#frozen time travel au

[iknowicanbutwhy]

Puyo/Madou, meet ISAT. ISAT, meet Puyo/Madou. I'm sure you have everything in common and this is not at all a completely random crossover of my two current interests

[i3utterflyeffect]

You know how sometimes programs sometimes become unresponsive? I think it would be interesting if Untitled somehow managed to crash the memory reader program and cause that error message to pop up on the tv screen when he shuts down

MAN.... that'd be fucked up.... i already sort of said that the reason Vic even goes back far enough to see anything about him being Alan is because it fucked up the memory reader and disorganized the memories, so yeah, i could see him breaking it for sure........ it's not really MADE for this sort of stuff since Victim was far from expecting it, much less the people who probably helped build it.

honestly, i'm pretty sure Chosen is relieved that he broke it, and Untitled would be too if he wasn't extremely stressed and overwhelmed at this moment. i mean, the only parts that Victim was actually interested in at all were some of the worst parts in his life, or the parts he regrets the most--

[orangecoluredsky]

Tales as Old as Time Fest #1 (HP x Disney) Prompt: “Into The Unknown” - Frozen 2 Pairing: Regulus Black/Hermione Granger

Story Link: Into the Unknown

[allisonreader]

I have seen this pass my dash a few times now, leaving me debating whether I should reblog it or not, but how can I not now? Lol. Thanks for thinking of me @lady-merian.

i had a dream that time travel was invented and too many people choose to travel back in time to save the titanic from sinking (the question of whether unsinking of the titanic deserved so much attention in the face of human history was the subject of both heavy academic and online discourse), which caused a rift in the space-time-continuum that led to the titanic showing up indiscriminately all over the world’s oceans and sea in various states of sinking.

this caused a lot of issues both in terms of fixing said space-time-continuum and in terms of nautical navigation, and after a long and heavy battle in the international maritime organization it was decided that the bureaucratic burden of dealing with this was to be upon Ireland, much to their dismay. the Irish Government then released an app for all sailors and seafarers so they could report titanic sightings during their journeys, even though they heavily dissuaded you from reporting them given the paperwork it caused.

anyway i woke up with a clear image of the app in my head and needed to recreate it for all of you:

[dragon-seahorse]

my Nanbaka Fallout AU and a currently forming BSD Apocalypse AU are fighting in my brain at the moment and it's kinda funny

[thoughtsandmusingsandideas]

Dehya + Arlecchino Forgotten!Creator AU

A proper response to @ninjacomix sorry for the wait!

Dehya

You woke up in the deserts of Sumeru when you first arrived in Teyvat, so it’s no surprise that the first people you met were Eremites 

Unlike the Traveler, you are not immediately attacked- half because of your divinity subtly making them more docile, and half because you’re covered in sand and dressed in foreign clothes and practically melting under the sun- and yeah, you look too pathetic to rob

They end up taking you back to Aaru Village, and that’s where you end up meeting Dehya.

Well, technically you meet Dehya the day after you arrive, when you rush outside during a sandstorm and spot her fighting monsters

It’s a bit surreal, watching an actual fight like this, and you’re frozen in awe

At least until you notice the Rifthound sneaking up on her

You’re panicking as you lunge forward, feeling something begin to expand inside you, and-

Everything is still

Both the storm and the Rifthounds are frozen in place, and Dehya is looking at you, extremely confused

“What is this?!?” “HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!?!” “YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT!!!!”

Dehya dispatches the Rifthounds quickly, and the sandstorm resumes

And the next day, the both of you set out towards the Akademiya, wanting to figure out what your deal is

(You don’t realize that now the gods are remembering the creator, the Akademiya is Scrambling to find any and all information on you and why they forgot you)

During the journey the both of you grow close, and a few weeks in, the both of you wrapped in a blanket to protect from the chill of a desert night, you turn to her.

“Hey, let’s get married.”

And after choking on her water, she agrees to it

Congratulations! You have a wife!

The Creator, showing up hand in hand with an Eremite is not what an Akademiya scholar expected to see at four in the morning on a random day, but that is what he saw- and he thinks the subsequent panic is very understandable

Before you know it, you and your new wife are sitting in the acting grand sages office as Nahida uses some kind of Archon communication to page the other Archons

It takes about an hour for them to burst through the door

(In that time you’ve taught Alhaitham and Dehya how to play Rock Paper Scissors, Go Fish, Uno, and you’re in the middle of teaching them slapjack. Alhaithams hands are suspiciously red and Dehya is smirking)

They’re instantly fretting over you, apologizing for forgetting you and generally praising you, completely overwhelming until Dehya pulls you away

“Hey! Who are you supposed to be!” It’s Venti, disappointed that his god has been taken from him

“That’s my wife!” You state proudly.

And then everything clicks

“Wait, I’m a god?” 

The room explodes in noise, but Dehya’s hand never leaves yours

Arlecchino

When it comes to Arlecchino, instead of taking you to Aaru Village, you ask them to take you to the border of Fontaine

You’ve only made it to the end of Sumeru in the Archon Quests- maybe if you head to Fontaine now, you’ll get to see the Archon Quest in person!

It’s only once you’ve taken the Aquabus to the Court of Fontaine that you realize you do not have a single mora on your person. 

It’s after a day of exploring that you end up near the sea, and after being startled by a giant crab appearing from nowhere (It was Very Scary I promise) you end up tumbling into the water, you’re trapped under, and-

Wait… you can still breathe!

You light up with excitement, diving deeper, and that begins your life as a diver.

You end up becoming a collector, selling cool shells and oddities to anyone in the Court who’s willing to buy them (You’ve built up a pretty good rapport with the supply manager of Chiori’s Boutique)

It’s also underwater that you discover you’re the creator- finding an old abandoned temple with murals of a god that look just like you, helping you make sense of the power beneath your skin

But hey, if no one else was gonna bring it up, you wouldn’t either

And it’s underwater that you end up meeting your first Fatui member: Freminet

He was surprised when he first saw you swimming around- but now he’s grown pretty accustomed to you, and sometimes you guys even interact

Admittedly, sound doesn’t travel well underwater, so most of your communication is via charades, but the two of you end up growing close

Freminet shows you cool diving spots, you collect valuables from the ocean floor together, swim together in blissful silence, and play with all the friendly ocean animals you seem to attract

It only takes about a month for Freminet to begin mentally referring to you as mother (This boy is starved of a parental figure)

And after that it only takes a week before he slips up

He’s waiting in Father’s office, looking around as he waits for him to arrive

It’s pretty sparsely decorated- but there are a few ornaments still left around.

“Mother would like this…” Freminet muses, looking at a small model boat, delicate and intricately carved.

A flash of heat at his back. “… What did you just say?”

After a very long and frantic explanation, and a slightly shorter lecture on stranger danger, Arlecchino demands to meet you.

You first meet the harbinger after a day diving with Freminet, and he shoots you an apologetic look as you both surface to find a harbinger on the shore

And then you make eye contact

Your thoughts: That is a harbinger. From the Fatui. Huh. I’m going to pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino’s thoughts: That is the Creator that The Tsaritsa told me to look out for. They have the exact same appearance. I will pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino asks you to tea to get to know you better, and it devolves from there.

At your tea party, she introduces herself as a completely normal orphanage matron, and you’re polite enough to not point out that her brooch is a tiny Fatui emblem

You introduce yourself as a normal diver and she ignores the fact that your spoon has been stirring sugar into your tea without you even touching it

Your relationship continues in a similar fashion, with the both of you pretending to be a completely normal couple

After a few months, when both of you are getting married, you both ignore the oddities of your guests

“Ah, darling, the Fatui are here.” “Oh yes, they sponsor my orphanage, how polite of them to come.”

“Angel, Morax is here.” “Huh. Isn’t he supposed to be dead?” “Yes.” “Well, I’m glad he could make it.” 

The both of you continue with intense purposeful ignorance

Venti: Your grace, do you really want to marry the harbinger? Is she threatening you?

You: What harbinger? I’m marrying a completely normal and totally average orphanage owner. So kind and generous she is.

Arlecchino, in the background, kicking Childe for trying to start a fight at her wedding, pausing to turn and wave: Hello.

