just the two of them, finally where they were always meant to be – together.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity. News of their reunion spread like wildfire, dominating entertainment headlines and social media. Y/N's phone buzzed constantly with messages from friends, family, and business associates, all curious about this sudden development in her personal life.

Mingyu faced his own challenges, fielding questions from reporters and reassuring fans that his relationship wouldn't affect HHT's future. But through it all, they stood united, facing each hurdle together.

Their first major test came when Y/N had to return to Seoul for the launch of her new skincare line. The night before her flight, she and Mingyu sat on the balcony of his Paris hotel room, the city lights twinkling below them.

"I'm scared," Y/N admitted, her voice small. "What if... what if distance changes things again?"

Mingyu pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It won't," he said firmly. "We're different people now, Y/N. We know what we want, and we're willing to fight for it. Plus," he added with a grin, "I have about a million airline miles saved up. I plan to put them to good use."

Y/N laughed, feeling some of her anxiety melt away. "I love you," she said, marveling at how easily the words came now.

"I love you too," Mingyu replied. "Always."

The next year was a testament to their commitment. Despite busy schedules and often being in different time zones, Mingyu and Y/N made their relationship work. Video calls became a daily ritual, no matter how late or early it might be. Mingyu surprised Y/N at product launches and important meetings, while Y/N became a fixture at HHT's concerts, cheering from backstage.

Their friends and family watched with a mixture of joy and amusement as the once-tentative couple blossomed into a powerhouse of love and support. Seungcheol often joked that he felt like a proud parent watching his children grow up.

It was during one of HHT's world tour stops in New York that Mingyu decided to take the next step. He had planned everything meticulously, with the help of the other members and Y/N's assistant.

After the concert, he led a blindfolded Y/N to the top of the Empire State Building, which he had managed to reserve for just the two of them. As Y/N removed the blindfold, she gasped at the sight before her. The observation deck was covered in rose petals and candles, the New York skyline providing a breathtaking backdrop.

"Mingyu, what is all this?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his heart pounding. "Y/N," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "five years ago, I let you go because I was too afraid to admit how I felt. I've regretted that decision every day since. But now, I'm not afraid anymore. I know exactly what I want, and it's you. It's always been you."

Dropping to one knee, Mingyu pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning ring, a large diamond surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled in the candlelight.

"Hwang Y/N," Mingyu said, looking up at her with eyes full of love, "will you marry me?"

Tears streaming down her face, Y/N nodded emphatically. "Yes," she managed to choke out. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

As Mingyu slipped the ring onto her finger and stood to kiss her, the New York night sky erupted in a spectacular fireworks display, orchestrated by the ever-romantic Seungcheol.

The news of their engagement spread quickly, sending fans and media into a frenzy. But Mingyu and Y/N were in their own bubble of happiness, already dreaming of their future together.

The months leading up to the wedding were a blur of planning, fittings, and juggling their busy careers. They decided on a spring wedding in Seoul, wanting to celebrate their love in the city where it all began.

Finally, the big day arrived. The venue, a beautiful garden on the outskirts of Seoul, was transformed into a fairytale setting. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals dancing in the gentle breeze.

In a private room, Y/N stood before a full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her. Her wedding gown, a custom creation that perfectly blended traditional Korean elements with modern design, made her feel like a princess. Her hair was swept up in an elegant updo, adorned with small crystal flowers that matched her earrings – a gift from Mingyu's mother.

A knock at the door preceded the entrance of her bridal party – a mix of childhood friends and industry colleagues who had become like family over the years.

"Oh, Y/N," her maid of honor gasped, tears already forming in her eyes. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Y/N smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in her stomach. "Thank you. I can't believe this is really happening."

As her friends fussed over last-minute details, Y/N's mind wandered to Mingyu. Was he as nervous as she was? Was he thinking of her too?

Meanwhile, in another room, Mingyu was indeed thinking of Y/N. He stood still as Seungcheol adjusted his bowtie, the other members of HHT bustling around in various states of readiness.

"You okay, man?" Seungcheol asked, noticing Mingyu's distant expression.

Mingyu nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I'm just... I can't wait to see her, you know? To start our life together."

Seungcheol clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so happy for you, bro. You and Y/N... you were always meant for this."

As the guests took their seats and the soft strains of music filled the air, Mingyu took his place at the altar. His heart raced as he waited, his eyes fixed on the entrance where Y/N would soon appear.

And then, there she was. As Y/N began her walk down the aisle, a collective gasp rose from the assembled guests. She was a vision in white, her face radiant with joy and love. But Mingyu saw none of it. All he could see was Y/N's eyes, locked on his, filled with a love so pure and strong it took his breath away.

As she reached him, Mingyu took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," Y/N replied, her smile brighter than the sun.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditional and modern elements, reflecting the couple's journey and their hopes for the future. As they exchanged vows and rings, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Even the normally stoic Wonwoo was seen discretely wiping away a tear.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared. "You may kiss the bride."

Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Y/N close, pouring all his love and joy into a kiss that seemed to stop time itself. As they broke apart, the garden erupted in cheers and applause.

The reception that followed was a joyous celebration of love, friendship, and new beginnings. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as guests mingled in the beautifully decorated hall. Soft fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the scent of flowers – carefully chosen to complement Y/N's signature perfume – wafted through the space.

At the head table, Mingyu couldn't take his eyes off his bride. Y/N was radiant, her eyes sparkling as she chatted with their friends and family. Every so often, she would catch him staring and give him a wink or a blown kiss, making his heart soar all over again.

The reception was in full swing, a perfect blend of elegance and fun that reflected the couple's personalities. In one corner, Mingyu's bandmates were engaged in an impromptu dance battle, much to the delight of the guests. Vernon, with his smooth moves, was giving Seungcheol a run for his money, while Wonwoo surprised everyone with a suddenly unleashed dance prowess that had been hiding behind his usually calm demeanor.

Y/N laughed as she watched them, leaning into Mingyu. "I see some things never change," she said fondly.

Mingyu grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Once a group of goofballs, always a group of goofballs."

As the dance battle wound down, Vernon made his way to the newlyweds, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Y/N," he said, leaning on the table, "now that you're officially part of the HHT family, does this mean we get free skincare for life?"

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, I don't know. That depends. Do I get free concert tickets for life?"

"Deal!" Vernon exclaimed, holding out his hand for a high five, which Y/N gladly returned.

Wonwoo joined them, his usually stoic face softened by a warm smile. "I have to say," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "seeing you two together like this... it just feels right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place."

Mingyu reached out to squeeze Wonwoo's shoulder, touched by his friend's words. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

As the evening progressed, it was time for the speeches. The tapping of a spoon against a glass drew everyone's attention. Seungcheol stood up, microphone in hand, his eyes already suspiciously moist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "as the best man, it's my duty to give a speech. But I have to warn you, I'm a bit of a mess already."

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Seungcheol's girlfriend, Mina, pointedly raised her phone to record the moment.

"I've known Mingyu for... well, it feels like forever," Seungcheol continued. "We've been through everything together – trainee days, debut jitters, world tours. But I've never seen him as happy as he is with Y/N."

Seungcheol turned to face the newlyweds, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. "Y/N, you were our manager, our friend, and now you're family. Thank you for loving this big goofball and for making him smile like that."

Y/N reached out to squeeze Seungcheol's hand, her own eyes glistening with tears.

"And Mingyu," Seungcheol's voice cracked, "my brother, my bandmate, my best friend. I'm so proud of you. You fought for your love, you never gave up, and now... now you're finally fully hers, and she's fully yours."

By this point, Seungcheol was full-on sobbing, much to the amusement and endearment of the guests. Mina zoomed in on his face, barely containing her own laughter.

"To Mingyu and Y/N," Seungcheol managed to choke out, raising his glass. "May your love story continue to inspire us all. And may you always remember that you're not just 'barely' each other's – you're fully, completely, and eternally each other's."

As the guests echoed the toast, Mingyu stood up and enveloped Seungcheol in a bear hug, both men now openly weeping. Y/N joined them, wrapping her arms around both. Vernon stepped up to the microphone, his easy grin in place.

"Now, I know Seungcheol already gave the best man speech," he started, "but as Mingyu's self-proclaimed 'best friend for life,' I feel like I have some things to add."

The crowd chuckled, settling in for what promised to be an entertaining speech.

"I've known Mingyu for a long time," Vernon continued, "and I've seen him go through a lot of phases. There was the 'I'm too cool to smile' phase, the 'I'm going to dye my hair a new color every week' phase, and who could forget the 'I think I can pull off leopard print' phase?"

Laughter erupted as Mingyu buried his face in his hands, groaning good-naturedly.

"But through all of that," Vernon's voice softened, "there was one constant: the way he looked at Y/N. Even when they were just friends, even when they were apart, there was always something special there. And seeing them together now, it's like... it's like watching your favorite movie with the perfect ending."

Vernon raised his glass. "To Mingyu and Y/N. May your love story continue to be the blockbuster hit of our lives."

As the applause died down, Wonwoo stepped forward. Known for his quiet nature, many guests were curious to hear what he had to say.

"I'm not usually one for many words," Wonwoo began, his deep voice carrying across the room, "but for Mingyu and Y/N, I'll make an exception."

He turned to face the couple. "Mingyu, you've been my brother in everything but blood for years. I've seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. But I've never seen you as happy as you are with Y/N. And Y/N," he continued, his gaze shifting to the bride, "you've been a part of our family since the day we met you. You've supported us, guided us, and now, you've made our Mingyu complete."

Wonwoo's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Love like yours is rare. It's the kind of love that inspires songs, that gives hope to others. Cherish it, nurture it, and know that you'll always have us – your HHT family – supporting you every step of the way."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house as Wonwoo finished his speech. Mingyu stood up, pulling both Vernon and Wonwoo into a tight hug. Y/N joined them, and soon all of HHT was engaged in a group hug that spoke volumes about their bond.

The night continued with more heartfelt speeches, including one from Y/N's maid of honor that had everyone in stitches with embarrassing stories from their college days. Mingyu's parents spoke of how proud they were of their son and how happy they were to welcome Y/N into the family. Y/N's father, usually stoic in public, surprised everyone with an emotional speech about watching his little girl grow into the strong, successful woman before them.

As the formal part of the evening wound down, the dance floor became the center of attention. Mingyu and Y/N shared their first dance to a beautiful ballad written and performed by the members of HHT. As they swayed to the music, lost in each other's eyes, the love between them was palpable.

"I can't believe we're here," Y/N murmured, her head resting on Mingyu's chest. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up and realize this was all a dream."

Mingyu tightened his arms around her. "If it's a dream, I never want to wake up," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

As the night wore on, filled with dancing, laughter, and joy, Y/N and Mingyu stole a quiet moment on the balcony. The spring air was cool and fragrant with cherry blossoms. Under the starlit sky, Mingyu pulled Y/N close, humming softly in her ear.

"Is that...?" Y/N asked, recognizing the melody.

Mingyu nodded, smiling. "A new version of 'Barely Yours.' I'm thinking of calling it 'Fully Ours.'"

Y/N's heart swelled with love. "It's perfect," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

As they stood there, the Seoul skyline twinkling behind them and their future stretching out before them, both Mingyu and Y/N reflected on the journey that had brought them to this moment.

"You know," Mingyu said softly, "five years ago, when we decided to focus on our careers, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought success would be enough to make me happy."

Y/N nodded, understanding completely. "I felt the same way. I threw myself into building my brand, thinking that if I could just achieve my goals, everything else would fall into place."

"But it didn't, did it?" Mingyu mused, his fingers tracing patterns on Y/N's back.

"No, it didn't," Y/N agreed. "Something was always missing. I just didn't want to admit what – or who – it was."

Mingyu chuckled softly. "We were both so stubborn. It took us five years and a chance meeting in Paris to figure out what we really needed."

"Each other," Y/N finished, smiling up at him.

"Each other," Mingyu echoed, his eyes full of love. "Y/N, I promise you, I'm never letting you go again. Whatever challenges we face, whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together. You're not just my wife; you're my partner, my best friend, my soulmate."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes at Mingyu's words. "And you're mine," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Mingyu, you make me stronger, you make me better. With you by my side, I feel like I can accomplish anything."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, sealing their promises to each other. As they broke apart, the opening chords of "Shadow" drifted out from the reception hall.

"Shall we go back in?" Mingyu asked, offering his arm to Y/N. "I believe they're playing our song."

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through his. "Let's go, husband."

As they rejoined their guests on the dance floor, moving together to the song that had once represented their separation but now symbolized their reunion, both Mingyu and Y/N felt a sense of completion they had never known before. The journey hadn't been easy, but every step, every challenge had led them here.

In the years that followed, Mingyu and Y/N's love only grew stronger. They faced the challenges of their high-profile careers together, supporting each other's dreams while nurturing their relationship. Y/N's beauty empire continued to expand, with Mingyu often lending his face (and his social media influence) to her campaigns. HHT reached new heights of global stardom, with Y/N cheering them on every step of the way.

They learned to balance their public lives with private moments, cherishing quiet evenings at home just as much as glamorous red carpet events. They traveled the world together, both for work and pleasure, creating memories in every corner of the globe.

And when, a few years later, they welcomed their first child – a beautiful baby girl with Mingyu's smile and Y/N's eyes – their happiness felt complete. As they stood over the crib, watching their daughter sleep, Mingyu wrapped his arm around Y/N's waist.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Y/N looked up at him, curious. "For what?"