Also Freminet is the flower girl

[fairsweetlonging]

system wardrobe malfunctions and small scenario pushers: exteme edition au

after his qi deviation, shen qingqiu starts working on slowly building up relations with his fellow peak lords and disciples; saving liu qingge in the caves, spoiling luo binghe rotten, freely praising his students, inviting the sect leader over for tea, he's a whole new person!

and yet... his friendliness levels aren't going up.

he knows it's a bit icky to judge his relations with other people based on numbers an alien entity is giving him, but he needs them to survive, and he swears that once he's above a certain threshold (somewhere between "civil" and "friendly", he figures), he will mute every and all notifications regarding it.

but they're just not going up. since his deviation he's at least managed to claw his way from "hostile" to "tolerant" with most of them, but some are somehow still stuck in the "aloof" section! they wouldn't even care if he died!

he just doesn't know what he's doing wrong; he understands these things take time, but it feels so bad when people refuse to sit next to him or sigh when they're assigned a mission with him, especially since it's not his fault.

now, it so happens that, one day, the system hears his woes and takes pity on him.

【 user seems to experience difficulty increasing character favor levels 】

you could say that

【 would host like to utilize our special deluxe package to activate 'The Path of Blossoming Hearts and Unspoken Affections' free of charge? ₊˚⊹♡ 】

though shen qingqiu isn't trustful of the system's antics, he can't deny that so far they have helped him well enough, and since it's free of charge with no penalties, wouldn't it be a waste not to use it? the title is a bit dubious, but was the original shen qingqiu not known for his frozen heart? for never sparing a single nice word to anyone? this could be his chance to let it blossom without the system nagging on his characterization.

【 accept optional mission? [yes]/[no] 】

he picks [yes].

two weeks later, he wishes he hadn't.

the package is devided into small scenarios that mostly appear at random, ranging from small dialogue challenges where he has to pick the right option (he really doesn't like those, the dehumanization of it makes his skin crawl), to the equivalent of two rivals getting locked in a room together.

the first few scenarios are minor and not very impactful, to the point where he's finished three of them and his favor count with qi qingqi has increased a whopping +2 (still "aloof") and that of wei qingwei +5 (still "tolerant").

his fourth scenario, however, reminds him of exactly why he should never accept gifts from strange screens floating in the sky.

he's on a nighthunt with liu qingge to slay a mirebeast that's been terrorizing travelers—an amphibious creature with thick, slimy skin, a crocodile tail and a leech-like mouth that shoots mucus when threatened... and shooting mucus it did.

while his clothes can easily be cleaned with a cleaning talisman, he never feels truly clean himself unless he actually bathes. luckily, there's a beautiful, glass-like pond nearby that's surrounded by natural demonic-repellent vegetation, a win! he's just draped his clothes over a nearby branch and submerged himself in the water, when the system rings out.

【 heads up! small scenario "Stolen Silks and Sunlit Waters" is about to begin! penalty: none. wishing user good luck (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) 】

hold up—stolen what.

stolen silks. his silks. stolen by a mossy-jade stag that happens to scratch its huge antles on the exact tree he hung his clothes on, which rattles the branch and causes his robes to fall exactly onto its head, spooking it into a gallop as it disappears into the forest.

how. how does that even happen.

shen qingqiu is just about to get out of the water when of course liu qingge chooses that exact moment to stomp into the glade looking for him, even though he should have been miles away to the village to ensure the people the beast is dead.

for anyone looking in from the outside, it's not a bad picture: shen qingqiu, with his hair pulled up and away from his slender neck, submerged to his (very bare!) pale shoulders in golden sunlit waters, surrounded by lotus flowers and lily pads. to liu qingge, this must be a terrible view, apparently—shen qingqiu can think of no other reason that would cause his face to flush so bright red.

liu qingge tosses his outer robe on the grass between them and turns resolutely around. it's only a bit insulting—is shen qingqiu not pretty enough to try and sneak a look at? even just a glimpse? meanwhile liu qingge is trying really hard to mentally recite the ethics sutra to not fixate on the sound of shen qingqiu getting out of the water (naked!!) or the rustle of fabrics as he wraps liu qingge's robe around his (naked!!!!) body. when liu qingge turns around he flushes an even darker shade as he sees shen qingqiu's bare legs and feet sticking out from under the robes.

"thanking shidi," says shen qingqiu, who notices none of this, as he pulls the robe a little closer around him, "for coming to this one's untimely rescue."

liu qingge grunts, turns, and walks away.

【 congratulations! liu qingge's favor increased. character satisfaction points +50. please continue to work hard! 】

shut up

【 ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა 】

they return to the sect victorious, but very embarrassed. the mirebeast gets all the blame. where his clothes are? well—uh, gone. the mucus dissolved them. yes he knows that's not how mucus works but it did this time okay?!!

yue qingyuan acts a bit strange seeing shen qingqiu wearing liu qingge's outer robes. he almost qi deviates when he finds out his shidi is wearing absolutely nothing under it. it's all very dramatic. apparently the sect is made up of people who shower with their clothes on or something.

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

i don't like where this is going

"shidi?" yue qingyuan asks, looking at him with those big worried puppy eyes.

【 choice A: (demure) this shidi is cold. will you not invite me in at least?

choice B: what are you looking at?! mind your own business stupid old man!

choice C: i'm in love with liu qingge 】

WHAT

if he was drinking tea he would have spat it out, and then coughed himself to death. what the hell kind of options are these!!

【 system has based these options on what will earn (or lose!) user the most points. please pick one. 】

[ admin notes: option A will earn +60 points. option B will neither increase nor decrease points. option C will decrease -100 satisfaction points and increase +200 heartbreak points ]

shen qingqiu silently curses the system. option B is way out of line, even for the original shen qingqiu, who probably would insult yue qingyuan, but not with so little class. he doesn't even consider option C an actual option. and, well, he is cold. and wet. and almost naked. he would like a warm bath and some clothes. A it is then.

he doesn't like the way yue qingyuan's face light up when he grits out the dialog.

【 congratulations! yue qingyuan's favor increased. character satisfaction points +60! keep up the good work! 】

he can't keep doing this much longer.

unfortunately, he does have to keep doing this for much longer.

he's just about to go to bed when someone knocks on the door. luo binghe is already sleeping so he goes himself. just as he's about to open the door the system rings out—but it's too late.

shen yuan is used to wearing old tshirts to bed and no pants (he hates the feeling of his legs being restricted while he sleeps), so he doesn't really care when the only equivalent of this in pidw is a silk nightgown. his mother wore them, his sister wore them. hell, one of his brothers once bought one for fun and ended up using it for months. it's florally embroidered with puffy sleeves and reaches to his knees, that's decent enough, right?

【 heads up! small scenario "Dreamy Encounters at Dusk" is about to begin! good luck! 】

he has no idea what that's supposed to mean and he doesn't care. he opens the door, and it's mu qingfang. not... that unusual, but still.

"can this master help you?"

it takes mu qingfang a moment to remember what he's here for, it seems, because he stares at shen qingqiu for a good few seconds before raising an eyebrow like he's caught him doing something wrong.

"does shen-shixiong always answer the door like this?"

shen qingqiu glares back. "only when unsolicited guests come stumbling around my porch in the middle of the night."

"fair enough."

apparently he's here on behalf of yue qingyuan, who had asked him to do a post mission check up as soon as he was available, which is now. which yue qingyuan had apparently forgotten to relay to shen qingqiu himself. awesome.

he invites mu qingfang in (he can hardly close the door on him, it's late for him too!), and sits through the usual poking and prodding.

the system is prodding, too.

【 would user like some advice on how to maximize point earning? 】

no

【 ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) system is only trying to help!! 】

i really don't need your help with this, thanks. i can keep a conversation on my own.

【 optional system booster: not mandatory. user may choose to decline this quest.

option 1: this one appreciates your care. the hardship is... unexpected. (look away shyly). i find it difficult to accept help sometimes, even when i need it.

option 2: i'm in love with you.

option 3: stand up and pretend to faint into his arms 】

shen qingqiu is about to spit blood—what the HELL is this!!! why do all your options make you look bipolar HUH??? and what's this about professing my love to people?!! why is that always an option??! this isn't a dating simulator, stupid system, they'll think i'm crazy!