"For everything," Mingyu replied, his voice full of emotion. "For loving me, for never giving up on us, for giving me this beautiful family. You've made all my dreams come true, Y/N."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling overwhelmed with love for her husband and their child. "Thank you for the same," she murmured. "I love you, Mingyu. Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Mingyu replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always and forever."

As they stood there, a family united by love and strengthened by the journey that had brought them together, both Mingyu and Y/N knew that this – this moment, this life, this love – was what they had always been meant for. No longer "barely" anything, they were fully, completely, and eternally each other's.

And in that knowledge, they found their happily ever after.

[wandawxdow]

The Rookie fic recs

Tim Bradford / Lucy Chen

something new to fall into by fromiftowhen

fake dating au, sharing a bed, feelings realisation

i met you in the dark (you lit me up) by fromiftowhen

misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort

come a little closer by poppypickle

chenford making a bet, steamy

something wicked this way comes by ellitheria

stalking, post caleb, protective tim, feelings realisation

to build a home by ellitheria

emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, tim’s childhood trauma

the parallels of me and you by ellitheria

post 4x17, chris is a bad guy, kidnapping

falling apart, falling together by ellitheria

hurt/comfort, hurt lucy, chris is a bad guy

oh baby, how was i supposed to know? by ellitheria

5+1, unplanned pregnancy, soft tim

time, curious time by wisedgirl

tamara’s pov, dadford, found family

café au lait by ellitheria

coffee shop au, enemies to friends to lovers

breathe again by RogueTwelve

5x22, hurt + comfort, protective tim, hurt lucy

After by Ellitheria

post-jackson, mental health, hurt/comfort

open heart, open container by wisedgirl

post-jackson, developing relationship, emotional hurt/comfort

tell me that you’re still mine… by niamsagram

6x01, chenford fighting, anxiety

After the Storm by RogueTwelve

hurt!lucy, supportive!tim, hurt/comfort

veggie burger with fries, extra pickles by romantashas

post-breakup, hurt!lucy, hopeful ending

Into the dark by adina_rachelle

5x04, trapped!lucy, miscommunication, soft!tim

Tell me you’ll stay (to chase all the memories away) by ↑

uc!lucy, emotional hurt/comfort, worried!tim

Bigger than the whole sky by ↑

married chenford, pregnancy loss, lucy gets shot

Wreck by silverskull

hurt!lucy, car accident

a great honor to hold you up by fromiftowhen

post 2x11, hurt/comfort, hospitals

oh, we promised us forever by Ellitheria

fluff, drunk!lucy

after the tone by wisedgirl

fluff, realising feelings, getting together

Eighteen Minutes, and that’s it by celizamur

hurt/comfort, 2x11, slow burn

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #5: House at the End of the Street

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #5 Summary: There’s a glaringly big issue. You’re dead and you really want your partner. In every way.

Pairing this chapter: MK system x f!reader

Word count: 3.5k

Content: angst, a reminder that this fic is nsfw, mdni! p in v, mentions of oral and other very suggestive thoughts and talk, all the yearning, ghost probs (no body), language, probably inaccurate DID (show based)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

Jake’s eyes were fluttering closed, his head dropping to the pillow.  “I’m so tired, but I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“Why not?” you asked, blinking innocently.

“Because...” another sigh, “I’m afraid that when I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"Spectorr!" Barney called over the usual Triple B's morning bustle.

The door's bell jingled as Jake pushed his way inside. He tipped his hat, greeting the oblivious owner, as Barney summoned him down to the side register. "Usual?"

As Jake bypassed several other customers, Barney noticed not only the flat cap, but a particular jacket and black gloves.

"Buenos dias," Jake flashed a grin.

"Mr. Lockley," Barney grinned. "Apologies. I'll get those hash browns started right away."

"Gracias," Jake shot back with a chuckle.

"Haven't seen you in a while, kid. How you doing?" Barney asked sincerely, getting to work on Jake's café au lait.

"The answer to that question is the fact that I'm here, Barn," Jake shrugged.

"Right, right," the older man nodded, his dark eyes shining with sympathy. "Still...how you holding up with things? Marc said he's having some trouble sleeping. Worried about you boys."

"I would tell you, but you would probably think I'm crazy."

"Whoa, now," Barney cautioned, "Your girl didn't let you talk like that. I'm not about to either. What's going on? Haven't seen Marc in here for days."

Jake wasn't really the care-and-share type. But Barney had a way of disarming everyone.

Besides, Jake wasn't exactly a pretentious fellow. He had nothing to hide.

Leaning in over the counter, Jake glanced around him and lowered his voice. "You believe in ghosts?"

Barney folded his thick arms over his round tummy. "You for real, Lockley?"

"I saw her. Talked to her. So did Marc." He kept his voice just loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the griddle and the bustle of morning customers.

Barney's eyes went wide. "You serious?"

Jake shrugged again. "Told you it sounds crazy. Why do you think Marc's not sleeping? Why do you think I'm here?"

Right then, Jake's order came up. "Figured it was for the café au lait." Barney winked, handing over the to-go hash browns and beverage. "On the house."

"You're a legend, Barn," Jake gave a little salute.

Taking his bag and disposable cup, he ventured back out into town - the town you'd loved so much. It was typically Marc and Steven walking these streets, living in daylight. Jake enjoyed the dark - his car, the noise of the city - the mystery of it.

But he loved you more. So an adorable bungalow in this little town was the life for him.

But now you were gone.

Today, he would work Marc's hardware store shift. He didn't mind. Hopefully Steven would show up for his library shift tomorrow. Sitting in a silent environment filled with old books was about like watching paint dry, at least for Jake.

He had a pleasant day working with his hands. He half expected to hear from one of his alters in various shop windows, but his walk home was quiet - adorned only by jack-o-lanterns, oversized cobwebs and the crunch of leaves under his boots. Then he happened upon the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" shop, where Ms. Marjorie was waiting in the doorway, as usual.

"Lovely evening," she called. "Mr...Mr. Lockley, isn't it?"

Jake removed his hat and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Don't think I've had the pleasure, Ms..."

"Ms. Marjorie," she returned. "I'm an acquaintance of Mr. Grant. I won't keep you if you're busy. Just wanted to say hello."

Jake nodded, intrigued by the strange old woman. "I'll, uh...I'll tell Steven you say hi. Nice meeting you."

"He told me a little, you know - about her. I'm sorry for your loss."

Jake normally wouldn't discuss his home life with strangers but he knew how to read people. Kindness lingered behind her eyes. The corners of those eyes crinkled with a sympathetic smile. "Goodnight, dear."

Jake nodded. "Buenas noches, Señora."

A bluster of wind swirled around Jake as he pulled his cap back over his curls.

The rest of the walk home was uneventful. Even Mrs. Nockles didn't magically appear to force a conversation. No, Jake walked all the way to Elm Street without incident. He thought he might eat a little something and then take a nap before working in the city tonight - both jobs.

He wanted to get back to the things that were his: the car, the darkness.

And he wanted to see you. He half expected you to be sitting on the bed once he climbed the stairs to the bedroom to change clothes. Even after a shower and that nap he was so interested in - nothing.

He finally got dressed to head out to his actual job, pausing at your front-porch-photograph hanging outside the bedroom in the hallway.

"Te amo," he whispered, swiping one finger over your pictured hair before pulling on his gloves.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The next morning, Steven woke up late. Not surprising, given that Jake was out most of the night.

You were there, perched on the end of the bed. You had become aware of yourself - conscious - while they slept. You watched your partner resting, longing to talk to him. And wondering if you would be seen once they woke up.

Steven saw nothing.

You followed closely behind him as he brushed his teeth and got dressed, sighing in defeat as he walked out of the bedroom, pausing by your picture in the hallway.

"'Mornin' my love," he softly greeted. "Miss you so much today. Almost feels like you're here. Guess I was a bit too hard on Marc. Might be going a bit bonkers myself. Thought I saw you in the window the other night."

You rose (floated?) to your feet, wishing with all your non-corporeal form that you could run to Steven and shake him.

"Steven, I'm here!" You called out. "Wait, please, I'm right here!'

But he left. You couldn't follow. You could never follow. Anytime you tried to leave the room you only ended up back in the Dark Place.

It happened a lot. It was like it took a lot of focus and energy to stay in this room.

Steven came home tired and oblivious. Ms. Marjore and Mrs. Nockles had invited him in for sandwiches, but he could barely keep his eyes open. He never lifted his gaze to find the bedroom curtains rustling. And of course, he couldn't see you there, waiting on the bed.

But the following morning, Marc did.

Steven had fallen into bed by 7pm, and Jake was exhausted from fronting. They slept all night, leaving Marc feeling quite refreshed.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in bed only to see you there on the end, waiting for him.

"Oh shit," he hissed, in surprise, running his hands over his face to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. By this point, he expected you to murmur some tortured nonsense and float out the window. But you scooted closer, seeming quite yourself.

"Marc?"

His dark eyes blinked and then narrowed, scrutinizing you for a moment. Was he dreaming?

Your head dropped in defeat when he failed to answer. "You can't see me," you lamented.

"Sweetheart, yeah. I can see you. I see you."

Your head snapped back up, making your hood fall down. "Marc," you breathed. "Hi..." You weren't sure what to say. You didn't want to scare him again.

"Hey," he softly returned, pulling back the covers to slide closer to you. "Don't leave, okay?"

"I won't," you quickly assured him, momentarily distracted as your eyes flickered down to his bare chest, trailing down his soft tummy, over the tantalizing bulge hidden by black boxer briefs. The thin fabric barely wrapped around his thick thighs.

Ahem.

"You’ve been gone. I missed you," you told him, eager to have a real chance to talk to Marc. "I'm so sorry I was scaring you. I wasn't trying to."

"I know, baby," he quickly nodded. "It's okay. I just..."

Your gazes locked.

His dark eyebrows shifted as he studied you quizzically...almost hopefully. “Jake said you talked to him for a while. That you seemed…clearer.”

You nodded eagerly. Feelings were still strange to you, but you were sure you felt relieved that Marc wanted to talk with you. That he wasn’t so traumatized by your presence.

He scooted closer - so close that, if you had a living body, your thighs would have been touching. His eyes studied you so carefully, with such tender regard, you were almost certain he wanted to kiss you.

“Is it true that you can’t leave this room?” He asked you, his voice tinged with sadness.

You chewed where your lip used to be, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I don’t think can leave. Not that I can remember.”

On instinct, he reached for your hand, but came up empty.

“Marc, I…I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay, baby. Not your fault.” He granted you a tender smile, but pain lingered behind his eyes. “You really weren’t downstairs the other night? In the living room, in my chair?”

Your eyebrows shifted in confusion. “I was sitting in your chair?”

“No, I was,” he explained. “You were sitting…well, on top of me.” Marc scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

So cute.

“I was sitting on top of you in your chair?” You repeated, blinking innocently. “What was I doing on top of you?”

Marc chuckled sheepishly, his dark lashes kissing his cheeks as his gaze dropped.

“Jake said you saw me naked,” you went on. “Was I naked, on top of you?’

This was too adorable. Marc Spector was blushing. “I, uh…I had too much to drink, I think. Probably a dream.”

“Was it a good dream?” You whispered, drawing his gaze back to you.

Marc peered at you openly now, his eyes locking on to yours. “You remember the seventh inning stretch?”

Oh, that.

Marc used to watch baseball games in his favorite chair. Occasionally, you watched too. Sometimes you were upstairs writing in your loft. Eventually, you would venture down and ask Marc how much longer til the game was over. He would always promise you he’d come upstairs during the seventh inning stretch - which, on television was simply another commercial break.

If Marc ever needed any convincing, you would simply appear in the living room wearing nothing. Once you had his attention, you would climb on top of him. Sometimes you were sure Marc pretended to ignore you just a little too long for the express purpose of you crawling on top of him in that damn chair and giving him a good ride.

You had a lot of good times in that old chair.

“I guess it had to be a dream,” he reasoned, pulling you from your reverie. “Damn good one.” Then he repeated something Jake had said. “You’re still so beautiful.”

You...swallowed? Your eyes fluttering down to Marc’s perfect, full lips, which he was presently moistening with his tongue.

What was going on? You were dead and he was very much alive. What kind of a ghost had…desires?

You were staring. Blatantly.

There were definitely more important issues than attraction right now, but Marc couldn’t help the way he responded to you. He loved you as much at this moment as he ever did when you were alive.

“Marc, I… it’s probably not fair to you, for me to be here like this. I mean…I still love you. But you…you should - "

“Do not say I should move on,” he warned, tearing his eyes from yours. “Don’t even think it.”

You found yourself speechless for a moment, which concerned him. Maybe you would become confused again, and disappear.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m not mad, just - don’t go yet, okay?” His voice broke as his eyes shone with moisture. “Don’t leave me just yet.”

“Hey, I’m here,” you soothed, drifting to stand in front of him. Peering down at him earnestly, you wondered how a dead vapor of a woman with no pulse and no heartbeat could feel such a burn in her chest - such a gut-wrenching longing.

You were presently dead. That was a fact. Which meant you were haunting Marc. If you kept this up, it would only hurt him. He would never be able to move on. But before you could figure out how to express your concerns, he beat you to it.

"I'm worried about you," Marc quietly confessed, his fingers toying with the vapor that was your hand. This small action both soothed and electrified you somehow.

“About me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Jake said you don’t know where you are, or why you’re not with your parents. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t answer - your face simply twisted as it was prone to do when you were carefully thinking, or sometimes, writing.

Marc would often find you in your loft, staring at a blank screen, your precious face twisted in thought.

“You’re stuck on a detail, right?” He would sweetly interrupt.

It was always true. You knew the outline of your story - where you wanted to go, but you would fuss over the details of the overalls your character wore, or how a strand of hair fell. Marc would help you zoom out and keep your eye on the big picture. Get the rough draft down. Be objective.

Steven would go through first and second drafts with you. He could spot continuity errors or suggest the slightest detail to brighten a paragraph.

Jake didn’t work with you too often, but he would take your manuscripts out at night with him and read them in his car. Jake always had a emotional suggestion. Even though you wrote children’s books, he would ask questions about their motivations.

“My 3 editors,” you would call them. You took their suggestions quite seriously, sometimes to the bewilderment of your actual editor.

Marc’s voice softly pulled you back to the present moment. “Sweetheart? You’re drifting away.” Peering down at him, you saw his eyes wide and worried.

“Marc?” You whispered. “Did I…was I gone just now?”

“No,” he confirmed. “Just quiet for a few minutes. I thought you might not come back for a while.”

A smile warmed your face. “No, I was remembering. It was…nice.”

After that, you and Marc got back on track - discussing the darkness and where you might be - why you weren’t at rest. You talked through some theories. Maybe this was the afterlife? Your bedroom - the place where you lived so much life, ate so many breakfasts-in-bed, sweetly conversed while moonlight streamed through the window.

Where your lover had held you in his arms, on his chest while you slept. The place filled with passion, heated lovemaking - night after night, tangled together in the sheets - the heavy length of him inside you…the press of his hips pinning you to the mattress.

The thickness of his thighs caging you in as you took him into your mouth, or the mess of dark curls between your thighs first thing in the morning.

Steven’s soft whimpers against your breast as he would suck you there.

The way you would pull Jake into bed by his tie at 4 am, end up with his gloved fingers stuffed deep into your pussy and his flat cap on your head. The tie would eventually secure your wrists to the bedpost and then you were in for it.

There wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t try with your partner and you loved every second of it.

The filthy words Marc would breathe on your neck as he would take you from behind.

He loved to find you half asleep, waiting naked for him to finish the baseball game. He would slide under the covers and pull you close - kiss a trail down the side of your neck as your legs fell open for him. Thick fingers slid between your folds to find you wet already.

Marc would lazily roll your clit between his thumb and finger -that sensation alone elicited lust filled moans that would make him instantly hard. You were already coming by the time he slid inside you, cupping your mound - pushing you down into his upward thrust.

This is how he fucked you for the last time. You whimpered and moaned and begged for more. So he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you up on all fours. Standing on his knees, he slammed into you from behind, but you wanted it harder. Harder.

You came again, blinding hot pleasure making you shriek as your back arched and your cunt gushed hot and wet all over him. He gathered you close as you murmured his name, begging him to stay inside you until he was hard again.

You fell asleep hot and wet and joined, and he slowly, deeply fucked you awake as the sun rose for your last day on Earth.

So maybe this was heaven.

You heard Marc calling your name once more.

“Sorry…I was remembering again.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he choked out. Looking down at him, there on the edge of the bed, you realized his cheeks were flushed and he shifted with the slight discomfort of a man with an erection.

“You were talking about the last time we were in bed together. In detail. Like...writer's detail.” His dark eyebrows shifted curiously. “You don’t remember?”

“I…said all that out loud?” If you had an actual face, it would feel hot right now. “Shit - I’m sorry. I guess I was just wondering if a place with so many good memories could be…heaven.”

This sobered Marc a little. Pushing off the bed, he…readjusted himself before raking a hand through his hair. He paced over to the window, giving you a delicious view from behind, before he whirled on his heel, back to you. “Lot of good memories, yeah.”

You eased over to him, reaching out. All you wanted was to feel his arms around you. When you came up empty, you saw his beautiful eyes moisten as his throat bobbed.

How could this be heaven if Marc was sad? And how could you share any more of those precious or salacious moments if you couldn’t touch him?

You just gave him an erection, for fucks sake.

"I'm happy, you know," he said softly, "if you drift to a good memory instead of the dark. It's...not something you need to apologize for. I'm glad for it."

"But you're sad," you whispered fervently. "I'm hurting you. Just by existing, I - "

"No," he hissed. "Don't say it's better if you're gone. Please just...don't fucking say it."

"But, Marc, I - "

The way his eyes flashed gave you pause.

"I better not list the house for sale," he murmured, mostly to himself. He ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully before finding your gaze once more. "I'm not gonna leave you here."

A breath you would never actually breathe caught in your chest, where your lungs should be. "You were going to sell the house?"

His head dropped, almost shamefully. "Babe, I...I'm not like them - Steven and Jake. I don't...adjust to things. I can't look at your pictures the way they do, or even talk about you..." He sniffed as his voice cracked with emotion. "This house isn't the same without you in it and I thought...I thought I would just - "

"Run," you interjected. "You thought you would run. Because Marc Spector thinks he can run faster than his pain, or punch it out of someone else."

He physically withdrew as your words stung him. It was delivered with more candor than you intended.

"I don't mean to judge you, Marc. I'm sorry, I..."

"No, you're right," he admitted. Marc knew what he was. He was just...made wrong. "Steven loves it here. It's his home. And Jake's at home anywhere his car is. Or we are. Steven and me. But I...I can't...can't seem to get myself together. Shit."

He shook his head, tearing his fingers through his hair. "Listen to me. What the hell am I even talking about when you're the one who..."

"You're grieving," you spoke softly. Sweetly. "There's no right way to do it. You're not wrong to need a change. You're not wrong to be angry. I know I am."

Marc nodded, feeling awful for somehow making this issue you were having about his pain. Pathetic. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. What can I do?"

"Marc, hey...look at me?" You wanted him to stop for a second and just be with you. He complied, the pain he felt pulling the corners of his mouth down. The wrinkle you used to smooth away with your fingers appeared between his thick eyebrows.

"Take it easy on yourself? For me?"

Easier said than done.

"And...and maybe don't sell the house just yet?" You barely managed that request in a choked whisper. "If this is the only place I am besides the dark, and...and you guys leave then, I'm afraid - "

"Of the dark," he solemnly concluded. Reaching for your hand again - pointless, though it was, he made a vow. "Baby, look at me. I will never leave you here alone. Never. I promise you."

You nodded, certain you could feel a warm reassurance washing over you. "Thank you. I love you so much."

"I love you too. Always."

Next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Follow @ivystoryupdates and turn on notifications to never miss an update

Join my tag list - for chaptered fics and one shots only

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @juleshadalittlelamb @tsukkie-daisuke

@pockcock @minigirl87 @uncle-eggy @cookielovesbook-akie @wyldeflwr

@animechick555 @tiffanypooh @thexsanctuaryx @majestic-jazmin @rosecentaur1916

@deezisnotreal @serren-diamandis @alexxavicry @spidey-3 @twiggoblin

@stevengmybeloved @just3rowsing @howellatme @dowbastan @lonelyisamyw-0love

@bookoffracturedescapes @mintellaine

@i-still-dont-like-your-face @wordacadabra @lilacspider @imonmykneessir @saints-and-sinners

@steven-grants-world @thewinterv @aquaarietes @suddenlysteven @ohantonia

@whatthefishh @sammi-doll483 @silvernight-m @pooliosworld @lilskirata

@elliemm @toobular @majestic-jazmin @strangerhands

[wmarximoff]

omg now that i read the dftr headcanons i can’t stop thinking about r sitting on her bed watching wanda doing her makeup and after a while asking wanda if she can do her makeup too when she’s done. i can imagine wanda being like “really?!” with a cute smile on her face; she doesn't even finish blending the eyeshadow on one of her eyelids when she is already sitting on r's lap asking her to close her eyes and stay still

(seriously dude, i can’t tell you how much i love this fic)

-🦇

pretty girl | w. maximoff

summary: sometimes even you and Wanda have your good moments.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, stalker!Wanda, strangely fluffy (as soft as they can be, at least), mentions of toxic relationship, drugging, brief somnophilia, brief cockwarming, maybe a hint of innocence kink.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 1k

main masterlist| series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Faced with the white light of the square lamp above your head that filled the four walls of the room, your vigilant eyes watched her cautiously. It was as if, in that small moment, the light engulfed and pushed any and all obscurity away from you and Wanda. As if she glowed within your dimness.

Something in the atmosphere was light, like snowflakes sprinkled over your eyelash extensions. Maybe it was the Christmas weather getting closer and closer and the winter zephyrs already around the corner, or even the fact that you and Wanda hadn't exchanged shoutings and swearings in about a week and a few more days beyond that, and for a while you had that appetizing taste of a truly healthy relationship branching out between you. Despite being a little boring, maybe even monotonous in the broadest sense of the word, normality was a good experience, just for a change.

Wanda, who was your girlfriend, that pretty figure with her narrow back turned towards you behind her long strands of ebony hair, was so naively positioned in front of the wide, rectangular mirror on your dressing table that took up half the wall next to the left of the double bed, where you saw yourself seated against the expensive satin sheets — your spine leaning forward, both your elbows supplanted by your close kneecaps, bared by the café-au lait-colored dress in which you had threaded yourself in.

It wasn't too early, and it wasn't even too late into the night also—it was just the perfect time for a perfect date at a reserved restaurant whose Wanda had arranged and you, sullenly grimacing, agreed to go with her because it would make her stay quiet for a while. It was like negotiating with a child.

Your silence within the room was diligent, circumspect, and linear as you just stared at her in quiet care, the creamy tip of a dark eyeliner coming and going masterfully across the waterline of Wanda's right eye, the dark smoky makeup serving as a backdrop that accentuated the piercing green irises that heightened the sweetly pathological look she used to offer you. That somewhat disconcerting look, lacking that tiniest spark of sanity, worthy of someone who's just killed somebody (so different from yours, who normally had actually been the one who'd just killed somebody).

But Wanda was dressed in a short black dress, loose but not too loose, that sheathed her figure and was accompanied by skinny tights and heavy boots tied around her ankles. And she looked lovely that night, even though she had been so in all the other predecessors to this one—the brown hair, the luminous tree-leaf-colored eyes, and those just-grabable hips reflected in the mirror like an innocuous little set of something that you could destroy, crush through your fingers if you must.

The image of a distracted Wanda, oblivious to the other happenings around her, had always been a small delight found in the core of you, something you always wanted to slurp up to the source, until you ran out, until she ran out; after all, it was in those little stolen and encapsulated moments that the other girl seemed so candid and immaculate, abnoxious to the evils of the world that had bruised her throughout her life. She was a victim, but she could also be your sweet little victim. As you were hers too.

The mascara lengthened and darkened the jade-colored expanse of her eyes even more. A tiny sliver of skin had been creased between Wanda's dark brows as your girlfriend studiously moved her right wrist up and down, applying very little dark makeup to her pale face against that reflection in the mirror that also captured your image a bit behind her, sitting right at the foot of the bed — trembling, pent-up, lonely desire in your lowered eyes, so lowered to stare at your girlfriend putting on makeup, the arch of her spine, her hips so bland.

“You look so beautiful...” was a dreamy sigh hissed under your breath that you didn't even realize you'd said until your own voice resonated in your ears, but by then it was too late because Wanda had already her wrist stagnated in midair, a pair of green eyes turning to your reflection near her hip.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You look beautiful too, baby,” Wanda smiled small at your face in the mirror, just one eye of hers carpeted by a layer of dark smoky eye shadow, “You always look pretty.”

“You,” there was a second of hesitation on your part, so uneasy in the face of such a beautiful figure, “Can you do… do my makeup after you're done there?”

And then, there was a sigh. One of those happy sighs of someone who doesn't believe the good news they've just received, holding the air behind a smile with lips, but no teeth. That genuine little smile that no one notices when they give (that little smile you knew so well how to emulate).

“Really?” Wanda glowed like a Christmas tree, a wide smile gracing the commission of her pearly lips, “Are you serious? You want me to do this for you?”

“Of course I'm serious, geez,” you mussed in a bad way, hoping to sound more grumpy than passionate, “I wouldn't ask you to do this if I wasn't serious, would I?”

But Wanda was already coming towards you before she even finished the act of making up her own pretty face. It only took a second for her legs to be bent on either side of both of your hips, landing on the top of your lap as if she had always belonged there. Amidst the weight of pale legs draped across your lap, the hem of her dress rose slightly to reveal a pair of thighs tucked into those thin tights. The length of her dark locks of hair, as close to your nostrils as they were, gave off a sweet, artificial scent of strawberry shampoo. You could devour her alive.

“Okay baby, close your eyes and stay still for me,” a thin, soft-bristled brush was wielded by Wanda with the same wit a knife would be wielded by a homicidal maniac.

But at the height of her left collarbone, where the faded scar opened into her skin in the shape of the first letter of your name, almost partially covered by the strap of her dark dress, your eyelids remained open, just staring at her skin. Wanda's legs were shaking a little, her knees were bent at the sides of your hipbone, and under the slanting tips of your fingers you could feel the layer of fabric that was taking hold very lightly along the length of her thighs. And then you tilted your face and placed a warm kiss against the scar on Wanda's collarbone.

“You're beautiful,” another kiss placed against the vibrating artery in her neck, “You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,” and your lips almost met hers, both of you breathing the same warm air, “You’re the only one I need to have in my life, Wanda. And I mean it.”

Wanda smiled against the outline of your parted lips, that glow of love lighting up the green inside both of her irises, “I love you, Y/n. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.”

You responded in a satisfying grunt, and Wanda kissed your upper lip. Your hands splayed possessively over the fabric of her dress at her lower back until the girl turned her face away from you, your noses almost touching in midair, she smiling so simply and chastely, so pure and sweet, like if she had never even threatened to sink the sharp edge of a knife into the middle of your chest during one of her periodic bouts of mental imbalance.