【 all these options result in an increase of character satisfaction points (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 】

HOW

【 (ó﹏ò｡) user seems misinformed about character preferences. [mu qingfang] likes to take care of people! 】

... i decline the quest. booster. whatever. i'll figure it out myself. and stop talking about him like he's some one dimensional character!

they hear stumbling coming from the little side room, then the creaking of floorboards. binghe peeks through the door, hair sleep-ruffled and his robes pulled on over his sleeping clothes.

"shizun?" he asks, worried, "what's wrong? why is mu-shishu here?"

【 ⁺‧₊˚bonus scenario!!˚₊‧⁺˖ interactive dialog quest: pick the best suited options to win additional favor points! 】

oh god, not again.

【 option A: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. go back to sleep.

option B: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. (invite him to sit next to you during the examination)

option C: (gently) nothing is wrong, binghe. this master is alright. mu-shidi is just keeping me company tonight. 】

huh. so you can give meaningful options that i would actually consider picking?

【 ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ 】

[admin notes: option A will decrease -100 points for luo binghe. option B will increase +20 points for luo binghe. option C will decrease -300 points for luo binghe, and increase +20 points for mu qingfang. option A & C increase luo binghe jealousy levels with 400 points].

[avayarising]

can't stop thinking of hondo just accidentally being the worst 'friend' possible freezes kenobi for a joke and then every time he goes to unfreeze him something happens to make him think that somehow unfreezing him right now would be crueler than keeping him frozen first of all he's like 'the chancellor has sent him on a suicide Misson better to let someone else deal with it first and then unfreeze him and then he's like oh shit his whole family have died? what an awful time to come back to things oh well now the empire are hunting him! he's just waiting for a good time OK in the end he leaves him in some space storage centre and unbenowist to him it gets raided and slab-kenobi is doing a tour of the galaxy for months before hondo realises and starts looking for him when they finally reunite hondo still thinks this is some 'oopsie daisy my prank went wrong but we are still besties' Obi Wan: hondo we were never friends and we especially aren't after this! –@beeseverywhen

Guys we as a fandom really need to make better use of carbonite as a plot device

This fandom is full of time travel fix it AUs but none of them move forward!! Literally just freeze ur character of choice for a few decades and BOOM!

You can have clone troopers fighting the 1st order. Ahsoka dating Rey. Windu smacking Crylo Ren. So many possibilities.

Dibs on Obi-Wan tho!! My plan is to have Hondo freeze him as a joke but then the empire happens so he throws a tablecloth over him for like 2 decades and sort of forgets about it until he meets Ezra or Luke or someone and he's like "y'know speaking of Jedi..."

So you've got a weakened and carbon-blind Obi-Wan in his late 30s suddenly leading the rebellion because none of these people have any actual galactic military experience (undoubtedly why Palpatine had 2 proxy armies, so that there would be no effective military resistance after he killed all the Jedi and brainwashed the clones). The galaxy went to utter shit just a few weeks after he'd been frozen, the Jedi are dead, Ahsoka's off on a vision quest, Yoda's living in a mud hut, the chancellor is a power-mad dictator and also a Sith, and this is somehow ALL Anakin's fault.

So Obi-Wan has to lead a ragtag group of rebels, train a princess and a farm boy (who act disconcertingly familiar), dodge various bounty hunters who want the bounty of the century (including Boba Fett), deal with an elderly Hondo Ohnaka, contend with being a living legend who's the galaxy's only hope, and smack some sense into his idiot padawan.

Bonus for fun: Obi-Wan saves Alderaan and sees Bail again and asks if he'd been frozen in carbonite too. He's barely aged a day! Bail has to explain that he just has a better skincare routine.

Bonus for angst: there's a very determined storm trooper trying to hunt him down. There's nothing familiar left in his Force signature, just a single-minded determination to follow orders, but the battered armor he wears looks like it's been scraped of an orange sunburst.

Bonus for crack: once it's all over and done he gets hunted down by ANOTHER famous bounty hunter who dangles Yoda's grandchild in his face and demands that he train him.

[kat-in-a-trashcan]

Meet our beauty and the beast (tap for better quality)

Edit: btw Edwin’s ghost design is inspired by @hannaloony’s final ghost form dbd AU. Her art is great pls go check her out!

lore below

Edwin/Curse lore:

• shorty before he was cursed both his parents passed, leaving him orphaned at 18

• One day and Evil witch Esther visits the castle and due to Edwin being a cunt (very in character) she cursed him and the castle inhabitants, leaving Edwin as a pale ghostly shell of his past self. The curse can only be broken if he can find true love.

• He is haunted by many horrors, such as the vast doll head spider, but for now it is trapped in the castle dungeon. Will it escape? Who can say….

•Edwin can’t see his reflection as part of the curse. Him blaming himself for the curse combined with his bitchy attitude, he has convinced himself that he is a monster and that no one could ever love him. The whole liking boys thing doesn’t help either.

•Before Edwin was able to lock the doll spider in the dungeon, it wreaked havoc around the castle, including tearing up many painting. This combined with no reflection, Edwin had no memory of what he looks like. In general all the people trapped in the castle have very foggy memory’s of their past.

• Him and the Castle inhabitants have been cursed for 70 years. They are all frozen in time so they haven’t physically aged. Im not adding the whole rose time limit thing.

Charles Lore:

•Charles lived in a small village with his mother and father

• Charles is know as the most beautiful person in town, but his dad is still a horrible person. The whole town knows but they don’t do anything.

•On the night of his 18th birthday, he runs away from home to find freedom. After a few nights of traveling through the forest he finds what looks like a abandoned castle and decided to say there for the night, only to find many strange things… and people…

(Thx @dear-writers for some of the story inspiration)

[buckets-and-trees]

What You Want

Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Your boss, powerful lawyer Bucky Barnes, insisted he needed his indispensable assistant to accompany him on his trip to Norway. He also promised he would have you home in time for Christmas, but the weather decided to strike its wrath and decimate international travel, leaving you stranded for a few more days.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, periphery/secular reference to the Christmas holiday, vaginal fingering, use of "plum" as a term of endearment

Logistical Notes: Written for @sstan-hoe Vee's Holly Jolly Challenge - I was given a selection of prompts including "That noise...keep making it," reindeer, and lawyer/assistant power dynamics. Also my December entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the FLASHBACKS prompt. Divider by @saradika.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You heard the door open and close behind you and then familiar footsteps approaching, but you didn’t turn to look, instead keeping your eyes on the beauty of the frozen wilderness on display before you.

“Peace offering?” Bucky spoke as he stepped up beside you at the rail of the balcony, holding one of two steaming mugs in his hands toward you.

You sighed but gave him a small smile and took the mug. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re a very powerful man, Bucky, but I’m relatively sure you don’t control the weather.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying to pull some strings,” he said with a smirk, and you smiled.

“It’s not your fault we can’t get a flight back to the States when a blizzard has taken out half the Eastern Seaboard.”

It was unlikely that even with all of James Buchanan Barnes’ considerable lawyering power and money that he would be able to get you back home before Christmas. The main international airports in New England would have to live through the record raging blizzard, dig out, and then there would be hundreds of thousands of passengers to accommodate in and out of the country. Reasonably your guess was that you wouldn’t be returning until as early as the day after Christmas at the earliest.

“I should still apologize though. I said I would have you home for Christmas.”

You took a sip of the hot coffee. “You should apologize, but you’re not.”

He smiled. “No, I’m not.”

He turned and looked out over the forest and frozen tundra with you, the snow sparkling by the moonlight. This side of the resort hotel Bucky had booked the two of you into looked out over the wilderness.

“How long are you going to stay out here?”

“Until I see a reindeer. You brought me to Norway in December. I want to see a wild reindeer.”

“Fair enough.”

After a few more minutes, Bucky spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? They said our accommodations should be ready after dinner.”

It had been a bit of a feat to find any place this close to Christmas that wasn’t closed or completely booked, but Bucky had managed to find this place that although they said they didn’t have a place immediately available, they had late check outs that just needed to be cleaned and refreshed for new guests.

“It’s a very fine restaurant.”

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

“If that will be all for the evening, I’ll be happy to escort you to your suite, Mr. Barnes,” the maître d’ said. He had been attentive all evening, but being with Bucky on this business trip you had quickly learned only the most excellent service was a common thing for him.

“Yes, thank you, I think we’re finished,” Bucky replied, looking to you, and you nodded. You both scooted your chairs back from the table and then followed the man out of the restaurant, through the hotel lobby, past the bar, past the observatory lounge and balcony you’d visited earlier, and to a pair of elevators.