“Now let me do your makeup, baby,” black-painted nails smoothed the outline of your right bicep, “I don't wanna be late and miss our reservation.”

The truth is, Wanda loved these little couple moments (a real, true couple) between the two of you. Your sleepless nights all spent in the living room sofa accommodations watching black-and-white sitcoms and long-running movies no one else remembers the name of, the times you took her out to dinner at that expensive restaurant in Lower Manhattan that had an exquisite wine list and a beautiful view of the night city, or even something as frivolous and casual as when the two of you washed the dishes side by side, your elbows briefly brushing in midair after eating the dinner she went on the whole afternoon preparing.

Wanda loved being your girlfriend and all the experience that was imbued in the title; the ups and downs, the threats and the declarations. She just didn't love it when you spent more time looking at other girls on the spot behind your wineglass, hatching a thousand and one ways in your brain to rip them alive, to make them bleed and agonize while you rip off their skin and their flesh, than actually paying attention to your girlfriend's monologue about how her Social Psychology professor was "such an asshole".

So she did what she had to do. A glass of water and a small bottle of sleeping pills that had been prescribed for her, to stop her nightmares from leaking out of her head through her eyes and ears. And it was Wanda's self-proclaimed chore to do that when it came to making sure you were feeding your kidneys with doses of water properly. Just a glass of water, a peck placed in the corner of your mouth where your lips connected, “Love you, baby”, and in fifteen minutes you'd collapsed on the bed without even wiping off the makeup Wanda had put on your face.

But carefully she cleaned you and calmly she dressed you, like a porcelain doll or the most fragile of crystals, a child playing dress-up with a life-size toy. And she soon proceeded to tie that red silicone strap-on, her favorite, around your hips, and then to sink into it as she slipped into a crimson lace nightgown with no panties to be found underneath. With the toy extension wrapped inside her walls, Wanda snuggled into your chest that rose and fell heavily beneath the pajama shirt she'd tucked you into.

“You're not going after anyone tonight,” she mussed against a flash of skin on your chin, “You're not going to get away from me. You won't leave me tonight, Y/n. Not tonight. Tonight is supposed to be about you and me.”

 Wanda's head was then placed at the length of your left collarbone (the warm aura of your chest enveloping her icy body), one hand straddling your waist, the length of the strap nestled neatly deep inside her cunt.

“I love you, Y/n. But if you keep trying to leave me I might have to break your legs, baby.”

[jisungchan]

lover's café

ⓘ some interesting things go down at your favourite local coffee shoppe.

୭ genres: fluff, crack, maybe light angst, idk what else i'll update later

୭ reader identity: y/n is femme-bodied and uses she/her pronouns.

୭ tropes: see each person's "menu" (UPDATING SO BE PATIENT)

୭ warnings: listed at the beginning of each story if applicable

୭ taste test the drink, if you like it, order it!

special #1: johnny

taste test vanilla café au lait

order vanilla café au lait

special #2: taeyong

taste test galão

order galão

special #3: yuta

taste test red eye coffee

order red eye coffee

special #4: jaehyun

taste test iced americano

order iced americano

special #5: supposed to be jungwoo ... we shall see

taste test vanilla gelato affogato

order vanilla gelato affogato

special #6: haechan

taste test salted caramel cortado

order salted caramel cortado

a/n: AKMFKRFIEHQFEFNREOFBNJR;A i am sososoosoosososooo excited for this lil anthology. i always wanted to do sum like this and I finally figured out how i wanted to do it. hope you all enjoy<3 i maybeeeeeee put a lil too much effort into the menus but that's okay (even though i highkey spent HOURS on this and they still came out basic asf😹). also my tag 'loverscafe' will have all these fics under it :)

a/n2: all coffee definitions i got from tasteofhome.com!

[enbysiriusblack]

marauders coffee preferences please? because i'm trying to write a fic and i'm stuck 😭

this is good timing, i'm drinking coffee rn-

i feel like sirius would be more of a black coffee with maybe some sugar kinda person, drinks espressos and stuff. james wouldn't drink coffee much- more a tea man, but if he had to, it'd be like either a latte cause he likes the patterns and the different cups it comes in or like iced coffee with almond syrup. remus is also more a tea man but if he was getting coffee then probably a mocha or just like filter coffee with sugar and milk. peter would probably order like a caramel café au lait with coconut milk.

[jtl-fics]

Coffee shop au + FF

We’ve discussed him as a customer but what’s he like as an employee?

Fluent Freshman AU | Unusual Fic Asks - Closed

FF spent his college years at Palmetto State University tormented by baristas who must have hated him to his very core because in the 5 years of his degree they never once got his order right.

So, FF opened Secret Ingredient with the intention of getting people's orders CORRECT. FF kept any number of alternative sweeteners, dairy alternatives, and whatever else he needed so he could hand off every drink with a clear conscience.

He mastered the art of different coffees and his grandmother's recipes even if he would never have the full flavor profile since he lacked the secret ingredient of a Grandmother's love.

FF was living a good life. He was making good money and his passion for foreign languages had never died he had, with this coffee shop in mind, changed his degree to business management. If nothing else his foreign language skills made him a hit with the international students.

He just never expected his ability to cater to anyone would result in his little shop becoming the campus darling. His days started early and ran late but it was nice to have so many students come to his coffee shop.

His pastries almost never lasted beyond noon but when he spoke with one of his favorite customers, a marketing student by the name of Nicky, he waved him off the idea of making more.

"Supply and Demand. Keep them wanting more." Nicky said even as FF always kept Nicky's usual chocolate croissant order behind the counter so he could get it after his Exy practice. Nicky was older than the standard student but the two of them had become fast friends.

Such good friends that FF didn't bat an eye when he got a long text from Nicky as he was getting everything set upright at the start of the day requesting a whole slew of orders including one of the most complicated sugary drinks that he had ever seen. Nicky had sent along 20 'pls' and begging emojis afterwards and FF was powerless to do anything but say yes.

He started the drip brew for the one Red Eye and then got to the pour over for the Americano and the straight black. He made Nicky's traditional Mocha with the little bittersweet chocolate chips that he knew Nicky adored. Then he got started on a drink that would take his sizeable working knowledge to put together.

It took 5 minutes to craft the monstrosity and the baked goods that Nicky had requested were done just as he saw his friend rushing up to the closed door. He walked over and let Nicky in even if it was an hour before the official shop opening. "We got drunk in the dorm last night and I broke the coffee machine. My cousin was going to actually crazy murder me if I couldn't get them all their coffees. You are a literal life saver Smithy!" Nicky exclaims and kisses him wetly on the cheek and FF could still smell the alcohol on him.

"Glad to help." he says because he is, "celebrating that great win last night?" he asks.

Nicky nods, "That we were! I'll stop by later to chat more but I gotta get these to their owners before Andrew puts a hit out on me." he says rushing away.

FF continued to get himself ready for the day. Saturdays were actually one of her slower days since there were less people on the campus and it didn't draw people out the way Sunday did with 'I need to do my homework for Monday' energy.

He opened the shop and enjoyed his slow and easy morning with regulars and new faces.

His peaceful morning came to an end when the star goalie of Palmetto State's Exy team came in holding the plastic cup he had given to Nicky nearly three hours prior. "You made this?" he asks holding up the cup as he pushed past a regular who was trying decide if they wanted a Flat White or a Café Au Lait.

FF takes a deep breath.

"Yes that was me. Was there a problem?" he asks.

"Make it again." Nicky's cousin says.

So there was a problem with it. He opens his mouth to ask what the issue was but Nicky's cousin's face made it clear that he was not accepting any questions at this time.

So with shaking hands he remade Nicky's cousin's drink. Quadruple checking that everything was in there this time but it felt the exact same as last time.

He handed the man his drink as the other regular was now contemplating that maybe she wanted a Machiato instead, seemingly unaware of her proximity to danger.

Nicky's cousin put the cost of the drink on the counter and was gone before FF could ask about the drink. He felt his heart hammering in his chest wondering what he had messed up and hoping that Nicky's cousin didn't come back even angrier.

"I know this is a big ask but," the customer who had been contemplating which combination of coffee / espresso with steamed milk she wanted leaned in, "Any chance you have whiskey back there? I'm kind of feeling like a good Irish coffee." she says with a mischievous wink.

Oh he had alcohol back here, he lived above his coffee shop but he would be needing all of it for himself.

[eojeonna]

café au lait ☕ ✿ seokgyu | oneshot ✿ rated g ; 2.2k words ✿ coffee shop au ; fake/pretend relationship

"Seokmin awkwardly runs into his ex and a stranger saves him from having to face the embarrassment alone."

✿ read the fic here ♡

[arabriddler]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Soon enough, the waitress came in with their cakes and coffee. Oswald ordered a simple cheesecake slice and cappuccino. On the other side, Dent ordered a café au lait, and  two mini cakes, one vanilla and one chocolate. Dent then proceeded to cut half of each cake and put them together in one plate to make up one half-chocolate-half-vanilla mini cake. He looked in satisfaction down at his little arrangement.

“ café au lait is my favorite,” he said as he took a sip of the coffee,” its half brewed coffee and half steamed milk.” 

“ I can see you're an appreciator of…” Oswald titled his head to the side, looking for a word,” halves?” 

Dent chuckled, “ I’m more of an appreciator of a good balance.” 

“ is this why you’ve become a lawyer?” 

“ Mayhaps.” 

Fic ; the penguin and the peacock

progress:

rough draft: 19,422 words

edited: 3,638 words

[orivaa-kun]

BAD ATTITUDE | Chapter 1: About That Life

chapter word count: 8k warnings: mature (18+), violence, drinking, drug use, smut, fluff, angst, feels, rough s*x pairings: Gojo Satoru x Fem OC, Geto Suguru x Fem OC, Nanami Kento x Fem OC, Fushiguro Toji x Fem OC series summary: Jujutsu Kaisen Yakuza AU where Riku Ozaki (OC) is really good at getting herself into trouble. Though the Ozaki family is ranked #10 out of the 15 clans of the Tokyo Yakuza syndicate in terms of power & strength; and the Gojo, Geto, and Zenin families fall at #1, #2, and #3 respectively; that doesn't keep her from getting in the mix with these highly ranked, highly dangerous men. Her clan's bodyguard, Nanami, can hardly keep up with all the compromising positions she constantly finds herself in. Will she ever learn her lesson? Find out on the next episode of Dragon Ba- fic playlist: Spotify YouTube

Riku groans when she hears her phone alarm chime for the fourth time tonight but begins to stir beneath the covers of her futon. All she wanted to do was rest after a long day of work – but it was that time of year again, the night of the annual gala for all Tokyo Yakuza clans.

Riku hears footsteps in the hall outside of her room, “You better be getting ready in there,” her cousin Umika warns, before swiftly sliding the screen door open and flicking on the lights. Umika sighs at the sight of Riku still in bed and shakes her head, “Typical.” Umika is already wearing her fitted, black maxi dress with lace sleeves that’s rose pattern beautifully curled around the deep tan skin of her arms. Her hair is blown out into big ringlet curls that fell around her face and reached her shoulders.

“The fuck are we celebrating, anyways… another year of crime?” Riku grumbles and throws the covers over her own head.

Umika sighs, crossing her arms as she stood in the doorway, “Riku, you know this is about showing respect to the top clans. Not going would be disrespectful in itself. Also, that crime paid for this house, so show a little appreciation, yeah?”

Riku doesn’t know why she tries to reason with Umika of all people, but continues to anyways, “But shouldn’t Uncle Jin be enough? He’s the leader of the clan, and you’re his heir!” She pulls the covers down to look at Umika.

“Look, I don’t make the rules. You get invited to the gala, you go. If you don’t, bad shit happens, and our whole family takes the hit. That’s it. Now get off your ass!”

Riku moans in feigned agony, “Fine.” She slips out of her futon, beginning to fold it up on the tatami covered floor.

“And you better hurry, too; my dad is already on the way there.” Umika begins to slide the screen door back, leaving Riku’s room, “We’re leaving in 15!”

“You hate me!” Riku shouts, dramatically.

“Yeah, yeah…” Umika waves the comment away, already down the hall once more.

When Riku appears in the main room, she’s wearing a champagne-colored, silk, and sleeveless mini dress that shimmered under the light. Without time to flat iron or do much of anything to her hair, she’d decided to wear her jet black curls in a neat, high bun, and dedicated the bulk of her 15 minutes to doing a quick ‘no-makeup’ makeup look. She fumbles her hand around in her white and black leather-lined clutch, making sure she has the essentials, “Umika, do you know where my black hee-”

Umika raises the pair of black, red-bottoms up in the air, already approaching the front door, “Let’s go.”

“Thank you, Umika~!” Riku smiles over at her cousin lovingly, which is promptly ignored.

Nanami glances up from his phone at Umika’s announcement, eyes widening briefly when he sees Riku. He stands and whistles, taking a moment to admire her long legs and the glow of her café au lait skin, “Wow, you look nice-”

Riku smiles, about to thank him but is cut off by his next words.

“-was beginning to think you only wore sweatpants and t-shirts.” The blonde teases, smirking. Nanami wore an all-black suit tonight, different from his usual tan and blue shirt combination. He’s only 4 years older than Riku (25) and 2 years older than Umika (27), but he’s always far more serious about his work, that is, unless he’s having a drink with friends or cracking jokes at Riku’s expense.

She frowns, “You know, Kento, a clan bodyguard should be a lot nicer than you are.” Riku heads to the door and retrieves her heels from Umika before slipping into them.

Nanami follows behind her to activate the automatic lock on the door, “A clan bodyguard protects the clan,” he shrugs, “sorry sweetheart, not obligated to do anything else.” He begins to set up the home security system from his phone app as they make their way outside.

“Isn’t our family still ranked 11th out of the 15 clans in Tokyo?” Riku asks, genuinely, “Why do we have to go to this thing after all these damn years?” She briefly looks over the massive, combined traditional and modern style Japanese property that she and the whole Ozaki clan call home – though, it had been a bit empty with Uncle Jin and others out on business. As always, Umika and Riku were left to handle the day-to day tasks of their family’s businesses while their elders have other issues to attend to.

The trio approaches the black Chevy SUV parked in the center of the driveway circle, and Nanami opens the back door for the two women, “Your family is ranked 10th now, and though the rankings are based on each clan’s strength and annual generated revenue, we all still work together…”

“…to contribute to the Tokyo syndicate.” Riku choruses the last part with Nanami as she slips into the car behind Umika, having heard this sentence uttered at least a hundred times by Tokyo clan leaders. She rolls her eyes, “I know. Just seems useless for us to be traveling an hour into and out of the city to play dress up and drink expensive champagne... when we could, you know, be resting so we can actually have the energy to run all our damn studios, museums, and concert venues, ya know?”

Nanami closes the door once Riku is inside then slips into the driver’s seat before starting the car, “Ri, I’m already working overtime protecting you two today – you don’t have to convince me.” He begins to steer the SUV out of the circle and onto the main stretch of driveway that led to a large glossy black and bronze gate that slowly began to open at Nanami’s press of a button beside the rear-view mirror.

“You’re mistaken, Riku,” Umika speaks up, in the midst of typing up an email for something that was most likely business related, “this is part of the job.”

Riku lets her cousin’s words sink in. Well, Umika isn’t wrong about that. For a minute, Riku wonders how many other members of the Tokyo Yakuza would rather not be at the gala tonight.

“Ken, can you turn the music up?” Riku asks; it would be a long ride, after all.

“Sure thing, Ms. Ozaki.” Nanami nearly coos with a bit of extra formality, mostly because he knows how much Riku hates being addressed by her clan and family name.

*

When they arrive at the Gojo clan’s estate – well, one of the Gojo clan’s many estates in Tokyo – Nanami exits the driver’s seat and opens the back door for Umika and Riku before offering his hand to help each of them step down from the SUV. He meets eyes with Riku when she takes his hand, “Ma’am.”

“Shut up, Kento.”

He smirks just barely, then closes the door and tosses the keys to the valet.

There are two guards in all black suits and shades who nod at each other after sizing the three of them up, then move to open the main door to the conglomerate of mansion-like buildings. If the Ozaki home is massive, this is… simply otherworldly. It would take hours just to walk through the entire estate once. While one of the guards taps the com in his ear and mumbles something about the rest of the Ozaki family invitees entering, Riku glances over the expansive acres of property that she had only seen a few times before in years past. She takes in and notes the obvious Roman and British influences on the structure of the main building’s pillars, marble work, courtyard, and ivory shading. As visually overwhelming as the estate is, she can’t deny it is the perfect place to host hundreds of wealthy yakuza assholes.

The main door opens and the talkative noise of gangsters chatting and live musicians playing in the great ballroom immediately hits their ears. Two women in uniform check them for weapons then greet and welcome them in the entryway. The artist in Riku can’t help but hate the elaborate combination of white marble and gold all over the floors and walls; it was too stuffy and there was hardly any real sense of artistic intention driving the floor plan nor décor of this mansion, other than money, “Ugh… they call this a home?” Riku says beneath her breath, mostly to Umika who walked beside her, “Gross. How could anyone seriously live here?”

“Shh!” Umika quickly retorts, “Not the time!!” She whisper yells between closed teeth.

A uniformed man with a tray of champagne flutes strides over, and Riku takes a glass while Umika waves her hand at the man to decline. If Riku has to be here, she at least wants something to bear it a little easier. She takes a long sip from the glass as Umika scans the ballroom for her father, finally catching sight of Jin Ozaki who just happens to be at one of the bars shaking hands with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto – the youngest and strongest clan leaders of the Tokyo syndicate. That said, they are still about Nanami’s age. There’s an overwhelming presence from that side of the room in general, and Riku doesn’t want to be anywhere near it.

“Oh great, it’s your friends.” Riku remembered Nanami sharing that he’d gone to the same private school with Gojo and Geto. She takes another, much longer sip from her glass, nearly finishing it.

“I’m gonna say hi to dad and some folks. You coming?” Umika asks, with zero excitement in her voice.

“Over there? Absolutely not.” Riku shakes her head. Gojo and Geto are the strongest for a reason and isn’t just because of their clans’ combined manpower and money. It’s because of their dangerously powerful business skills and practices. They are ruthless when it comes to advancing their goals and clan business ventures and aren’t afraid to use violence to get what they want – or so Riku hears, “I’ll catch up with Uncle Jin at our table.”

Riku strides over to the seated area where a gala waitress directs her to her table. Riku thanks her when they arrive at a table with a card in the center that reads ‘10’… 10th place out of the 15 families… of course, she thinks, “Thank you, I don’t know you all remember all these names to be able to direct us so easily…” Riku says in an apologetic tone, sitting in the seat that had her name card in front of it. Of course, her seat faces the back of the room instead of the stage and she would have to twist her neck just to look at the front. She isn’t from a top ranked clan and isn’t even the heir of the family. It all makes sense, but that doesn’t make this petty seating bullshit any less annoying.

The waitress rubs the back of her neck with a shy laugh, “Hah, it’s just part of the job, ma’am. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait for the rest of the Ozaki family?” The dining area is practically empty as most are socializing over near the open bars and live music.

“Uh, yes. Can I get a really strong old fashioned, and another glass of champagne?” Riku tucks her clutch next to her in the seat and neatly folds her hands over her lap.

“Of course, Ms. Ozaki!” As soon as the words leave the waitress’s mouth, a man in uniform appears behind her and is already refilling her flute, “Just a moment for the old fashioned.” She smiles in a practiced yet kind way.

Riku nods and the woman disappears. Riku releases a soft sigh as her eyes trail over the whole ballroom, squinting a bit as she she now sees Nanami and Geto laughing and clinking glasses of whiskey, while Umika chats with some friends of hers on the opposite side of the room. Part of her wonders where Gojo and Uncle Jin had gone but she doesn’t try to think much about it. For all she knows they could be in a back room talking business or something.

Riku opens the clutch at her side to check her phone for the time. 21:40. It would be 20 minutes until the gala starts, “20 minutes closer to getting the fuck out of here…” She mutters under her breath.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

Riku turns in her seat to find two men standing behind her, one with his hand on her chair, “Hi,” she manages in a voice that is more customer-service sounding than authentic. The man with his hand on her chair seems to be in his late 30s and wears a flashy burgundy suit, while the other looks to be in his 40s and has on a gold-colored tux. Both are fashion choices that make Riku want to throw up in her mouth a little bit.

“What’s your name, sexy?” The one in the burgundy suit questions with a crooked smirk; both men look like they’ve undoubtedly been in countless fights with the many tiny scars littered around their hands and faces.

“Reina, nice to meet you,” she lied instinctively, offering her hand to shake with the man in burgundy then the one in the gold suit. She did not want her real first name floating around with whoever these guys were friends with. “You two are…?” She waits for the men to share their names.

“Reina? That’s pretty,” the man in burgundy replies, “I’m Akio, and he’s Kaito. We’re Zenin clan muscle.” Of course. Even with all their internal and external issues, the Zenin clan deals in weapons and has continued to rank 3rd for over 20 years now. Their sheer brutality is undoubtedly a big reason behind it.

Kaito lifts Riku’s hand to his mouth to kiss, instead of shaking it.

Literally kill me right now. Riku thinks to herself, continuing to feign a smile, “Haha, thank you…”

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing all by herself?” Kaito steps closer, both men towering over Riku as she’s still sitting and they’re pretty tall, themselves.

“Just waiting on my family, and bodyguard to sit down.” Riku emphasizes the last part, but the men pay no mind. They were far too busy raking their all-too-conspicuous eyes over every inch of her body. This is what Riku dreads about these kinds of functions. She glances over to where she last saw Nanami, but he’s still drinking with Geto. What do we even pay him for?

“Right,” Akio dismisses Riku’s words with his tone, breaking his gaze with her to glance over at the table; he spots the big number ’10,’ “Ten… that’s the Ozaki family this year – right, Kai?’

“Mhm.” Kaito nods affirmatively, “Who knew they had girls like this in the Ozaki family?”

“Hard to tell when they’ve never ranked under 10 before.” Akio says, and the two man laugh. “Can’t even see if they’re ugly or not, since they’re so damn far from our tables at the front of the ballroom!” He adds and their laughter turns into an all-out guffaw.

Riku’s fake smile quickly falters into a glare, “Well at least I’m not in the same family as you incestuous, murder-loving motherfuckers with dicks for brains. What’s wrong? Got tired of keeping it in the family and wanna hit on me? What will your sister-wives think?” Riku mocks, boldly. The whole ‘keeping it in the bloodline’ thing is more of a yakuza rumor, but Riku knows how much Zenin folks hate hearing it.

The men’s laughter comes to an immediate halt. Kaito bends over so his face is hardly a few centimeters from Riku’s, and Akio’s knuckles turn white at the tightness of his grasp on Riku’s chair, the wood creaking beneath his strong grip, “The fuck did you say, bitch?” Kaito questions, nearly spitting the words at her.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not afraid to teach a low rank cunt a lesson, even if she is yakuza.” Akio says, still standing up straight but glaring down at Riku, “Might even be fun, too.” He grins, sickly.

And the danger of the situation doesn’t hit Riku until this very moment. She tries to remain calm and keep her facial expression cool, but it’s more than obvious that she’s completely pissed these Zenin guys off, and she can’t help but fear how they might react.

Once again, her mouth had gotten her into trouble. Oops.

“Hey gentlemen, why don’t we keep things respectful and give the lady some space, hm?” A new voice enters their conversation, one Riku had only heard at a distance. It’s an unmistakable one.

Satoru Gojo placed his hands on the backs of the two Zenin men, and they’re ripped out of their anger-ridden trance at the sight of the white-haired man. He wears a royal blue, fitted 3-piece suit that is perfectly tailored to his tall and toned body. Small black spectacles sit low on the bridge of his nose so his cerulean eyes peek through.

The Zenin men back away, “Whatever,” Kaito mutters, shaking his head. Nobody wanted to fight Satoru Gojo. And now was not the time nor place.

Akio starts to walk away from the table with his friend by his side, “Better pray we don’t catch you alone again…” he taunts.

“Or what?” Gojo asks honestly with a dangerous glint in his eye. Riku’s pulse thumps loudly in her head when she feels the light pressure of his large hand on her shoulder.

Akio shakes his head, “Nothin’.” And the men depart to another section of the ballroom.

Gojo waits until the men are at a distance before focusing his attention to Riku.

“You good?” He takes his hand off her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Riku quickly collects herself, regaining her composure. She clears her throat, “I mean I had that covered, but thanks.”

Gojo blinks down at Riku a few times in complete silence, then suddenly bursts into laughter.

Riku feels her cheeks redden. It was that obvious she was in trouble?

When Gojo recovers from his fit of laughter, he taps Riku’s shoulder, “But seriously, beautiful, you should be more careful about what you say to these guys – sick as most of ‘em are.” Gojo suddenly drops into a squat so that he and Riku are nearly at eye level, his gaze just below hers, “What’s your name?”

The sudden proximity to Gojo makes her stagger over her words, “Reina.” Riku isn’t sure why she lies this time, perhaps out of nervous instinct?

“Reina, right.” Gojo briefly furrows his brows, “Ozaki family so you help handle the arts businesses in our city, right?”

“Yep. And you are…?” Riku asks, stretching her arm in Gojo’s direction and obviously acting as a sort of jab at Gojo. Everyone here knew who Gojo was, regardless if they’d met him personally or not. But something about his cool and confident nature makes Riku want to take him down a few notches.

“Satoru Gojo,” he chuckles out before lightly squeezing her hand, “well, if you need anything tonight, come find me, alright?” He continues to hold eye contact with Riku while he lightly flicks the name card in front of her that clearly displays her real name, “Nice to meet you, Riku Ozaki.” He winks at her, then stands before striding off towards the opposite side of the room and continuing to greet yakuza.

Riku puts her face into her hands, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

Just then the waitress reappears with Riku’s old fashioned and sets it down on the table, “Everything alright, ma’am?”

“Just perfect.”

*

Riku uses her fork to gently fiddle with the shrimp pasta she’d selected from the three gala menu options; it was okay, just not very flavorful. She sits beside her Aunt Risako - who’s Uncle Jin’s wife and cousin Umika’s mom. Nanami sat on the other side of her.

“You’re not going to eat?” Aunt Risako asks, cutting into her ribeye steak, “It’s good!” She smiled over at her niece, her short brown bob framing her face.

The room had finally quieted down as countless members from the 15 Tokyo families sat around their respective tables, talking, eating, and drinking between various gala speeches. Riku mirrors her aunts smile in return, “I will in a bit, just not that hungry now.”

Uncle Jin had already presented his talk about the recent venues our family had acquired and how it continues to increase our family’s income and contribution in an exponential way, but most of the families chatted through; they were far more interested in the Zenin’s talk about weapons or the Geto family’s speech about their drugs. No one cared about the arts much until it came time for entertainment.