Dinner had been quiet, but not an uneasy quiet by any means for the two of you. Bucky was an intimidating man, power emanating from him very naturally, but after the first few weeks as his assistant, you had gotten over your nerves. After sitting with him through many lunches, plenty of meetings, taking notes from him on cases and projects, and a fair few late nights, you had grown comfortable around him, learned that he could be easy to talk to, but didn’t strive to fill a silence for conversation’s sake, something you appreciated.

The hotel Bucky had found was an upscale, moderately sized wilderness and ski lodge. When you arrived on the fifth and top floor, there was a cozy hallway that only boasted three doors, and you were led to the one at the very end, where the man unlocked the door, stepped in to hold it open, and then handed the key to Bucky.

“If you should need anything at all, simply pick up the phone and our staff will assist you,” he said. “Have a good evening, and we hope you enjoy your stay, even though we know it was unexpected for the holiday.”

“Thank you, dinner was fantastic, and the place looks wonderful, you’ve been great, Lucas. Have a good night,” Bucky said, and pressed what you were sure was a generous tip into the man’s hand.

All your and Bucky’s things had been left neatly to one side of the entry of the suite. A quick look around revealed that there were two rooms off either side of the spacious sitting area as well as a small kitchen and bar, and on the far side full floor to ceiling windows and a balcony. You had hoped for two rooms like you’d had at the previous hotel, but two rooms in a suite would be perfectly fine, especially since the stunning view out of the sitting room’s windows wasn’t the only beauty in the place. There was a fireplace with a gorgeous mantle with a roaring fire already ablaze and a stunning Christmas tree with gorgeous trimmings in the Scandinavian style.

“It’ll do, yes?” Bucky asked, watching you take in the beauty of the tree.

You smiled warmly at him, then looked back at the tree. “Yes, it’ll do just fine.” The sitting room was spacious and rivaled your cozy studio apartment back home for size. You stepped further into the suite. “Do you want to take a look at the rooms and pick which one you want?” you asked. All the trip was on the company’s expense account, and as his assistant, although you suspected he might be a gentleman and offer you the better room, you would defer to Bucky to actually pick.

“We’ll share whichever one is better,” he said with a shrug.

You scoffed. “No, there are two rooms in this gorgeous suite, I’m sure they’re both fantastic, I don’t mind taking the one you don’t want. Might even sleep on the couch so I can stay by the tree and look out those windows all night.”

He chuckled, low, and suddenly at your back. “You misunderstand me, plum,” he said, placing his hands on the curve of your hips and pressing his chest up against your back. He leaned in to speak the next words directly in your ear. “I’m having you in my bed tonight.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t move, and a soft, “Mr. Barnes,” was all you could say.

“Aw, none of that, plum, you haven’t called me Mr. Barnes for months, and I won’t it happening again now.”

“We shouldn’t,” you tried to protest, but even as you said the words, a traitorous part of you didn’t put much feeling behind them.

“Shouldn’t we? You’re smart enough to know I didn’t really need to bring you on this trip with me, but I wanted to. Didn’t want to go that long without seeing you, wanted you by my side in a charming Nordic country during the height of its festive season, and you said yes, like the perfect assistant that you are. I told myself that was enough, didn’t go knocking on your door any of the nights we were at our first hotel, kept it professional despite wanting more and more of you every day we spent together away from the office.”

His hand moved from your hips to circle around your front, his left moving over your soft stomach over to the other side to rest over the front of your right hip, and his right further up your torso, his hand brushing the underside of your breast and resting firmly just below it, bringing you flush against him.

“Fate won’t let me get you home for Christmas, so why deny what it’s dangling right in front of me now?”

He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, and a small whimper escaped your throat.

“Let me have what I want,” he murmured, leaving a slow trail of more kisses down your neck. “I know you want it, too.”

“I – no, I don’t – I”

It was impossible to put up the words of protest when he licked the shell of your ear. You shivered in his arms instead.

“Let me ruin my perfect girl,” he pressed, slipping the hand that was at your hip into the waistband of your trousers. His hand stopped when his fingers met the lace edge of your panties. He turned you around abruptly and kissed you full on the mouth, cupping your face with both hands so you had no choice but to take the heat of his kiss, and the flame he’d been sparking started to catch more dangerously in your core.

He had somehow maneuvered you further into the sitting room so that when he suddenly broke off the kiss, you were in the middle of the space, the warm glow of the fire and the tree lights casting over you both.

Bucky stepped back, and you frowned in confusion, still breathless. He trailed a finger up the column of your throat to the tip of your chin, his blue eyes dark and hungry. “Undress,” he said.

He moved to the couch and sat, his eyes returning to you as he settled in.

“Undress,” he repeated.

That commanding tone struck another spark right to your cunt. You knew you were already growing wet for him.

You toed off your shoes one at a time, then took off your socks – those requiring you to move a little less elegantly than you wanted with his searing gaze on you. Standing aright again, your hands moved to the button of your trousers, fingers trembling since you had never stripped in front of anyone before. You weren’t a virgin, but although the partners you had been with before had been eager to have you naked, none had ever asked you to undress for them like this, like they wanted to see your full figure, not just fuck it.

Bucky spoke your name in a way that had you pause and look up at him again.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You know I pride myself on my instincts. I think we both want this, but there are two rooms here.”

You bit your lip.

He was offering the veiled choice if you wanted it.

Your mind raced with flashbacks of conversations and thoughts you’d had over the past few weeks clear back to the first few meetings with your boss.

Insisting to your mother that your boss did absolutely need you to fly with him to Norway to assist him with meetings with an international client the week before Christmas.

Your best friend insisting on a shopping trip for your fancy work trip to a foreign country “because if your hot boss isn’t going to seduce you, have a foreign fling!”

Your heart stuttering the first time your eyes met your boss’s deep blues the day you interviewed with him.

The same eyes that were riveted on you now.

On you.

You unbuttoned your trousers and lowered the zipper. You glanced down as the fell to the floor, then stepped carefully out of them. When you looked back up, you saw even more hunger in Bucky’s eyes, and it warmed your blood. Looking right into those eyes, you reached for the hem of your sweater and lifted it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor as well.

“Mmm,” he hummed in approval. “C’m’ere,” he beckoned, sitting back on the couch again, but beckoning you into his lap as he watched your every move.

You concentrated on his eyes and on keeping your breathing steady. When you were close enough for him to reach for you, he held out his hand. You took it and let him pull you gently down to straddle your legs on either side of his.

“My perfect plum,” he murmured. His hands moved up your thighs, over your hips, up your waist, and back down.

“Your plum?” you asked, watching his face as his eyes roved over you up close.

“My perfect plum - I want to savor every delicious curve of your body,” he said before dropping a kiss to the top of your breast. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself. “When I felt that lace of your underwear, I thought maybe you did want this, too.” His lips moved to the other breast where he kissed the exposed skin, then traced his tongue along the edge of the lacy cup, causing you to shiver. “There isn’t any other reason you would be wearing such pretty lingerie, is there?”

“No,” you admitted immediately.

“Just for me,” he said as he moved his hand to your mound and immediately slipped a finger beneath the fabric to stroke along your folds, making you gasp. “Good girl, already wet for me.”

You keened as his finger traced your warm hole but didn’t go in, instead taking the slick there and pressing it up over your folds. He continued tracing them up and down before moving up to find your clit, knowing he found it the second your head dropped back, and you let a, “Yes,” tumble from your lips. “More.”

His other hand skimmed up from your hip, up your side, to your neck, and then angled your head back down for another kiss. Your lips met his eagerly, mouths parting, you licked into his mouth, and he growled his approval. He moved his finger from your clit, but your whine was brief as he slipped that finger along with a second straight into your cunt, stroking in and out, over and over again. You canted your hips into his hand, and you felt the rumble of a chuckle in his chest, but he didn’t stop kissing you. Instead, he curled his fingers forward with each stroke, quickly finding the spongy spot that made you tremble and moan.

Breathless, it was you who had to break off the kiss first, but you pressed your forehead to his. “Feel good, plum?” he asked, and you registered that he sounded as earnest as you felt, his voice deep and a little breathless, too.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped.

“Mmm, sir? I like that,” he said, and rewarded you by moving his thumb to start circling your clit.

You moaned openly.