A trio of spinning poles had been set up on the stage and Riku watches as three women pole dancers in elaborately lacy, tight costumes stroll out to dance their practiced routine. Riku recalls two of the girls’ faces, remembering that she’s she stood in to teach a handful of classes at their family’s dance studio a couple of times. Regardless, many of the men flock towards the stage to get a closer look, gawk at, and throw bills at the girls. It makes Riku want to step out for a moment. They’re not strippers, they’re pole dancers. There’s a big difference.

She pushes her chair a bit away from the table before standing and retrieving her clutch.

“Where you going?” Nanami asked, currently taking a bite of salmon.

“Bathroom.” Riku says, already waking back towards the ballroom entrance where the powder rooms and restrooms were. Riku is about to enter one but spots a more secluded bar that appears to be in a side room. She slides through the half open door’s small opening, which reveals a small yet extravagant lounge room and spread of countertop, a collection of old and expensive bottles on display behind the bar. There are only five yakuza inside and one single staff behind the bar, and this puts Riku’s mind at ease as she was happy to be away from the noise. She sits down on one of the leather bar stools, surprised by how comfy it was.

“Anything for you, ma’am?” The man behind the counter asks, wiping a class with a white rag.

Riku is already five drinks in, having had three glasses of champagne and two old fashioneds… She decides to tone it down a bit as her face was already beginning to feel warm, “Do you have a… sparkling chenin blanc by chance?”

“We do.” He smiles, “Loire Valley and all. Want to give it a try?”

“Yes, please.”

The man nods and starts to retrieve a bottle from a refrigerated shelf that’s still somehow covered in a thin sheet of dust; Riku doesn’t want to think about how expensive it is.

“Rare grape.”

Riku only notices the man behind her when he speaks up, her heart jumping in surprise when she turns to see the other half of the duo she did not want to be around tonight.

“Rare, yes, but amazing when you find a good bottle.” Riku is glad she has a few drinks in her, as her reply definitely wouldn’t have been as calm without them.

Suguru Geto plops down on the seat beside Riku, eyes holding hers as he does so. He wears a deep red shirt and a gray suit that was nearly black, his suit jacket tossed on the bar stool on the opposite side of him to reveal the red dress shirt that’s fabric is rolled up to reveal his sleeves of colorful dragon tattoos beneath which stretch all the way up to his neck. His hands were clothed in black leather gloves, “You’re right about that.” He agrees, lips curing in a small smirk as his small black eyes seemed to smile at her, “What are you doing in here?” He questions. Geto quickly diverts his attention to the bartender and taps his glass for a refill of whatever whiskey he’s drinking.

“Just needed a breather.”

Geto eyes quickly dart around around the room before refocusing on Riku, “You got a bodyguard?”

Riku rubs her fingers over the stem of her wine glass when it’s placed in front of her, “Yes.” She sighs out, “But I can handle myself.”

Geto chuckles at Riku’s response, not expecting her to be so offended by the question, “Just looking out for you, sweetheart. This is a dangerous place.” He takes a closer look at her, before raising a brow, “Ozaki family, right?”

Riku’s eyes widen in genuine surprise by the fact that he knows, sure they hadn’t personally met before, “Yeah… how’d you know?”

He lifts a finger from his glass to poke in her direction as the bartender refills it, “Your posture. I know a dancer’s body when I see one.” He takes a swig after his glass is topped off.

Riku isn’t sure why Geto’s words make her blush, but they do. She takes a sip of wine to hide it.

“What’s your name?”

She doesn’t dare lie again, “Riku.”

“What characters do you use?”

“Dignity, or awe-inspiring for the ‘Ri’ and sky for the ‘ku.’”

“That’s fitting. You’re gorgeous.” Geto’s smirk grows, but only for a moment. His smile softens as he leans over, closing a lot of the space between them. Riku is sort of startled by how intimate the other is able to make something as trivial as a greeting. Geto pokes his hand in her direction, the words spilling so soft and kindly from his mouth that they truly feel like a compliment, “Very nice to meet you, Riku. Call me Suguru.” Geto’s long black hair falls over his shoulder and Riku gets a whiff of his cologne. Of course, he smells great.

“Nice to meet you, Suguru.” Riku slowly shakes Geto’s hand, internally screaming. She could not take being so close to the drug clan’s leader for this long. Though it was just a greeting, her heart was doing backflips out of surprise, attraction, fear…? She’s unsure of which one; perhaps all three. First Gojo, now him?

“Tell me about yours-” Geto starts, but both of their thoughts are silenced by the sound of an automatic gun shooting into the air of the main ballroom.

Their eyes widen, and Riku is frozen in her seat with fear. Through the small opening of the door, she’s able to spot suited men with rifles enter the ballroom en masse, the whole room beginning to stir with yells and screams. The thunder of a hundred footsteps sounds as yakuza leaders, wives, and their adult children trample towards the main doors.

Before she realizes it, Geto is already at the side of the door in a safe position. He retrieves his handgun from his waistband and holds it expertly between his hands, ready to shoot anything or anyone that may enter the side room they were in.

The bartender and few other folks in the room had already fled, leaving just the two of them.

“You need to get out of here gorgeous.” Geto says, nodding towards the exit opposite to the door he currently stands by – that leads to the great ballroom where gunshots continuously sound. Riku is still frozen.

“Riku? Riku!” When she snaps out of her daze, Geto is at her side, her arm in his tight grasp, “I said you need to get out of here!” He shouts over the screams and shots in the ballroom. Wasn’t this supposed to be a weaponless event?!

“B-But my family!!”

“You better hope your bodyguard is protecting them,” He begins, but is cut off when two men notably from the Zenin clan appear, guns raised in Geto’s direction.

Geto doesn’t hesitate, using one hand to move Riku behind his back to shield her and the other to quickly shoot down the two men, hitting one in the hand and the other in his abdomen.

Riku watches in horror as their blood begins to spread over the marble floor, the color draining from her face.

“Zenin clan? What the fuck…?” Geto trails off in thought, not scared like Riku but equally astonished by this recent turn of events.

The two of them are both alarmed when Gojo barges through a third door Riku didn’t notice before, the white-haired man’s black spectacles now gone and his suit a bit disheveled – most likely from fighting.

His piercing blue eyes dart to Riku in confusion, “You…?” He shakes the distraction from his head before looking over at his friend, breathing heavily from previously running.

“The fuck is going on, Satoru??!”

“It’s Toji. Toji and a bunch of muscle from the Zenin clan are staring an uprising.” He walks closer to his friend and Riku, who’s still tucked behind his Geto’s back.

“Fuck.” Geto releases Riku to roughly run a hand through his hair.

“The hell are you doing here?!” Gojo peers down at Riku in confusion, anger, and concern, but mostly anger, “Your family’s already outside!”

Riku was relieved to at least hear that and opens her mouth, about to explain herself; Geto cuts her off, “We need to get her the fuck out of here.” He says, surprisingly calm.

Gojo releases an exasperated sigh, shaking his head and looking at Riku in a pissed sort of way that explains everything he isn’t saying: that she would slow them down, “Jesus Christ, beautiful, you sure are fucking good at getting your ass into trouble.” He grabs her arm, pulling her into his side before starting to make his way towards the 3rd door he’d just entered through that leads to a connecting meeting space.

Gojo and Geto are on high alert as they maneuver though the space, stopping behind tables and desks to occasionally scan the room for any hidden intruders. When a bald man in a bright orange suit enters, Gojo tosses Riku into Geto, and she yelps. Geto’s thick tattooed arm locks around her waist and pulls her into him as his friend handles the bald man with a few powerful punches and a harsh kick to his side. The man falls to the floor, immediately falling unconscious.

This continues through a series of connecting rooms, Riku practically being thrown between Gojo and Geto as they punched and shot their way through the mansion, most likely aiming for the building’s back exit. Geto feels Riku’s body tremble with fear one of the times he’s holding her and can’t help but feel for her. It’s obvious she isn’t used to this kind of violence and if this is what it means to be a member of one of the higher ranked families, then Riku wants no parts of it.

“Don’t worry, babe. We got you.” He tries to reassure her, briefly squeezing the arm he had wrapped around her waist while Gojo took out a duo of men in black suits.

Riku vaguely feels her phone vibrate from inside her clutch but it’s the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She looks up at Geto, who’s eyes were still scanning the room. Riku could tell the soft smile on his lips was directed to her and nodded.

Suddenly, a side door busts open with a loud bang and five men pour in with guns drawn.

“Shit, beautiful, maybe not…” Suguru says so only Riku can hear.

“Everyone, hands up!” One of the armed men shout, pointing his gun in the direction of Gojo, who pushes his arms into the air in mock surrender.

“Hey, now, why don’t we settle this the old-fashioned way?” He asks with a smirk, as he was currently unarmed.

“Fuck you, Gojo.” The main man says, ignoring Satoru’s offer as fighting the strongest yakuza in Tokyo hand-to-hand was basically the same thing as letting him win, “Keep your hands up.”

Three of the men point their guns in Geto and Riku’s direction, “You two, too! Drop the gun, Geto!”

Geto does as the men say, allowing the silver handgun to thump to the floor before pushing his hands in the air. Riku follows suit, swiftly hiding her phone between her breasts before discarding her clutch altogether and raising her hands in the air.

“Out!” The fifth man commands, motioning with his gun for the three of them to exit the room and return to the main banquet hall.

The three of them slowly trail out and are led through the now completely abandoned ballroom - except for the five Zenin muscle that brought them here and one other man. Riku can tell the man is ripped just from his broad back alone. He turns and Riku sees the man she’d only heard rumors about prior to this moment.

A wicked grin spreads across his face at the sight of Gojo and Geto, and he starts to laugh, smile curving the large gash-like scar at the corner of his mouth. Toji. The undoubtedly powerful man wore a black suit like the bulk of his men, but it was visibly far more expensive than the rest. The tailored clothing just barely contained the thickness of his muscled form.

“Ah, just the people I’ve been meaning to see.”

“Awful to see you too, asshole.” Gojo replies with a smirk.

“What the fuck do you want now, Toji?” Geto asks, a look of disgust on his face. Guns still pointed at them so the three kept their hands raised.

“Well money of course, for one, but before that,” his eyes move to Riku. He walks over to her, a lustful, downright disgusting look in his eyes, “who do we have here?” He smooths his calloused, scar-littered fingers under Riku’s chin, trailing them down to her chest. She tries to push the man away, but he quickly grabs both her wrists in one of his hands, smirk only growing as Riku scowled up at the tall, bulky man.

“She’s no one,” Satoru starts, trying to protect her, “just a low rank clan family member. This isn’t about her.”

“Hey, fuck you, I’m not no one…” Riku starts, only realizing what Gojo was trying to do after the words slip from her lips. Her eyes widen.

Toji laughs again, closing the space between the two of them, “I like this one… She’s got some spunk to her.” Toji glances to Gojo and Geto with an evil look, “Would be fun to break her.”

“Toji you-” Gojo begins to move but freezes to the click of a handgun being loaded beside his ear.

“Whoa there, careful! Wouldn’t want to lose your brains now, would you?” Toji shouts, tone both overdramatic and disgusting, “Now, back to you, pretty…” He returns his gaze to Riku. Even if she’s no one to Gojo and Geto, Toji likes fucking with the duo’s sense of justice and knows they’d try to protect her regardless, “What’s your name?”

Riku spits in his face before responding, “None of your fucking business, prick.” She grumbles in anger, attitude as bad as ever. A small, satisfied smirk finds her lips as she watches her spit roll down Toji’s scarred face.

Geto exchanges looks with his friend, his exasperated expression saying everything words didn’t need to: Is this bitch crazy? Spitting at Toji??!

Toji’s grin turns into an unsatisfied look, clicking his tongue at Riku’s actions, “Now that’s not the answer I was looking for…” He shakes his head, removing his trailing fingers from Riku’s body before brutally smacking his palm over Riku’s cheek with a hard thump.

Riku’s head twists to the side, and she immediately begins to taste blood in her mouth as it is, without question, the strongest slap she’s ever received in her life. Pain jolts in the bones of her neck and she already begins to feel the skin of her face bruise and swell.

Toji grabs Riku’s face, and she feels like he could crush her skull in his hand if he wanted to. A tear streams down her swollen check at the intense pain. The man with spiky black hair repeats himself, an angered look in his eyes in response to Riku’s disrespectful action, “Your name.” He demands.

“Ymvr…” Riku mutters, barely able to speak with Toji’s grip on her jaw.

“What was that?” He leans in closer to the girl with a smirk as she writhes in pain, ear pushing closer to her lips.

“Your mother.” She finally manages, using Toji’s grip on her hands to steady herself as she quickly raises her legs, the bulky man now unintentionally holding her weight in the air as she swiftly sends the strongest kick she can manage to his balls.

“Agh!!” Toji’s face twists and he yells in agony, both him and Riku collapsing to the floor.

Gojo and Geto exchange looks again, both using the surprise of this situation as an opportunity to take out the two men directly behind each of them, first twisting and jabbing their arms to steal their guns away. They quickly make work of the rest of the five men, shooting some in non-vital places and kicking others.

All the while, Toji is groaning from the floor, “You bitch…!” He spits between clenched teeth, hands cupping his crotch.

Riku stumbles to her feet, abandoning her one remaining high heel before making a dash for the back door, “Coming?” She questions as she quickly breezes past Gojo and Geto, who had just finished kicking the last of the Zenin muscle.

“Yeah, let’s get the fuck outta here.” Gojo says with a final kick, and the two run out the door behind Riku.