“That noise…keep making it.”

He sped up his motions just slightly, seeming to feel how your body was tensing up, building toward a powerful release.

“Ready to cum for me like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir!” your answer was more like a plea. “So close.”

Keeping up the rhythm on your clit, he applied more pressure with each thrust of his fingers up inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot on the front of your walls, and with just a few more strokes, the wave crested and rolled over you.

“That’s it, plum,” he cooed as you trembled above him, his other hand coming to smooth unhurriedly up and down your back as his fingers continued to stroke your channel, slowly extending your orgasm. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up to your mouth. You sucked them in, laving your tongue over them. “Can’t wait to see you come for me again,” he said. And too impatient for you to lick his fingers clean, he withdrew them and crashed his lips back into yours.

“Earlier tonight when I said I should apologize, and you called me right out for not doing any such thing?”

“Yes?”

“This is why I didn’t apologize. I was in no way sorry that I had more time with you, and I’m going to use it to take you apart and put you back together all night.”

You would think about all of this later. But he emptied your head of anything but him and the pleasure between you, making more than good on his promise to take you apart until you were completely spent and ruined in his bed.

READ THE SEQUEL: NOW THAT I SAW YOU

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[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Weeks

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, face sitting, premature ejaculation, unprotected p in v sex (reader is tested and has an IUD, protect yourselves IRL), mentions of sex work, anxiety, Din is bad at feelings, farmhouse emotions, goats!, yes I made Din Djarin a schnauzer owner don't judge me. Words: 5,050

A/N: Here it is folks, the follow up to Fifteen Minutes, which I originally wrote as a standalone. Thank you to @goodwithcheese for speaking so highly about Fifteen Minutes thus making me revisit this draft and finally finish it. I also want to thank @frannyzooey for taking a look at the bare bones of this months ago. I really love these two and I’m so glad they finally get to eat soup together.

Masterlist

___

“So, where ya’ headed?” the Uber driver asks, turning toward the departures terminal.

“Just to see a... friend."

“Hm. Must be a special friend to catch a flight this early.” 

“I guess he is,” you smile through a yawn.

___

Waiting to board. Can’t wait to finally see you! xxxx🙂

Hitting the send button, you shake your head still finding it hard to believe you’re traveling almost halfway across the country to meet a man. A man you’ve fallen head over heels for.

Can’t wait to see you too. See you soon.

His response arrives just in time. A nervous rush of excitement courses through your body before turning your phone off for departure. 

You wonder if your seatmate can feel your leg shake as the nerves tap out against the plane floor. Sure, you’re excited, you’re ready to meet Din in person but there still is trepidation twisting inside of you. You’ve never done anything like this at all. You’ve never met a client and now you’re on a plane headed to one. You’ve known him for only four months, but the connection the two of you share is something you’ve never believed to be something you’d find. You’ve dealt with enough men wearing wedding bands who tell you they love you, that you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, that you’re their whole world. Love is a ridiculous concept when you charge ten dollars a minute. 

With Din, it’s different, it’s something that can be named, can be felt, can be solved, and yet so many questions about it remain. What do you call the quiet silence that exists between the two of you, happy to be on the phone keeping each other company every night? The small laugh and head shake he does whenever you tell him he’s cute? The random texts of his life that always brightens your day? The way he nods with zero judgment when he hears the ding of your new client alert? What do you call the decision that got you here on this plane? 

You read the same page over and over in your book. Will you sleep in his bed tonight? 

You give up on reading and stare forward at the little map on the seat screen. What does he smell like?

You look out the window and watch the clouds disintegrate around you. Is he just as nervous as you?

You turn the volume up and try to drown out your racing thoughts. Will this all be worth it?

Two hours left to find out. 

___

You step off the escalator, eyes scanning the crowded baggage claim area for the reason why you’ve taken a six hour flight halfway across the country. Your hands grip the backpack strap tighter trying to calm the nerves overtaking your heart and brain.

There, right there, leaning against a column alone in the shadows is Din and the brown eyes you’ve only dreamt of seeing in real life. He straightens when you make eye contact, but makes zero attempt to move, still frozen against the column. You lose the fight to hide your smile and excitement hurriedly shuffling over to him, he smiles as you get closer, the same shy half grin he gives when he says good night. His hands slip out of his pockets as you approach. Goodness, he’s so big and handsome, he could be a heartbreaker of all sorts to anybody he sets his sights on. The phone doesn’t do his beauty any justice.

“Hi,” you smile.

“H-hey, I can’t believe you’re… here,” his voice sounds even smoother and deeper in person.

“I am,” you shuffle on your feet. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

He tucks his hands back into his hoodie pocket, his silent rejection shoots a pang of longing through you. 

You thought it’d play out like a grand romantic movie, you’d jump into his outstretched arms and he’d never let go. Din’s rejection fills you with jealousy… screw all of the happy couples. You hate those movies now.

Touch me.

Of course he’s nervous, you’re nervous too, you’re just better at hiding it. He still leans against the column, shielded by the liminal space.

“Do you have luggage?” He’s right in front of you and yet you’re too scared to touch him, too anxious you’ll scare him away. 

“Nope, just my backpack and carry-on.” 

Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Oh, okay, did you want to leave then?”

“I didn’t come here to see the airport Din,” you place a hand on his hoodie clad arm. He looks down and stares. 

Did you overstep? You couldn’t have, you just watched this same man orgasm for you last night while chanting how he couldn’t wait to paint you with his cum. 

“Din,” you snap him out of his stare, “come on, I’m ready to leave.” 

You know he’s not trying to reject you, but his nervous aloofness is overwhelming when all you want is for him to touch you… just once. 

“I—uh, here, let me take your bags,” he mumbles, reaching past you to grab your suitcase. “It’s really cold, do you have a heavier jacket?” 

“No, but I’ll be okay,” you reassure. The cold won’t sting nearly as much as Din’s seemingly innocent rejection.  

“Here,” he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his head. “I’m used to this cold. You aren’t.” 

You take the bundle of black fabric from his outstretched hand, not realizing just how cold you were until you put the hoodie warmed by his body heat on. It smells of him. Faint hints of campfire, wood, leather, citrus, and cinnamon. You wish you were wrapped up in Din himself, touching him, smelling him, tasting him. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Whatever is happening inside of him seems to be bleeding over into your mind. You’re now second guessing every decision to come here. He was excited last night, he texted you this morning how he couldn’t wait to see you, is he disappointed? 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods and turns towards the door, walking away in quick strides leaving you alone in the dark corner near that damn column he’d rather touch than you. He has your suitcase and backpack, so either this is a really expensive way to get robbed or he has zero clue how his actions are affecting you. 

He turns back to you as he reaches the automatic doors, his eyes wide with guilt when he spots you still standing in the same place he left you. Well, at least he feels bad. 

You let a deep breath out to steel yourself and walk to him.

“I-I’m sorry, just not used to ever having to… you know…”

“I know, it’s okay Din,” you gently smile. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m just—“

“Nervous. I know Din, it’s okay. I understand this is a lot.”

“It is, but just… know that how I’m acting is not how I’m feeling. I’m really happy to have you here. You’re so… beautiful and I—thank you for being here with me.”

There it is. Everything is worth it now. The early morning Uber to the airport, the neverending TSA line, the cramped airplane seat, the nervousness you feel. You’d do it all again to hear that sentence. 

“Of course, I know. You’re okay,” you take his hand. If he’s not going to do it, you’ll do it. “Come on, let’s go.” 

His eyes stay downcast staring at your hand wrapped around his.

You clear your throat to get his attention, his eyes snap up to yours. “Din, let’s go.”

“R-right. Of course. Right.” 

He leads you out the door, gripping your hand harder when the bitter wind lashes against your skin. 

The two of you weave your way through the parking lot until you reach a large silver truck. It’s clean with a few dents and scratches. Well taken care of but old. 

Din opens the creaky door and helps you step up. The black leather seat is smooth as you slide across it.

Din places your luggage in the back before opening his door and deftly stepping in. 

You hide a deep exhale when he starts the engine.

He clears his throat and you look over. “It’s–uh nice to see you in here.”

“I’m glad,” you smile, turning and reaching your hand out to touch his cheek. Your thumb finds the little heart patch on the side of his face, you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel since you first saw it. You can’t help yourself, he looks so delicate, as if he’s aching to be touched but too scared to ask for it. You’re holding a scared fawn in your hands. Don’t scare him, don’t move too quickly, let him figure things out on his own. 

His lips part as he inhales, deep brown eyes staring into yours, the nervousness radiating off his skin fills the truck cabin. You wish you could just throw caution to the wind and force him to tell you exactly how he’s feeling, to slide across the bench seat and beg him to take you right here in this airport parking lot. You don’t. You pull your hand away and put your seatbelt on.

“I can’t wait to see your home. I’ve never been to an actual farm before.”

___

You’ve seen glimpses of Din’s home in random pictures he’s texted you or your nightly FaceTime sessions, but you never imagined just how picturesque it could be. A large white two story farmhouse situated in the middle of a vast expanse of green grass, a small tin roofed barn sits to the side with a herd of goats happily grazing. Din’s life must be so peaceful here, very different compared to your townhouse in the middle of suburbia.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse as he pulls into the driveway. “I can understand why you never wanted to leave.” 

The truck stops in front of his home, a german shepherd and a little schnauzer run down the porch steps and head for Din’s truck.

“They’ll be fine with you, but let me get out so I can control them.” 

Din gets out of the truck, you chuckle to yourself as his clipped directions to the dogs are drowned out by excited barks. 

He opens your door and reaches his hand out.

“Grogu! Boba! Back!” Din shouts as he helps you step down. His raised voice makes your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know he could ever be this loud.

“It’s okay, I like your dogs, you know I think they’re cute,” you bend down and tap on your knees to beckon them over. “This must be Grogu,” you scratch his soft ears. “He does have big ears.”

“They’re not that used to other people.”

“Hmm,” you stand up and pat the top of Boba’s head, “sounds like someone I know.”

He chuckles as he walks up the porch steps and unlocks the front door. 

Warmth fills your body as you walk over the threshold. White walls, worn floorboards, antique furniture, all of it taken care of and clean. Tidy and well kept up, a lot like his truck, aged but in better shape and made to last; a far change from your newbuild townhouse and IKEA furniture. 

“Diiin,” you breathe, “it’s beautiful in here. Like… I knew you lived in a nice house, but wow, between this and the farm… when do you sleep?”

“I sleep enough. I’ll go get your bags, make yourself… at home.”

You take a seat on his couch, it’s perfect for him. Beige, simple lines, nothing fancy, not too comfortable, but probably the height of cozy after a long day working on a farm. Grogu jumps up and sits next to you, his little bearded face panting happily next to yours. You scratch his chest and praise him as he inches closer towards you. Boba stays near the entry, waiting for Din.

“Think he likes you,” Din says as he places your bags by the steps. “Don’t take Boba’s standoffishness personally he’s–”

“Like you. I know,” you smile.

“Did– what would you like to do?”

“Can I see the computer where you first talked to me?”

“Um, yeah,” he walks down the hallway leaving you behind yet again, “it’s just in here.”

You shake your head and rise off the couch to follow, obviously he’s not used to company.

You walk into a small office, everything has a place, efficient and tidy, perfectly Din. Paperwork stacked in neat stacks, a calendar with his sharp writing all over it hung on the wall, today’s date circled with your name written in the box. 

A black monitor sits on a mahogany desk. 

“This is the computer, huh?” you ask, running your hands across the black keyboard,

“It is.”

“So this is where it all began? You sat there, clicked on my picture, and now look. I remember when I first heard your voice,” you face him taking both of his hands in yours, “it was so deep and warm, it lit something inside of me.”

You guide his arms to wrap around you, his hands rest on your lower back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first session ended. There was something so pure and mysterious about you, I knew you weren’t lying about wanting to know. It wasn’t some kink you had, I knew you needed help. I felt lucky to be the one to show you.” 

He sighs as you rest your head against his chest hearing the rhythm of his heart. “I closed that window so many times before finally agreeing and joining. I-I kept on thinking about how I could talk to someone as beautiful as you, all it would take is just a click. You were so pretty.” 

“Just a click,” you whisper, craning your neck up as Din lowers his head. His nose bumps against yours, his plush bottom lip is captured between your lips, another part of him you’ve wanted to touch since you first saw him. You finally kiss him, sweet and tender, his lips molding to yours perfectly. He pulls you in closer, his tongue hesitantly dipping into your mouth as you lick against him. The past fifteen weeks have finally led to this moment inside of this old farmhouse office in the middle of nowhere. Your Din and his soft lips, tense hands against your back, your soft coos mingling with his low groans, you could stay in this moment forever, if it wasn’t for Din’s phone beeping in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulls away, a bashful smile adorns his face, “I need to go take care of the goats before sundown.”

“Of course.” 

He hugs you, planting a soft kiss against your forehead and inhaling your scent before leaving. He’s warming up…

___

Din loves soup. You know this by the nights you spend with him over the phone. The man eats soup almost every single night. Soup with bread, soup and a baked potato, soup and steak, soup, soup, soup. 

You can’t blame him, the stew and homemade rolls he serves you for dinner are delicious. He shyly tells you it’s his speciality when he places the porcelain bowl in front of you. 

You could get used to the farm life. A fire burns in the fireplace while the tv plays Din’s favorite movie he’s been wanting to show you, some film about a galaxy far far away and an unlikely hero. The man loves space. 

His arm slung across your shoulder lies heavily on you, warming you inside and out. Grogu sleeps on your lap, softly snoring as you pet his gray fur. Din occasionally sneaks a kiss against your hair, you don’t know if you’ve ever been more comfortable in your life. 

The movie ends, a grand symphonic score plays over the credits. 

“That was really good,” you smile towards Din. “I liked it.”

A grin slowly stretches across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, thank you for showing me it.”

“You’re welcome,” he gazes at you, the same look he smolders through the phone, like he can’t believe his luck that you’re talking to him. 

You attempt to fight a yawn and lose. Your eyes blink tiredly at Din when he reaches and rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Did you want to,” he clears his throat, “sleep in my room with me tonight?”

“Only if you want me to Din.”

“I, uh, I do.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

___

The airplane and long day washes off and rinses down Din’s shower drain. You use his washcloth and think of his hands touching you. You smell his soap and think of inhaling the scent as he holds you close. You don’t know what’s about to happen once you leave this room. If you’re this nervous, how does he feel? 

Din looks up from the book he’s reading and watches you step out of the bathroom shyly padding over and getting into bed.

“What are you reading?” you whisper.

“Some book about a cowboy warrior in space…”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s good.”

“You know,” you look around the simple bedroom, “I see this room all the time, but only the wall behind your bed, hardly anything else. It’s been really nice seeing more of your life.”

He nods, blinking back to his book. 

The night can’t end like this. 

You grab the book from his hands and place it on the table.

“What are you thinking about Din? I never know what’s going on inside of you.”

“H-how pretty you look wearing that.” 

You look down at the pink silk tank top and shorts and swallow down a smile. You specifically wore it because you know how Din’s eyes light up whenever you put it on. “It’s my favorite because it’s so soft. Do you want to feel it?” 

He turns to you wide-eyed and gives you a solitary nod. 

“Go ahead Din.”

His tan hand splays across your stomach, golden toned skin rests against the blushy silk of your tank.

“S’soft,” he murmurs to himself.

“Here,” you place your hand over his and press down, “really feel it.”

His eyes angle down watching your hand navigate his around your stomach to just below your breasts. His mouth sits slightly agape, thick brows furrowing in concentration as you slip his hand underneath the fabric, his trembling calloused fingers making contact with your skin. 

“Am I soft here Din?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers. 

“Touch me, as little or as much as you want. Wherever you’re comfortable doing, okay?” you remove your hand from his. “I came here for you… whatever you want… I want..”

“I want to,” he gulps, “I want to touch you all over.”

“I’m all yours baby.” 

His shoulders deflate with a groan, he trails his hand higher to cup one of your breasts. The tips of his fingers peek out of the top of your tank. Tan, well worked strong hands lay against your smooth skin. The sight makes you moan, your teeth gnawing at your lip, trying to qualm the temptation to touch him further. 

“Take it off Din.” His dark brown eyes beam up to yours. “Go ahead baby.” 

He grabs the hem of your tank top, softly bundling it in his hands and lifting it over your head leaving you bare chested. 

“Kiss me and touch me baby,” you gently will. 