“Uhh, car?!” Riku half asks, half yells once they’re outside, praying one of the two men had one nearby.

“Mhm, this way,” The dark of the night sky temporarily camouflages the men outside of Geto’s red shirt and Gojo’s white hair, that is, until Riku’s eyes adjust. Gojo reaches forward, “Matter of fact…” he grabs Riku’s waist and throws her over his shoulder, already beginning to move in an all-out sprint.

Riku yelps at suddenly being manhandled, now only able to see the white of Geto’s smirk as he ran behind Gojo. He thought this was funny?!

“What are you doing?!” She whisper-yells.

“Sorry, babe, easier to move this way.” Gojo gives the back of Riku’s thigh a small smack, that makes her face turn bright red with embarrassment.

Geto tries to hold back a laugh but fails after seeing the look on Riku’s face.

Finally they arrive at a large garage and Gojo hits a code into a keypad at the side of the building, Riku still over his shoulder. The door slowly rises off the ground and they slip in, Gojo grabbing the keys to his Lamborghini Urus before unlocking the doors.

Riku is thrown into the back seat and before she can get her bearings together, the engine is starting and the SUV wheels screech forward from a halt and out of the driveway.

Geto looks back at Riku from the passenger seat, “Buckle up, Riku, this guy’s a shit driver.” He smirks.

“That’s not true, I’m a great driver. Especially in these conditions—“ Gojo says with a sharp turn of the wheel and suddenly they’re speeding through the grass of the courtyard. Riku hears a few gunshots sound in the distance and buckles up before putting her head down. There's the yelling of a few Zenin clan men and the gunshots continue, a few bullets even piercing the back of the window, but none pass through.

Gojo chuckles when he quickly glances at Riku in the rear-view window, “It’s bulletproof, babe.” He explains, then takes another sharp turn to a roughly 400-meter-long driveway that leads to the main road.

Riku slowly sits up, worriedly looking out each of the windows before seeing that they were finally at a good enough distance from the Gojo estate. She takes a shaky, deep breath to calm herself down, almost wanting to cry at everything that had just transpired.

“Hey,” Geto’s tattooed arm reaches back, and he brushes his leather-covered thumb over Riku’s swollen red cheek, “You alright, beautiful?”

She looks up at him, the fear finally beginning to fade from her eyes. She’s safe with them. Riku nods, shakily.

“What a night!” Gojo laughs, “I mean who the fuck was expecting that?”

“Right?” Geto grins at his friend.

Riku furrows her bows, “You both think it’s funny? All those people hurt and in danger?!”

Gojo’s smile fades, “Oh no, that? That was absolutely fucked up… Also you don’t think I’m upset they pulled that shit in my house?” He switches from anger to charm so quick it’s almost scary, “But come on, Riku, that ‘your mother’ line was fucking priceless and you know it.” Gojo smirks again.

Geto laughs, still looking back at her from the front passenger seat, “You’re a legend, Riku. I don’t know how many people living can say they kicked Toji in the balls.”

Gojo laughs but his hand grips the gearshift so hard that his knuckles are white. He isn’t kidding; Riku understands that Gojo is probably the angriest yakuza in Tokyo tonight.

Riku joins in on their laughter with a small giggle, trying to ease the mood.

Geto turns back around to face the front but squeezes Riku’s thigh before looking to his friend, “Satoru, let’s get her some ice and take her home.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees and adjusts his mirror to get a better look at Riku, “fucked to see a pretty face bruised up like that.” He pauses, thinking for a moment, “You hungry at all, beautiful?”

“Starving.” Riku admits, regretting not having eaten her meal at the gala.

“Good, ‘cause I know a place and got a few calls to make.”

Geto looks at his friend knowingly, “You need some of my men?”

Gojo shakes his head and lowers his tone, giving Geto a hard look, “Not in front of her. She’s already in the mix of things enough as it is.”

Geto nods.

Gojo raises his voice again, “We’ll take you to one of our favorite spo-"

He’s cut off by Riku’s phone that loudly vibrates in her chest. She’d forgotten it was there. Riku retrieves the iPhone from inside her bra and sees ‘NANAMI’ flash across the screen. She quickly slides her finger across to talk. Before she can say anything—

“Riku! Fuck, finally!! Where are you?!!” He yells through the line.

“Nanami, I’m good, I’m fine… I’m in the car with Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo.”

“You’re what!?”

“It’s fine! They’re going to take me home, okay?”

“Is that Nanamin? Tell him I say hi!” Gojo happily beams, shouting from the driver’s seat.

Apparently Nanami hears that because he groans, “Jeez, Ri, what the hell happened?!”

Riku sighs, “A lot. But the gist is… Toji slapped me in the face, I kicked him in the balls, and we got away.”

“You WHAT??!?!!”

Riku laughs awkwardly, “But we got away and things are fine for now. They’re gonna take me home after we stop and get some ice for my face.”

Nanami is silent for a moment, and Riku can sense his anger through the phone, “Put Satoru on the phone, right fucking now.”

Riku hands her iPhone to Gojo, who quickly takes it and answers with a bright, bubbly tone, “Nanamin! How are you?”

“Look. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, or what business you have to do to clean this shit up, but if Riku comes back here tonight with anything more than a bruised cheek, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Gojo smiles at the seriousness in Nanami’s tone, “Wow, Kento, I didn’t know you cared about your job so much… What are you in love with her or something?” Gojo grins over at Geto in the passenger seat, “Yeah, yeah, Riku delivery service is on the way.” He glances back at her for a moment before refocusing on the road, “We won’t let anything happen to her. But you know, it’s the fault of her smart-ass mouth that made Toji slap her, anyways.” He shrugs.

“…That unfortunately sounds about right.”

“Well, okay, Nanamin! You’re kind of breaking up,” Gojo shouts, turning up the music from the car stereo as he held the phone between his head and shoulder, “so, talk to ya later!” Once he’s finished increasing the volume to near-max levels, Gojo retrieves the phone once more and hits ‘end’ on the call before tossing it back to Riku, who swiftly clasps it between her two hands.

Riku rolls her eyes and sits back into her seat, knowing she was in for a wild ride in more ways than one.

[selmasemlan]

A trip to France

Summary: A trip to Paris with the troublesome trio, leaders to, you guessed it, trouble.

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC), Stiles Stilinski x Luna (platonic), Isaac Lahey x Luna (platonic)

Author note: This is one of the longest fics I have ever written, but here it is.

Warning: mention of violence, mention of mental manipulation (magic)

Word count: 3168

Series Masterlist

A trip to France

Luna, Stiles, and Isaac found themselves in Paris, a city bustling with life and history, a stark contrast to the eerie quiet of Beacon Hills they had left behind. The trip was a much-needed escape after the harrowing events involving the nogitsune. For Luna especially, it was a chance to breathe freely, away from the shadows that had haunted her.

Securing permission to travel without adult supervision had been a challenge of epic proportions. Stiles, always the persuasive talker, had to debate with his skeptical dad, Noah, while Luna and Isaac pleaded their case to Stefan and Damon Salvatore. Arguments about safety, responsibility, and the necessity of this trip echoed through the Salvatore mansion until finally, with solemn promises to stay together and watch over each other, the adults relented. They hoped that a change of scenery might offer healing and respite for the young trio.

The first few days in Paris were nothing short of magical. Luna, with her keen eye for fashion, was mesmerized by the elegant Parisian style. She spent hours sketching designs in her notebook, inspired by the haute couture she glimpsed in boutique windows along the Champs-Élysées. Stiles, the eternal history enthusiast, soaked in every detail about the city’s past as they explored museums and iconic landmarks like the Louvre and Notre-Dame. Isaac, quieter than usual but visibly trying to move forward from Allison’s tragic death, found solace in the beauty of the Seine River and the stunning architecture that seemed to whisper tales of centuries gone by.

One sunny afternoon, they found themselves sitting at a charming café near the Eiffel Tower. The aroma of freshly baked croissants and strong coffee wafted through the air as Luna flipped through a magazine, her fingers tracing over the latest trends in Parisian fashion.

"This city is incredible," Luna sighed contentedly, glancing up at the wrought-iron tables scattered under colorful umbrellas. "I feel like I could spend a lifetime just exploring the fashion here."

Stiles, sipping his café au lait, nodded enthusiastically. "And the history! Did you know the Eiffel Tower was originally intended to be a temporary structure? It was built for the 1889 World's Fair."

Isaac, stirring his espresso thoughtfully, looked up with a faint smile. "It's hard to believe so much has happened in this city. It's like every corner holds a different story."

Their conversation drifted lazily as they savored the peaceful moment, the weight of recent events momentarily lifted. Paris seemed to weave its spell around them, offering a fleeting sense of normalcy and joy amid their shared sorrow.

As dusk settled over the city, casting a golden glow over the cobbled streets, they made their way back to the hotel, their hearts lighter than they had been in weeks. Little did they know, their Parisian adventure was about to take an unexpected turn that would test their bonds of friendship and resilience like never before.

One evening in Paris, Luna, Stiles, and Isaac found themselves lured by the city's vibrant nightlife to a trendy club nestled in the heart of Montmartre. The air buzzed with pulsating beats and swirling lights, a stark contrast to the tranquility of their daytime explorations. Luna, caught up in the music and the electric atmosphere, moved with a grace that drew admiring glances from the crowd.

Amidst the sea of dancers and the rhythmic thump of bass, Luna felt a pair of eyes fixed on her. She turned subtly, her curiosity piqued, to find a tall, enigmatic figure observing her from across the room. His gaze was intense, unnerving even from a distance, sending a shiver down her spine.

As the night progressed, Luna found herself on the crowded dance floor, losing herself in the music's hypnotic rhythm. Yet, the spell was abruptly shattered when she was rudely bumped into by a group of locals, their laughter tinged with alcohol-fueled arrogance. One of them, emboldened by liquid courage, sneered at Luna, his words dripping with disdain.

"Look at this girl, pretending to be something she's not," the man jeered, his voice loud enough to attract unwanted attention. "Probably some poor Moroccan trying to play dress-up."

Luna's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing with restrained fury. Years of composure and resilience were tested in that moment. She could feel the heat rising, the urge to retaliate clawing at her throat. But she knew better than to dignify ignorance with a response.

Stiles, ever observant of his friend's moods, noticed the tension in Luna's stance. He exchanged a quick glance with Isaac, who had been keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Sensing trouble brewing, Stiles moved to Luna's side, his voice low but urgent.

"Luna, let's get out of here," Stiles suggested, concern etched on his face. "It's not worth it."

Isaac, his expression tight with restrained anger, nodded in agreement. "They're not worth your time, Luna. Let's go."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Luna nodded reluctantly. She turned to leave the dance floor, her steps deliberate yet tinged with a simmering frustration. But before she could make her way through the crowd, chaos erupted in the club.

Shouts and crashing sounds echoed through the room as a scuffle broke out nearby. Luna instinctively glanced over, her heart sinking at the sight of fists flying and glasses shattering. The situation escalated quickly, drawing the attention of security guards who rushed to intervene.

Amidst the commotion, Luna caught sight of the mysterious man from earlier. He moved with an effortless grace through the chaos, his presence commanding attention. In moments, he deftly subdued the instigators, his movements swift and precise. The club fell into an uneasy quiet as the troublemakers were escorted out.

Feeling a mixture of relief and unease, Luna retreated to a quieter corner of the club, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. Her encounter with the rude locals had left a bitter taste, overshadowing what had started as a carefree evening.

Later that night, back at their hotel, Luna sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open before her. With a deep breath, she initiated a video call with Marcel, the charismatic vampire from New Orleans she had befriended during a previous encounter.

The screen flickered to life, and Marcel's familiar face appeared, a warm smile spreading across his features. "Luna! How's Paris treating you?" he greeted warmly, his voice tinged with genuine interest.

Luna couldn't help but smile at Marcel's infectious enthusiasm. "Hey Marcel," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "You won't believe what happened to me tonight."

As Luna recounted the evening's events, Marcel's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He listened intently as she described the altercation and the mysterious man who had intervened.

"Luna, be careful," Marcel cautioned, his brow furrowing slightly. "Paris can be unpredictable, especially at night. If you encounter trouble, don't hesitate to call me."

Luna nodded appreciatively, touched by Marcel's concern. "Thanks, Marcel. I'll keep that in mind," she assured him, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to navigate the complexities of their unexpected encounter.

With a final wave, Marcel bid her goodnight, and Luna closed her laptop, her thoughts swirling with questions and uncertainties. Beside her, Stiles and Isaac sat on the edge of their own beds, their expressions mirroring her mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Isaac and Luna exchanged uncertain glances, silently weighing their options. Before they could decide, Luna's phone buzzed with a message notification. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the screen, seeing Marcel's name.

With that silent agreement, the trio huddled together in the dimly lit hotel room, their minds racing with questions and uncertainties about the mysterious man who had intervened in Luna's night. Little did they know, their encounter with the enigmatic figure was just the beginning of an unexpected adventure in the city of lights.

The day after the chaotic night at the club, Luna sat alone at a cozy Parisian café, nursing a cappuccino as she tried to process the surreal events of the previous evening. The news on her phone flashed with shocking headlines—two men found dead after a nightclub altercation. Luna's heart raced as she recognized their faces from the altercation. The reality of witnessing death up close unsettled her deeply.

Lost in her thoughts, Luna was startled when a familiar figure slid into the seat opposite her. Lucien Castle, the enigmatic man from the club, smirked as he leaned back, exuding an air of casual confidence that set her on edge. His presence was both unsettling and magnetic.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," Lucien greeted with a voice as smooth as silk, his accent dripping with charm. "Quite a night we had, wouldn't you say?"