His lips form over yours, his hands return to your skin, petting and caressing your breasts before you cover them, pushing them farther down your stomach. His breaths quicken against your mouth when you slip his hands underneath the band of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” he pants against your lips when his hand meets the wetness seeping from your pussy. “Fuuuuuck.” 

“You feel me baby? That’s how wet you always make me, ever since the first time we talked and all you were was a black square with a sexy voice. It’s like we were destined in the stars.” 

“God damnit, you’re so soft,” Din’s hips buck into the air, his head thuds against the headboard when his thick finger slips in between your folds. “I-I-I oh god, I’m– I think I’m going to cum. I’m sorr–” 

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, cum for me.” Your hand reaches down and grips his hard cock through his black sweatpants. “Cum for me Din.” 

You feel a warm wet spot spread against your hand, pulling a moan from you.. 

“I’m--agh– sorry,” his big eyes stare at you, a hint of shame rounds them. “You feel so amazing.” He pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“No,” you whimper at the loss of contact. “I like it baby, I like that you like me so much that happened. Please don't apologize. Keep touching me if you want to. Do you?” 

“God,” his eyes shrink in determination, “yes I do.” 

“Okay baby.”

You sit in between his stretched out legs, lifting your hips to take off your shorts, spreading your legs wide, much the same way you do for your clients. 

He stares at your exposed skin, eyes mapping every dip, curve and dimple of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re here… for me.”

“Of course I am baby.” 

His fingers trace the plains of your legs, moving their way up to your thighs. His face set in a determinative scowl, eyes fixated on your core as he inches closer to it, now aching and soaked for him. 

“I-I’ve never done this.”

“I know baby, you remember our first call?” 

He nods.

“Remember what I told you what I liked?”

Another nod.

“Do that for me baby, touch me. Make me feel good.” A thick finger meets your lips, tracing a line up from your entrance to your clit before softly rubbing a circle around your sensitive nub. He remembered.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes out, his eyes staying planted staring at your pussy beguiled by his own actions.

“I am Din, only for you. I think about you every time. I-I,” you moan when he sticks a finger inside, slowly pumping it in and out, “I only want you.” 

“Only want you too, baby. C-can I taste you?”

“Ye–oh my god, yes Din, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m yours, anything you wa–”

“Sit on my face,” he growls. 

“O-of course.” 

You crawl towards him, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips before straddling his face, your dripping cunt hovers right over his mouth. He grips your ass and pulls you down, smothering himself with all of your slickness. You cover him like a mask, he worships your taste like a religion, moaning and groaning into your sweet pussy. Your praises about how good he’s doing and how amazing you feel incant out of your mouth as he takes you to paradise. Plush lips suck and savor you, your hands grip the bed frame like a precious artifact, his devotion to you and your pleasure pulls a melting orgasm from you. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pray at his altar, knees bowed and quaking against his ears as he drinks your offering down. You’re shattered, everything you’ve ever believed in replaced by Din and his idolatry of you. 

You move your lust drunk body off and lay down next to Din. His face shines with a gloss of you, his tongue peeks out and licks his lips, before sending you a shy smile.

“You’re amazing,” he incredulously mutters. 

“You are too,” a doting grin lights your face before pulling him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, a moan leaves your throat at the realization. 

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you closer to him, his hard cock juts against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Already?” you pull back and tease. 

“C-can I feel you?” 

“Feel me?” 

“Yes, c-can I… can we….?”

A rush of anticipation thrums through your body at the implication of his nervousness.

“Yes Din, we can. Are you sure this is what you want tonight? We can wait.”

“N-no. I want you, I-I want this,” he moves his sweatpants down, kicking them off. 

“Okay baby, okay,” you kiss him, grabbing his face, petting the soft hair of his sparse beard.

He rolls on top of you, cradling your head between his strong forearms, a heated kiss licks into your mouth as his naked weight covers you. Your legs open in a silent offer for Din to take everything you have. You can just feel the heft of his cock ghosting against your entrance. 

He looks down at you, brown eyes wide, plush mouth parted, brows softened with adoration. 

You send him a silent nod and smile when his cock enters you, feeling a sense of honor that you’re the one Din has chosen for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The green accept button, the reserved man dressed in all black, the deep voice, the connection between two screens. Now, you’re here with Din, moaning and rolling your hips to accept the length of him.

His neck strains when he sheathes his cock fully inside of you, panting and groaning as he slowly rocks back and forth.

“You … feel … like … heaven… I love your pussy… I love your body…. I… love you.”

He freezes at the divulgence, body locked in shock at his slip. 

Your face lifts in a reassuring grin. “I love you too,” your hand grabs his chin, bringing his lips to yours. 

You love him, you’ve known it for so long, but here in this farmhouse bed you can hear it, you can feel it. 

Your bodies meld, hips meeting, lips locked, he gives you everything, you give him everything. Your pussy clenches around his slow, full strokes. This is making love. 

“Baby, I-I.. I’m going t–” he strains. 

“Go ahead Din, I got you.” Your hands trail up and down the expanse of his smooth back. He grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck, fevered breaths hit your skin as his cum fills you.

He rolls off, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your hair. 

“Wow… I.. are you okay?”

“What?” your head perks up.

“You didn’t… uh–”

“I did when you fucked me with your tongue Din, I’m very happy and satisfied.” 

“Oh, I just… I want to make sure you’re good.”

“Baby, I am very good. Trust me.” 

“I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you too Din…” you rest your head against his chest, the exhaustion of the day settling in, quickly lulling you to sleep. This is the way to go to bed.

___

The faint sound of running water gently rouses you from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon, the room’s still shrouded in a lazy darkness. 

Din’s long sigh echoes against the tiles of the shower like a siren song. 

You pad out of bed toward the bathroom, pushing the door wide open. 

Your mouth drops at the sight ahead of you… Din’s muscular, toned golden body shines underneath a glistening sheen of water. He runs a gray wash rag across his stomach, the mop of dark, curly hair right underneath his hand beckons you to look farther down. You’ve seen him so many times before, almost every night, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see all of him in person. Din is a big man, his cock matches his stature. Just as long, just as broad, just as golden. God, he’s gorgeous. 

You knock on the doorframe catching his attention, surprise tensing across his whole body. 

“Good morning,” you purr, “can I join you?”

He nods, his cock grows visibly hard when you walk over and get in. The warm steam, Din’s naked body, and the smell of Din’s cedar body wash engulfs you, this is the way to wake up. 

“Mmm, the hot water feels good,” you sigh, leaning your head against his chest. Din’s cock rests heavily in between you, tempting you to touch it. “Want me to wash you?”

He groans a yes. 

“You can wash me too,” you propose, squeezing a dollop of body wash onto your palm, running it across your chest before leaving suds on your hands. “Go ahead Din.”

Drops of water land against your skin as his trembling hands slowly reach for your breasts. He massages and kneads, both palms laying against your tits, his touch turns more searing when your hands land on his chest, rubbing in the soap along the dusting of hair stretched across his broad body. 

Your nipples pebble under his nervous, firm touch and undivided attention. He hisses when your hands slink farther down, running across the damp curls of his happy trail leading you to his cock standing between his thighs, thick and dripping. You wrap a fist around his length, his knees weaken causing his body to smash against the wall, his face grimacing in pleasured agony.

“Fuck,” he pants, water rains down into his wide open mouth, splashing out with every exclamation of your name he repeats as he cums all over your stomach. 

Your tongue runs up the column of his neck to his mouth, swallowing his rapid breaths. 

“You feel so good against me,” he gasps against your lips. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I am baby, I am,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him, wishing you could live in this tiny shower forever. This is the way to wake up.

___

Din settles on the porch swing next to you, pulling your blanket wrapped body close to him. 

“Is this what you do every morning?” 

“Just about,” he says before taking a drink of his coffee. 

“It’s nice,” you yawn, “early but nice.” 

He chuckles, “You get used to it.” “Mm,” you rest your head on his chest, smelling the fresh dew and hay on his flannel jacket. 

“I really like you being here,” he softly says.

“I really like being here too.”

“You know,” he gulps, “you can do your job here… with me.”

___

A/N: Thank you for reading! This ending makes me feel:

[multi-fandomprompts]

Mom!Danny, Dad!Vlad, Kids!Dani and Dan, Batfam and Misunderstandings

Dp x Dc Prompt:

So a bit of a twist on the usual dp x dc trope; Vlad is the one who has come to live in the DC universe for a fresh start after he’s done his redemption thing and is getting therapy and he’s traveling around DC basically starting his company and wealth from scratch but without overshadowing people(still sketchy but what business man isn’t). Vlad happens to be in Gotham when Danny(18 y/o) comes to visit with Dani(Ellie)(5 y/o) and Dan(3 y/o) for a long weekend. Dick, Jason and Damian are the first ones to see the little family in a Batburger Danny dragged Vlad into. The little family is concerning for a number of reasons not because they are obviously(to a trained eye) not human(no nonhuman racism here) but the fact that Vlad and Danny are their usual antagonistic selves(Vlad is in a better place and a better parent then any one including Vlad thought he could be but him and Danny will eternally have beef) Vlad is very familiar with Danny and the obvious age difference between Danny and Vlad(with the kids and their ages added in the picture isn’t looking good). Encounters like this happen with all of the Batfam and Danny, Vlad and the kids behavior and conversation snippets the Batfam hear do nothing to clear up the Batfam’s misunderstandings. It all ends at gala; Danny(looking gorgeous in a ice blue dress with actual ghost ice crystals on it and coming in dramatically in a white fur coat from the Far Frozen) is Vlad’s date(the kids are left at the hotel with their ghost babysitter) and the bats manage to get Danny alone and corner him after the gala and while Batfam has the best of intentions this is quite literally none of their business(and Danny and Vlad were not blind to someone following them all this time) and though Danny was quite capable of taking care of himself he calls for Vlad with his aura and to say Vlad was pissed at what he finds when he answers Danny’s call is an understatement. Danny and Vlad don’t explain anything about the kids or what they are but they do take the Batfam to task for stalking, invasion of privacy, illegal interrogation and overall being nosy assholes who don’t know how to mind their own business. Vlad and Danny then leave and the Batfam are left with a lot to think about(hopefully), when Vlad moves on from Gotham at the end of the weekend Danny takes the kids home until the next vacation to visit Vlad and Vlad stays out of Gotham from then on.

(PS. This is good Fenton parents AU they are trying their best to make up to Danny and Jazz for what their inattention has cost their kids but their friendship with Vlad is firmly over(the only reason they haven’t Ended him is because of their grandkids).)

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Fae!Danny But Make It Fantasy

I've already made a whole Changeling AU with fae!Danny, but guess what, I have decided not to achieve any level of chill with fae ideas.

We all know Danny is Ghost Kind. Now, what if he is a Fae Prince? A Prince of Winter, to be exact. Imagine all the ice castles (Elsa, I'm looking at you), the snowy lands, northern lights in his crown, a cape made of tiny ornate snowflakes. Crystalline ice swords, skin so white he doesn't even look alive, eyes clear and blue like a frozen lake. Formal gowns, ballrooms, duels and carriages pulled by horses made of snowstorms.

He used to be a changeling, put in place of Dan. Grew up in a village with his parents being witch hunters, or maybe just hunters in general. Meanwhile Dan, a human child whose place he took, grew up in a fae realm, surrounded by magic creatures and miracles.

But Danny couldn't hide he was a fae his whole life. He used to look human when he was a baby, but as the time went by, he started to look more and more fae-like. Jazz was the first to notice it, of course, but this was Danny, a child she practically raised, so she dealt with it. Their parents, though, did not.

Sam and Tucker are in the know, for sure. Sam used this opportunity to learn witchcraft - who is better to learn from than an actual fae? Tucker is a blacksmith, as is his family. The first thing he asked Danny when he discovered he is a fae, was "how in the seven kingdoms are you a fae, and you decided a blacksmith is your best friend?" because, honestly, not even Fentons have so much iron around them as Tucker does.

Now, you may be thinking of where the DC part comes in here.

Well, the Waynes are actually the royal family. Bruce is the King of Gotham, and his children are princes, princesses, and heirs. They are also protecting the country not only by the word of the law, but also from the other, more shady side. I think they should go by Shadows, not Bats, though, since I doubt a name like 'Batman' would fly in the fantasy world.

Constantine is a mage, the strongest one alive, and yet he couldn't care less for his uniqueness if he tried for a week. Diana is the Queen of Themyskira, of course. I think Krypton should be its own country or a continent, ruled by the family of El. Although Jon is the first heir to a throne, due to Kon being, well, a bastard in terms of medieval customs.

After Danny's race is found out by his parents, he leaves for the fae realm, and he offers his friends and his sister to join him. Tucker refuses, Sam and Jazz take him up on that, but Sam leaves shortly after - she mostly used it to get away from her overbearing parents. She is now a witch who lives in the woods all alone, and no one can find her. She keeps contact with Danny, though. Jazz is traveling both the fae and the human realms, just having fun with it.

Jason is part-fae. After he died, a cult has abducted his body - the cult leader being Ra's, of course - and used it for an experiment. They used some fae magic to bring him back, or, maybe, they have tried to merge a fae and a human, creating a chimera. This was the first option of Ra's trying to get closer to Bruce in order to take power. It was not a very successful option since both Jason and whatever was left of the fae inside him decided not to obey the madman.

Damian was... slightly more successful. He was not merged with anything, but his development was magically enhanced.

And now, while Danny is back in the fae realm and he is a crowned Prince of Winter, Clockwork has a problem. He knows humans are afraid of fae, but this is not a very productive way to go. And there is a timeline somewhere there that can fix it.

Of course, Danny is right in the middle of that timeline. Now, Clockwork just needs to find a way to help Danny make an alliance with humans.

[outofconcheol]

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach. 

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise. 

But he was Lee Minho –  a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune. 

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again. 

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music. 

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them. 

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city. 

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure. 

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out. 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt. 

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment. 

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster. 

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin. 

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved. 

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones. 

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip. 

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.” 

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements  were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched. 

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background. 

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied. 

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind. 

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars.  For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice. 

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you. 

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . . 

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand. 

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.” 

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine. 

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon. 

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your  stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches. 

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…” 

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over. 

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named  “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person. 

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down. 

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend. 

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking. 

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…” 

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both. 

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two. 

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin. 

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest  filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[fashionredalert]

Wrote something short and sweet for @hibiscusseaart between orders during my shift at work!

They have an amazing time travel AU that I'm so blessed that they found me worthy enough to tell me about!

You should all check them out and show them some love!

I won't spoil their plans, but the setting for this blurb is that they're between the ages 13 and 11.

“Hey.”

Madara looks up from behind his wet and sodden bangs, blinking river water from his eyes.

Tobirama stands on the river back, the water lapping at his bare feet. Should he take two more steps, the water would be up to his ankles.

“What is it?” Madara asks warily.

He watches Hashirama's younger brother grimace for a split second, chewing on his lip, as though he were trying to decide on what to say.

It's in that very moment Madara becomes hyper aware of what he looks like. Up to his waist in the river, completely soaked with mud caked in his hair.

It's enough to make Madara flush.

“I don't have all day you know.” Madara snips, “I need to catch that bastard of a brother of yours, he's gonna pay for dumping me into this river.”

“It's your fault for falling for his prank.” Tobirama says with a raised eyebrow.

“A mistake I won't be making again!” Madara yells, waving a fist in the air.

Tobirama simply huffs before glancing around, as though searching for his brother.

“He'd be long gone by now. If you're good maybe I'll show you one of his hiding places.”

Shocked, Madara blinks at him dumbly.

“You- you'd do that?”

Tobirama shrugs, “he ate the last of my favorite dango. You need to get out of that river though, you'll never catch anija from there.”

Madara quickly scrambles to wade through the water, absolutely drenched and caked in mud.

“How do I know you're not on his side?” Madara squints at Tobirama.

He watches as Tobirama lightly kicks a srtay rock into the river.

“You don't. All I can say is that you want revenge as do I, plus…”

Madara's eyes catch the way the sun reflects off Tobirama’s face, casting it into an almost ethereal glow as Tobirama’s lips turn up at the corners in a low smile.

“I thought you looked really cool today.” Tobirama says.

Madara's heart skips a beat and he remains frozen, eyes wide open in shock as a flush makes its way onto his face.

Tobirama spins on his heel and he begins to walk away, not even bothering to see if Madara would follow.

Love drunk and stupid, Madara stumbles after him.