Luna's eyes narrowed slightly, her guard instinctively rising in the face of his unapologetic arrogance. "Quite," she replied coolly, though her voice betrayed a hint of unease.

Lucien chuckled softly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "You never told me your name," he remarked casually, his tone suggestive.

Luna hesitated, her mind racing with caution and uncertainty. "Luna," she finally offered, her voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within her.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," Lucien complimented smoothly, his charm oozing effortlessly. "Tell me, Luna, what brings you to Paris?"

Luna sighed inwardly, steeling herself against his charm offensive. "Just a getaway with friends," she replied vaguely, keeping her responses guarded.

Lucien's smile widened, his interest clearly piqued. "Ah, friends," he mused, his gaze flickering momentarily with curiosity. "And what about romance? Surely a woman as captivating as you must have a special someone."

Luna's pulse quickened as she sensed his approach, her composure faltering for a brief moment. "I do," she confessed quietly, her eyes meeting his with unwavering honesty. "I'm in a happy and committed relationship."

Lucien's demeanor shifted imperceptibly, a fleeting shadow crossing his features before he masked it with practiced ease. "Yet, here we are," he remarked lightly, his tone teasing yet probing. "You can't deny the attraction between us, Luna."

Frustrated by his persistence and still reeling from the horrors of the previous night, Luna felt a surge of defiance rising within her. "Except for the fact that I just mentioned being in a happy, healthy relationship," she retorted, her voice tinged with unexpected boldness, "you're in love with another girl and you use other girls to try to forget about her."

The words hung in the air, creating a tense silence that seemed to echo in the bustling café. Luna realized the weight of what she had just revealed. Her powers, heightened by recent events, had inadvertently allowed her to sense Lucien's thoughts and emotions. The revelation struck a nerve, unsettling both Lucien and herself.

Lucien's expression darkened momentarily, a flicker of something dangerous glinting in his eyes before he swiftly regained his composure. "You're quite perceptive," he replied smoothly, though his tone carried an edge of caution.

Before Lucien could say more, Luna rose gracefully from her seat, her gaze meeting his with a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "Good day," she said firmly, her tone indicating the conversation was over.

With that, Luna turned and briskly walked away from the table, leaving Lucien to ponder her words. She could feel his eyes on her back as she navigated through the café patrons and out into the bustling streets of Paris. The encounter had left her with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and questions, but for now, she needed to retreat and collect her thoughts.

Back at the hotel room she shared with Stiles and Isaac, Luna recounted the unsettling encounter with Lucien. "He´s here!," she began, her voice betraying a mixture of frustration and apprehension. She proceeded to recount the eerie exchange with Lucien Castle, unsure of what implications it might have for their time in Paris.

"We need a plan," Stiles declared, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room.

Isaac nodded in agreement, his voice firm. "We can't ignore what happened tonight. That guy, whoever he is, seemed... different."

Luna, her thoughts still reeling, rubbed her temples wearily. "I know. But what can we do? We can't just avoid him forever."

Stiles glanced between his friends, his mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe we should reach out to someone who knows more about these... supernatural things," he suggested tentatively, eyes settling on Luna.

Luna hesitated, considering their options carefully. "We could... but who?" she mused aloud, her gaze flickering to the laptop where Marcel's face had just vanished from the screen.

Isaac leaned forward, a determined gleam in his eyes. "What about Damon and Stefan? They've dealt with vampires before. They might have some insight."

Luna shook her head adamantly, a hint of worry creasing her brow. "No, we can't involve them. They'll never let us travel alone again if they find out."

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Then who? Bonnie, maybe? She could help.”

Luna just shakes her head, “She will tell Damon”

Stiles looks confused and Isaac explains, “Theyre a thing…kind of”

Isaac suggested Klaus, given Klaus's reputation and experience as an Original vampire.

"Klaus?" Luna hesitated, her mind racing through the potential consequences of involving someone so powerful and unpredictable. "Are you sure about this, Isaac? Klaus is... well, he's Klaus."

Isaac nodded. "We don't have a lot of options, Luna. If anyone can help us, it's him."

Taking a deep breath, Luna eventually dialed Klaus's number. The phone rang a few times, each ring amplifying her anxiety, before the familiar, smooth yet dangerous voice answered.

"Luna Salvatore," Klaus drawled, curiosity evident in his tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Luna cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady. "Klaus, I need your help. It's about Lucien."

There was a brief pause before Klaus responded, his interest clearly piqued. "Lucien Castle? My first sire? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, Luna?"

"It's a long story," Luna said quickly. "But I need to erase his memory of me. It's urgent."

Klaus chuckled softly. "Erasing memories, is it? That's quite the task. Hold on, I have just the person who might be able to assist you."

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line before a new voice came on—Kol Mikaelson, Klaus's brother, known for his expertise in magic.

"Luna," Kol greeted, his tone light and teasing. "What kind of mischief have you been up to?"

Luna sighed in relief. "Kol, I need to erase Lucien's memory of me. Can you help?"

Kol's tone turned serious. "Erasing memories is a tricky business, Luna. You can do it, but it requires utmost precision. One wrong detail, one slip, and the consequences could be dire. You might fail entirely, or worse, cause irreversible damage."

Luna swallowed hard, the weight of Kol's warning sinking in. "I understand. But I don't have a choice. I need to do this."

"Very well," Kol replied. "Just remember, be precise. Leave nothing to chance."

"I will. Thank you, Kol," Luna said, determination replacing her anxiety. She ended the call, her mind racing with the instructions and warnings.

Isaac and Stiles watched her expectantly. "Well?" Stiles asked.

Luna took a deep breath. "Kol said I can do it, but it has to be precise. One mistake and it could all go wrong."

"Then let's make sure you don't make any mistakes," Isaac said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through this together."

Armed with a plan, they tracked down Lucien at another club the following night. The club pulsed with music and energy, a stark contrast to Luna’s racing thoughts. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and made her way towards Lucien. Stiles and Isaac positioned themselves strategically within the crowd, their eyes never leaving Luna.

Lucien noticed her approach, his interest piqued. "Back for more, Luna?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Luna forced a smile, hiding her anxiety. "I just couldn't resist the allure of this place. Mind if I join you?"

Lucien gestured to the seat beside him, his eyes glittering with curiosity. "By all means. Tell me, what brings you back to my company?"

Following Kol's instructions, Luna began to weave her tale. "I was just thinking about our last conversation," she said carefully. "It's funny, I feel like we've known each other for ages. Sometimes I forget the details of how we met."

Lucien leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? And how did we meet, exactly?"

Luna’s heart pounded, but she kept her voice steady. "It was at that little café, remember? You were sitting alone, looking out of place, and I thought I'd keep you company."

Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly. "Was it? I seem to recall it differently."

Luna laughed lightly, subtly guiding the conversation. "You know how memories can be. They get jumbled. But what's important is the present, right?"

As she spoke, she channeled the magic Kol had taught her, carefully weaving her words to alter Lucien’s memories. Each sentence was deliberate, designed to erase her presence from his mind without raising his suspicions.

The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours. Luna’s pulse raced with each calculated word, her concentration unwavering. She saw Lucien’s expression shift imperceptibly, the sharp focus in his eyes dulling as the magic took hold.

Lucien blinked, a moment of confusion passing over his features. "Strange, I could’ve sworn we met under different circumstances," he muttered.

Luna forced another smile, sensing success. "Memories are funny like that," she said softly. "Well, I should get going. It was nice chatting with you."

Lucien nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere. "Until next time, then."

Luna turned and walked away, her legs feeling like jelly. She quickly found Stiles and Isaac, who had been watching anxiously.

"Did it work?" Isaac asked, his voice low and tense.

"I think so," Luna replied, her relief palpable. "He didn’t seem to remember anything."

They left the club cautiously optimistic, though the weight of uncertainty still lingered. The bustling streets of Paris felt more chaotic than ever, the night air thick with the promise of both danger and adventure.

As they walked back to their hotel, Luna couldn’t shake the feeling that their summer in Paris was about to get a lot more complicated. The city’s lights sparkled around them, but beneath the surface, shadows loomed.

"Here's to hoping for a quieter day tomorrow," Stiles quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Isaac chuckled. "Yeah, because that ever happens with us."

Luna smiled, though her mind was already racing with thoughts of what might come next. "Let’s just get some rest. We’ll deal with whatever happens when it happens."

Back in their hotel room, they collapsed onto their beds, the events of the night swirling in their minds. They knew their troubles with Lucien Castle might not be over, but for now, they celebrated a small victory in the heart of Paris.

[kaantt]

Tagged by @garnetrena thanks !!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Sentinelles (Les Trois Mousquetaires, Aramis/Original Character, M)

Âmes sœurs.

La volupté de l'honneur (Les Trois Mousquetaires, Athos Comte de la Fère/Marie de Rohan Duchesse de Chevreuse, T)

Quand le mousquetaire Athos, Comte de La Fère, avait abandonné l’idée de l'amour, il l'avait fait en pleine et entière conscience des moqueries que ce choix de vie allait faire pleuvoir sur ses épaules encore jeunes mais déjà fatiguées par la discipline et la mélancolie.

Crimes Célèbres (Les Trois Mousquetaires, Aramis/Original Character & Original Character/Original Character, T)

Mes chers enfants, ce que je vous écris aujourd’hui doit, pour toujours, demeurer entre nous.

La maîtresse abandonnée (Kaamelott, Ygerne & Uther Pendragon, G)

Si on avait dit à la petite princesse Ygerne de Tintagel qu'elle allait un jour épouser le roi de toute la Bretagne elle aurait simplement souri.

Arthur, roi de Bretagne - Anthologie établie par Eugène Molozay (Kaamelott, Arthur Pendragon/Venec, G)

« Le roi Arthur, bien que nous ayons des preuves historiques de l'existence d'un personnage semblable à celui décrit dans les récits de chevalerie du Moyen-Âge et dans les films et séries de notre époque contemporaine, reste un homme de fiction.

Le Bon, la Brute et le Friand (Kaamelott, Multiple ships, G)

Fic co-écrite avec @kabbal, je mets donc la première phrase du chapitre que j'ai écrit.

Bordel.

La belle inconnue (Kaamelott, Arthur Pendragon/Guenièvre, M)

Quand ses lèvres se posent sur la peau blanche et crémeuse du cou de son épouse retrouvée il ne peut plus penser à autre chose qu'à leurs corps enlacés sur une épaisse fourrure dans l'intimité de leur tente.

La faute à Nanterre (Les Misérables, Enjolras/Grantaire, T)

En se réveillant ce matin pour aller, comme à son habitude, prendre un café sans sucre mais avec un nuage de lait au Petit Saint-Benoît, Grantaire a eu l'étrange impression qu'il n'allait pas passer une bonne journée.

Beautiful wonder (Desperate Housewives, Bree Van de Kamp/Gabrielle Solis, T)

To fall in love with someone was one thing.

Sleeping pill (House MD, Gregory House/James Wilson, T)

The doctor Gregory House was always the best at everything he did.

Je tagge @aramielles et @kabbal

[angeryed]

Classical composers as coffee ☕️

Authors note: a shorter piece for y’all people to devour (:

DISCLAIMER: I am not part of the uwuification/glorification of Chopin. He is NOT someone to admire because he had his flaws too.

I only make ship fics of him and Liszt as a figment/branch of reality to show how they could’ve bettered each other in their own ways (i.e., Chopin teaching Liszt to be more critical and less generous to others and Liszt teaching Chopin to be nicer and less pompous) in maturer themes to EXAGGERATE how they meld together.

Without further ado, there’s my fic (:

⊱ ────── ── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ──────── ⊰

Mozart: café mocha

A chocolatey child’s dream for the child himself. Be cautious however; beneath those thick layers of chocolate syrup, that espresso can sear your tongue alive with flavours so bitter they have to stay hidden in order for this drink to be mainstream.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Debussy: Americano

Man’s nothing but bitter and water💀 /j I love Debussy but man was so salty that he called every composer except Chopin boring.

➽───────────────❥

Bach: Espresso

Just simple coffee, with every composer learning from him and expanding on the foundation of music he brewed himself. Still not everyone’s cup of coffee though.

➽───────────────❥

Mendelssohn: café au lait

Learned and first inspired to write music by Bach himself, Mendelssohn sure loves his Bach with a touch more of milk.

➽───────────────❥

Chopin: café miel

Emotionally and melodiously complex, besides espresso a nightmare of ingredients like honey, chords of steamed milk and simple espresso make this a complicated yet at the end of the day, simple art form. He was kinda problematic as a person too so that complicated mesh of ingredients strikes both ways as well.

➽───────────────❥

Liszt: Galão

Above that thin, but concentrated layer of hot espresso, pumping hot and bitter to drink, is, the softest, warmest, most generously loaded, thick, very thick foamed — very foamed, so foamed it clings to the swollen creases of your lips — poured into Liszt’s drink a layer, a thick thick delectable layer, in fact of — the irreplaceable —

Chopin’s, milk.

————————-————————-————————

Hope you liked it as well as learnt about a new type coffee that fits your taste 🍯

[ao3feed-snape]

The 12 Lattes of Christmas

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/iPqmAO3

by eclaire_and_pocky

Hermione has fallen for someone. The problem? He's one of her customers.

That, and she doesn't even know his first name.

Words: 1003, Chapters: 1/12, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Hermione Granger, Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Coffee, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Winter, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, I hope this fic keeps you warm and cozy through winter, I'm so curious as to what coffee y'all like to drink, black? latte? spiked? au lait? frappe? let me know! :D

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/iPqmAO3